Brief overview of memoirs by Grigory Grigorov

Author - Shulamit Shalit - Grigorov's Monologues

"When destiny in our steps was walking,
Like a madman with a razor in his hand".
Arseniy Tarkovsky, First Rendezvous

It's no accident that he put these words as an epigraph to one of the chapters in his memoirs. He could have put them as an epigraph to his whole life. The unknown writer, the unknown philosopher, well-educated and spiritually strong. He took part in many events that sent shockwaves through Russia in the 20th century. However, his name has just started gaining wider recognition.
Grigory Grigorov in the 1980s

When writing his memoirs, Grigory Grigorov pointed out the following milestones of his life: From 1923 until 1927 he lived in exile without being arrested. For five years his every step was carefully monitored by the State Political Directorate, also known under its Russian acronym GPU.

In the period starting from 1928 and ending in 1952 he received serval prison sentences with the total prison term equal to 29 years. He was accused of counter-revolutionary activities and Trotskyism (i.e. support for Lev Trotsky who was regarded as an opponent to Joseph Stalin).

Grigory got his last prison term in 1952, when serving the previously given ten-year term in a labor camp. All in all he spent 20 years and a half in prisons and labor camps.

Grigory was released from prison ahead of schedule twice (for the first time in 1930 from the Siberian exile six months before his term would be over, and for the second time in 1955 from the concentration camp eight years ahead of schedule). From the end of 1941 until the middle of 1944 (i.e. for two years and a half) he stayed in Finland as a prisoner of war.

In 1940-1941 and in 1955-1956 he lived under close scrutiny of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Committee for State Security (also known under its Russian acronym KGB) and was deprived of the right to live in many Russian cities and to be engaged in activities which had anything to do with ideological issues.

Having pointing out these milestones, Grigory drew the following conclusion: "It is widely recognized that the most productive age lasts from 16 years old until 75 years old. Five years of my life were devoted to pre-revolutionary underground activities and military service in the Red Army during the Civil War. Taking into account all the years I spent in jail and labor camps, it means I could live productively, doing the work I love, for only 17 years and a half, including ten years starting from the age of 65 until the age of 75. That's a huge tragedy for any person, particularly for a creative one".

Grigory was an exceptionally gifted man. He knew Latin and was fluent in German. He remembered miscellaneous quotations from the Roman and Greek classical literature and Heinrich Heine. He was fond of reading and listening to music and had impressive vocal skills. After the Civil War Grigory studied in the Institute of Red Professors and was appointed professor of philosophy when he was 25 years old. In the meantime, very soon, with the advent of Joseph Stalin and totalitarian state, all his aspirations were ruined. When persecutions started, Grigory realized that he would not be able to publish his literary and philosophical works.


Grigory Grigorov, young professor of philosophy



Grigory left a detailed description of his life as intertwined with violent and unimaginable events that rocked Russia and the Soviet Union for many years. His memoirs cover the period starting from 1905 and ending in 1983.

Grigory Grigorov was born in 1900. Very few people of his generation managed to simply live through the entire 20th century until our days. He survived, wrote memoirs and made honest life conclusions. He came to Israel in 1989 and spent there the last five years of his life. The sad irony of the situation is that he could have come to Palestine 70 years ago, had his life taken a different turn.

He was 16 years old when he came to the city of Ekaterinoslav, presently known as Dnepropetrovk, from a little backward town. He was so amazed with what he saw that used to take long walks around the city. Once he got into a poor district. Presumably it was a wage day. He saw a beautiful young woman some 20 meters away from him. She was tugging at the sleeve of a tall dark-haired lad, persuading him to go home. In response to her endearing words he smashed her in the face. "I felt blood rushing through my head", Grigory said. "I lost self-control, rushed to this guy and pushed his belly with my head". All of a sudden Grigory felt piercing pain, with someone's sharp teeth sinking into his cheek. He saw blood dripping onto his shirt, turned around and saw that same woman he was trying to defend. A crowd started gathering around them. Two young passers-by saved Grigory from the brewing trouble. One of them was Moulya, i.e.Abraham Shlonsky, who would later become a well-known poet and translator in Israel. They became friends. Soon Moulya started helping Grigory remove gaps in education, taught him foreign languages, history and literature. They had heated debates. Moulya was trying to persuade Grigory that Jews should take their own path: "We need to stop serving other nations and enrich their economy, culture and science. It's high time that we have our own writers, scientists and artists". However Grigory remained steadfast and regarded Zionists as idealists with rose-colored glasses. Their life paths diverged. When leaving for Palestine in 1921, Moulya asked Grigory to come with him but Grigory stayed in Russia. He continued to cherish revolutionary illusions, believing that eventually revolution would lead to freedom, equality and brotherhood.

He would be arrested for the first time in two years, but he would recollect Moulya's words only in 31 years, in 1952, in Norilsk labor camp, when he would be accused of Zionism and sentenced to ten more years in prison. By that time he already knew that the state of Israel had been founded and that it went through its first war for independence. "Only at that moment, lying on a plank bed in a concentration camp, I realized that social revolutions could never keep Jews free from humiliation and would never bring them equality and human dignity".

Who knows what would have happened, had he left with Abraham Shlonsky in 1921. He could have become a well-known Jewish philosopher, with his name being added to Israeli encyclopedias. But his life took a very dramatic turn.

Grigory managed to withstand all the ordeals that befell him and remained faithful to his principles. He reconsidered all the events he had witnessed and gave them a very detailed description. In 1989 his family left for Israel, where he lived for the last five years and died peacefully in 1994, bidding a light-hearted farewell to this world, on the very eve of the 21st century. "Millions of people slaved away in GULAG labor camps, worked hard and died. Was it pure luck that I survived or something helped me?"


Grigory Grigorov in Israel. More than 90 years old

While growing old, making life observations, reading and contemplating, he wanted to understand whether it is possible that numerous victims and sacrifices taught Russian people nothing. His memoirs contain three thousand pages and they are unique, as is spiritual life of this remarkable man.

Until he was 20, his name was Gershele Monastirsky. He was born in the little town of Starodub located in the Chernigov region to a hard-working family that had many children. He had vague memories of his great-grandfather on his mother's side who died at the age of 102. Right before his death he lit the candles, lay down and passed away peacefully. His grandfather on his father's side lived in the village next to the monastery, and that was the origin of his family name. Gershele morphed in Grigory Grigorov in 1919, when he fought in the rear of the White (i.e. pro-tsar) Army, executing tasks given by the underground organization headquartered in Ekaterinoslav. In order to understand what helped Grigory survive physically and spiritually, retain the ability to analyze both global events and his own mistakes, it is necessary to look through the list of quotations he collected over his life and wrote down in columns one after another. These wise thoughts helped him fight despair and remain hopeful.



Grigory Grigorov (on the right) with his friend. Tomsk city, 1924

The first quotation refers to words his mother Rachel used to say: "There is no way to escape your destiny". These words are followed by quotations from the classical literature: "On what slender threads do life and fortune hang" from Alexander Duma, "Courage lost, all is lost - better you never born" from Johann Goethe, an extended quote from Prometheus, a poem written by George Gordon Byron: "But baffled as thou wert from high, / Still in thy patient energy, / In the endurance and repulse / Of thine impenetrable spirit, / Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, / A mighty lesson we inherit..." For whom did he write down these quotations? Only for himself? Or probably for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren? Or may be for his future readers as well?

These quotations reflect complex contradictions of human life. What's the best way to survive? Is it better to surrender to one's fate and circumstances that frequently develop without our direct involvement? Is it wiser to humbly accept the way things unfold and resign oneself to other people's intentions? Or a man should step against unfavorable circumstances, bearing in mind that his consciousness, will and energy are overwhelming. It might seem idealistic and even naive now, but when Grigory was young, he chose Prometheus as his role model, the hero of the Greek mythology that brought fire to the mankind in defiance of orders given by the gods from Mount Olympus. For Grigory, this character was an example of free spirit, strong will and ability to withstand one's fate.


Grigory Grigirov in Norilsk labor camp, 1951

Here are several examples of Grigory's life stories:
"When I was young, I quite often had to make fast decisions whether to hope for the best and do nothing or to take quick actions to save my life. I am not talking about war, when death is always lurking behind, but somehow you never think that a stray bullet can put an end to your life. I am referring to situations when you can die because of your own mistakes or weakness, when you can rely only on your own strength, self-control and stamina. I will now tell you about a couple of very tight situations I went through when I was young. The first one happened in 1919. I received an assignment from underground authorities to go to Sevastopol by train to set up links with soldiers of the Black Sea fleet and local workers. Officers entered the railway car in Alexandrovsk town and began checking passports. They were looking for Jews and for commissars. I was both a Jew and a commissar. I was very nervous but did my best to remain unflappable and pretended I was reading a book. The underground authorities had given me good ID papers, but the officer began scrutinizing me and finally asked to say the Russian word "kukurusa" (corn), expecting to hear a throatal r sound typical of the Jewish dialect. I pronounced this word clearly with distinct roaring r. The officer let me go. But what would have happened had I pronounced this word incorrectly? Another situation happened when I was taking gold, silver and other valuables to Kharkov with a group of soldiers from the Red Army. These precious metals reserves were packed in bags and loaded into sealed railway cars. At Samoylovka railway station we were surrounded by the horse detachment headed by the gang leader whose name was Farther Knysh. There were three hundred people in this detachment armed with sables and rifles. Farther Knysh cried: "What is your cargo?" The myriad of thoughts sped through my head: what should I answer? Then I replied: "We are taking killed soldiers to their relatives". Farther Knysh ordered his horsemen to pull off their hats as a sign of respect for the dead and crossed himself. All soldiers began crossing themselves, too. "Good luck, boys", he said. And his detachment rode away towards Pavlograd town. But what would have happened, had Knysh told us to open the railway cars? What saved us? Keeping self-control, thinking fast and knowing psychology of peasants who gathered in different gangs in those tremulous times.

There was another tricky situation in my life when I thought there was no way out and was already trying to imagine how my poor parents would take the news I had been killed. I was going to Sevastopol for the second time and at Sinelnikovo railway station I had to change trains. That's where I was betrayed by a medical attendant who had known me before as a head of the political department at a hospital in Ekaterinoslav. Soldiers from the punitive division put me suspended in air with my arms tied, hit me with ramrods and whips, insisted on my saying who my friends are. They went on torturing me for several days. When I was losing consciousness, they dragged me into my cell and poured cold water onto me. The next day torturing resumed. I either denied everything the traitor had told them or kept silence. I thought there was no way out. All of a sudden the investigation stopped. The army headed by Farther Makhno took hold of the city in a swift assault. Makhno's followers destroyed the prison doors and set us free. What saved me this time? I believe both luck and self-control, the ability to handle physical pain and tortures".


Dina, Grigory's wife

Grigory got acquainted with his future wife Dina in 1921. She was eight years his senior. She was divorced and had two daughters, Vera (nine years old) and Polya (seven years old).


Dina's daughters Vera and Polya

He was 14 and 12 years older than his step-daughters, but he would become a devoted farther for them for the rest of their life. He was enraptured with Dina: "A strikingly beautiful woman was standing in front of me with that air of feminine beauty described in the Bible. There was inner glow in her smiling brown eyes. Her face was absolutely pure, with no traces of makeup. The way she behaved and talked was simple and free of coquetry. At the same time there was something eye-catching about her. You could feel inner strength".

They would be arrested together in 1934 and would be declared "the enemies of the people". By that time besides from Vera and Polya they would have their common seven-year-old child, son Vissarion. They would be called "children of the enemies of the people". At first Dina and Grigory would be allowed to stay together in a labor camp but later they would be separated.

Dina passed away in 1972 aged 81. "My wife was one of those rare people who managed to keep human dignity and high moral values under the beastly Bolshevik regime. I take off my hat to my wife, a remarkable woman, my dear and faithful friend. She is the one I address the lines written by the Russian poet Mikhail Lermontov: "Under the same star, I am sure, / We both crossed the worldly rims; / We stepped along same road poor, / And were deceived by same false dreams."

He survived through all the ordeals, Lubyanka, Butyrka, prisons, exiles, solitary confinement, hysterical screams behind the prison wall, punishment cells, beating, hunger strikes and cellmates' death. In 1934 he was accused of organizing the anti-Soviet movement and of inspiring false ideas among students whom he taught philosophy. Authorities said he had corrupted young people ideologically and encouraged them to act against the leading political party. Grigory told the investigator: "You wrote this mean opus, so you should sign it, not me". He was nearly killed. He repeatedly lost consciousness because of beating and expected they would execute him through shooting but instead he was sentenced to five years in labor camps. He survived again. "Metaphorically, this arrest and interrogations proved a certain gate that took me to the sinister world commonly known as Gulag Archipelago. Above this imaginary gate I would put a line from the Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri: "From thy heart banish fear: of all offense I hitherto absolve thee".

Grigory realized very soon that his previous prison experience was of little help. A lot had changed in the way the punitive system worked since he came back from his exile in Siberia four years ago. To summarize his survival in soviet prisons and concentration camps, Grigory described the rings of the hell created by Joseph Stalin and his proponents. According to Grigory's estimates, Stalin's hell could be roughly divided into ten rings.


Grigory Grigorov – doctor's assistant in the Norilsk concentration camp in 1951

Future generations should be patient and attentive to what this man wrote about not to repeat past mistakes. He wanted to be heard so much. He wanted his descendants not to lose faith, to resists fear and hardships and to remember that life is the ultimate value.

First ring: prisons, investigation, excruciating interrogations at nights, false witnesses, beating, punishment cell.

Second ring: transporting of prisoners, walking in chain gangs 25-30 kilometers a day, escorting soldiers, frequently drunk and violent, crying: "One step right, one step left, we will shoot without warning". It is impossible to get used to it. You remain tense all the time.

Transporting of prisoners in vessels along rivers, usually locked inside orlop decks below the waterline. These ships reminded a floating condemned cell. One foul-smelling bucket for several hundreds of prisoners to be used as a toilet. Hundreds of detainees died because of diseases. The walking dead crawled from orlop decks at the end of such journeys.

Third ring: transfer centers. This is where a lot of transportation routes crossed. And this is where particularly brutal and large-scale fights happened between criminal and political prisoners.

Fourth ring: concentration camps. Common works until prisoners are completely exhausted. Some of them died while working.

Fifth ring: heavy security barrack.

Sixth ring: internal prison and punishment cells at a concentration camp. Penal colony.

Seventh ring: diseases and hunger. A lot depended here on a prisoner's genotype, i.e. heredity, stamina, spiritual strength, ability to endure diseases and hunger and not to despair.

Eighth ring: criminals. It was possible to stand against them with relative success if gathering into groups. Grigory was locked into a cell with criminals several times intentionally, in order to break his will. Some prisoners found this ordeal particularly harsh.

Ninth ring: haunting threat that detention would last forever, the sense of hopelessness for many years, that caused serious psychic disorders and death in the long run.

Tenth ring: everyday examination of one's will, need to defend one's human dignity, to withstand moral corruption and emotional debilitation. Without these efforts death approached unnoticed. A lot of people died because they could not stand the general debilitating atmosphere of a concentration camp. They just got morally broken, collapsed spiritually and died.

Having described these circles of Stalin's hell, Grigory added a line from Dante's Divine Comedy that summarizes what he had lived through and described above: "What fortune or what fate / Before the last day leadeth thee down here?" Sometimes it was better to die rather than to remain hostage to this hopeless never-ending slavery. "I believe that Jews that perished in fire when defending the Holy Temple in Jerusalem from Roman troops, or rebels led by Spartacus, or Masada defenders who committed mass suicide after killing their children and wives, they all wanted to be free. They opted for death to avoid slavery. These heroes made their mark on the world's history, but millions of slaves who ended up in Gulag, worked hard and died without being mourned. I doubt that anyone could now tell how many people disappeared in the icy wilderness of tundra and taiga, in dark waters of Siberian rivers".

As a historian and philosopher, he was trying to understand the ultimate reason that would explain why so many Russian people ended up in Gulag. Having carefully read researches on the Russian history by Vasily Klyuchevsky and Vladimir Solovyev, he made the conclusion that this reason is deeply rooted in Russia's past, national psyche and mentality. When completing his memoirs, he realized that even the detailed description of the everyday life in concentration camps would fail to explain what prisoners felt being suspended in limbo, between life and death, ready to die any moment. this is why Grigory was searching for a metaphor that would make it clear to people unfamiliar with Stalin's hell what it was like: "For many years, I stayed pressed down by a huge rock, as if it were a gravestone. I could breath, think and even move a little bit, but at the same time my soul became as hard as stone. Fear was obviously a bad advisor in those circumstances. I understood that any awkward move could make this gravestone collapse and bury me. I managed to survive, I was set free. I kept interested in life, science, art, poetry and literature. I am even writing memoirs. And all these years I've been trying to figure out what helped me stay alive. I was endowed with good health, stamina, ability to withstand extreme pain, exceptional memory and analytical mindset. All these qualities were key to my survival. Which of them developed thanks to my parents, whom I loved and respected a lot? Quite many, i.e. will, priority of spiritual values over physical property, diligence, willingness to do any work, including hard and dirty one, frugality, modest habits, desire to learn, respect for knowledge and science and self-respect, which is probably the most important one. I was seriously engaged in philosophical studies before I was arrested in 1934 and was very much interested in philosophy. I believe this helped me a lot when I was confronted with horrors in prisons and concentration camps. When locked in solitary confinement, I began contemplating about philosophical systems developed by Baruch Spinoza, Immanuel Kant and Georg Hegel. That helped me get distracted, become oblivious to harsh reality and depressing thoughts. This is when I fully realized the deep meaning hidden in the widely-known expression of the French mathematician and philosopher Rene's Descartes "Cogito Ergo Sum" (I think, therefore I am). That's true, a man can be taken prisoner, shackled and isolated, but if he keeps on thinking constructively, it means he keeps on living. And here is another biographical detail, which may seem insignificant at first glance. I was fond of reading since I was a small boy. I read poems, novels and plays. I knew a lot of literary pieces by heart. I remember reading this line in one of Goethe's literary works and it became my guiding star: "Courage lost, all is lost - better you never born". I understood its deep meaning when staying in prisons and labor camps. Sometimes I saw that my cellmates were growing desperate and irritable and it was hard for them not to kick up a row. At such moments I began retelling either a novel or a play, and as a rule it had a strikingly pacifying effect on everyone, particularly on prisoners sentenced on criminal charges. They were very fond of the novel Les Miserables written by Victor Hugo".

Dante Alighieri's fellow countrymen used to say about him, referring to Inferno: "He was there, he saw everything and came back". Grigory believed that those people who went through all the horrors of Stalin's and Hitler's hell, survived and came back should write about their experience. That' what he did. He hoped that writing would therapeutically help him get rid of haunting memories. Did it really help? Who knows...

"When the Second World War started I was taken prisoner by the Finnish Army and spent two years and a half in Finnish labor camps. This captivity was very unusual as I was allowed sometimes to leave the camp, to stay in Helsinki and to see how Finnish people live. They were free people of a democratic state. This world was arcane to me, a man born in the tsarist Russia and a citizen of the Soviet Union. The values underlying their life were strikingly different. Personal freedom, human dignity, equal rights and the rule of law were of paramount importance. Since then I have had an opportunity to compare a Soviet citizen with people from a democratic state. Joseph Stalin died years ago, but the system he created is still in place, though slightly improved. Serious changes are not within sight. The country lacks political will to make radical changes. The brightest people, those who were spiritually strong and brave enough to oppose suppression, were killed in droves. And what does the Soviet society look like today? Millions of devastated families and crippled lives. Millions of those who were eventually released from concentration camps but remained crushed, both physically and spiritually. Millions of former investigators, false witnesses and state officials. There is little hope that this sort of society would be able to soon take in ideas of human rights, supremacy of law, moral values and democracy. And what about the state system? It proved low-efficient, and even more so, nonviable and self-destructive. There are no forces that would encourage high productivity, especially as far as agriculture is concerned. Before the revolution which happened in February 1917, Russia used to supply grain to Europe. In the mid-1960s, the Soviet Union was a net-exporter of grain. Corruption, nepotism, protectionism and abuse of alcohol are rampant. Rich natural resources fall prey to predatory extraction tools. If this situation persists, the country will face economic collapse and complete chaos, which will unfold along with the frantic search for solutions. This might result in greater troubles. A quotation from the Russian writer Vladimir Korolenko suggests itself here: "There are gaping abysses in social movements, like in every ocean... Who knows them? Who managed to uncover the mystery that defines the movement of the human ocean? Who could tell with certainty that there is no threat of a new tsunami that would rise anew as unexpectedly as before and with a vengeance?" There is little to add to these prophetic words. Few events might seem more grisly than those that happened to Russia in the 20th century. I would recommend my children take these words very seriously".

At the end of his memoirs, Grigory Grigorov put a quotation from George Gordon Byron's poem "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" which he liked a lot: My task is done - my song hath ceased - my theme
Has died into an echo; it is fit
The spell should break of this protracted dream,
The torch shall be extinguish'd which hath lit
My midnight lamp - and what is writ, is writ, -
Would it were worthier! but I am not now
That which I have been - and my vision flit
Less palpably before me - and the glow
Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.

The first volume of Grigory Grigorov's memoirs "The Twist of Fate and Tyranny" covering the period from 1905 until 1927 was published in OGI publishing house in Moscow in 2005.

The second and the third volumes were published in Israel in 2008 and 2010 respectively (with the subtitles "Memoirs, 1928-1972" and "The Russian History, the 20th century: Highlights and Analysis").

P.S. Big thanks to Katya Levchenko for translation.

Vorkuta Rebelion 1936 (part 2)

Once I was called to the head of the camp and offered to drive an important NKVD worker, his wife and a little child to Vorkuta. A hooded sledge was prepared with blankets and pillows. The important passengers were dressed in deer fur jackets and felt boots. The child was wrapped up in blankets. The wife of the passenger, a tall, rather pretty woman asked me whether I knew the way. I answered that it was the first time I had to drive by sledge, since earlier I passed this road by foot and under escort. The chief looked at me attentively, knitted his brows and said nothing. I was dressed in pea-jacket, belted with a rope, a warm cap, a whip in hand, like a regular coach-man. The family was seated in the hooded sledge, I sat on the coachman’s seat, took the reins, shouted something and my horse, hurrying to get warm, trotted. The weather seemed to be favorable, the winter sun broke through clouds, small snow-flakes fell on my face. I was even distracted from the tragic events in Vorkuta. Nature is always fine, even in the far North. We moved rather quickly along a rutted road. On this road mechanical materials and food products for concentration camps were usually transported, as well as numerous transports of prisoners. The polar weather is very capricious. Grey clouds appeared in the sky, they moved quickly from South-West to North-West and soon all the sky was covered with black-blue clouds. Wind blew and it began to snow. The horse was alarmed; I had to use the whip and to pull on the reins more strongly. Suddenly a sharp, gusty wind blew, snow-flakes began to stick to my face, I could not see the horse’s collar. I jumped down. The horse moved slower and then stopped in front of a big snow-drift. A hoarse voice from the hooded sledge asked: “What happened?” I shouted loudly: “A snow-storm is beginning; the horse is moving aside, I will go in front of it and pull it by the rope.” A real snow-storm broke, nothing could be seen ahead. The snow-storm grew stronger. The road was utterly lost, only white desert around. The horse stopped, my whip was of no use. Again the hoarse voice from the hooted sledge: “You strike it stronger with the whip”. I answered: “Now the horse is not afraid of the whip, it is not a human being”. My passenger got out and poking his gloved fist to my nose hissed:” Look here, if anything happens to us, I will let you rot in prison, and you will never see freedom.” These words offended me intensely and I, overwhelming the wailing of the wind, shouted loudly: “Don’t scare me, I was scared enough…better help me to get on the right road, forget for a time of your power and think of your child and wife.” Evidently my words had an effect on him; he went round the horse and took the rope. Thus we moved for about an hour and suddenly heard the bell ringing. This was salvation. A sledge with frozen cod followed us. The draymen came down, approached us and tied down the hooted sledge to their sledge. They knew the road very well, as they had passed it hundreds of times. They were criminals who served long terms, they moved without consort. In three hours we safely arrived to the concentration camp “Sivaya Maska”. In this camp consorts were collected for driving to Vorkuta. I unharnessed the horse, I had to feed and water it. I was also hungry after 14 hours of riding. I sat on the log near the house of civilians and took out my ration from the sack. The woman whom I had driven came up to me and said: “I heard very well your remark concerning my husband, for God’s sake forgive him. Since he began this work I don’t recognize him. Evidently the work strongly influences the person’s behavior.” Then she asked me where I was from and what I was before prison. I answered: “Before prison I lived in Leningrad with my family and was a philosophy professor at Universities.” After Kirov’s murder my wife and I were arrested and our children were sent out of Leningrad.” The woman exclaimed: My God, we and you are from Leningrad, how it turned out that you are here?” I explained in short how it happened and reminded that Dostoevsky and Chernyshevsky and even Lenin also were prisoners. The woman listened attentively and suddenly offered: “Will you come and have a snack with us… By the way, you’ll see that my husband is not the barbarian, as he seemed to you when we traveled”. I refused, because prisoners were forbidden to sit at the same table with civilians. My fellow-traveler insisted, and we went to the civilians house. The twelve months old baby was sleeping on the sofa. My passenger was sitting at the table, covered with oil-cloth. Sliced white bread, bacon and sausage and even black caviar were on the table. Larissa (the chief’s wife) invited me to sit and began to put on my plate the food that I could only dream of. She poured a big cup of strong tea from a huge tee-pot, which stood on a red-hot stove. I began to feel some family comfort. But the chief was sitting with downcast eyes, he put lumps of sugar in his cup and seemed displeased. Larissa sat to the table with a glass of tea and looking in turn at her husband and me said in her melodious voice: “Do you know Volodya, our coach-man is a professor from Leningrad, our fellow town-man.” Then the chief, taking a sip of tea, addressed me: “What were you blamed for?” I answered: For being in Zinoviev grouping.” When will your term finish?” I answered: “Formally at the 8-th of December 1939, if they will not add to the term.” I answered: “Those, who gave the term, can add to it”. “How can they add? – the chief asked. I answered: “Тhe Special Committee of NKVD gives terms in default of persons, without court. This body is not provided by the constitution”. My interlocutor bit his lower lip, swallowed a mouthful of cool tea and flung a remark that surprised me: “Yes, something strange happened to us after the death of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin”.

Our talk was interrupted as head of the camp entered. The camp tradition by no means allows close terms between civilians and prisoners. Thus the head of the camp was astonished to find the prisoner sitting at the same table with the NKVD worker and his family. He looked at me with perplexity but did not dare to tell something because the chief came from Moscow and was of a higher rank. The head of the camp reported that the chief would be given another coach-man and another hooded sledge. I was glad that I would not drive the chief to Vorkuta. Dressing the pea-jacket and belting with a rope I left the house of civilians. When I was harnessing the horse, the wife of the chief approached me and put a small bag in my hands, in which in addition to food I later found two new handkerchiefs and warm socks. The pretty woman held my hand and said: “I hope you soon will be free and probably we will meet in Leningrad. I ask you not to think negatively of my husband, he being a communist had to submit the order“. We looked at each other and the woman ran quickly to the porch of the house. It is so good that in our life as convicts we can meet free people having a soul.

The weather changed to the best, cumulus clouds floated in the blue sky like huge lumps of cotton wool, snow-flakes sparkled. No wind. I saw patches of sunlight, light lines on the snow. I felt free, but in my mind I understood that I am a convict and will be a convict as long as tyranny reigns in Russia. In my heart I felt sad and at the same time good. I moved on the Ussa river as a free man without consort, admired fir-trees covered with snow. I thought about the chief’s wife, of her husband words. NKVD men are very sparing of words, they never dare to speak sincerely with a prisoner. They are afraid of their own words. The chief whom I transported was a young NKVD worker, the communist party recently mobilized him and sent him to concentration camps instructing him to be vigilant with enemies of the people. But this comparatively young man probably possesses an inner flair. Thus he gradually begins to understand what is going on. He was displeased that after receiving order he had to leave urgently the work he loved and travel together with his young wife and a little child to Vorkuta.

But when the day comes, the people of Russia will understand that both in the past and in the future, tyranny always kills everything that is alive and bright, that without freedom our life is gloomy.

My horse quickly rode on the Ussa, it hurried home where it was waited in the stable. I caught up with a big group of coachmen. All of them were prisoners, either convicts or criminals condemned to small terms for non- political crimes dreaming of speedy release. Moving along the snowy Ussa I felt well, but soon the image of another, also charming woman, Pasha Kunina came to my mind and all my joy disappeared. Again I felt unhappy, and in this state already in the dusk I came to Kochmes.I was awfully tired. Again I was in the barrack Sasha Girshberg ran to me, he was interested with my fellow-travelers and congratulated me for my traveling without consort. I hardly lied on my plank-bed as the chief of regime entered together with two warders and ordered everybody to get up and form. It turned out that they would again call the new list of executed in Vorkuta. The number of executed was now more 2,000. The bloody mincing machine continued to turn with great speed. This time I heard the name of American journalist whom I knew, he was a cook in the dining rooms for privileged concentration camp specialists. I thought: “Why he?” It was known that he did not take part in rebellion or hunger-strikes. He was more than 60 years old and still he was shot. Evidently, they wanted to get rid of a dangerous witness.

In the morning the team-leader told us that we would go to the forest to “squeeze tar.” We took saws and axes and moved with consort to birch wood. We sawed and chopped young birches, laid piles of logs, covered them with turf and set them on fire. Suddenly somebody cried: “The camp is on fire!” Several barracks were on fire, including Sasha’s” and my. We were sure that our scanty belongings were burnt. A.L.Voitolovskaya, M.A. Shlykova and “Menshevik” O.Ya. Sapozhnikova ran to us, their faces and clothes were black with soot but their eyes were shining. They had managed to save from fire our things. We began to embrace and kiss the brave women. It was said that some prisoner poured benzene on the barracks and set them on fire being in a fit of madness.

Usually on Saturdays administration members of the camp drank vodka and sang. Taking advantage of this, Sasha Girshberg and I went to the hothouse, where fresh vegetables for civilians were grown. There Maria Yoffe, the widow of former well-known diplomat and a close friend of L.D. Trotsky, was looking after all the works. Ada Voitolovskaya and Maraia Shlykova also came. The over-seer, whose duty was to watch Maria’s work, was fast asleep every Saturday and Sunday after getting drunk while we were talking on different topics. Maria Yoffe called our assembling “the Carbonari meetings”. Once she told us of the tragic demise of a woman in whom the deceased former camp chief was in love with. My wife and I met this woman earlier in Ust-Ussa. She was pretty. Already then she lived with a former prisoner, who remained as a civilian at a concentration camp after 10-years term. She told my wife that she was going to marry this man, and wouldn’t go back to live outside the camp because her first husband informed on her. This situation when the husband informs on his wife and vice-versa, was very common in Stalin’s time.

When this woman finished her term, she was waiting for the navigation season so she could go back to her loved one in

Ust-Ussa. She took the first tugboat. On this boat the former chief saw this woman and tried to rape her. She ran out of her cabin and began to shout. Then, the chief shot her and afterwards shot himself. That was how one of the endless tragedies came to a close.

A big island was near Kochmes on the Ussa tributary. There, prisoners under guarding grew vegetables and made hay. When the river was free of ice, prisoners were rowed in boats to the island, where light barracks were built for men and women. The works began in early spring, the men were plowing, and the women were planting. The working day lasted from dawn till sunset. Team-leaders always hurried the workers, threatened to cut their bread ration. Watch-towers were on the borders, the guards constantly watched over the prisoners. And yet, a group of prisoners managed to run away. When ice-drift began, they rowed on a big fishing boat on the Ussa and Pechora up to Naryan-Mar where they managed to board a foreign ship and got aboard. There were 8 people in the group, including two women. That was an extraordinary event, NKVD workers got very excited. Between these prison-breakers were short-term prisoners, to whom the administration trusted. After the prison break the regime became far crueler, after the day’s work the prisoners had to be lying on the plank-beds, those who infringed the order were sent to BUR (barrack of special regime).Once a tragedy occurred. One of the prisoners had a stomachache at night. He was not able to run to lavatory and sat down near a fence. A guard on the tower shot him. Vigilance is above all, a person’s life is nothing!

On the place of burnt barracks the administration made us build new ones. We had to do earth works, both men and women. Girshberg, Voitolovskaya, Shlykova and I united into a team; we had to dig two pits. We worked hard. Sasha and I chopped off lumps of frozen earth, and the women threw them to the side with spades. We worked 13-14 hours a day, but rarely made the norm. But even in these conditions we managed to exchange opinions on different subjects. Back then we were worried that fascism grew strong in Europe. We knew that the “socialist” Mussoliny considered socialism and fascism equal already in 1919. He himself came from proletarian mass, one time he paved streets in Milan. When he came to power, he first of all did away with all the democratic traditions. Mussoliny understood that he could not remain in power leaning upon petty- bourgeoisie in the conditions of democracy and freedom. He already came to power in 1922. The same process proceeded in Germany, where as in Italy, middle sections of the population (“marsh”) played a significant role. Hitler and his gang did not lean on the large capital, but exactly on this “marsh”. From the moment fascism came to power, mass terror began to act against Jews and all the democratic powers. While working, I tried to characterize general features of fascism: a creation of strong punitive organs, liquidation of all kinds of the democratic freedom, the personal dictatorship of the leader, mass terror against differently minded people, conversion of the ruling party into voting and demonstrating dummies, creation of military-industrial complex, exploiting the national and patriotic feelings of petty – bourgeoisie, a big army and aggression against other countries. In different countries depending on historic progress and national features fascism shows itself in different forms. The essence of fascism is one and the same, only its forms are different.

After the October revolution in Russia the so called “dictatorship of proletariat” was established, indeed it was dictatorship of one party, which essentially became at first the dictatorship of a small group of party functionaries and afterwards - dictatorship of the leader.

The communist party in the USSR liquidated all the other political parties and groups; the opposition inside the party was defeated. The cult of personality and terror against differently minded – the characteristic features of fascism - became especially notable in communist party politics after Lenin’s death. Lenin also was a dictator, but he was well-educated, taught in the West in the period of 17 years of emigration. In Lenin’s period, old revolutionaries were members of Central Committee, they kept democratic traditions. A considerable part of the Central Committee was equal to Lenin in political experience, education and talent, many of them often did not agree with Lenin rather seriously. It was quite differently when the idea of dictatorship came to mind of ignorant, vindictive, cowardly and criminal satrap from Georgia. The same idea, coming to different people’s mind, leads to totally different results, sometimes, to directly opposite ones. Fascism in Germany and in USSR has a lot in common. It is not a coincidence that the dictatorship and mass terror came to their peak at the end of the 30’es. By this time Hitler and Stalin liquidated all the objectionable and suspicious persons. They created far-flung networks of concentration camps, in both countries the military-industrial complexes grew quickly. The former painter and the former seminarian thought in the same way, both of them cynically mocked at the idea of freedom, the society turned into a mob of slaves, all the layers of society were entangled with a network of informers and agents. It is often said that in Germany all Jews were killed, but in the USSR this did not happen. I think that if the Kremlin satrap lived one or two years longer, he would also make the final decision of the Jew question. Those were our talks when the supervisors were not watchful enough. Once, a question arose: whether in the USSR there were no forces, which would raise people against Stalin tyranny. In tsarist Russia rebellions, strikes, demonstrations constantly agitated the country. What could be said in this respect? That was a vast theme demanding studies in different fields of knowledge: political, historic, sociologic, philosophic etc. I could answer only in general features. Here’s approximately what I said. The society of the USSR at the end of 30-th differs extremely from the Russian society of the beginning of XX-th century. All the progressive forces of Russia before the October revolution that had led to the February revolution were completely destroyed after Bolshevics came to power. Decisive social changes occurred. The majority of the working and creative part of peasantry was liquidated, the other considerable part of it was ruined and moved to towns, as a result a numerous strata of lumpen- proletarians arose. The progressive-minded part of workers and intellectuals also was destroyed, now the workers are mostly former peasants. Now already there are no hereditary politically educated workers - those who struggled for democracy and freedom, such as Shlyapnikov, Lutovinov, Sapronov, M. Ivanov, I.N. Smirnov, Mrachkovsky, Muralov. Who can rise against tyranny? Moreover, unprecedented in number and technical equipment apparatus of punitive organs is created. The tragic events in Vorkuta demonstrated that even a harmless protest against tyranny is ended with the cruelest violence, but there is silence in the country and masses applaud to the bloody tyrant. I remember that clever and courageous women Tankhilevich and Sapozhnikova answered that at any conditions it is necessary to secretly keep organized community of people having conformity of opinions who do not agree to submit to tyranny. They mentioned the reaction period at the time of Alexander !!!. I answered that then the whole of Russia craved for changes and repressions could not change anything, the repressions themselves were very liberal in comparison with Stalin regime. Then only tens of revolutionary-terrorists were executed, and at Soviet regime millions were killed and millions were put to prisons and concentration camps. It is time to change our concept of revolution and reaction, of tyrants and liberals. We have now to use a new experience acquired by humanity. Now Neron and Kaligula look in other way when we compare them with Hitler and Stalin.

Vorkuta Rebelion 1936

In 1936-37 unprecedented terror was raging all over the country. By day and by night revolutionary tribunals, “extraordinary threes” sentenced to death and the sentences were immediately fulfilled. Even in the time of savagely cruel Ivan Grozny with his oprichniks there was nothing of the kind. Every family was feeling horror and fear. Certainly, Stalin did his criminal vile deeds not alone, millions of “worshippers” and hundreds thousands of oprichniks were ready annihilate anybody and any number of victims according to his directions. But oprichniks also felt then blind fear: they already knew that their chief Yagoda was declared “enemy of people” and arrested. It was necessary quickly deliver from the former ‘liberalism’ in the concentration camps, the regime began quickly become tougher. They daily made “shmony” (searches) by day and by night . Shook up everything , in posting the sentries searched every prisoner, political prisoners were not allowed to correspond. For the least fault the prisoners were sent to “Bour” ( barrack of special regime) or to Brick works in Vorkuta. Brick works meant death. I knew about events in Vorkuta from Pasha Kunina, Vladimir Kossior’s wife, she was sent to Kochmes after the end of hunger-strike in Vorkuta. Pasha told me that a committee of prisoners was created, at the beginning it carried on talks with the camp administration on softening the regime and afterwards organized strikes and hunger-strikes. Vladimir Kossior, Victor Eltsin, Grigory Yakovin and Pasha Kunina were in the committee. Both strike and hunger-strike acquired mass-character and continued about 100 days. The prisoners held out very steady, the camp administration was evidently confused. The weakened hunger-strikers were fed by force: they were drawn on the stretchers to a medical unit and liquid food was led in through probe, those who resisted were tied. Some especially weakened strikers were taken to a medical unit in Usa station. Vorkuta administration continually got in touch with Moscow to get instructions concerning hunger- strikers. They received instruction, and promised hunger- strikers to comply with their demands. Then the prisoners stopped the hunger- strike. They recovered very slowiy, they could not work, most of them were lying on plank-beds. Their faces were deathly pale, they were very lean, their eyes were sunken, dull. When Pasha felt a little better, she was sent to a women camp Kochmes. When Pasha was telling all this she could hardly restrain from tears, her eyes were dreary, as if she foresaw something more terrible. Vladimir Kossior was taken to Moscow, as they told, for retrial of his case. Vladiir then, certainly, did not know that his two brothers, members of the party Central Committee, were already imprisoned, while they had always defended Stalin line, opposed supporters of Trotsky, Zinoviev and Bukharin. This fact was very typical, Stalin already began to do away with his supporters. Pasha did not know about it but intuitively did not believe that her husband was taken to Moscow for retrial of his case. Vladimir Kossior was an oppositionist long ago, he opposed not only Stalin, but sharply criticized Lenin at the X-th party congress, when the last offered very resolutely to struggle with all the opposition groups. When I only had a free minute, I tried to meet Pasha, although it was forbidden to enter the women’s barrack. I imperceptibly stole into the barrack, Pasha and I sat on a bench and spoke quietly. We had a lot of things to recollect.

I first met Pasha at the beginning of 1921 at the workers faculty of Moscow University, we were seating side by side at lessons. She was then 26-27 years old, her husband Vladimir Kossior was a member of presidium of the Central Professional Units and the editor-in-chief of the newspaper “Trud” (labor). Then he was one of the leaders of the workers’ opposition and was already beginning to suffer from repressions. Pasha acquainted me with Dina Belotserkovsky, who became my wife. They were close friends from young age, worked together in sewing workshop in Poushkin street in Kiev, in 1910 they entered the social-democratic movement, worked together in the underground, organized strikes. After the Civil war Dina and Pasha worked in Commissariat of public education, she fought to find a home for every child, organized professional schools and courses. When Dina and I lived in Moscow, and later, when it was possible, I often called on the 1-st House of Soviets, where Pasha’s family and her mother lived. Vladimir Kossior always shared the newest information of party congresses and struggle in Central Committee. Besides that, he always deeply analyzed the processes going on in the party and could anticipate the future, he earlier than others foretold that Stalin’s gang would gradually deal with all the popular leaders of the party and that all the differently minded people would go to jail. But he did not speak of mass massacre; he evidently did not suppose that matters would take such a turn.

I reminded Pasha that in 1928 she sent me a scarf, mittens and a fur cap to Butyrka jail and I had no chance to thank her. Pasha recollected that in 1921 I helped her to understand the depth of “Capital” by Marks. Once when everybody were sleeping in the barrack she asked me to sing in low voice arias of Varangian guest and Nadir which I sang in her flat long ago. She said that the arias reminds her of better days. Our meeting and talks stopped suddenly. It was severe winter, 40 degrees C. below zero. The whole concentration camp was agitated. Pasha Kunina was offered urgently to collect her things: she was escorted to Vorkuta. Why such a big escort, when they take a weak woman? We only knew that this escort do not carry to freedom. Pasha, pale and shivering, went out of the barrack with a bag in her hands, quilted jacket unfastened, the cap does not cover ears, and she was without mittens. It seems O. Ya. Sapozhnikova thrust warm mittens in her hands. Pasha sat into the sledge, her lips were trembling, her black eyes sparkled feverishly. Prisoners tightly surrounded the sledge, women were crying. When the escort tried to drive away the crowd, the women began to shout: “Barbarians, butchers, you should rather work in the coal pit, than to escort women!” Agitation rose, the guards were confused. I rushed to Pasha to tell good-bye but immediately received a violent stroke on the back with a butt. But I rushed to my old friend again, embraced and kissed her and I saw big tears streaming on her face. Pasha told: “Grisha, we see each other for the last time, I feel this is the end.” The horse moved, and the sledge with Pasha and two guards rolled to the Ussa river, the sledge with two other guards following them. We watched them for a long time, waved hands and caps. It remonded me of Surikov’s picture “Boyarynia Morozova”. But here a hereditary proletarian was carried who gave out all her conscious life to the struggle for freedom of working class in Russia. Whether a time comes when Russian artists will paint scenes of Soviet prisoners’ life? The scene of Pasha Kunina carried in the sledge to Vorkuta was engraved in my memory for all my life: Pasha dressed in quilted jacket, crying, two guards with rifles by her sides was not carried to monastery like boyarynia Morozova but to execution.

Two weeks later in the evening when we were already laying on the plank-beds the chief of the regime entered the barrack accompanied with two warders and ordered everybody to get up and form. First he enumerated 50 surnames of prisoners in Vorkuta camp and then read aloud the decision of Vorkuta “camp three”, where it was said that the enumerated prisoners were sentenced to death for sabotage, refusal from work and rebellion. During the whole month they called each day new 50 surnames and decision of execution. About two thousand people were named. I heard the names of dear Pasha Kunina, Victor Eltsin, Grisha and Mark Rubashkin, Feodor Dingelshtedt and many others, whom I knew very well before my arrest in 1934. They were excellent, pure people, romantics who gave their mental and physical powers to the struggle for better future of people. They were shot in icy cold tundra by representatives of this people, who fulfilled orders of the barbarian leader. All of us were shocked, many of us heard of death of relatives and friends. I could not sleep, could not fulfill my daily duties, that meant cutting down bread ration, which could lead to death. I made every effort to pull myself together. In one of the lists that were read I heard the names of Sasha Brazhenkov and Makar, they were sent to the camp for criminal cases. They helped a lot to political prisoners and saved me in very hard situations. They did not take part in the strike and hunger-strike but the camp administration decided to deal with them: they behaved too independently. Soon we got to know terrible details of Vorkuta tragedy from witnesses who escaped by some miracle. The barracks were surrounded by armed guards. The prisoners still weak after a prolonged hunger-strike, were put into chains, and led or carried under a big escort in the direction of Brick Works and there they were shot with machine-guns. The killed were not buried, the corpses left on the frozen earth were soon covered with snow but for a long time arms, legs and heads were seen. This terrible picture of unprecedented crime of bandit gang ruled by Kremlin barbarian I should name a kind of apotheosis of Bolshevic power in analogy with Vereschagin’s picture “Apotheosis of war”, where a big burial mound of human skulls is shown.

Trains with coal from Vorkuta and oil from Ukhta move on Pechora railway. Nobody of contemporaries realizes that those coal and oil are clots of blood of the whole generation of people who dreamed of free Russia, and they were killed only because of this dream and their remains were left in permafrost zone for good. And who will answer for these crimes? The main criminal is buried with honour near Kremlin wall as a “Leninist and hero of Russian revolution”. “Demons” by Dostoevsky are just babies in comparison with Kremlin cannibal of XX –th century. All the executions in Vorkuta, as well as executions before and after that were conducted according to personal directions of Stalin. GULAG, Vorkuta administration, Yagoda, Yezhov, Beria are only disgusting and criminal tentackles of the Kremlin dragon. At those far and terrible days I decided: if I get free, I would write about concentration camp and the main murderer, maniac- gensec. We cannot afford that the generations after us should not know about it. For many years criminals leaded by “the great helmsman” cannot be forgiven.

After Vorkuta tragedy a lot of NKVD (later KGB) workers drove through Kochmes to Vorkuta. They were to substitute for those who carried out the cruel massacres: the main criminal decided to get rid of executioners and witnesses of Vorkuta crimes.