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Grey is the Color of Hope
A Soviet poet now living in the U.S. recounts her arrest and imprisonment for "anti-Soviet" writings and her four years of sub-zero isolation cells and an inadequate diet in Siberia.
English (translation)
Original Russian
English (translation)
Original Russian
357 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1988
About the author
Irina Ratushinskaya
19 books25 followersIrina Ratushinskaya was born in Odessa, Ukraine. Her father was Boris Leonidovich, an engineer, and her mother was Irina Valentinovna Ratushinsky, a teacher of Russian literature. Her mother's family originated from Poland, and her grandfather was deported to Siberia shortly after the January Uprising, a Polish uprising against forced conscription in the Russian Army in 1863.
Irina was educated at Odessa University and was graduated with a master's degree in physics in 1976. Before her graduation she taught at a primary school in Odessa from 1975–78.
On September 17, 1982, Irina was arrested for anti-Soviet agitation. In April 1983, she was convicted of "agitation carried on for the purpose of subverting or weakening the Soviet regime", sentenced to seven years in a labor camp followed by five years of internal exile. She was released on October 9, 1986, on the eve of the summit in Reykjavík, Iceland between President Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev.
While imprisoned, Irina continued to write poetry. Her previous works usually centered on love, Christian theology, and artistic creation, not on politics or policies as her accusers stated. Her new works that were written in prison, which were written on soap until memorized and then washed away, number some 250. They expressed an appreciation for human rights; liberty, freedom, and the beauty of life. Her memoir, Grey is the Colour of Hope, chronicles her prison experience. Her later poems recount her struggles to endure the hardships and horrors of prison life. Irina is a member of International PEN, who monitored her situation during her incarceration.
In 1987, Irina moved to the United States, where she received the Religious Freedom Award from the Institute on Religion and Democracy. In the same year she was deprived of Soviet citizenship by Politburo. She also was the Poet in Residence at Northwestern University from 1987–89. She lived in London, UK until December 1998, when she returned to Russia to educate her children in Russian school after a year of procedures to restore Russian citizenship.
She lives in Moscow with her husband, human rights activist Igor Gerashchenko, and two sons.
(from Wikipedia)
Irina was educated at Odessa University and was graduated with a master's degree in physics in 1976. Before her graduation she taught at a primary school in Odessa from 1975–78.
On September 17, 1982, Irina was arrested for anti-Soviet agitation. In April 1983, she was convicted of "agitation carried on for the purpose of subverting or weakening the Soviet regime", sentenced to seven years in a labor camp followed by five years of internal exile. She was released on October 9, 1986, on the eve of the summit in Reykjavík, Iceland between President Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev.
While imprisoned, Irina continued to write poetry. Her previous works usually centered on love, Christian theology, and artistic creation, not on politics or policies as her accusers stated. Her new works that were written in prison, which were written on soap until memorized and then washed away, number some 250. They expressed an appreciation for human rights; liberty, freedom, and the beauty of life. Her memoir, Grey is the Colour of Hope, chronicles her prison experience. Her later poems recount her struggles to endure the hardships and horrors of prison life. Irina is a member of International PEN, who monitored her situation during her incarceration.
In 1987, Irina moved to the United States, where she received the Religious Freedom Award from the Institute on Religion and Democracy. In the same year she was deprived of Soviet citizenship by Politburo. She also was the Poet in Residence at Northwestern University from 1987–89. She lived in London, UK until December 1998, when she returned to Russia to educate her children in Russian school after a year of procedures to restore Russian citizenship.
She lives in Moscow with her husband, human rights activist Igor Gerashchenko, and two sons.
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 67 reviews
July 24, 2009
The relationship between the Russian language and the English language is one of the most compelling proofs that the universe has a sense of humor (and horror). That, democracy, and snuggies. Grey is the Color of Hope is tragic and compelling enough as a story that saying I didn't like it would be like saying I hate babies or ice cream or what have you. Really, how can you find fault with a prison-camp memoir? "Well, if I was in a prison camp, I would have written something with more sex appeal"? Honestly, though, the translation was so god-awful that it really was slightly painful to read. My Russian is uzhasno anymore, but I wondered part way through if I wouldn't do better with a dictionary and the original language text. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the Russian version anywhere (due to a Soviet plot, I'm sure. . . No not really. . . Well, maybe).
Aside from the already daunting challenge of translating everyday Russian into readable English, prison slang was a big part of communicating the feel of Irina Ratushinskaya's experience in Soviet “reeducation” camps. Alyona Kojevnikov, who translated the version of Grey is the Color of Hope that I read (which is actually the only version that exists, as far as I know) did not do a stellar job at this. For example, early on Ratushinskaya relates a few of the common prison terms, one of which was translated as "warmer". Ratushinskaya defines this as “the acquisition of something not officially permitted, such as [the:] exchange of sweets for cigarettes. The first, obvious interpretation strikes me immediately – something to warm the heart” (p. 11). I can get past the use of the word “sweets” by thinking of it as just a word I would never use (unless, of course, I was disguised as an evil witch and trying to lure some unsuspecting kids into my gingerbread house – and even then I would probably say “sweeties”), and by accepting that maybe in some other English-speaking city someone else might use it. The translation of “warmer”, though, was disappointing. I could only imagine that this was one of those charming Russian words that end in nik, like tyeplovnik or something else that sounds really fun. “Warmer” doesn't really convey the sense of usefulness that a word ending in nik has, and also it’s stupid. No badass American prisoner would use the word “warmer”. I admit that it would take some poetic license to come up with a better word that conveys that meaning in English, but come on, Alyona Kojevnikov! Can you stop taking everything so literally, or do I need to call Seamus Heaney in to replace you? (Always time for a Beowulf joke, right?)
That brings up the other point that Ratushinskaya is a poet, and I’m willing to believe that her poetry is touching or beautiful, though the translation did nothing to reveal that. Clearly, the problem is that English is Ms. Kojevnikov’s second language, and translating from a native language to a second language awkward. So much connotation isn’t obvious. Still . . . at one point she translated what I assume was the Russian word “Klass!”, which means “Cool” in English, to “Class!”, which doesn’t mean anything, unless you are in a school. No excuse.
Other than the translation problem, this is just a pretty outrageous story. Ratushinskaya was pulled from her home by the KGB for writing poetry and generally supporting human rights, and then she basically established a new life with the other political prisoners in her camp. She gives detailed descriptions of detention and torture practices in the Soviet prisons, and I, of course, have respect for memoirs of this nature. In many ways, I believe, she wrote this as a letter to the West, to reveal the inhumanity of the Soviet government, and I would say that she is successful in what she was trying to accomplish. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this book, and it is definitely not a light weekend read, but I’m not sad that I read it either. I would still like to own a copy in the original Russian.
Aside from the already daunting challenge of translating everyday Russian into readable English, prison slang was a big part of communicating the feel of Irina Ratushinskaya's experience in Soviet “reeducation” camps. Alyona Kojevnikov, who translated the version of Grey is the Color of Hope that I read (which is actually the only version that exists, as far as I know) did not do a stellar job at this. For example, early on Ratushinskaya relates a few of the common prison terms, one of which was translated as "warmer". Ratushinskaya defines this as “the acquisition of something not officially permitted, such as [the:] exchange of sweets for cigarettes. The first, obvious interpretation strikes me immediately – something to warm the heart” (p. 11). I can get past the use of the word “sweets” by thinking of it as just a word I would never use (unless, of course, I was disguised as an evil witch and trying to lure some unsuspecting kids into my gingerbread house – and even then I would probably say “sweeties”), and by accepting that maybe in some other English-speaking city someone else might use it. The translation of “warmer”, though, was disappointing. I could only imagine that this was one of those charming Russian words that end in nik, like tyeplovnik or something else that sounds really fun. “Warmer” doesn't really convey the sense of usefulness that a word ending in nik has, and also it’s stupid. No badass American prisoner would use the word “warmer”. I admit that it would take some poetic license to come up with a better word that conveys that meaning in English, but come on, Alyona Kojevnikov! Can you stop taking everything so literally, or do I need to call Seamus Heaney in to replace you? (Always time for a Beowulf joke, right?)
That brings up the other point that Ratushinskaya is a poet, and I’m willing to believe that her poetry is touching or beautiful, though the translation did nothing to reveal that. Clearly, the problem is that English is Ms. Kojevnikov’s second language, and translating from a native language to a second language awkward. So much connotation isn’t obvious. Still . . . at one point she translated what I assume was the Russian word “Klass!”, which means “Cool” in English, to “Class!”, which doesn’t mean anything, unless you are in a school. No excuse.
Other than the translation problem, this is just a pretty outrageous story. Ratushinskaya was pulled from her home by the KGB for writing poetry and generally supporting human rights, and then she basically established a new life with the other political prisoners in her camp. She gives detailed descriptions of detention and torture practices in the Soviet prisons, and I, of course, have respect for memoirs of this nature. In many ways, I believe, she wrote this as a letter to the West, to reveal the inhumanity of the Soviet government, and I would say that she is successful in what she was trying to accomplish. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this book, and it is definitely not a light weekend read, but I’m not sad that I read it either. I would still like to own a copy in the original Russian.
June 13, 2010
A gulag memoir of Ratushinskaya's seven years in the Special Zone for women politicals in a camp in Mordovia. A poet and human rights advocate, she portrays a life of conviction and integrity which is inspiring in any setting. Has given me much thought about the whole issue of integrity, the compromises we make to 'get along,' and what happens when someone so values her integrity, that she sees herself as free because she makes her own decisions and controls her choices, even when in a special lockdown section of a Gulag camp. It brings up questions of 'what is freedom?' and the nature of compromise, that came as a very interesting followup to 'The Quiet American' by Graham Greene. I found the book more thought-provoking than absorbing after a while, however--I find fiction shapes experience to bring out more meaning. As a character, Ratushinskaya is pretty one-note. But four stars for its ability to make you question your own integrity level, the choices you regularly make. One of the major reasons for reading.
December 19, 2022
I read this in the 1988 in a book group; it has stayed with me. A woman poet's account of her time in a soviet camp as a political prisoner. It was rare then to hear the voice of a woman political prisoner. Her words of observation and personal experience create for us readers a strong picture. It is her Voice that carries the reader - the vivid images and observations of relationships and suffering. It is her voice - still alive - after all she has gone thru - that enriches each word of the book and moved me to tears and outrage and a deep appreciation that this book even got written. The way she and other women kept hope and united to gain some rights inspired me.
July 23, 2011
This is one of the few school assigned books I've felt a desire to read again and again. Partly responsible for the inspiration behind my painting, Grey.
April 3, 2020
I had never heard of the title or author when I first found it while browsing a university library literature section--let's face it, if you're "up in the stacks," you may well be the only one looking at books on the shelf while everyone else is seated with a laptop--and I had checked it out twice before and finally had time to read it. It's a memoir that may be almost forgotten but shouldn't be.
August 22, 2023
I went into this memoir knowing nothing about Russian political prisoners, let alone the treatment of female prisoners. This memoir is both harrowing and hopeful (as the title suggests) in which Irina recounts not only her own but her fellow prisoners’ unwavering perseverance during a time of horror. It’s a shame that when reading a translated piece, so much either cant be translated properly or will never come across the same as it would in the native language.
November 20, 2014
Grey is the Color of Hope stands out as one of the most searingly honest depiction of humanity I've ever read. Irina Ratushinskaya's memoir unpretentiously recounts her time served as a political prisoner in a Soviet labor camp for women. A human rights activist and poet, Irina was convicted of, " agitation carried on for the purpose of subverting or weakening the Soviet regime," and in 1983 was sentenced to seven years of labor camp and five years internal exile.
The women of the Zone (the section of camp reserved for "Politicals") haunted me with their determination, their grace, their courage. Routinely, they faced physical and psychological torture through deprivation of food, warmth, and, when in solitary confinement- or SHIZO, as the book calls it- human companionship. And they faced it all with humor intact- I laughed aloud nearly every chapter. To their captors, who wielded the power to deny the women of the Zone almost anything, including medical care and their precious, infrequent meetings with loved ones, the Politicals were downright sassy. They refused to observe any regulations or orders they found degrading and ridiculous, but to reasonable requests they always complied.
Grey is the Color of Hope celebrates human dignity, and not just that of the incredible, highly educated political prisoners, but also of the common criminals of the surrounding zones who they grew to know and love, and from whom they received unexpected, unwavering support. Irina never generalized, never reduced her captors to unthinking brutes, never glorified her fellow inmates as angels, but respected the complexity of each person.
I could write forever about these women, tell of their hardships, their tolerance, their gritty, everyday integrity. But their story has already been told- read it.
The women of the Zone (the section of camp reserved for "Politicals") haunted me with their determination, their grace, their courage. Routinely, they faced physical and psychological torture through deprivation of food, warmth, and, when in solitary confinement- or SHIZO, as the book calls it- human companionship. And they faced it all with humor intact- I laughed aloud nearly every chapter. To their captors, who wielded the power to deny the women of the Zone almost anything, including medical care and their precious, infrequent meetings with loved ones, the Politicals were downright sassy. They refused to observe any regulations or orders they found degrading and ridiculous, but to reasonable requests they always complied.
Grey is the Color of Hope celebrates human dignity, and not just that of the incredible, highly educated political prisoners, but also of the common criminals of the surrounding zones who they grew to know and love, and from whom they received unexpected, unwavering support. Irina never generalized, never reduced her captors to unthinking brutes, never glorified her fellow inmates as angels, but respected the complexity of each person.
I could write forever about these women, tell of their hardships, their tolerance, their gritty, everyday integrity. But their story has already been told- read it.
June 15, 2008
So I was taking a Russian history class in college and we had to choose three books to read and write a paper about each. I randomly chose this book off of the list of 100 works. I had no idea what was in store for me. This book chronicles the stay in a Russian prison of the author who was a poet in the Soviet Union. It was shocking the things they endure. I mean you know its going to be bad because it was a Soviet prison but it really just shocked my 21 year old brain. I would highly, highly recommend this book. I feel like she tells a story that really was not told by many. It is out of print but if you can find it at a library or through a used book source you won't regret it. Now this is not a book to pick up if you want light reading but the discomfort of reading it was worth it.
March 8, 2017
Grey is the Colour of Hope is a resolute and defiant claim for basic human rights, which is also uncompromising in its belief in human kindness. Ratushinskaya's account returns to the zone of her 1980s internment in a Mordovian prison camp, where the pettiness and stupidity of the camp guards and informers fall away in comparison with the strength found amongst fellow political prisoners. This work testifies to the lives of the individual women who stood and striked together, celebrating their small acts of love, resistance, and principled solidarity, and to the other millions of 'zeks' deported, interned, or enslaved as within the Soviet penal system. A thoroughly inspiring read.
June 21, 2020
Neuvostoliiton vankileirit ovat aina kiinnostava aihe, eikä tämäkään kirja siihen sääntöön tee poikkeusta. Kiire uhkasi tulla lukemisen kanssa, kun kirjaston laina-aika oli päättymässä parin päivän sisällä, mutta muistelmateos paljastui onneksi varsin sujuvaksi ja nopealukuiseksi. Selonteko Ratushinskajan vuosista poliittisena vankina 80-luvulla on aavistuksen poukkoileva, mutta viihdyttävillä ja hiuksia nostattavilla anekdooteilla höystetty.
August 2, 2024
I have had this book on my shelf for ages, and when i picked it up a few days ago, i could not put it down. It is one of my best reads of all time
(Although chapter 28 is just one collection of lesbophobic rhetoric so if that keeps you from reading it that's so fair, I debated downgrading this rating severely and perhaps i will but for now, im just going to close my eyes very hard and will the offending parts away)
(Although chapter 28 is just one collection of lesbophobic rhetoric so if that keeps you from reading it that's so fair, I debated downgrading this rating severely and perhaps i will but for now, im just going to close my eyes very hard and will the offending parts away)
August 25, 2008
Wow. It's so good nothing I write will do it justice, so I'm stealing a reviewer's description. "As a [Soviet] camp memoir Ratushinskaya's book gives complete satisfaction. It is uncommonly well written...The central figure is intelligent, witty, self-deprecatory, genuinely compassionate toward her fellow sufferers." New Republic
"Intensely lyrical and acutely observed, Grey is the color of Hope, is Irina Tatushinskaya's account of the four years she spent in a strict regime labor camp at Barasheve, where she endured sub-zero temperatures, malnutrition, and physical abuse in the "Small Zone", an enclave for political prisioners. With haunting eloquence, she describes the complexities of the relationships between prisoners and their guards and the KGB's viritual power of life and death over those in the camps." Book jacket
"Intensely lyrical and acutely observed, Grey is the color of Hope, is Irina Tatushinskaya's account of the four years she spent in a strict regime labor camp at Barasheve, where she endured sub-zero temperatures, malnutrition, and physical abuse in the "Small Zone", an enclave for political prisioners. With haunting eloquence, she describes the complexities of the relationships between prisoners and their guards and the KGB's viritual power of life and death over those in the camps." Book jacket
March 4, 2008
This is a fascinating account of the life of Irina Ratushinskaya, a political prisoner in a Soviet prison camp in the 80's. She is sent there because of her “anti-Soviet” activity, which is to say that she was a poet who wrote about things of a suspect nature, like love and religion. The book is interesting not only because Ratushinskaya's stories are intriguing, but also because it gives the reader a sense of what life was like at that time in the Soviet Union for someone who may not have whole-heartedly agreed with the system, (Gorbachev's perestroika policies didn't seem to extend into Soviet prison camps).
This is definitely a book I'd read again.
This is definitely a book I'd read again.
June 11, 2008
It’s not a comfortable book, but it is worth reading. This is the memoir of a “zek”, an inmate in a Soviet prison camp. Irina Ratushinskaya is a poet and human rights activist who ends up in the Small Zone, with a small group of other political prisoners. She is defiant, astute, funny, and infinitely courageous, as she details the survival techniques of the group, and the constant attempts of the KGB to break their spirits.
January 10, 2013
"This is my first visit to the hospital of ZhKh-385/3. That's the official designation of our camp. What do the letters 'zh' and 'kh' stand for? Why, the Russian words for 'Railway Property'. That's because, officially, there are no concentration camps in the USSR! And the #385? Well, the authorities must keep count of the non-existent camps, mustn't they? Our camp was not the last on the Mordovian list." 199
October 10, 2007
This is a very moving book about human courage in the face of the life-draining horrors of torture and abuse suffered by a prisoner of conscience. Eventually Ratushinskaya came to the US and taught at Northwestern University. Out of print now, but worth reading if you find it in a used book shop somewhere.
July 27, 2011
Ratushinskaya and the relationship she forges between art, personal ethics, faith, and work for social justice affected me profoundly when I read her in high school. She is still one of my heroes, foundational for me in how I grew to view the world and believe in the possibility of beauty and hope even in the midst of profound horror.
December 4, 2007
I read this book in college and had to write a report about it. It was the first time I loved a book so much and wanted to write about it. It is an account of a political prisoner and her torture and hunger strikes while imprisoned in the former USSR.
April 7, 2008
The autobiography of a Russian poet, who for her poetry was sent to a political prison inside a prison camp during the 1980s. This is a fascinating story which gives a real glimpse into the Soviet Union just before and during Gorbachev. Highly recommended for more mature readers.
November 11, 2017
Found it so disturbing in the beginning that I had a hard time to keep on reading and had to escape into another book. The solidarity, friendships and little things turned things and gave hope. Very well told the story will stay with me.
July 10, 2007
One of the corniest possible titles for a book, I know, but this is one of the more fascinating books I've read in the past few years. Like reading about Anne Frank, but so much better.
August 19, 2011
An amazing account of political imprisonment and bravery.
June 17, 2012
Incredibly detailled account of political prisoner.
January 21, 2013
It's shameful that I was worrying over the next release from Duran Duran or A-Ha while Mrs. Ratushinskaya was in prison, starving for human rights. It's mind-blowing that a person could be so strong.
October 21, 2013
A most moving account of the poet's incarceration in Siberia for the crime of writing poetry. Irina Ratushinskaya's courage and determination not to be destroyed as a person shines through.
September 25, 2016
What an amazing story. Irina details how she stayed human in the horrible Soviet camps. It was hard to read at times, but so worth it.
March 18, 2015
This book also left very contradictory impressions. I tried my hardest to differentiate THAT Ирина Ратушинская from TODAY'S Ирина Ратушинская (who herself now became "крымнашистка"). It did not help me much in my overall impression about the book and the fate of its author. Yes, of course, it describes tragic and outrageous political imprisonment in the years of "Перестройка," which tells you a lot about the whole cannibalistic nature of the Soviet system in any period of its existence, not only during Stalin's terror. Yes, of course, Ирина Ратушинская and her fellow inmates were innocent victims of a violent, inhumane, schizophrenic system of humiliation and mortification of human dignity and honesty. Yes, of course, there were not-so-fortunate people who in THOSE times were really killed by the system, e.g. our brilliant Василь Стус, and the very thought about it additionally darkened every page of this "grey" book for me, striking out any possible hope for "hope." Everything described there was real, and incredibly scary, and gloomy.
However, sometimes the behaviour of Ратушинская in the camp looked for me demonstrative and even hysteroid, without decent reasons and objectives. I understand that in such circumstances a hunger strike could be the only opportunity for protest, as we all see through the example of Надежда Савченко now. Nonetheless, all those numerous "symbolic" hunger strikes, which Ратушинская describes as something heroic, look for me more like a stupid game for irritation of the system. Especially those ritualistic one-day hunger strikes:
"И не улыбайтесь иронически, читатель: зэковская однодневная голодовка — не разгрузочный день для сытого человека. Это — переход из постоянного недоедания в абсолютный голод, пусть на двадцать четыре часа. У нас были традиционные однодневные голодовки: 23 августа — в день пакта Риббентропа — Молотова, когда по этому пакту фашисты позволили Советскому Союзу захватить Западную Украину, Литву, Латвию и Эстонию. 30 октября — в день политзаключенных. И 10 декабря — в день прав человека."
Yes, I understand that this is difficult and even dangerous for people who already are exhausted due to constant cold, diseases, and poor food, plus multiple previous hunger strikes. But "dangerous" does not equal to "meaningful" and "heroic." The whole idea of a hunger strike as an instrument of potential dying in the name of an idea is devaluated by such "symbolic" actions. I understand when you are on a hunger strike trying to obtain something you cannot obtain by any other means: freedom, your legal rights, whatever. When you are on a symbolic hunger strike for a day or two, just because you are supporting something or protesting against something, but not pursuing any tangible goals, you are a meaningless moron. People in Russian prisons and camps are starving by months, and the system does not do anything to save them; how do you think the system feels about a planned one-day refusal to eat? You are just ridiculous.
It looked especially stupid when Ратушинская described the ending of one such "planned" hunger strikes:
"Прячем свертки в тайничок, сегодня еще голодовка. В двенадцать часов ночи наступит следующее число, когда наши восемь суток закончатся. (...) Десять часов — отбой. В двенадцать мы с Таней выходим на «кухню» — закуток в пять квадратных метров. Кто-то из нас была золушкой в ту неделю — я не помню кто. Затея наша проста: не ждать до утра, а накормить наших сейчас. Ведь официальное время голодовки уже кончилось. Вернее, даже не накормить — а дать совсем немного, тогда к утру уже можно будет что-то посолиднее."
"Официальное время голодовки уже кончилось." Ridiculous, absolutely.
Similarly ridiculous and meaningless look many other their "fights" with the system. I suppose they did it in order to respect ourselves and do not allow the system to consider them stupid and defenseless animals, but most of these "rightful" activities seem incredibly fussy and just a parody to "decency." We call it "мышиная возня." All those manipulations with thermometers, all hysterics about absence of treatment, all ultimatums and boycotts. It all just undermines the very idea of decency and opposition to inhumane conditions, I believe.
"И лечения не назначил, и в диете отказал. Но прямо в больницу пришли к ней сотрудники политотдела Управления — по поводу ее запроса в Управление, чтоб вернули ее тело родственникам, когда она умрет. В чем, мол, дело? Почему такие предсмертные заявления? Пани Ядвига объясняет: врачи после операции предписали ей строжайшую диету, если она хочет жить. А почти все, чем кормят в лагере, ей запрещено."
Yeah, пани Ядвига had only simple cholecystectomy, but she made a hysteric about "строжайшая диета" and her imminent death. Do you think that doctors in the prison did not know the nature of her operation and her real food limitations and possible consequences of not observing this "строжайшая диета"? What opinion do you think they could make about this person and her "protests" and hysterics? Especially after this, for example:
"Но управленцы, видимо, забеспокоились — и вернули нашу пани Ядвигу из больницы слегка подлеченной. Диету ей так и не выписали, зато дали на месяц больничный паек в дополнение к зэковской норме: 40 граммов сахара в день, 30 граммов сливочного масла, 450 граммов молока и 15 граммов сухофруктов. Стоит ли говорить, что наша упрямая пани поставила ультиматум: либо все это будет делиться на всех, либо она вообще ничего в рот не возьмет. Будет, мол, поститься и молиться, чтоб Господь нас вразумил. Вообще-то, если удавалось в��бить больничный паек — его всегда делили на всех, докторица Волкова так и говорила."
Oooookey, so they fought diligently for this "строжайшая диета" in case of cholecystectomy in one particular inmate, and they won! Hurray! Now they make an ultimatum to obtain THIS food for all the inmates! And fight for it fiercely again. Logically, yes? If I were The System, I would think that they are just drama queens, not fighters for their rights and freedoms.
There are A LOT of truely horrible things, of course, which make you hate this country, especially in view that this was the very time when I -- personally I -- already existed in this world and read inspirational books about heroic children, and listened to "Пионерская зорька," and watched sweet cartoons about friendship and honesty, and had over my table a large map of our great and beautiful country I was proud of, etc. And some people were imprisoned and made almost animals due to absolutely horrific reasons.
Ирина Ратушинская herself was arrested and imprisoned for "семь лет лагерей и пять лет ссылки" for 5 verses.
One of it:
А мы остаёмся —
На клетках чудовищных шахмат —
Мы все арестанты.
Наш кофе
Сожженными письмами пахнет
И вскрытыми письмами пахнут
Почтамты.
Оглохли кварталы —
И некому крикнуть: «Не надо!» —
И лики лепные
Закрыли глаза на фасадах.
И каждую ночь
Улетают из города птицы,
И слепо
Засвечены наши рассветы.
Постойте!
Быть может — нам все это снится?
Но утром выходят газеты.
Here is another one of them (it was labelled during the court as "клеветнический документ стихотворной формы"):
Оставь по эту сторону земли
Посмертный суд и приговор неправый.
Тебя стократ корнями оплели
Жестокой родины забывчивые травы.
Из той земли, которой больше нет,
Которая с одной собой боролась,
Из омута российских смут и бед —
Я различаю твой спокойный голос.
Мне время — полночь — четко бьет в висок.
Да, конквистадор! Да, упрямый зодчий!
В твоей России больше нету строк —
Но есть язык свинцовых многоточий.
Тебе ль не знать? Так научи меня
В отчаянье последней баррикады,
Когда уже хрипят: — Огня, огня! —
Понять, простить — но не принять пощады!
И пусть обрядно кружится трава —
Она привыкла, ей труда немного.
Но, может, мне тогда придут слова,
С которыми я стану перед Богом.
Can you just imagine the reality where such things are ever possible? Yeas, we all lived in this reality. These are 1980s!!!
Stories of imprisonment of other "political" inmates are equally impressive and hideous. For example:
"Наташа из Ленинграда, сидит за издание женского журнала «Мария», самиздатского, разумеется. Проблемы двойного женского рабочего дня — восемь часов на работе, а потом еще часов пять-шесть по очередям за продуктами, на коммунальной кухне за приготовлением обеда, над тазом со стиркой на всю семью — потом, году в 86-м, появятся в официальных советских газетах. Но в 82-м, когда Наташу арестовали, это считалось антисоветской агитацией и пропагандой."
---
"Ядвига из Литвы, ровесница моей матери. Это у нее второй срок, первый она получила еще школьницей, когда советские войска «освободили» Литву. Тогда по всей Прибалтике шли повальные аресты. Сажали не только тех, кто оказывал сопротивление (пусть даже моральное), но и тех, кто в принципе мог бы его оказать. И угораздило же Ядвигу занять на школьных спортивных соревнованиях второе место с конца по стрельбе! Это, воля ваша, подозрительно: зачем она стрелять учится? Спорт? Знаем мы такой спорт! И Ядвига получила ни много ни мало — двадцать пять лет. Я часто думала: а что ж было с тем пареньком или той девчонкой, кто занял первое место? По логике того времени — приговор должен был быть еще круче? Но по кодексу того же времени — большего срока не было: за «четвертаком» шел сразу расстрел…
Ядвига ��аша, однако, все двадцать пять не отсидела — только восемь. Прошла и через побои в тюрьме, и через Сибирь, и туберкулез заработала. Потом на свободе лечили антибиотиками — испортили ей печень. К нам она приехала уже с вырезанным желчным пузырем. Батюшки! А чем же мы ее кормить будем? Ведь нужна диета, а где ее возьмешь? От «комбижира», которым нам заправляют баланду, и здоровая-то заболеет! Вот Раечке нужна диета — так она только огородными овощами и живет… Да много ли Ядвиге сидеть? Оказывается, порядочно: 4+3. За что? А, оказывается, мало ей было тех восьми лет, и что Сталин ее своей смертью освободил — вовсе не наставило ее на путь строителя коммунизма. Она в Бога уверовала! И, ревностная католичка, помогала мятежным литовским священникам воспитывать в вере детей и молодежь! У них и театр был самодеятельный, и совместные чтения… А тут до власти дорвался старый чекист Андропов, и полетели разнарядки на новые аресты. Докатилось и до Прибалтики — вот наша пани Ядвига и здесь."
And those hunger strikes, albeit they were often just stupid, -- how do you think the system handled them? They were considered "нарушения режима" and additionally INCREASED YOUR TIME IN PRISON.
"Тане по окончании пяти лет лагеря добавили еще два — за голодовки (сработала статья 188-3)! И увезли на восток, в уголовный лагерь Ишимбай."
The description of conditions in the camps are also shocking. Yes, of course, you do not expect anything especially fancy, right. However, you just read such pages, for example, and have a headache about how in the earth people can ever treat other people in such brutal way, even if the latter are violent criminals? This is 1980s, remember.
"В лагере, построенном на 300 человек, содержат 800. Тут уж не до соблюдения законности — два квадратных метра жилья на зэка. Тут этого самого жилья и метра не будет. Как так? А нет ничего проще: пускай спят по двое на одной койке! К тому же можно установить очередь — работают ведь круглые сутки, в три смены. Так пускай одна идет на работу, а другая — спит в это время. Логично и койки нагружать в три смены — чего имуществу пустовать? Ну а кроме того, и на полу их уложить можно — здесь не санаторий! И так — годами…
Быт? Пожалуйста, вот вам баня. Там нет горячей воды, но кто ж вам мешает после работы нагреть воды и принести в баню в бачке? Вот только бачок этот самый — один на пятьдесят человек, а заключенному по Правилам внутреннего распорядка положен всего один час личного времени в сутки. Баня открыта до семи вечера. Между шестью и семью — ужин, а до того — политчас, обязательный для всех. Каждый Божий день извольте слушать в течение часа, какими семимильными шагами мы идем к коммунизму, и попробуйте только не прийти на это слушание! Уж когда вы умудритесь после работы урвать для себя бачок, нагреть воды и помыться — ваше дело. Администрация на вашем мытье не настаивает, это не идеология. Старушки, по неспособности работать выделенные в отдельный отряд, не мылись месяцами: не было у них сил дотащить бачок до бани, даже вдвоем. Иногда (очень редко) им кто-нибудь притаскивал горячую воду из милосердия. Иногда они эту воду покупали за месячный паек чайной заварки. Но чаще попросту заживо гнили. Когда старушечий отряд проходил мимо — все зажимали носы.
Есть и прачечная — семь корыт на 800 человек. Стирайте, пожалуйста! В тот же единственный час личного времени. Да еще извольте успеть высушить. Сушилки не существует, есть несколько натянутых веревок. На место на веревке строгая очередь, всем не хватает. И, повесив свое барахлишко, не вздумайте от веревки отходить — украдут. Несмотря на все уважение к «политичке» — у Тани все-таки сперли форменное платье: только она его повесила, как вызвали ее зачем-то в оперчасть. Личное время ведь вовсе не означает, что тебя в этот час не имеют права побеспокоить! Вернулась — платья нет. Правда, администрация выдала другое, разумеется, за Танины же деньги. В снег и дождь нельзя стирать, потому что высушить не удастся. И вообще, лучше со стиркой поосторожнее: заключенной положено одно летнее платье, одно зимнее. Если летняя форма одежды — в зимнем ты быть не имеешь права, «нарушение». За это накажут. Сняв с себя и постирав единственное платье, ты, пока то не надето снова на тебе — вне закона. Ухитришься высушить, не попавшись начальству на глаза — твое счастье. Нет — надевай мокрое. Против этого администрация не возражает. Ну и так далее…"
Why, if not for sheer and meaningless humiliation, prisoners should be refused to have such things, for example:
"Из вещей отобрали и просто украли все, что плохо лежало — начиная с Раечкиных трусов и кончая моими вышивками. Непонятно, почему отняли Библию у Гали, а остальные две оставили. Растоптали сапогами освященные облатки пани Ядвиги, утащили у нее четки с крестом. Даже открытки с репродукциями икон Дионисия и Андрея Рублева, выписанные буклетом через «Книгу — почтой», конфисковали как религиозные. Все рисунки Наташи сожгли, все стихи, что присылали мне в письмах мама и Игорь, — тоже. Не помогло ни то, что они были переписаны из книг советского издания, ни что было перед каждым стихотв��рением выписано — откуда, издательство, год, том, страница… Который раз корчились в огне строки Пушкина, Тютчева, Фета… Им было не привыкать. Сожгли журналы, которые мы годами выписывали на наши зэковские гроши."
And the most scary detail for me: refusal to return relatives even bodies of dead prisoners, oh WHY, WHY, WHY????
"Некоторые умирают прямо здесь, и их хоронят на кладбище за колючей проволокой. Мне про это кладбище расскажет потом Игорь. Он пробовал туда пройти, да не удалось.
— А кто ж тебя задержал?
Игорь только хмыкает на мою наивность.
— Направо от зоны — если к ней лицом — обычное кладбищ��. А зэковское — на территории лагеря, за колючкой. Ну не полезешь же через заграждение, когда там автоматчики на вышках!
И он рассказывает мне, как прибыл на свидание (то, которое не дали) и провел ночь в доме приезжих с семьей, приехавшей хоронить. Двадцатилетняя женщина работала в кассах Аэрофлота, продавала билеты. Когда ей был двадцать один год, случилась пропажа: украли у нее книжечку билетных бланков. Дальше все пошло в соответствии с советским гуманным законом: насчитали ей растрату по максимальной стоимости каждого билета, который можно было бы выписать на бланке. Дали за растрату восемь лет. Она пошла в лагерь, оставив годовалого сына. В двадцать пять умерла в этой терапии от запущенного воспаления легких. Ничего удивительного, если подумать, чего стоит из лагеря попасть в больницу. У лагерных врачей же все — симулянты, пока работать могут. А когда уже не могут — не всегда и до больнички живыми доезжают. И плакала мать этой юной женщины, рассказывая Игорю ночью всю эту историю. Наутро они разошлись: мать — на кладбище, а Игорь — к лагерной администрации узнавать, что свидания не будет. Утверждала в лагере и утверждаю сейчас: нашим близким приходилось тяжелее, чем нам! Восемь раз Игорь приезжал в Барашево, и шесть раз — впустую. Это не считая тех случаев, когда я успевала его предупредить, что свидания не дают. И каждый раз встречал в доме приезжих то две, то три семьи, приехавших на похороны. Тела им не отдавали: раз умерла в заключении — и мертвая будь за колючкой! Он вел статистику, расспрашивал служащих больницы. Получалось, что за год вымирает восемь процентов зэковского населения. А ведь лагеря в Мордовии — еще не самые страшные… Хорошо, возьмем восемь процентов от 4,5 миллиона советских зэков! Приблизительно тысяча человек в день, сорок человек в час… "
So, despite my contradictory inpressions towards the book and its author, I can recommend this book for reading. It is quite illuminative about with what people we lived alonside during recent years and tried to create a new society. All those people who humiliated and tormented other people in 1980s -- they are not just "a by-product of Stalin's system," they are our mothers and fathers, even not those "деды, которые воевали," but the very generation of our parents. They are not only alive now but are very active in politics and in the functioning of "The System" today. They were never punished for their actions, and they truely do not understand what was wrong with it. It is catastrophic and irreparable that even such people as Ратушинская herself eventually joined them.
"Когда я, еще недели не пробыв в зоне, спросила Татьяну Михайловну:
— А что все-таки самое паршивое в лагере?
Она, уже и ШИЗО прошедшая, и лагерную «больничку», ответила мне, ни секунды не поколебавшись:
— Постоянное вранье.
Когда врут все, кто причастен к твоему заключению — от прокурора по надзору до цензора и врача — упорно, тупо, изо дня в день — кажется, что сидишь в большом сумасшедшем доме. С той только разницей, что психи — как раз твои надзиратели, и пытаются они тебя запихнуть в дикую, вымышленную реальность. Ну чего стоили только одни упорные заявления Шалина о том, что нас не существует!
— Нет у нас в лагерях политзаключенных!
Да и сами же они нас иначе как политическими не называют! Да на наших бачках, в которых носят баланду, и то пометка коричневой краской «политзона»! Да тот же Шалин в порядке нравоучения сколько раз талдычил нам:
— Вот мужская политическая зона нагрудные знаки носит, а вы все упрямитесь!
Ан нет, раз партия сказала: нет у нас политических — будет нам Шалин заявлять, что нас, оказывается, нет на белом свете… Чем это менее дико, чем утверждения типа: «я — чайник» или: «среди нас скрываются марсиане»? Неподготовленного человека такие штучки могут довести до бешенства, до потери самообладания. Мы, впрочем, были к этому подготовлены еще со свободы: и газетами, и кагебешниками, и производственными собраниями — всем стилем официальной жизни в нашей стране. Против этого и восстали."
Does this ring any bells? "Доказательств, что это Россия, нет", "убийца Савченко незаконно пересекла границу под видом беженки", "на Украине гражданская война", etc, yeah.
Ирина Ратушинская, welcome home! (By the way, don't you want to organize a one-day symbolic hunger strike today, when Russia occupied Crimea?)
However, sometimes the behaviour of Ратушинская in the camp looked for me demonstrative and even hysteroid, without decent reasons and objectives. I understand that in such circumstances a hunger strike could be the only opportunity for protest, as we all see through the example of Надежда Савченко now. Nonetheless, all those numerous "symbolic" hunger strikes, which Ратушинская describes as something heroic, look for me more like a stupid game for irritation of the system. Especially those ritualistic one-day hunger strikes:
"И не улыбайтесь иронически, читатель: зэковская однодневная голодовка — не разгрузочный день для сытого человека. Это — переход из постоянного недоедания в абсолютный голод, пусть на двадцать четыре часа. У нас были традиционные однодневные голодовки: 23 августа — в день пакта Риббентропа — Молотова, когда по этому пакту фашисты позволили Советскому Союзу захватить Западную Украину, Литву, Латвию и Эстонию. 30 октября — в день политзаключенных. И 10 декабря — в день прав человека."
Yes, I understand that this is difficult and even dangerous for people who already are exhausted due to constant cold, diseases, and poor food, plus multiple previous hunger strikes. But "dangerous" does not equal to "meaningful" and "heroic." The whole idea of a hunger strike as an instrument of potential dying in the name of an idea is devaluated by such "symbolic" actions. I understand when you are on a hunger strike trying to obtain something you cannot obtain by any other means: freedom, your legal rights, whatever. When you are on a symbolic hunger strike for a day or two, just because you are supporting something or protesting against something, but not pursuing any tangible goals, you are a meaningless moron. People in Russian prisons and camps are starving by months, and the system does not do anything to save them; how do you think the system feels about a planned one-day refusal to eat? You are just ridiculous.
It looked especially stupid when Ратушинская described the ending of one such "planned" hunger strikes:
"Прячем свертки в тайничок, сегодня еще голодовка. В двенадцать часов ночи наступит следующее число, когда наши восемь суток закончатся. (...) Десять часов — отбой. В двенадцать мы с Таней выходим на «кухню» — закуток в пять квадратных метров. Кто-то из нас была золушкой в ту неделю — я не помню кто. Затея наша проста: не ждать до утра, а накормить наших сейчас. Ведь официальное время голодовки уже кончилось. Вернее, даже не накормить — а дать совсем немного, тогда к утру уже можно будет что-то посолиднее."
"Официальное время голодовки уже кончилось." Ridiculous, absolutely.
Similarly ridiculous and meaningless look many other their "fights" with the system. I suppose they did it in order to respect ourselves and do not allow the system to consider them stupid and defenseless animals, but most of these "rightful" activities seem incredibly fussy and just a parody to "decency." We call it "мышиная возня." All those manipulations with thermometers, all hysterics about absence of treatment, all ultimatums and boycotts. It all just undermines the very idea of decency and opposition to inhumane conditions, I believe.
"И лечения не назначил, и в диете отказал. Но прямо в больницу пришли к ней сотрудники политотдела Управления — по поводу ее запроса в Управление, чтоб вернули ее тело родственникам, когда она умрет. В чем, мол, дело? Почему такие предсмертные заявления? Пани Ядвига объясняет: врачи после операции предписали ей строжайшую диету, если она хочет жить. А почти все, чем кормят в лагере, ей запрещено."
Yeah, пани Ядвига had only simple cholecystectomy, but she made a hysteric about "строжайшая диета" and her imminent death. Do you think that doctors in the prison did not know the nature of her operation and her real food limitations and possible consequences of not observing this "строжайшая диета"? What opinion do you think they could make about this person and her "protests" and hysterics? Especially after this, for example:
"Но управленцы, видимо, забеспокоились — и вернули нашу пани Ядвигу из больницы слегка подлеченной. Диету ей так и не выписали, зато дали на месяц больничный паек в дополнение к зэковской норме: 40 граммов сахара в день, 30 граммов сливочного масла, 450 граммов молока и 15 граммов сухофруктов. Стоит ли говорить, что наша упрямая пани поставила ультиматум: либо все это будет делиться на всех, либо она вообще ничего в рот не возьмет. Будет, мол, поститься и молиться, чтоб Господь нас вразумил. Вообще-то, если удавалось в��бить больничный паек — его всегда делили на всех, докторица Волкова так и говорила."
Oooookey, so they fought diligently for this "строжайшая диета" in case of cholecystectomy in one particular inmate, and they won! Hurray! Now they make an ultimatum to obtain THIS food for all the inmates! And fight for it fiercely again. Logically, yes? If I were The System, I would think that they are just drama queens, not fighters for their rights and freedoms.
There are A LOT of truely horrible things, of course, which make you hate this country, especially in view that this was the very time when I -- personally I -- already existed in this world and read inspirational books about heroic children, and listened to "Пионерская зорька," and watched sweet cartoons about friendship and honesty, and had over my table a large map of our great and beautiful country I was proud of, etc. And some people were imprisoned and made almost animals due to absolutely horrific reasons.
Ирина Ратушинская herself was arrested and imprisoned for "семь лет лагерей и пять лет ссылки" for 5 verses.
One of it:
А мы остаёмся —
На клетках чудовищных шахмат —
Мы все арестанты.
Наш кофе
Сожженными письмами пахнет
И вскрытыми письмами пахнут
Почтамты.
Оглохли кварталы —
И некому крикнуть: «Не надо!» —
И лики лепные
Закрыли глаза на фасадах.
И каждую ночь
Улетают из города птицы,
И слепо
Засвечены наши рассветы.
Постойте!
Быть может — нам все это снится?
Но утром выходят газеты.
Here is another one of them (it was labelled during the court as "клеветнический документ стихотворной формы"):
Оставь по эту сторону земли
Посмертный суд и приговор неправый.
Тебя стократ корнями оплели
Жестокой родины забывчивые травы.
Из той земли, которой больше нет,
Которая с одной собой боролась,
Из омута российских смут и бед —
Я различаю твой спокойный голос.
Мне время — полночь — четко бьет в висок.
Да, конквистадор! Да, упрямый зодчий!
В твоей России больше нету строк —
Но есть язык свинцовых многоточий.
Тебе ль не знать? Так научи меня
В отчаянье последней баррикады,
Когда уже хрипят: — Огня, огня! —
Понять, простить — но не принять пощады!
И пусть обрядно кружится трава —
Она привыкла, ей труда немного.
Но, может, мне тогда придут слова,
С которыми я стану перед Богом.
Can you just imagine the reality where such things are ever possible? Yeas, we all lived in this reality. These are 1980s!!!
Stories of imprisonment of other "political" inmates are equally impressive and hideous. For example:
"Наташа из Ленинграда, сидит за издание женского журнала «Мария», самиздатского, разумеется. Проблемы двойного женского рабочего дня — восемь часов на работе, а потом еще часов пять-шесть по очередям за продуктами, на коммунальной кухне за приготовлением обеда, над тазом со стиркой на всю семью — потом, году в 86-м, появятся в официальных советских газетах. Но в 82-м, когда Наташу арестовали, это считалось антисоветской агитацией и пропагандой."
---
"Ядвига из Литвы, ровесница моей матери. Это у нее второй срок, первый она получила еще школьницей, когда советские войска «освободили» Литву. Тогда по всей Прибалтике шли повальные аресты. Сажали не только тех, кто оказывал сопротивление (пусть даже моральное), но и тех, кто в принципе мог бы его оказать. И угораздило же Ядвигу занять на школьных спортивных соревнованиях второе место с конца по стрельбе! Это, воля ваша, подозрительно: зачем она стрелять учится? Спорт? Знаем мы такой спорт! И Ядвига получила ни много ни мало — двадцать пять лет. Я часто думала: а что ж было с тем пареньком или той девчонкой, кто занял первое место? По логике того времени — приговор должен был быть еще круче? Но по кодексу того же времени — большего срока не было: за «четвертаком» шел сразу расстрел…
Ядвига ��аша, однако, все двадцать пять не отсидела — только восемь. Прошла и через побои в тюрьме, и через Сибирь, и туберкулез заработала. Потом на свободе лечили антибиотиками — испортили ей печень. К нам она приехала уже с вырезанным желчным пузырем. Батюшки! А чем же мы ее кормить будем? Ведь нужна диета, а где ее возьмешь? От «комбижира», которым нам заправляют баланду, и здоровая-то заболеет! Вот Раечке нужна диета — так она только огородными овощами и живет… Да много ли Ядвиге сидеть? Оказывается, порядочно: 4+3. За что? А, оказывается, мало ей было тех восьми лет, и что Сталин ее своей смертью освободил — вовсе не наставило ее на путь строителя коммунизма. Она в Бога уверовала! И, ревностная католичка, помогала мятежным литовским священникам воспитывать в вере детей и молодежь! У них и театр был самодеятельный, и совместные чтения… А тут до власти дорвался старый чекист Андропов, и полетели разнарядки на новые аресты. Докатилось и до Прибалтики — вот наша пани Ядвига и здесь."
And those hunger strikes, albeit they were often just stupid, -- how do you think the system handled them? They were considered "нарушения режима" and additionally INCREASED YOUR TIME IN PRISON.
"Тане по окончании пяти лет лагеря добавили еще два — за голодовки (сработала статья 188-3)! И увезли на восток, в уголовный лагерь Ишимбай."
The description of conditions in the camps are also shocking. Yes, of course, you do not expect anything especially fancy, right. However, you just read such pages, for example, and have a headache about how in the earth people can ever treat other people in such brutal way, even if the latter are violent criminals? This is 1980s, remember.
"В лагере, построенном на 300 человек, содержат 800. Тут уж не до соблюдения законности — два квадратных метра жилья на зэка. Тут этого самого жилья и метра не будет. Как так? А нет ничего проще: пускай спят по двое на одной койке! К тому же можно установить очередь — работают ведь круглые сутки, в три смены. Так пускай одна идет на работу, а другая — спит в это время. Логично и койки нагружать в три смены — чего имуществу пустовать? Ну а кроме того, и на полу их уложить можно — здесь не санаторий! И так — годами…
Быт? Пожалуйста, вот вам баня. Там нет горячей воды, но кто ж вам мешает после работы нагреть воды и принести в баню в бачке? Вот только бачок этот самый — один на пятьдесят человек, а заключенному по Правилам внутреннего распорядка положен всего один час личного времени в сутки. Баня открыта до семи вечера. Между шестью и семью — ужин, а до того — политчас, обязательный для всех. Каждый Божий день извольте слушать в течение часа, какими семимильными шагами мы идем к коммунизму, и попробуйте только не прийти на это слушание! Уж когда вы умудритесь после работы урвать для себя бачок, нагреть воды и помыться — ваше дело. Администрация на вашем мытье не настаивает, это не идеология. Старушки, по неспособности работать выделенные в отдельный отряд, не мылись месяцами: не было у них сил дотащить бачок до бани, даже вдвоем. Иногда (очень редко) им кто-нибудь притаскивал горячую воду из милосердия. Иногда они эту воду покупали за месячный паек чайной заварки. Но чаще попросту заживо гнили. Когда старушечий отряд проходил мимо — все зажимали носы.
Есть и прачечная — семь корыт на 800 человек. Стирайте, пожалуйста! В тот же единственный час личного времени. Да еще извольте успеть высушить. Сушилки не существует, есть несколько натянутых веревок. На место на веревке строгая очередь, всем не хватает. И, повесив свое барахлишко, не вздумайте от веревки отходить — украдут. Несмотря на все уважение к «политичке» — у Тани все-таки сперли форменное платье: только она его повесила, как вызвали ее зачем-то в оперчасть. Личное время ведь вовсе не означает, что тебя в этот час не имеют права побеспокоить! Вернулась — платья нет. Правда, администрация выдала другое, разумеется, за Танины же деньги. В снег и дождь нельзя стирать, потому что высушить не удастся. И вообще, лучше со стиркой поосторожнее: заключенной положено одно летнее платье, одно зимнее. Если летняя форма одежды — в зимнем ты быть не имеешь права, «нарушение». За это накажут. Сняв с себя и постирав единственное платье, ты, пока то не надето снова на тебе — вне закона. Ухитришься высушить, не попавшись начальству на глаза — твое счастье. Нет — надевай мокрое. Против этого администрация не возражает. Ну и так далее…"
Why, if not for sheer and meaningless humiliation, prisoners should be refused to have such things, for example:
"Из вещей отобрали и просто украли все, что плохо лежало — начиная с Раечкиных трусов и кончая моими вышивками. Непонятно, почему отняли Библию у Гали, а остальные две оставили. Растоптали сапогами освященные облатки пани Ядвиги, утащили у нее четки с крестом. Даже открытки с репродукциями икон Дионисия и Андрея Рублева, выписанные буклетом через «Книгу — почтой», конфисковали как религиозные. Все рисунки Наташи сожгли, все стихи, что присылали мне в письмах мама и Игорь, — тоже. Не помогло ни то, что они были переписаны из книг советского издания, ни что было перед каждым стихотв��рением выписано — откуда, издательство, год, том, страница… Который раз корчились в огне строки Пушкина, Тютчева, Фета… Им было не привыкать. Сожгли журналы, которые мы годами выписывали на наши зэковские гроши."
And the most scary detail for me: refusal to return relatives even bodies of dead prisoners, oh WHY, WHY, WHY????
"Некоторые умирают прямо здесь, и их хоронят на кладбище за колючей проволокой. Мне про это кладбище расскажет потом Игорь. Он пробовал туда пройти, да не удалось.
— А кто ж тебя задержал?
Игорь только хмыкает на мою наивность.
— Направо от зоны — если к ней лицом — обычное кладбищ��. А зэковское — на территории лагеря, за колючкой. Ну не полезешь же через заграждение, когда там автоматчики на вышках!
И он рассказывает мне, как прибыл на свидание (то, которое не дали) и провел ночь в доме приезжих с семьей, приехавшей хоронить. Двадцатилетняя женщина работала в кассах Аэрофлота, продавала билеты. Когда ей был двадцать один год, случилась пропажа: украли у нее книжечку билетных бланков. Дальше все пошло в соответствии с советским гуманным законом: насчитали ей растрату по максимальной стоимости каждого билета, который можно было бы выписать на бланке. Дали за растрату восемь лет. Она пошла в лагерь, оставив годовалого сына. В двадцать пять умерла в этой терапии от запущенного воспаления легких. Ничего удивительного, если подумать, чего стоит из лагеря попасть в больницу. У лагерных врачей же все — симулянты, пока работать могут. А когда уже не могут — не всегда и до больнички живыми доезжают. И плакала мать этой юной женщины, рассказывая Игорю ночью всю эту историю. Наутро они разошлись: мать — на кладбище, а Игорь — к лагерной администрации узнавать, что свидания не будет. Утверждала в лагере и утверждаю сейчас: нашим близким приходилось тяжелее, чем нам! Восемь раз Игорь приезжал в Барашево, и шесть раз — впустую. Это не считая тех случаев, когда я успевала его предупредить, что свидания не дают. И каждый раз встречал в доме приезжих то две, то три семьи, приехавших на похороны. Тела им не отдавали: раз умерла в заключении — и мертвая будь за колючкой! Он вел статистику, расспрашивал служащих больницы. Получалось, что за год вымирает восемь процентов зэковского населения. А ведь лагеря в Мордовии — еще не самые страшные… Хорошо, возьмем восемь процентов от 4,5 миллиона советских зэков! Приблизительно тысяча человек в день, сорок человек в час… "
So, despite my contradictory inpressions towards the book and its author, I can recommend this book for reading. It is quite illuminative about with what people we lived alonside during recent years and tried to create a new society. All those people who humiliated and tormented other people in 1980s -- they are not just "a by-product of Stalin's system," they are our mothers and fathers, even not those "деды, которые воевали," but the very generation of our parents. They are not only alive now but are very active in politics and in the functioning of "The System" today. They were never punished for their actions, and they truely do not understand what was wrong with it. It is catastrophic and irreparable that even such people as Ратушинская herself eventually joined them.
"Когда я, еще недели не пробыв в зоне, спросила Татьяну Михайловну:
— А что все-таки самое паршивое в лагере?
Она, уже и ШИЗО прошедшая, и лагерную «больничку», ответила мне, ни секунды не поколебавшись:
— Постоянное вранье.
Когда врут все, кто причастен к твоему заключению — от прокурора по надзору до цензора и врача — упорно, тупо, изо дня в день — кажется, что сидишь в большом сумасшедшем доме. С той только разницей, что психи — как раз твои надзиратели, и пытаются они тебя запихнуть в дикую, вымышленную реальность. Ну чего стоили только одни упорные заявления Шалина о том, что нас не существует!
— Нет у нас в лагерях политзаключенных!
Да и сами же они нас иначе как политическими не называют! Да на наших бачках, в которых носят баланду, и то пометка коричневой краской «политзона»! Да тот же Шалин в порядке нравоучения сколько раз талдычил нам:
— Вот мужская политическая зона нагрудные знаки носит, а вы все упрямитесь!
Ан нет, раз партия сказала: нет у нас политических — будет нам Шалин заявлять, что нас, оказывается, нет на белом свете… Чем это менее дико, чем утверждения типа: «я — чайник» или: «среди нас скрываются марсиане»? Неподготовленного человека такие штучки могут довести до бешенства, до потери самообладания. Мы, впрочем, были к этому подготовлены еще со свободы: и газетами, и кагебешниками, и производственными собраниями — всем стилем официальной жизни в нашей стране. Против этого и восстали."
Does this ring any bells? "Доказательств, что это Россия, нет", "убийца Савченко незаконно пересекла границу под видом беженки", "на Украине гражданская война", etc, yeah.
Ирина Ратушинская, welcome home! (By the way, don't you want to organize a one-day symbolic hunger strike today, when Russia occupied Crimea?)
March 21, 2022
There have always been books that were well beyond sad, they are deep dives into a despair beyond comprehension. My top three such books are 'My Childhood' by Maxim Gorky, 'If This Is A Man'/'The Truce' by Primo Levi and this book. If two of those books refer to the mid nineteenth century (Maxim Gorky) and the mid twentieth century (Primo Levi) then this book then refers to life a relatively recent time, the 1980's in a Soviet Russia where the country's leadership is struggling and failing to move with the times.
The book starts with Irina Ratushinskaya being set free and given her passport by the KGB who bid her not to talk about the past, she shares a joke with her captors about Gorbachev's new anti-alcohol drive which echoes such drives by the Soviet state in the past which were defeated by home brewers of moonshine. Then the book dives into the life she was being released from, in the Mordavian prison within the prison/work camp that the author lived for four years. She is in this prison because her crime is political. The KGB laws by which the political unit is run are paradoxical to the point of black absurdity, and harsh beyond all belief. Atheism is the official creed of the country at this time, which makes being a Christian and saying so publicly a political move which will get the believer imprisoned for their beliefs, as the author has done by covertly publishing her poetry, and trying to get it published beyond the eastern block. But if the price of belief is imprisonment then it proves better to believe than submit to the indifference of state sponsored atheism.
The book recounts the cat and mouse games that the KGB and the prison staff wage on the political prisoners where part of being political is knowing what the prison rules are, and knowing that they are an official fantasy written to be read by people far away who know nothing of the state of Soviet prisons and work camps. But if the powers over the author and her fellow political prisoners are that illogical and perverse then the author and her fellow female political prisoners are doughty beyond all attempts to break them. Not that some of the women do not break down sometimes, but even there they are proving that they are human when face with inhuman reasoning and force.
I lost count of the number of work strikes and hunger strikes that the political prisoners had to put on to reclaim some consistency to their lives and to the rules that were quoted at them, by which they were meant to live. Towards the end Irina did nearly die and as she nears death she humorously reports that even that family of mice that she had been training to keep her sober and vigilant left her cell. It was only her last near death experience that made the KGB retreat from trying to destroy her mind and faith, and trying to destroy her support for her fellow political prisoners. She was twenty eight when she went into prison and therefore relatively strong, but many who were imprisoned alongside her were much older and more fragile.
The book ends by revisiting the beginning, though with more KGB inspired promises of release and delays in keeping their promises with further rules stopping her from being set free. By this time the reader can only be quietly relieved at not having to share how the author was put through the emotional wringer. Nobody could need more of what they have just read of the authors experiences.
The book starts with Irina Ratushinskaya being set free and given her passport by the KGB who bid her not to talk about the past, she shares a joke with her captors about Gorbachev's new anti-alcohol drive which echoes such drives by the Soviet state in the past which were defeated by home brewers of moonshine. Then the book dives into the life she was being released from, in the Mordavian prison within the prison/work camp that the author lived for four years. She is in this prison because her crime is political. The KGB laws by which the political unit is run are paradoxical to the point of black absurdity, and harsh beyond all belief. Atheism is the official creed of the country at this time, which makes being a Christian and saying so publicly a political move which will get the believer imprisoned for their beliefs, as the author has done by covertly publishing her poetry, and trying to get it published beyond the eastern block. But if the price of belief is imprisonment then it proves better to believe than submit to the indifference of state sponsored atheism.
The book recounts the cat and mouse games that the KGB and the prison staff wage on the political prisoners where part of being political is knowing what the prison rules are, and knowing that they are an official fantasy written to be read by people far away who know nothing of the state of Soviet prisons and work camps. But if the powers over the author and her fellow political prisoners are that illogical and perverse then the author and her fellow female political prisoners are doughty beyond all attempts to break them. Not that some of the women do not break down sometimes, but even there they are proving that they are human when face with inhuman reasoning and force.
I lost count of the number of work strikes and hunger strikes that the political prisoners had to put on to reclaim some consistency to their lives and to the rules that were quoted at them, by which they were meant to live. Towards the end Irina did nearly die and as she nears death she humorously reports that even that family of mice that she had been training to keep her sober and vigilant left her cell. It was only her last near death experience that made the KGB retreat from trying to destroy her mind and faith, and trying to destroy her support for her fellow political prisoners. She was twenty eight when she went into prison and therefore relatively strong, but many who were imprisoned alongside her were much older and more fragile.
The book ends by revisiting the beginning, though with more KGB inspired promises of release and delays in keeping their promises with further rules stopping her from being set free. By this time the reader can only be quietly relieved at not having to share how the author was put through the emotional wringer. Nobody could need more of what they have just read of the authors experiences.
April 15, 2022
A triumph of the human spirit. Born in Ukraine, at age 28, Irina Ratushinskaya was poet and a political prisoner sent to a Soviet strict regime camp. This memoir chronicles her time in the camp, surviving beatings, hunger strikes, and freezing cold in order to protest for human rights. I am in awe with how the political prisoners supported each other; if one was punished unjustly, they all went on hunger strike or work strike. They all shared food and clothing equally between them. I hope I would have their courage to stand up for what is right, but I can see how easy it would have been for them all to turn against each other in the face of brutal privations (indeed, the camp administration worked very hard to try to turn them against each other). She recounts her struggles to maintain her sense of identity and her conscience while in the camps, realizing that she cannot control the behavior of her jailers, only her own, but that it is in her power to refuse to let them force her to act against her conscience.
Ratushinskaya offers advice for dealing with the KGB: “never believe them, never fear them, never accept anything from them.”
She discusses leaning on her fellow political prisoners: “When someone is at the end of his strength, lend him the support of yours and see what wonders that can work.”
“Thank you, Lord, that it fell to my lot to endure the rigors of prison transport, to hide poetry and books from the KGB, to languish in punishment cells and to starve. Only then did I realize how much help I received from almost everyone I encountered.”
“ probably this is the best way to retain one’s humanity in the camps: to care more about another’s pain than about your own.”
“ You must not under any circumstances allow yourself to hate. Not because your tormentors have not earned it, but if you allow hatred to take root, it will flourish and spread during your years in the camps, driving out everything else, and ultimately corrode and warp your soul.”
Ratushinskaya offers advice for dealing with the KGB: “never believe them, never fear them, never accept anything from them.”
She discusses leaning on her fellow political prisoners: “When someone is at the end of his strength, lend him the support of yours and see what wonders that can work.”
“Thank you, Lord, that it fell to my lot to endure the rigors of prison transport, to hide poetry and books from the KGB, to languish in punishment cells and to starve. Only then did I realize how much help I received from almost everyone I encountered.”
“ probably this is the best way to retain one’s humanity in the camps: to care more about another’s pain than about your own.”
“ You must not under any circumstances allow yourself to hate. Not because your tormentors have not earned it, but if you allow hatred to take root, it will flourish and spread during your years in the camps, driving out everything else, and ultimately corrode and warp your soul.”
May 27, 2023
It was really interesting to read this immediately after reading Primo Levi’s If not now when? Many of Levi’s Jewish partisans long for the Soviet Union, viewing it as a place where they might be free from persecution and safe after the war, indeed they align themselves with Stalin. So reading this harrowing account of Ratushinskaya’s experience in a gulag exposes just how sadly wrong the partisans were. It kept jolting me that despite the brutality of her experiences, this wasn’t a prisoner of war camp, but her own country was doing this to her in the 1980s. This is a side of history I sort of knew of but didn’t know any detail and again it feels like something that ought to be taught more. While I wouldn’t seek to defend the USA’s involvement in the Cold War for a second, a lot of the social media discourse around it presents the Soviet Union overwhelmingly positively, suggesting that the starvation and imprisonment in gulags is exaggerated, and this book really ought to be more widely read, at least to provide some counter to that argument.
4 stars because it gets pretty tough and slow going at points, and I wonder if the translation is part of the problem?
4 stars because it gets pretty tough and slow going at points, and I wonder if the translation is part of the problem?
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