Selected text
There were a lot of people in Tallinn, who came back from the exile, especially people of my age and a little bit older than me. In 1949 arrests recurred. It was not connected with the campaigns against ‘cosmopolitans’ [24], ongoing in the USSR since 1948. Only Jews were arrested, being charged with cosmopolitism, former exiled were detained in spite of their nationality. They were re-exiled. They must have decided that there were too many of those like I. The year of 1949 was auspicious for me, and I thought that there was nothing to fear, but I was mistaken.
I was arrested in 1950. Late at night in March 1950 the doorbell rang and there was continuous knocking. I opened the door and saw a militiaman. He told me I should come with him. I was 22 and had an adventurous feeling again. I was amused and scared at the same time. The militiaman took me to the NKVD. A military officer read me the order saying that being the daughter of a large tradesman and socially dangerous person I was to be exiled in the previous area.
After that I was sent to the transit prison. The cell was huge. When I entered it, I heard different people calling my name. When I looked around, I found a lot of people I knew: from the lyceum, and those who had been in exile with me. Some of the arrested had been exiled already. They sent away people in small groups and brought new ones into the cell. As soon as the door of the cell was opened and a newcomer was brought in, he was joyfully welcomed by others. Again some familiar persons came in.
All of us were young and optimistic. We took our incarceration in transit prison as a picnic: no living conditions, bad food and a vague future, but still we had fun. We sang songs, recited poems, chatted, laughed. I made friends with a girl, whom I knew from my childhood. We shared one barrack room in the quarry near Sovetsk. Both of us were sent to transit prison in Leningrad. It is the most horrifying recollection. The exiled were aligned and taken to the train, being convoyed by gunned soldiers on both sides. Some of them held the sheepdogs by the lead, and those dogs were barking and fidgeting. It was a scary scene. There were no things like that in other transit prisons. The cars of the train were one and the same: with bars on the windows, like for prisoners. We were fed with some insipid food on our way, but we were not starving. We still were optimistic, which was inherent in young people.
There was a huge transit prison in Leningrad. The cell where I was placed was also large. It was probably meant for about 100 people. Again, I had a kindled interest: new impressions, new acquaintances. Every morning the guards made a roll-call in the cell. They called a number and an inmate was supposed to say its first name, last name and the article of conviction. We proudly cried out ‘no article.’ I remember Lithuanian schoolchildren, who were in the cell with me. There was the whole class with the teacher. They were condemned for listening to either some German radio station or Voice of America [25], which were both banned in the USSR and listening to them was considered to be a crime against the Soviet regime. Each of those teenagers and their teacher were sentenced to 25 years in strict-security camps. They were waiting for their turn to go the camp. They were quiet. They sang songs in sotto voce.
We were not interrogated in prison. Everyone got his ‘tag’ and we were supposed to calmly wait for our turn. Sometimes the guards suggested a deal: we were to wash the floors in the hallway and then we would get a change to watch the concerts of the amateur groups. We willingly washed the floors, but we never attended the promised concerts. We were even scolded for washing the floors improperly. I don’t remember how long I stayed in that prison; from there I was transferred to the transit prison in Kirov. There I met my former classmate from the lyceum, whom I had seen in the transit prison in Tallinn before. She was sent to Kirov earlier.
I was arrested in 1950. Late at night in March 1950 the doorbell rang and there was continuous knocking. I opened the door and saw a militiaman. He told me I should come with him. I was 22 and had an adventurous feeling again. I was amused and scared at the same time. The militiaman took me to the NKVD. A military officer read me the order saying that being the daughter of a large tradesman and socially dangerous person I was to be exiled in the previous area.
After that I was sent to the transit prison. The cell was huge. When I entered it, I heard different people calling my name. When I looked around, I found a lot of people I knew: from the lyceum, and those who had been in exile with me. Some of the arrested had been exiled already. They sent away people in small groups and brought new ones into the cell. As soon as the door of the cell was opened and a newcomer was brought in, he was joyfully welcomed by others. Again some familiar persons came in.
All of us were young and optimistic. We took our incarceration in transit prison as a picnic: no living conditions, bad food and a vague future, but still we had fun. We sang songs, recited poems, chatted, laughed. I made friends with a girl, whom I knew from my childhood. We shared one barrack room in the quarry near Sovetsk. Both of us were sent to transit prison in Leningrad. It is the most horrifying recollection. The exiled were aligned and taken to the train, being convoyed by gunned soldiers on both sides. Some of them held the sheepdogs by the lead, and those dogs were barking and fidgeting. It was a scary scene. There were no things like that in other transit prisons. The cars of the train were one and the same: with bars on the windows, like for prisoners. We were fed with some insipid food on our way, but we were not starving. We still were optimistic, which was inherent in young people.
There was a huge transit prison in Leningrad. The cell where I was placed was also large. It was probably meant for about 100 people. Again, I had a kindled interest: new impressions, new acquaintances. Every morning the guards made a roll-call in the cell. They called a number and an inmate was supposed to say its first name, last name and the article of conviction. We proudly cried out ‘no article.’ I remember Lithuanian schoolchildren, who were in the cell with me. There was the whole class with the teacher. They were condemned for listening to either some German radio station or Voice of America [25], which were both banned in the USSR and listening to them was considered to be a crime against the Soviet regime. Each of those teenagers and their teacher were sentenced to 25 years in strict-security camps. They were waiting for their turn to go the camp. They were quiet. They sang songs in sotto voce.
We were not interrogated in prison. Everyone got his ‘tag’ and we were supposed to calmly wait for our turn. Sometimes the guards suggested a deal: we were to wash the floors in the hallway and then we would get a change to watch the concerts of the amateur groups. We willingly washed the floors, but we never attended the promised concerts. We were even scolded for washing the floors improperly. I don’t remember how long I stayed in that prison; from there I was transferred to the transit prison in Kirov. There I met my former classmate from the lyceum, whom I had seen in the transit prison in Tallinn before. She was sent to Kirov earlier.
Period
Year
1950
Location
St. Petersburg
Russia
Interview
Mariasha Vasserman