Beslan School Siege: The Story Russia Still Struggles To Tell
- Daniel Holland
- 5 hours ago
- 6 min read
The first of September is usually one of the happiest days in the Russian calendar. Known as the Day of Knowledge, it’s the start of the school year. Parents carry flowers, children wear their best uniforms, and teachers welcome a new chapter. In the town of Beslan, North Ossetia, in 2004, it started just like that. Families gathered at School Number One, a building that sat beside the local police station, ready for the morning ceremony.
By nine o’clock, the courtyard was alive with chatter. Minutes later it was filled with gunfire. A group of heavily armed militants stormed the school. Some people thought at first it was a training exercise by special forces. The truth revealed itself quickly. Within minutes, more than 1,100 people — including 777 children, were herded at gunpoint into the school gym. Explosives were hung from basketball hoops. Tripwires stretched across the room. Parents clutched children and tried to stay calm.
The Beslan school siege, also known as the Beslan school hostage crisis or the Beslan massacre, lasted three days. When it ended on 3 September, at least 334 hostages were dead, 186 of them children. It remains the deadliest school attack in history.
The Attack
The siege was carried out by 32 militants, including two women. They were part of Riyad-us Saliheen, a unit connected to Chechen warlord Shamil Basayev. His aim was political: Russia must withdraw from Chechnya and recognise its independence.
The timing was deliberate. On the Day of Knowledge, schools are busier than usual because of the opening ceremony. Parents, grandparents, and even younger siblings had come to watch. The attackers arrived in a commandeered police van and a military truck. Along the way they had captured an Ingush police officer, stolen his badge and pistol, and left him behind when they reached Beslan.
There were already rumours of preparation. Witnesses later said that men posing as repair workers had smuggled weapons and explosives into the school over the summer. There were even claims of a sniper’s nest set up on the roof. Authorities denied this, but survivors testified they had been forced to carry hidden weapons out of the building once the siege began.
Within minutes of their arrival, the attackers had seized the schoolyard, killed or wounded those who resisted, and pushed the rest of the crowd inside. Some 50 people managed to flee. A handful hid in the boiler room. But most were forced into the gymnasium, where the siege would play out.
Inside the Gym
The gym became a pressure cooker. Temperatures soared. People sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor. Bombs were strung across the ceiling and connected to “dead man’s switches” — foot pedals that militants took turns standing on. Any mistake could mean mass death.
The militants set harsh rules. Everyone had to speak Russian and only when spoken to. When Ruslan Betrozov, a father, repeated the rules in Ossetian to calm others, he was shot in the head in front of his two sons. Another man, Vadim Bolloyev, was executed for refusing to kneel. Their bodies were dragged away, leaving trails of blood that the hostages were later forced to scrub from the floor.
Thirst became a torment. The attackers smashed pipes and sinks. Children tried to soak up water with their shirts or bring it to their parents in their mouths. “Some children brought their mums water in their mouths,” recalled survivor Nadezhda Guriyev, who was trapped with her three children. Others fainted from heat and exhaustion. Clothes were stripped off because of the stifling conditions.
The militants selected 15 to 20 strong men, including teachers and fathers, and moved them to a corridor near the cafeteria. One of the female bombers detonated her vest, killing herself, several hostages, and injuring a fellow militant. The survivors were ordered to lie down and shot with an automatic rifle. Only one man, cameraman Karen Mdinaradze, survived. He stumbled back into the gym and lost consciousness.
Food and water were denied. The attackers called it a “hunger strike” until North Ossetia’s president, Alexander Dzasokhov, arrived to negotiate. But he was barred from the scene by Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB) and told he would be arrested if he tried to intervene.
Former Ingushetia president Ruslan Aushev managed to enter the school and secured the release of 26 hostages, mothers with infants. He also carried out a videotape and a note from Basayev spelling out demands. Authorities later claimed there were no demands, a lie that would fuel accusations of a cover-up.
Perhaps most damaging of all was the way officials reported numbers. They told the public there were only 354 hostages inside. The real figure was more than 1,100. Families outside knew it was false, and the militants, hearing the broadcasts, threatened to kill enough people to bring the numbers down.
Day Two and Rising Tension
On the second day, negotiations dragged on but went nowhere. Paediatrician Leonid Roshal tried to make contact but was refused. The militants allowed only a handful of people to leave. The rest remained packed in the gym, with conditions worsening by the hour.
The sound of children crying irritated the captors. Mothers were threatened with death if they couldn’t keep their babies quiet. Several children fainted. Adults began to collapse too. Survivors later said they drank their own urine to stay alive.
Outside, frustration grew. Protesters raised signs begging President Vladimir Putin to meet the captors’ demands and save the children. He made only one brief public statement during the crisis, saying the priority was to protect lives. He did not appear in Beslan.
The Final Day Explosions and Fire
Just after one o’clock on 3 September, the fragile balance broke. Two blasts ripped through the gym. The source is still disputed. The official line is that the militants set off their own devices. Survivors and dissenting investigators believe outside fire, possibly thermobaric rockets from Russian forces, caused the initial explosions.
What followed was chaos. Fire spread through the roof. Burning rafters fell onto people below. A hole blew out in one wall, and some hostages tried to run. Militants opened fire. Russian special forces stormed the building with tanks, flamethrowers, and grenades. Gun battles raged in classrooms, corridors, and a basement where some fighters held out until evening.
Many hostages were killed in the fire. Others died in the crossfire. By the end, at least 334 people were dead, including 186 children. More than 700 were wounded. Of the attackers, 31 were killed. Only one survived.
The Survivor
Nur-Pashi Kulayev, a young Chechen fighter, was captured while trying to hide under a truck. He claimed he had been recruited by his brother and didn’t fire at hostages. Survivors identified him as one of their guards.
In May 2006, he was sentenced to life in prison for terrorism, murder, and hostage-taking. During his trial, relatives of the dead confronted him. Some even called for him to be pardoned so he could speak freely about who organised the siege. He has shown no remorse and has stayed largely silent about the chain of command above him.
Political Fallout
The siege reshaped Russian politics. Within weeks, President Putin announced sweeping reforms. Governors of Russia’s regions would no longer be directly elected but appointed by the Kremlin. Anti-terror laws were tightened, police powers expanded, and the state consolidated control over the media.
The government’s handling of the siege was widely criticised. Families accused the authorities of ignoring intelligence warnings, lying about hostage numbers, and using indiscriminate force. Bulldozers cleared the wreckage of the school the day after, removing body parts with the debris — an act that outraged locals.
In 2017, the European Court of Human Rights ruled that Russia had failed to act on specific warnings, used excessive force, and violated the right to life. The court ordered Moscow to pay damages. Russia eventually complied, though it called the ruling “absolutely unacceptable.”
Memory and Grief
Beslan is a town where memory is unavoidable. The cemetery filled so quickly after the siege that it had to be expanded. Rows of small graves bear the names of children who should have lived long lives.
Each year, families gather at the ruins of School Number One and at the cemetery. Some want the remains of the gym preserved forever as a warning. Others argue for an official memorial. Activist groups like Mothers of Beslan and Voice of Beslan continue to push for accountability, even as some of their members face prosecution under Russia’s extremism laws.
For survivors, grief is permanent. “Time doesn’t heal at all,” said Tamara Shotaeva, who lost two daughters. She lights candles every year in the snow, imagining the women her girls might have grown into.
The siege lasted 52 hours. For Beslan, it never really ended.
If you are exploring the modern history of mass hostage events and their political afterlives, you can continue with our report on the 2002 Moscow theatre hostage crisis. If you are following how states craft narratives after disaster, see also the history of Jonestown.
Sources
CNN – https://edition.cnn.com/2017/09/01/europe/beslan-school-siege-explainer/index.html
The Guardian – https://www.theguardian.com/world/2004/sep/06/chechnya.russia
New York Times – https://www.nytimes.com/2004/09/02/world/europe/chechen-rebels-had-seized-a-russian-school.html
European Court of Human Rights – https://hudoc.echr.coe.int/eng?i=001-172318
Human Rights Watch – https://www.hrw.org/news/2004/09/08/russia-human-rights-groups-call-fair-investigation
