Under Stalin's Sun - Suren H. Oganessian

Under Stalin's Sun (eBook)

My Escape From A Siberian Gulag

Suren H. Oganessian (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
96 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-3078-8 (ISBN)

Suren H. Oganessian's memoir 'Under Stalin's Sun' was first published in a serialized format for the Armenian language weekly newspaper 'Hairenik' in the 1960's. His first person account of being arrested, imprisoned, and tortured in the Soviet gulag system during the 1930's opened a wide window for readers into one of history's darkest eras. His eventual escape from a Siberian gulag, change of identity, capture by German soldiers during WW2, residence in an Austrian Displaced Persons (DP) camp, and eventual path towards freedom in the United States are also covered in this riveting and groundbreaking book. Featuring a fresh new English translation sourced from the author's original handwritten notes, 'Under Stalin's Sun' is a timely reminder of the evil men will do countered with the triumph of the human spirit.

This particular book reflects the first-hand account of Suren H. Oganessian's arrest, incarceration, and escape from the Soviet Union's gulag system during portions of the 1930s and 1940s. His reflections during those harrowing times were handwritten in private journals from the mid-1950s through the mid-1960s, which was when Hairenik published his writings in a serialized format. Oganessian's work caught the attention of historians, academics, and intellectuals during its initial print run but was limited to an Armenian-literate audience. In 1976, an imprint in Buenos Aires, Argentina compiled his collected works and published them into a single Armenian volume ("e;Baykari Dirkerum"e;). In addition to Oganessian's gulag experience, the book also included his reflections on Armenian history, current events, and other topics of interest related to his native country. He self-published a similar collection in 1984 called "e;Hayreni Ashkhari Gyankits,"e; constituting the second and final volume of his works spanning reflections from 1920-1984. Many, if not most, of the collected works in both volumes were originally published in Hairenik. Oganessian's gulag experience was eventually translated into English with a book entitled Under Stalin's Sun. James H. Tashjian-who had served as chief editor for Hairenik, Armenian Weekly, and the Armenian Review during lengthy partnerships with various publishing organs of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF)-was responsible for the translation. A friend and associate of William Saroyan, Tashjian also edited My Name Is Saroyan (Coward McCann, 1983), a collection of early Saroyan works: many of which also appeared in Hairenik under the pseudonym Sirak Goryan. Tashjian's lively translation of Under Stalin's Sun drew mostly from Oganessian's original source materials published in Hairenik but also included information from conversations with the author in the leadup to the publication of the book. Self-published in 1981, Under Stalin's Sun saw very limited distribution but remains one of few English language accounts of the gulag experience written by an Armenian-making it rare and unique. In spring 2016, a decision was made to publish a second edition of Under Stalin's Sun wherein a fresh new translation by Murad A. Meneshian was put into motion and ultimately completed that September. In contrast to the Tashjian translation edition, Meneshian opted for a pure literal translation of Oganessian's source materials focusing on his original handwritten notes. In doing so, those who happen to possess both editions will notice a distinct difference in style and tone even though the core content remains essentially the same. The name of this new edition now includes the tagline "e;My Escape from a Siberian Gulag"e; to reach a wider audience as a more descriptive title.

PRISONS IN CENTRAL ASIA

When the train arrived at the station, the guards ordered us to take our belongings and follow them. We entered one of the wagons, finding all but seven seats occupied by passengers. It was obvious the septet was reserved for us. On the way, the officer informed us they were taking us to Tashkent to turn us over to Cheka authorities.

“I am hopeful you will behave on the way there and won’t cause any problems for us,” he warned. “If you need to relieve yourselves, inform the guards, but do not venture to leave your seats on your own. Do not forget that you are prisoners. Do not talk to the passengers. I prefer that you speak in Russian amongst yourselves.” We told the officer that we did not know Russian and thus could not follow his orders. He understood our dilemma.

Once at the Baku train station, the guards handed us to the Cheka. The next day, the same guards led us to the port and transferred us onto the ship Chicherin set for Krasnovodsk9—where we eventually boarded a train that was attacked and looted by Basmachies (Uzbek revolutionaries). The passengers explained the Basmachies had probably expected a train full of exiled prisoners and intended to release them. When they realized it was a passenger train, however, they looted and fled.

We arrived at the Tashkent station. Fifteen to twenty minutes later, Cherni Voron (“the black crow”) arrived to transport us to the Cheka building. The Cherni Voron was a large black van without windows. It had a black interior and contained small steel cages where one could only sit, unable to move. To enter, one was forced to stoop and sit down. The cells were made entirely of steel walls and doors, and a small electric lamp—so dim passengers could barely see—hung above each person’s head. Each door featured a porthole covered with dark glass called glazok (eye) so guards could open it and peer inside.

My friend and I were delivered to the Cheka building and separated. We never saw each other again. After meticulous inspection, the guards threw me into a damp underground prison. When the cell door closed, the other prisoners turned around and stared at me with such curiosity that I became confused and decided to remain still. After a few minutes, I heard someone instructing me in Russian to move toward the narr (bench) where seven prisoners were sitting. When they realized I was not a local and instead from the faraway Trans-Caucasus, their curiosity grew even more. We became well-acquainted within a short time. One of them—a Russian architect named Kurochkin—was accused of being a Productive Party member. Another was a Jew and the editor of the local paper, accused of following Trotsky. The third man was a Turk from Urganch (Uzbekistan) who had served as the secretary of the local Communist Committee; now, he was accused of possessing right-leaning ideology. Three others were Uzbek high-ranking religious men, but the seventh was the most interesting of them all.

The leader of the Uzbek revolt (the Basmachies), he was nicknamed Kur Bashi10, but his real name was Sursun Bayev. He had led five hundred mounted insurgents and instigated troubles for Central Asian Soviet authorities over a long period of time. He even attacked several small towns, occupying them for days. Unable to hold out against a large Russian force, he retreated and disappeared from one location before appearing in another to strike again. For a long time, the Cheka had pursued him but were unable to destroy his group; so they resorted to imprisoning his wife, children, and relatives.

The Cheka had sent word to Bayev that if he dispersed his men, they would no longer pursue him, he would be assigned to a favorable position, and his family and relatives would be released. If he refused the offer and continued his anti-government activities, his family and relatives would be executed and the Cheka would pursue him relentlessly: executing him in the event of an arrest. The Cheka had made the offer with a letter of guarantee signed by high-ranking officials. Believing them, he turned himself in. The Cheka indeed remained true to their promise and did not imprison Bayev or even confiscate his weapons, employing him as the assistant to the police chief.

Following Bayev’s surrender, his followers also turned themselves in. After serving in the police force for three months, Bayev was sent to Tashkent for an “official task.” It was here that he was arrested and thrown in jail. Following five months of imprisonment, he was taken away fifteen days after my arrival and never came back. My cell mates all agreed he was executed.

Three days after I arrived, a new prisoner joined us: the head guard of the group responsible for transporting prisoners to be exiled. While en route from Krasnovodsk to Tashkent, sixty prisoners had died on his watch due to a lack of water and insufficient air in the train—prompting his arrest. When he was plucked from our cell, a fellow prisoner said the man was “saved” because the deaths of sixty anti-revolutionaries “were not much of a crime for a Chekist.”

The underground cells were illuminated night and day by electric lamps due to a lack of natural light. A portal on the ceiling was covered with black glass. Loud talk was forbidden, the silence funereal. This sepulchral atmosphere was disturbed twice unexpectedly. First came the scream of a woman originating from the cell across from ours and lasting for upwards of a half-hour: after which it stopped and was replaced with the wail of a baby. A “free” future Soviet citizen was born in the Cheka prison that day. For a whole week, we heard the baby’s cries before they suddenly ceased. Did the baby die, or were mother and child transferred to another place? We never found out.

Prisoners were never afforded an opportunity to escape the underground cells for fresh air. The air inside was heavy and suffocating, and our natural calls were performed in a cell-bound pail called parasha11. When the parasha was taken out in the morning, a bucket of fresh water—for drinking and washing—was brought in to last until the following morning. For that reason, we never washed our faces for weeks at a time. We also slept on hard benches. Those blessed with overcoats used them both as mattresses and blankets. In the mornings, we received tea without sugar and four hundred grams of bread. Lunch consisted of a half-liter of cabbage and potato soup without any fat. In the evening, we received about three spoonfuls of cracked wheat (kasha).

On my second day at the prison, I was summoned to a Cheka office upstairs and informed that per a Committee of Three decision, I was to be exiled to Central Asia for three years. On the third day I was called again, this time to the office of the chief of secret operations. Politely and with a smile, the man told me to sit down in front of him. After asking me several meaningful questions, he went to “work.”

“I pity you. You are so young and have disrupted your education,” he told me. “I know you are innocent, and I know who has persuaded and led you down the wrong path. You must work to correct your mistake before it is too late. I wish that I could free you and send you home, but only on the condition that you do not repeat your stupidity and try to correct your ways. If you promise to do so, I will intervene on your behalf and ask Moscow to free you in a short time. You will be able to continue your studies.”

“Please tell me how I can demonstrate my innocence to convince you,” I implored the man.

Remaining silent, he produced a sheet of paper from his desk drawer and started writing. When he was done, he suggested I sign it. I asked him to read what he had written—so I knew what I was endorsing—and thus came to realize I would be obliged to engage in covert work for the Cheka to reveal anti-revolutionaries (anti-government sentiments) wherever I was sent. When I refused to sign, the man’s seemingly kind countenance transformed into that of a beast as if a starving wolf attacking a lamb.

“How dare you waste an entire hour of my time! Go! When you come to your senses, let me know. My name is Vasiliyev,” he announced angrily.

I was back in my cell a few minutes later. A month passed and I had not yet been transferred, despite the committee’s decision to exile me. I later learned officials utilized the same procedure for all prisoners and that the Cheka successfully recruited detainees of weak character with similar promises to turn them into informers.

Kurochkin was of course curious about why I was not “released.” When I told him about the offer Vasiliyev had made and that I refused to accept it, he was quick to point out that Vasiliyev had wanted to break my stubbornness and turn me into a seksod (Cheka agent/Chekist). He also told me to file a complaint about the incident. I did just that, stating that if I was not released in twenty-four hours, I would go on a hunger strike. Four hours after I submitted my complaint, I was transferred to the Moscovskaya Tiurma prison—the largest in Tashkent—which was a stopover for prisoners from all over the Soviet Union on the way to Central Asia. A large number of prisoners were from Armenia and had been transferred five months earlier from the Medekh prison. Prison grounds occupied a...

Erscheint lt. Verlag	7.11.2023
Sprache	englisch
Themenwelt	Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
ISBN-13	979-8-3509-3078-8 / 9798350930788

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