USSR
Anatoly Tikhonovich Marchenko(January 23, Barabinsk, Novosibirsk region - December 8, Chistopol, Tatar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic) - writer, dissident, Soviet political prisoner. Wife - Bogoraz, Larisa Iosifovna.
Biography
In 1958, after a mass fight in a workers' dormitory between local workers and deported Chechens, in which he did not participate, he was arrested and sentenced to two years in prison in the Karaganda forced labor camp (Karlag). After serving a year, he escaped from prison. He hid for about a year, without documents, did odd jobs, and eventually decided to flee abroad.
On October 29, 1960 he was detained while trying to cross state border USSR with Iran. Before the trial, he was kept in the Ashgabat KGB investigative prison. March 3, 1961 Supreme Court Turkmen SSR sentenced Anatoly Marchenko to six years in the camps for treason.
Released in November 1966. He settled in the city of Alexandrov (Vladimir region), worked as a loader. A camp acquaintance with the writer Yu. Daniel introduced him to the circle of Moscow dissident intelligentsia. In 1967 he wrote a book about Soviet political camps and prisons of the 1960s. "My testimony." According to A. Daniel, “My Testimonies” appeared in Samizdat already in 1967. The book was widely distributed in Samizdat, after being transferred abroad it was translated into most European languages and became the first detailed memoir about the life of Soviet political prisoners in the post-Stalin period.
In 1968, Marchenko became a prominent publicist for Samizdat and participated in the human rights movement. On July 22, 1968, he issued an open letter addressed to Soviet and foreign newspapers, as well as the BBC radio station, about the threat of a Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. A few days later he was arrested and on August 21, 1968, on charges of violating the passport regime, he was sentenced to one year in prison. He later described his short stay at freedom and life in the Nyrob camp in his autobiographical book “Live like everyone else.” A year later, he was not released: he was charged under Article 190-1 (dissemination of slanderous fabrications discrediting the Soviet social and state system), related to Marchenko’s book “My Testimonies.” Sentenced to two years in the camps. By the time the verdict was passed, he was a fairly well-known dissident.
After his release in 1971, he settled in Tarusa and married Larisa Bogoraz. He continued his human rights and journalistic activities. From the moment he was released, the authorities forced Marchenko to emigrate, threatening him with a new arrest if he refused.
Marchenko did not leave, and his persecution continued. Fifth conviction under Art. 198-2 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR (malicious violation of the rules of administrative supervision). Sentenced to 4 years of exile. Served exile in Chun in Eastern Siberia with his wife and child, during this exile Marchenko became a member of the Moscow Helsinki Group, signed an appeal to the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR calling for a general political amnesty in the USSR, and was released in 1978.
In September 1981, he was convicted for the sixth time under Art. 70 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR (anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda). Sentenced to 10 years in a camp strict regime and 5 years of exile.
On August 4, 1986, Anatoly Marchenko went on a hunger strike demanding the release of all political prisoners in the USSR. Since September 12, he was force-fed every day except Sunday. In this regard, Marchenko sent a letter to the Prosecutor General of the USSR, accusing prison medical workers of using torture.
The nutritional mixture is prepared deliberately with large pieces-lumps from food products, which do not pass through the hose, but get stuck in it and, clogging it, do not allow the nutrient mixture to pass into the stomach. Under the guise of cleaning the hose, they torture me by massaging and tugging on the hose without removing it from my stomach. ... As a rule, this entire procedure is performed by one health worker. Therefore, he is not able to stir it when pouring the mixture, since both of his hands are already occupied: with one he holds the hose, and with the other he pours the mixture into it from a bowl. I repeat that in this case, under the guise of a humane act Soviet authorities represented by the prison medical department, they subject me to physical torture in order to force me to stop the hunger strike.
Marchenko went on a hunger strike for 117 days. 12 days after ending his hunger strike, Marchenko felt unwell and was sent from prison to a local hospital. He died in the hospital of the Chistopol watch factory on December 8, 1986 at 23:50. The body of the convict A.T. Marchenko was buried in grave number 646. Relatives of the convict were present at the burial of the deceased.
He was buried in a cemetery in the city of Chistopol.
Awards
Notes
Links
- Biography of Anatoly Marchenko on the website “Anthology of Samizdat”
- Marchenko A. T."My testimony"
- Biography and memoirs of A. Marchenko in the project “Memories of the Gulag and their authors.” // Museum and Community Center named after. A. D. Sakharova
- To the twentieth anniversary of the death of Anatoly Marchenko. // Institute of Human Rights, April 9, 2007
- To the 70th anniversary of the birth of Anatoly Marchenko. // PRIMA-News, January 21, 2008 (unavailable link)
- In memory of Anatoly Marchenko. // Radio Russia, “Clouds” program, December 9, 2008
- “Renegades” - Anatoly Marchenko. - Documentary. // Channel Five, June 17, 2009
- Anatoly Marchenko at the 101st kilometer. // Newspaper “County City A”, December 8, 2010
| Moscow Helsinki Group | |
|---|---|
| Chairmen | |
| Executive director |
|
| Valid members |
|
| Post-Soviet period |
|
| 1976-1982 | |
Categories:
- Personalities in alphabetical order
- Born on January 23
- Born in 1938
- Born in Barabinsk
- Died December 8
- Died in 1986
- Died in Chistopol
- Politicians by alphabet
- Sakharov Prize laureates
- Human rights activists of the USSR
- Soviet dissidents
- Died in prison
- Members of the Moscow Helsinki Group
- Persons recognized as prisoners of conscience by Amnesty International
- Russian writers of the 20th century
Wikimedia Foundation. 2010.
- Weiss, Bronislava
- Sakharov Prize
See what “Marchenko, Anatoly Tikhonovich” is in other dictionaries:
MARCHENKO Anatoly Tikhonovich- (1938 86) Russian writer. The stoic opposition of the individual to totalitarianism in the conditions of the post-Stalin camps is described in the documentary memoirs My Testimonies (written in 1967, published 1968), From Tarusa to Chuna (1976), Live Like... ... Big Encyclopedic Dictionary
Marchenko, Anatoly Tikhonovich- MARCHENKO Anatoly Tikhonovich (1938 86), Russian writer. The memoirs and documentary books “My Testimonies” (written in 1967, published in 1968?), “From... Illustrated Encyclopedic Dictionary
Anatoly Marchenko
My testimony
Preface
Anatoly Marchenko told everything about himself.
He spoke clearly and harshly, with his characteristic objectively accurate perception of each situation, but at the same time with an uncompromising revelation of its internal moral meaning, the true price of everything he described. However, his books are not about himself, they are about us all: about the country, about the world in which we, each in our own way, have adapted to exist. And the author’s biography, prison and camp, exiled and under surveillance, is not the meaning of his story, only a chain illustrative examples, a credible account from an eyewitness and victim. That is why in today’s stream of “camp” literature, which is already experiencing some inflation in the reader’s perception (they say, we have already “read enough about this, that’s enough...”), these three small books should not - and cannot, I think - get lost and dissolve. They have, in addition to the unconditional value of each truthful testimony about the behind-the-scenes tragic sides of our recent existence, another meaning and dignity that belongs only to them.
These advantages, of course, are not of a literary nature. Not because of any shortcomings - this is a laconic, strict and very succinct prose - but because the author’s goal was not to create texts of value in their own right. What he wrote was neither literature nor history, and was not (as it might well seem) memoirs at all. Marchenko's books are not written about the past, even if it is close. They are about the times after Stalin, after Khrushchev, about what was happening now, just now, about what was still going on and at the very moment of writing, about what would inevitably continue to happen, who knew then - how much time ahead. These were books of deeds, heroic actions of an individual resisting all the punitive forces of the State.
In the political camps of the 1960-1970s, together with Marchenko, next to him there were people who seemed to be much better prepared for this mission, accustomed to literary work. There were already established publicists, there were professional writers. Some of them also did not remain silent about their difficult experiences. However, for these books some other qualities turned out to be more necessary than their literary professionalism.
- Writer! Eight grades of education! - the prosecutor sarcastically... “Worker” - they characterized the author of the preface to the foreign editions of his books. This is what gave American trade unions grounds to stand up for him. But this also gave his writings a certain touch of exoticism: these are books written by a man “from the bottom,” “simple,” “without education.”
However, Marchenko’s books do not suffer from such “simplicity”. They have a discipline of thought, a consistent integrity of worldview. And some of the straightforwardness of his judgments is not at all due to a lack of spiritual subtlety or culture. It comes from a stable straightforward moral position. This is, perhaps, akin to Tolstoy’s unyielding consistency in the rejection of evil and cruelty, indifference, doublethink and falsehood: “I cannot remain silent!” His books are the voice of common sense, not burdened by demagogic garbage, not afraid to see and evaluate everything that happens around, calling all things by their proper names, not accepting selective perception of reality (“we write one, two in the mind”).
The pathos of truth shuns journalistic eloquence. Too often, verbal pathos acts as a weapon of all kinds of demagoguery. Nowadays, true love of truth is more inclined to irony. However, his mockery, well known to Marchenko’s friends, is mostly hidden in his books behind the strict simplicity of a direct story. It only shines through the epic objectivity of the “testimony,” giving an individual, lively coloring to the author’s intonations.
All this testifies to the author's genuine intelligence, not inherited from family tradition and not given to him by systematic education. He obtained his culture, his awareness and firm mastery of both thought and word due to the internal necessity of this, constant purposeful labor and, moreover, for the most part in inhuman, completely hostile conditions.
This work continued throughout my life. Marchenko's three books are the final stages of his spiritual formation. The first, with all the clarity of its purpose and the moral position of the author, remains primarily evidence. Its title contains a very precise expression of the genre and essence. The author is only a witness at the upcoming Trial, ready to make sacrifices in order to make his testimony public. In the third book, he already judges himself, bringing to the reader not only the facts disturbing the soul, but also the course of his own thoughts, comparing the pros and cons, the developed attitude both to the fact and to what may be hidden behind it. Without ceasing to testify, he turns into our interlocutor.
That natural freedom of thought and speech, which he needed like air, came at a high price. Rough surveillance, searches, detentions and threats. Hypocritical accusations of “passport regime violations” are not what they were actually punished for. A tendentious investigation based on direct false evidence. A court that doesn't see any obvious fraud. And again the trial, already in the camp, on equally false charges and crudely concocted “evidence.” But every new demonstration of his lack of rights, every official lie and stupid cruelty only strengthened Anatoly Marchenko’s uncompromising need for justice and truth. He paid any price for them.
Several times he was threatened with threats to leave the country. One day, seeing no better way out, he agreed. But he did not want to formalize travel to Israel, where he had no intention, and insisted on direct permission to travel to the USA. Emigration did not take place. Instead, there were new arrests and trials. Having started writing, he already knew well what he was doing and was ready for anything from the very beginning.
Meanwhile, in the short moments of his “free” (albeit supervised) life, he tried, despite everything, to live normally. I worked, read and thought. He loved his wife and little son - his son grew up without him. He excitedly built a house for himself and his family in the village of Karabanovo, near Alexandrov. For this work in last time his friends saw him. But the unfinished house was bulldozed after his new arrest.
Anatoly Tikhonovich Marchenko died at the age of forty-eight in the Chistopol prison on December 8, 1986. Since August, he has been on a desperate, death-defying hunger strike, demanding the release of all political prisoners. Such a release was already approaching and soon began: in November, female political prisoners were released, and the famous human rights activist Yu. Orlov was sent abroad from exile. Apparently, at the end of November, Marchenko stopped his hunger strike: he received an extraordinary letter asking for a food parcel, not provided for by prison rules. Maybe he learned about the first liberations. In November, Larisa Bogoraz, Marchenko’s wife, was offered to travel to Israel with her husband. Without deciding for him, she insisted on a date.
And on December 9, a telegram arrived about his death. Perhaps this death on the threshold of freedom made it easier and quicker for others to reach freedom...
When I was in Vladimir prison, I was overcome more than once by despair. Hunger, illness and, most importantly, powerlessness, the inability to fight evil brought me to the point that I was ready to rush at my jailers with the sole purpose of dying. Or commit suicide in another way. Or mutilate myself, as others did before my eyes.
One thing stopped me, one thing gave me the strength to live in this nightmare - the hope that I would come out and tell everyone about what I saw and experienced. I promised myself to endure and endure everything for this purpose. I promised this to my comrades, who remained behind bars for years, behind barbed wire.
I was thinking about how to accomplish this task. It seemed to me that in our country, under the conditions of brutal censorship and KGB control over every word spoken, this was impossible. And it’s pointless: everyone is so crushed by fear and enslaved by hard life that no one wants to know the truth. Therefore, I thought, I would have to flee abroad to leave my testimony at least as a document, as material for history.
A year ago my term ended. I was released. And I realized that I was wrong, that my people needed my testimony. People want to know the truth.
The main purpose of these notes is to tell the truth about today's camps and prisons for political prisoners, to tell it to those who want to hear. I am convinced that publicity is the only effective means of combating the evil and lawlessness that is happening today.
Behind last years Several fictional and documentary works about the camps appeared in print. Many other works talk about this, either incidentally or in hints. In addition, this topic is fully and powerfully covered in works distributed through Samizdat. So Stalin's camps have been exposed. The revelation has not yet reached all readers, but, of course, it will.
Anatoly Marchenko
Live like everyone else
I was only going to Moscow for a day or two: I had several instructions from prisoners to their relatives. But this visit to the capital dragged on and turned out to be decisive for my entire life. future fate. No, I didn’t give up on what I had planned in the camp. I just changed the implementation plan.
From the very first meeting in Moscow, from the first day of my appearance there, I saw and felt attention and goodwill towards myself as a person “from there”. The warmth and sympathy were sincere and frank, and I felt uncomfortable that I was receiving them out of the blue, not for any of my merits or qualities, but simply because I was freed from political camps. And, of course, thanks to the recommendations.
In our country, a criminal record will not surprise anyone, especially in Moscow: it is difficult to find a family of the intelligentsia in Moscow that was not affected by Stalin’s terror. Thanks to Khrushchev, a stream of rehabilitated “enemies of the people” flooded Moscow. This practical humanity, unprecedented for the Soviet government, created for some time the impression that there was no longer any political processes, no camps and prisons with political prisoners.
In Moscow, I was asked with great interest about the situation in the current political camps, and I saw that this was not just curiosity, that my listeners were ready to do something, to help those in prison in some way. For example, one of my friends, A., immediately began writing to my friend V., who had been in prison for eight years - and had another seven years ahead of him. She sent him books (back then book parcels were allowed in any quantity), wrote about Moscow exhibitions and performances, sent New Year's gifts to his children, and went to see his mother. A. and V. remained friends even after his release from the camp.
If statistics on correspondence to the camp were kept somewhere, then from 1966 to 1967 it would show a sharp rise; books and reproductions began pouring in. It is especially important that they were sent not by relatives, but by complete strangers. It turned out that the isolation of political prisoners is explained by the lack of information about them, and not by the indifference of society. And now the authorities are forced to invent artificial barriers in order to disrupt the connection between the will and the zone.
I don't want to take all the credit for this to myself. There were other sources of information, and the time itself was so active. Sitting in the camp, I never expected such activity from our intelligentsia. And here I saw that even conversations over a cup of coffee are not in vain. And this prompted me to change the way I carried out the task I had taken on.
In a word, after living in Moscow for some time and looking around, I came to the conclusion that if I have something to say or write, then it can be done in my own country.
In general, my ideas about the intelligentsia are a short time changed to the opposite. These ideas, in my opinion, were typical of a provincial from the outback. I grew up among the children of railroad workers. Our parents were not called locomotive workers or carriage workers; all railroad workers had one name: fuel oil worker. In winter and summer, fuel oil literally dripped from their clothes, so they were saturated with it.
In our two-story wooden house there were twenty-four rooms and twenty-four working families lived: there was a family in each room. There was one small kitchen for three families. Thank God, there were only four of us in the family. But families are different! On the same sixteen square meters There were also seven or eight people living there.
Here is the father returning home from a trip. Sometimes we have someone else with us at this time: a neighbor or relatives from the village. The father washes himself right there by the stove. And when he needs to change clothes, the mother takes the blanket from the bed in her hands and, standing next to the father, blocks him. This scene was so common that the neighbor did not consider it necessary to go out at least for a while. This is how we all lived. Only if the female oil worker changed her clothes did the male guests usually leave.
We heard one parting word from our parents: if you don’t want to be like your father, a fuel oil worker all your life, learn! The life and profession of parents were declared cursed for their children. To live is to suffer, to work is to be miserable. Our parents did not know any other philosophy of their existence.
Few people in our town of “pure” professions were set as role models for us: teachers, doctors, the head of the depot, the director of the bakery, the secretary of the district committee, the prosecutor. All of them were considered intellectuals. True, teachers and doctors lived no better financially, and many lived worse than us, but their work was considered clean and easy. The rest I listed were, in the eyes of everyone, the pinnacle of well-being and contentment.
I entered my independent life with a well-established idea about intellectuals: that these are people who do not waste money, in general, those who are paid money not for work, but for nothing.
And what was the opinion about those whose names were decorated with hypnotic prefixes: “candidate of sciences,” “professor,” “doctor of sciences”! To have such a console, it seemed to us, was like having a magic wand. The life of this public seemed to us like a continuous Maslenitsa (there were no such things in our town), and work - not only easy and pleasant, but also guaranteeing a comfortable and luxurious apartment, a car and other benefits that our parents never dreamed of.
And academicians and writers appeared to us in a very special way, like gods. There was an ambivalent attitude towards both. On the one hand, everyone knew that they were doing something useless and even funny: the writer is a scribbler - he talks like a dog! a scientist breeds some flies. In conversations among themselves, they joked and even mocked them. On the other hand, everyone bowed to their omniscience and omnipotence (but not in relation to everyday life: everyone knows that no writer understands “our life” and that no academician will be able to cure even a boil, but only Aunt Motya).
In general, people of intelligent professions were united with the authorities: with the “bosses” - and why should they love the authorities? These are the owners who strive to take more from you and give less. A teacher, a doctor, an engineer, and even more so a judge, a prosecutor, a writer - are in their service. In addition, usually the authorities and the intelligentsia (and their children) in the provinces get acquainted with each other, and not with ordinary fuel oil workers.
And at the same time, the authorities incited ordinary people on the intelligentsia: either wrecking engineers, or killer doctors, or generally “enemies of the people.” And the “people” willingly supported this persecution, which was safe for themselves.
No one hid their envy of material wealth, which they knew about by hearsay and supplemented with their own imagination in their own taste and way (as they once said about the king: “He eats lard and stands knee-deep in tar”).
The gap between the intelligentsia and the bulk of the population has not disappeared in our country to this day.
Among the political prisoners there were plenty of people of intelligent professions, but I did not get along with them so much that my idea, which had developed since childhood, underwent significant changes. However, upon reflection, I began to separate the concepts of “intelligence” as the culture and education of a person - and the so-called “intelligent” (i.e., not physical, not fuel oil) work. And in the first sense, I developed respect for intelligent people, since this quality was usually combined with decency, with moral principles, which you especially begin to appreciate in cruel camp conditions. I became close friends with a young prisoner, Valery Rumyantsev, a former KGB officer. Despite his rotten previous service, Valery, in my opinion, was truly an intelligent person, and I owe him a lot about myself. By the end of the term, I met the writer Daniel, and the engineers Ronkin and Smolkin. To my surprise, I did not feel the alienation that I felt in freedom; I came to the conclusion that the alienation was partly drawn from my own imagination, and partly supported by ancient prejudice and circumstances. And if I was not an alien element among these people, then this is a great merit to them.
But it’s one thing to make friends with an intelligent person in the camp, but what will our relationship be like in the wild?
In the camp we are all on general situation: one convoy for everyone, we polish the same bunks with our fallen sides, and the rations and punishment cell are the same, and we even wear the same clothes. And the conversations are general, and there are many common interests. And they ended up in the camp because they are not like everyone else, black sheep in their midst, I thought.
And now, in freedom, I suddenly plunged into this environment that was still alien to me.
Despite the bias that still lingered firmly within me, when communicating with these people I never felt any falsehood in our relationship. At first I kept a watchful eye on this audience. Listening carefully to everyone’s speech, watching their tone, I was afraid of missing or not catching something that confirmed my previous idea of the intelligentsia. It was not from self-doubt, not from consciousness own inferiority before the more cultured and educated. It was finding out and getting to know something new.
I myself deliberately did not bother myself with adaptation, did not try to please others. Apart from the excessive suspicion and wariness that I showed at first, we can say that I behaved quite naturally. However, from the outside it is clearer.
Ten years lie between this first acquaintance with Muscovite intellectuals and today. And, looking back, I see how very lucky I was in life, how much I gained during this time thanks to them.
I have not been to my homeland for ten years - and there have been so many untimely, mostly senseless deaths in the not very wide circle of my courtyard friends and classmates. When you live in big city, then most often you won’t even find out about an accident from your neighbors next door, although in a big city there are probably no less suicides or fights with stabbings than in a remote province. And in a small town, each such “incident” is retold from house to house, discussed in an “oral newspaper” - at pumps and wells, in a store and near a beer stall. But a month or two passes, and the past tragedy is forced out of memory by another similar sensation. When all such events over several years fall, as they did on me, at once, it becomes scary, there is a feeling of some kind of epidemic.
How many suicides, ridiculous, simply due to drunkenness! How many people were drunk and died in car accidents, on motorcycles, or froze in the snow in the cold! Especially on holidays, there are usually several such deaths at once. Now, when I write about this, I am reminded of other tragedies known to me, which are almost never written about in the newspapers.
Residents of the geological exploration village closest to Chuna were the first to come to the place where the passenger plane crashed: several people were still alive. The infant was alive and, as it turned out later, uninjured; he was crying loudly. It was in December, the frost was fifty degrees. The men and women - not bandits, but civilians - robbed the dead and left. The child soon froze - the crying stopped, the moans also fell silent. One passenger survived - a soldier with a broken spine; he was rescued. He was in the Chun hospital and told everything.
There is taiga around Chuna, and small children sometimes get lost and disappear. Recently, a three-year-old girl disappeared: her parents went out drinking, abandoned her all day and night alone, and only found her in the morning. There is a rumor spreading around Chuna that the child was stolen and killed by fanatics - “Baptists”, “saints”, in a word, believers; such rumors are fueled by the general tone of public anti-religious propaganda.
If I were to list at once all the crimes known to me over the several years of my life in Chun, my hair would stand on end! Real murders also happen: a father shot his adult son with a hunting rifle - and the mother of the murdered man testified at the trial in favor of the killer; in another family, a teenage son shot and killed his drunken father; the wife cut her husband in collaboration with his brother and threw him, dying, under someone else's fence, where he froze to death; father and mother killed their two-year-old daughter (she interfered with their lives!); a lonely woman drugged her newborn with diphenhydramine and burned the body (or perhaps the still living child) in the stove; a visitor from Odessa was killed for money; a construction battalion soldier raped and killed an old woman, another soldier raped a six-year-old girl...
Nobody says that Soviet army rapists and murderers serve, but women are careful not to go into the taiga alone to buy lingonberries.
I live a secluded life, I don’t listen to the “oral newspaper”, and only by chance does part of the local chronicle of events reach me - probably no more than half. But, in my opinion, these events over three years are enough for a village of 14-15 thousand inhabitants to be horrified. If this chronicle were published in a newspaper, the Chunari would probably be just as afraid to leave the house at night as, they write here, American citizens are afraid. Others might wonder, among whom do we live? what the new person, brought up by the socialist system? Today a neighbor came to me to borrow three rubles, and tomorrow he robbed the dead and left the child to freeze to death! Today he is burning with enthusiasm, completing the five-year plan ahead of schedule, and tomorrow, for no apparent reason, he hangs himself in his entryway. No, I don’t want to say that this is the result of counter plans or regional political education schools. This is obvious: the point is not in the system, socialist or capitalist (and in vain we are constantly exposing the ulcers of capitalism; I’m afraid that our own are no better in quality), but in some more general features of the time, the level of development of all humanity, united, despite to border strips and political systems. Here everyone should work together, seriously and quickly, to do analysis, to look for means of treating common malignant ulcers, just like for cancer. So no, where is it! “They” - and “we”, “their morals” and “the Soviet way of life”, “in a world of violence” - and “that’s what they do soviet people", etc. In order not to undermine this artificial opposition, all statistics are closed: diseases, accidents, disasters, crimes. What kind of general analysis is there, when domestic specialists do not know their own data, they are hidden not only from prying eyes, but even from ourselves.
As a result, the criminals themselves can judge the scale of crime better than experts: for example, by the degree of fullness - or rather, overcrowding - of prisons and camps. This is an unattractive way of research, but I had the chance to try it.
From 1958 to 1975, I went through dozens of these criminal collection points. But I have never found empty cells in any stage prison, no! - places It is considered a great happiness in our transfers to have from the first day a separate sleeping place as prescribed by the instructions of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. You start to settle in in a crowded cell - your place is on the cement floor by the door, bucket or toilet, someone is taken away, you move deeper, and in your previous place there is already a new guy. The cells are overcrowded, double, triple and quadruple against all norms.
Here a supervisory prosecutor enters a crowded cell on his regular monthly rounds. He stops at the door - there is nowhere to step - with a notepad in his hand: “Complaints, who has questions?” The majority of prisoners, already accustomed to living like sprat in a barrel, do not pay attention to him. Only newcomers, seeing this guardian of the law for the first time, complain about overcrowding. The prosecutor answers in a habitual, rote manner; “Well, there’s nothing in your cell yet!”
If a newcomer begins to “download his rights,” then he has another standard answer: “Who called you here? It’s not my fault that there are more of you than we can accept!”
We probably have less organized crime than in the West. But hooliganism, crimes due to drunkenness, motiveless crimes - my opinion is that there is an awful lot of it, despite the vigilant supervision of each person as if they were a potential criminal: permanent registration, temporary registration, came for ten days - fill out a form, where, where, from, with whom, to whom, why, for how long; Violation of these rules results in criminal liability and a prison sentence of up to a year. The police will still see whether to allow you to register, but if not, then get out. A policeman can come to any home, to any citizen, to check: are there any unregistered people here? In fact, this is an inspection of the apartment. He discovers an unregistered person, whoever he is - your completely respectable guest, matchmaker, brother, wife, son - not only the visitor, but also the owner is responsible to the authorities (my wife was fined several times: for the first time - for not registering her three-month-old son , then - that I, her legal husband, was in her apartment, and a year ago I was fined for the fact that, having come to me, she missed the established registration period).
So, when everyone is under control, a new one soviet man manages to create such criminal statistics that they are afraid to publish them. Moreover, he has enough improvised instruments of crime: a fist, a brick, an axe, not everyone can even have a hunting knife, for this he needs a special permit, otherwise - a camp for up to three years. So among our people they say: “So that here, like in America, everyone can buy a pistol or a rifle? Then there will be no one to clean up the corpses on the streets!”
I took with me from the camp two pages of notes that only I could understand: on the notebook cover there was a surname, or a first name, or some dangling phrase. When they harassed me before going out, they didn’t pay attention to these pages. So, I had some things written down, but I kept the main information in my memory. Interesting: as soon as this was written down, a little time passed, and I no longer remembered the details, I forgot many of the names. After a year I would no longer be able to reconstruct my book from memory.
Now, when I remember those days at the recreation center, it seems to me that they took months. But in reality - only two weeks. And by the end of our “vacation” it turned out that the book was almost finished: about two hundred double notebook pages covered in my small handwriting. The last pages took shape in my head two or three days in advance, as if someone had dictated them to me. They didn't have to be fixed at all.
A few days later in Moscow, the three of us - B., Larisa and I - discussed several options for the name. They approved "My Testimony". And so it went. At the same time, with the help of B., the introductory pages were written.
Now the final and especially urgent stage of the work - reprinting the manuscript - lay ahead. Only after this could I be relatively calm: if I managed to hide one copy well, then no matter what happened to me, what I had done would not be lost.
While we were still at the camp site, I gave B. the completed part of the manuscript, and he undertook to retype it. And suddenly it turned out that, having printed ten to twenty pages, he gave up the job! I was terribly angry with him: I took it on myself and let him down. B. justified himself by saying that his wife forbade him; she reproached him: “You obviously want to help Tolya sit down!” She's also my benefactor! And if the manuscript, which has not yet been reprinted, ends up not with the reader, but with the KGB archives, will it be better? In any case, this will not make my fate any easier; they will still imprison me, without publicity, even sooner.
I was angry with B., with his wife. I'll have to do the reprinting myself - and then I didn't know how to type at all. But if I managed to write somehow, then at least I’ll print it, I decided.
I went to Alexandrov and quit my job. Anyway, they’ll be in prison soon, and I need time most of all right now.
And again my Moscow friends came to my aid. I managed to convince them that now they had no choice but to “help me sit down,” at least properly. Moreover, it was October 1967, the 50th anniversary was approaching, and a big amnesty could be expected. Although “parshas” about amnesty are distributed throughout the camps before each anniversary and are not justified each time, there is always the presence in the mind of “what if this time...” If you have time to start the book before the announcement of the amnesty - and if it concerns “especially dangerous crimes” ", to which, without a doubt, "My Testimony" will be included - then perhaps my act will fall under amnesty. I myself had little faith in this. But it seems that this argument most of all convinced my friends that they needed to hurry.
Together we discussed how to quickly print the manuscript... T., who rented a separate apartment, offered to work for them. They got three typewriters, however, one of them immediately broke down, so the four who knew how to type worked, replacing each other. Those who could not type dictated to them, laid out copies, and corrected typos. One couple with a typewriter settled in the kitchen, the other in the room (and the owners’ child slept in the adjacent room). The noise of the cars could be heard throughout the entire apartment, and probably even in the neighbors. The apartment was littered with paper, carbon paper, and finished pages. In the kitchen, someone was always making coffee or preparing sandwiches, and in the room, someone was sleeping on an ottoman and a cot. They worked for two days in a row and slept in turns, not distinguishing between day and night.
Some of those who came to help had just heard about the book and had not yet read it. Yu. and the owner of the apartment, T., immediately sat down to read. T., hot-tempered and prone to exaggeration, jumped up from time to time, ran around the apartment, waving his arms: “If Galina Borisovna (as he called state security, GB) knew what was being published here now, she would have cordoned off the entire block with a division!” As I read, he suggested amendments and, when I agreed without argument, he exclaimed: “Well, old man, you do! I agree to everything, just like Leo Tolstoy.” Yu also suggested some corrections. He couldn't stay the whole time, so he only read a few chapters. As he left, he said: “Perhaps stronger atomic bomb". I did not take this data in the heat of the moment literally, but I thought: this means that my book is achieving its goal.
By dawn on the third day, the work was completed, and we left the apartment with a suitcase full of drafts and finished copies. One copy remained with the owners - for reading and preservation.
The streets were empty in the morning; no division was guarding us. Without stopping at Larisa’s house, we went with our suitcase to K. and T. These were not very close people to us (later we became strong friends with them). On the way, they called them from a payphone: “Can I come to you now?” - It probably wasn’t even six yet. "Now? Come." The sleepy owners opened the doors and led them into the kitchen - the children were sleeping in the room. Larisa said: “Can’t you hide this manuscript away for a while?” They had no idea what kind of manuscript it was, but they didn’t ask anything, they just took it and said: “Okay.” I did not invite them to get acquainted with the book: if they were accidentally caught with this manuscript, they would be able to say that they knew nothing about it, they simply fulfilled my request, and would not lie. K. and T. read the book much later.
One copy had to be sent to the West as quickly as possible, and only then could the book be given a run in its homeland. Soon such an opportunity was found. And the agonizing wait began: I wanted to wait for the signal that the manuscript had arrived safely. Where, to what publishing house, I had absolutely no idea and was not interested in it. I never received any signal; Because of this, I handed over copies two or three more times (either myself or through friends), and I still don’t know which of them (or all?) made it to the publishing house. I learned that the book had been published in the West more than a year later, already in the camp.
Having given two copies of the book to friends for safekeeping and three for samizdat, sending one to the West, I kept one for myself to take to the editorial office of some magazine. There, when registering, they will put a number when the manuscript is submitted - what if I’m lucky and I get amnesty!
When I decided, back in the camp, to make public the situation in the political camps, I did not count on any leniency and did not take into account any amnesties. But now, when the deed is done, I begin to guess and count, hope for a lucky star in my destiny.
I considered my Moscow acquaintances to be people versed in literature; I had positive feedback from them about my book. But this was still a very narrow circle of friends, certainly not impartial in their judgment. I was eager to hear an opinion, so to speak, from the outside, from outsiders, who could give objective assessment. At first, when I was just working on the manuscript, it never occurred to me that I would be so interested in someone’s assessments and comments. I was going to give the public the facts, to reveal to them the reality that the government carefully hides from them. That's all. And I didn’t care at what level I would do it and what they would say about this level. To possible reproaches in this regard, I had a sincere answer: I am not a writer. But it turns out that I am no stranger to author’s vanity.
The reviews that reached me were positive - maybe others just didn't? Readers compared Stalin's camps with the current ones (many based on their previous experience) and found that the system had not changed. Many said that the very existence of political camps these days in such an established, cruel form is a surprise and a discovery for them. They also said that the book was well written, that it conveyed the authenticity of the witness's testimony - which is what I was striving for. In the spring of 1968, “My Testimony” was read by L., a friend of mine from Mordovia who had recently been released. He became terribly excited and agitated: “How did it happen that you, a simple guy, wrote this? Why didn’t any of us, intellectuals, take it?” He praised the book.
Before my arrest in July 1968, two criticisms reached me. One famous scientist said that the book may be true, but the camp and prison in it look too scary. "People will be afraid of being arrested," he said.
And they also conveyed to me the opinion of A.I. Solzhenitsyn, to whom the current prisoners, as I told about them, seemed too bold, too eager to face the punishment cell and other punishments: “I can’t believe that this really happened.”
But that was later. In the meantime, “My Testimony” was read by K., a famous writer. He really liked the book.
- What do you want to do with her next?
I said that I gave it to the West, and now I want to give it to some magazine for this reason and that. Then he himself agreed with the editors of one of the magazines that they would accept the manuscript, but would try to store it so that it would not catch the eye of any of the notorious informers.
No more than a week passed, and they told me that they were asking me to quickly come to the editorial office and pick up the manuscript. It turns out that several editorial staff read it during this time. They highly appreciated the book and, as they told me: “the courage of the author”; “The author decided to sacrifice himself, literally his life, but why then is he dragging others along with him? In the end, our magazine will suffer.” Of course, I immediately took the manuscript - but I could not understand why a journal could suffer if it accepted an unknown manuscript from an unknown author and did not publish it. They later explained to me that according to some kind of either written or unwritten laws, the editors are obliged to hand over seditious manuscripts like mine to the KGB. They, decent editorial staff, did not want to be informers, but they were also afraid to keep the manuscript; they did not even register it.
To my regret, these people, in their fear for the magazine, were even ready to attribute to me some insincere, cunning tactics - as if I was trying to shift the responsibility for distributing the book to the editor of the magazine, to pretend that it was from them that the book got into samizdat. Maybe they have already had to deal with such dishonest authors. I don’t know if they believed that I didn’t have anything like that in my mind, I didn’t intend to kill not only decent people, but also scumbags in this way. It was all the more difficult to explain because the negotiations were conducted through third parties. I myself just came for the manuscript - and, despite these suspicions about me, I did not feel any ill will on the part of the editorial staff. “We read your story with great excitement,” they told me, and at parting they treated me to an apple. (This was my second fee for the book. The first fee, or rather an advance, I received in the mushroom forest behind the camp site: in the thick grass, where no human traces were visible, bending down for a mushroom, I suddenly found a ten. It was wet, crumpled, like an old, tattered autumn leaf, but still useful. I bought myself tarpaulin boots for it).
With the manuscript under my arm and an apple in my hand, I went straight from this editorial office to the editorial office of Moskva - I was told that no one here would be embarrassed by the need for denunciation and, therefore, I would not let anyone down. And no one recommends me to them, I really go on my own. From this day - from the second of November - the whirlwind will begin.
Here is Arbat. The Moskva editorial office is on the right side of the metro.
- Why is the copy so bad? - the secretary asks displeasedly, but not hostilely, writing down my data on the card. I mutter something in response. They actually got the most recent copy, and not the one I just took from another edition. Nothing, nothing, they’ll read it. I cared less about the convenience of those to whom my book would reach from here.
- What is this, a novel, a story?
- I do not know. Well, okay, let there be a story.
- Fiction or documentary?
- Documentary, documentary.
The secretary wrote down all the information and shoved my manuscript into the table - without reading a single line even on the first page!
- Come back for an answer in a month. Or we can send a response by mail.
Where will the manuscript be in a month? And where will I be?
All my friends were worried about my fate. At first, I was advised to publish the book in the West under a pseudonym and not to meddle with it in any editorial offices. How many disputes we had on this topic! They persuaded me collectively and individually, in the house and specially taking me out for a walk around Moscow at night. Everyone predicted: they won’t forgive you for this. They predicted all types of reprisals: from a closed trial (“and they will kill you in the camp”) to an “accidental” murder in a fight or an accident. By the way, this shows what kind of reputation the KGB has among the population, in particular among the intelligentsia, and what kind of glory this organization had created for itself by 1967.
I did not agree to a pseudonym not out of insane courage, but out of sober calculation: the book talks about specific places, people, facts, about a certain time, from all this interested parties can easily identify the author. Not to mention the fact that what kind of “testimony” is this - under a pseudonym!
After I gave the book to “Moscow” and the Decree on Amnesty came - as one would expect, useless for political ones - friends and even unfamiliar people began to convince me to hide, so to speak, to go underground. I remember N. walked me around the yard for two hours (conversations of this kind were not held in the house - we were afraid of bugging the apartments) and persuaded me, without delaying a day, to get on the train tomorrow and go to the North Caucasus - her husband has friends there, they will hide me: “Don’t you understand? They’ll just kill you! Who needs your heroism, just think, a hero has been found!” I. found me a reliable shelter and even, it seems, a job somewhere in the north-west, K. offered me a secluded place in the Arkhangelsk region. And everyone unanimously agreed on one thing: I shouldn’t show up at Alexandrov even to get things, they’ll just knock around the corner on the very first evening.
The idea of completely hiding did not appeal to me. Firstly, if they start looking, then - I know how it happens - they will declare an all-Union search and, most likely, sooner or later they will find him. And then any “secluded corner” is no better than my Alexandrov. Secondly, I wrote a witness statement and I want to retain the opportunity to confirm it personally, here I am, he is Anatoly Marchenko - who says that “My Testimony” is a fake? Another thing is that we must try to last longer in freedom, let the book be published, gain fame, and the authorities have time to think, otherwise their grasping reflex will be triggered in the first place.
So, I didn’t go to Alexandrov, but in Moscow I tried to settle down in solitude, as they say, not to flash in my eyes. True, I found a business without profit for myself: I decided to reprint my book again without haste, learning to typewrite on the go. The first copies all sold out, and my own, kept for myself, died tragically: I gave it to one friend to read, very to a good person, who did me a lot of good, and during some commotion (as it turned out, in vain) he burned the manuscript just in case.
Now I had enough time. Friends supplied me with books. In addition, I began to practically prepare for a future arrest and trial. I composed my last word for the court and learned it by heart, and gave the text away to hide: after all, no one would be allowed into the court, so that later it would become known what I would say there. Another concern is to acquire a “relative” among my Moscow acquaintances, who, after my arrest, would have the right to take care of me, negotiate with a lawyer, and seek a meeting. One very nice unmarried friend, Ira Belogorodskaya, volunteered to be my “bride”. We went with her to the registry office and submitted an application for marriage - thus, our “relationship” was formally recorded.
I lived peacefully until the tenth of December. Either they weren’t looking for me yet, or they couldn’t find me (unlikely: I wasn’t hiding), or maybe they were watching me, but I didn’t notice it.
Larisa and Sanya went to Mordovia for another date, and I asked to stay in their apartment to look after the dog.
December 10-15 I am sitting in an empty apartment and baling little by little on a typewriter. It seemed to me that someone was scratching at the window (I worked without a hearing aid, so I guessed rather than heard). I sharply pulled back the curtain and saw outside the window young man, well-fed, sleek, solemnly dressed, as if from a diplomatic reception. The second one was hiding behind a tree, unlike the first one, dressed casually and even sloppily. His lips read:
- Open the door!
- Will you enter through the window?
- Open it! Open up!
- The owners are not at home. I won't let anyone in without them. And those who break through the window, even more so.
- Open the door!
- What more! Who are you?
- They tell you, open it!
- Who you are?
He slowly, as if reluctantly, reaches into the inner pocket of his black jacket. He took out a red book and showed it to me face down. And I read in gold on a red background under the golden coat of arms: State Security Committee under the Council of Ministers of the USSR. "Well, it has begun!" flashed through my mind.
[And again the camp... Comp.]
I am called to the headquarters of the camp commander for a “meeting”.
- How were you sent here with such a deadline? - he is perplexed.
- They didn’t explain it to me and they didn’t ask me.
- It’s been a year, but so far I’ve arrived, there are only seven months left!
The boss is looking through my papers and comes across medical certificate about work restrictions:
- And why do they send people like that? I need oxen, I have a logging site. Where do I put you?
I'm silent. An officer approaches the boss from the corner and whispers something, bending low just above the table. The boss listens attentively, looking at me with curiosity.
He didn't ask me any more questions.
On the same day, another acquaintance took place - with my godfather, senior lieutenant Antonov. The godfather is calling - go, you couldn’t refuse. The conversation was drawn-out, nasty and threatening. “Don’t expect to sit here, Marchenko. You just sit there and rot in the camp. You won’t get free from me if you don’t come to your senses. This is not Moscow, remember!..” - and the like. I said:
- Will you tell me directly what you need from me?
- I'm speaking directly. Do not understand? Think, think while you have time. If you decide to, come. Let's write together, I'll help.
- I wrote what I wanted without you.
- Look, Marchenko, you will regret it.
A week after my arrival, I was called to headquarters, and the prosecutor from Perm, Kamaev, showed me two government papers: at the request of Antonov, the Nyrob godfather, a criminal case was opened against me under Article 190-1; the second paper is an arrest warrant, to take me into custody. As if I’m not in custody anyway! No - now I will be kept in a pre-trial cell in a punishment cell.
Well, so: Antonov doesn’t waste words!
The first thing I did was to declare both orally and in writing that Antonov deliberately fabricated the case, that he promised me this on the very first day in Nyrob.
- Marchenko, think about what you are saying! - Kamaev tries to act “intelligently”, explains, refutes me without shouting. He is a prosecutor, he is objective, he is not from the camp, but “from the outside.” This is a man of about thirty to thirty-five years old, neat, white-toothed, friendly, he is even shocked by my hostility.
- Why would Antonov or I fabricate a case against you? We have a law, we always act according to the law...
- Yes, yes, about thirty years ago, millions of compatriots were all spies and saboteurs - according to the law, I know.
- What do you know?! It was in vain that no one was imprisoned or shot under Soviet rule. Khrushchev made a mess with rehabilitation, and now clean up the party!
- And this is what the prosecutor says!
- Tell me, were you imprisoned for nothing? If we hadn't been writing, we wouldn't have gotten here!
- By the way, I am not charged for writing, but for violating passport rules.
- You never know what's in the accusation. You also need to write books wisely. Writer! eight grades of education!
- Your founder of socialist realism, I remember, has even less.
- Why are you comparing yourself to Gorky? He went through such a school of life, real universities!
- In your criminal code, these universities are now classified under the corresponding article: vagrancy.
“Marchenko, Marchenko, you are giving yourself away: “your Gorky,” “your code,” Kamaev mimics me. - That means you yourself are not ours!
- So this is my crime? “Ours” - “not ours”? What kind of article is this?
- You know the laws, it’s immediately obvious. - Kamaev switches to a purely official tone. - Investigative officer Antonov received signals that you are systematically engaged in spreading slander and fabrications discrediting our system. You can take a look,” he takes out several pieces of paper from the folder and hands it to me.
These are the “explanations” of the prisoners from Nyrob. Each one says that Marchenko, at a work site and in a residential area, spread slander against our Soviet system and our party. You can get not three such “evidence”, but thirty-three, as many as you like.
In the criminal camp, both at work and in the residential area, there is continuous empty chatter. The prisoners argue endlessly on all topics, including political ones. Here you can hear anything: from information that makes up state secret, and to lively pictures of intimate relationships between members of the government or the Politburo. Everyone, of course, has the most “reliable information”. Try to doubt! Camp polemics cannot be restrained, and in the heat of an argument over a trifle, fists are used every now and then. It is best not to get involved in these disputes. Even when disputants turn to you as an arbiter, beware! You know that they are all talking nonsense, but if you try to contradict them, refute them, they will unite against you. Just now they were ready to rip each other's throats out. Now they will jointly break it for you!
This picture is familiar to me from Karlag, in the fifties. Here in Nyrob, in the late sixties, I observed and heard the same thing. Sometimes the disputants turned to me.
I usually shrugged it off or said I didn’t know. The answer to this certainly followed: - E... in his mouth, and he reads all the time!
Here I am lying in the barracks on my bed, reading. In the passage, several prisoners argue until they are hoarse, with mutual offensive attacks. One of them shakes my bed by the back:
- Deaf, tell me, Lenin was a homosexual by nature?
What can I say to this?
More than once I have had the thought, is this not a provocation? But I knew the camp and its inhabitants too well: such chatter is common everywhere and always in prisons and camps.
- Deaf, you're fucking reading. Tell me, is it for sure that the entire government belongs to Furtsev...?
My neighbor on the right, Victor, helps me out:
- Who needs her there? Only in the newspapers is she so beautiful and young! And they bring girls to Brezhnev! Komsomolskaya Pravda!
“Listen,” I say to the one who asked, “you’re chattering out of nothing to do, whatever gets into your head, and when they take you by the ass, you’ll blame anyone, just to get out of it yourself!”
- And I only have ten years of education! Nowadays people only get imprisoned for chattering higher education! - and this with full conviction that this is how it really is.
Prove and tell that anyone can be imprisoned, regardless of education? Why did I sit with people who had a fifth or sixth grade education and who ended up in a political camp under Article 70 for telling jokes? This is exactly what will happen on my part: agitation, propaganda, slander, fabrications - the whole bouquet, at least 190-1, even 70.
If we take into account that the criminal camp lives by the principle: “you die today, and I die tomorrow,” then in such an atmosphere it is possible to fabricate charges under Art. 190-1 opera costs nothing. He can always select several provocateurs who, some for a parcel, some for a date or early release, will give any testimony against anyone. The main thing is that because of the irresponsible chatter, almost every prisoner is on the godfather’s hook, everyone has something to blackmail. This was done by Antonov during the fabrication of my charges, as the prisoners themselves would later tell me about.
My fake case, concocted by Antonov, turns out to be impenetrable: a lot of “witness” testimony - “Marchenko said repeatedly,” “always slandered,” “I heard it myself,” and no other evidence is required. Article 190-1, which provides for both written and oral “fabrications”, allows you to judge for a word, for a sound that does not leave a material trace. So, friend, if two people say you're drunk, go and go to bed!
Of course, given the low level of general and legal culture of Antonov and his witnesses (how low - zero! with a minus sign!) there are donkey ears sticking out everywhere in the case, and Kamaev could have noticed them. The testimony does not fit with each other, that is, it does not support each other. One witness testifies that Marchenko said such and such on such and such a day in January, and another reports another statement at a different time. And how do they remember in May, what date and what exactly I said in January? Most of the testimony is of a general evaluative nature: “slandered,” “invented,” “defamed.” And those that contain specific “material” inevitably make me laugh. Here is the testimony: “Marchenko argued that Pasternak in Doctor Zhivago correctly portrayed Soviet women“that their legs are crooked and their stockings are twisted.” This guy’s brains are twisted, or Antonov’s, who probably dictated to him. I didn’t talk to anyone in the camp about Pasternak or Sinyavsky, much less repeat the newspaper nonsense. And I remember a witness to this: recently he, foaming at the mouth, proved to his neighbor that in the United States the language is American, and English is in England, and it’s clear to a fool.
I point out to Kamaev the absurdity in the testimony.
- So, is everyone slandering you?
- Maybe not everything, only the evidence Antonov needed was included in the case.
- Do you mean to say that there were others? Marchenko, all witness testimony is included in the case, all protocols are numbered. This is the law,” Kamaev says importantly.
I also explained to Kamaev that they attributed nonsense to me about Doctor Zhivago - I just recently read the novel, I remember what is there and what is not. But the witness, of course, didn’t read it and is saying God knows what on my behalf.
When a month and a half later I got acquainted with my case, I began to look for these testimonies there and did not find them.
- Where are they? - I ask Kamaev.
- On the spot, of course, where they should be. Why should you, you remember them well.
I leaf through the file again - they are not there. There is also no other evidence that I “praised American technology and slanderously claimed that the Americans would surpass ours and be the first on the Moon.” When we talked about this with Kamaev, I said that although this testimony is false, I really have a high opinion of American technology and I think that they will be the first to land on the Moon. The conversation took place in May-June. And by the time they got acquainted with the case, at the end of July, the American cosmonauts had just walked on the lunar surface. And now I don’t find this protocol in the case either. Where is he?
“We’ll find it, we’ll find it, we’ll find it now,” the prosecutor mutters, leafing through the file and glancing sideways at the Moscow lawyer present here, Dina Isaakovna Kaminskaya, and I can already see it in his face: he knows that he won’t find anything. - No. This means there was no such evidence. You've got something mixed up, Marchenko!
Like this. "That's the law."
By the way, while I was sitting in the investigative cell on Valai, I had to recognize Kamaev in another incarnation. The prisoners in the punishment cell and the PKT (intra-camp prison) got wind that the supervisory prosecutor was here and began to demand his visit: they had complaints. Every day I heard shouts: “The prosecutor is here! Call the prosecutor!” - and in response, powerful swearing from the guards. And one day the voice of Kamaev himself was heard in the corridor (he finally came!):
- A! Once... your mother, the prosecutor for you?!
Published according to the edition (excerpts): Marchenko Anatoly. Live like everyone else. M., Vest - VIMO, 1993.
80 years ago, Anatoly Tikhonovich Marchenko, a writer, famous dissident and Soviet political prisoner, was born. The last "victim of Article 58". Marchenko did not live to see his anniversary. He died in a Soviet prison, when “perestroika and glasnost” had already been announced in the country. Soviet power was living out its last days...
Anatoly Marchenko was born on January 23, 1938 in the city of Barabinsk Novosibirsk region in the family of an assistant driver, railway worker, Tikhon Akimovich Marchenko and Elena Vasilyevna Marchenko. After finishing 8th grade, he left on a Komsomol voucher for the construction of the Novosibirsk hydroelectric power station. Received the specialty of a shift drilling foreman. Later he worked on new buildings of Siberian hydroelectric power stations, in mines and in geological exploration in the Tomsk region and at the Karaganda State District Power Plant-1.
In 1958, after a mass fight in a workers' dormitory between local workers and deported Chechens, in which he did not participate, he was arrested and sentenced to two years in prison in the Karaganda forced labor camp (Karlag). A year later he escaped from prison - shortly before the colony received a decision to release him with his criminal record expunged by Decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. In 1959–1960, he wandered around the country without documents, doing odd jobs.
On October 29, 1960, Anatoly tried to cross the Soviet-Iranian border, but was detained and imprisoned in the Ashgabat KGB investigative prison. On March 3, 1961, the Supreme Court of the Turkmen SSR sentenced Anatoly Marchenko to six years in the camps for treason.
After his release, in November 1966, Marchenko settled in Aleksandrov, Vladimir region and worked as a loader. A camp acquaintance with the writer Julius Daniel brought him into the circle of Moscow dissident intelligentsia.
In 1967, Anatoly Marchenko wrote the book “My Testimony,” in which he spoke about Soviet political camps and prisons in the 1960s. “My Testimonies” was widely distributed in samizdat already in 1967. After being transferred abroad, the book was translated into many European languages and became the first detailed memoir about the life of Soviet political prisoners after the death of Stalin.
After “My Testimonies” was published, Marchenko became a well-known publicist in samizdat and began to participate in the human rights movement. On July 22, 1968, he issued an open letter about the threat of a Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia, addressed to the Soviet and foreign press. A few days later, Marchenko was arrested and on charges of violating the passport regime on August 21, 1968, he was sentenced to a year in prison. Anatoly Tikhonovich later described his short stay at freedom and life in the Nyrob camp in his autobiography “Live like everyone else.” A year later, however, he was charged under Article 190-1 of the Criminal Code (“dissemination of slanderous fabrications discrediting the Soviet social and state system”) in connection with the book “My Testimonies.” This charge resulted in a sentence of two more years in the camps. By the time the verdict was pronounced, Marchenko was already a fairly well-known dissident.
After his release in 1971, Marchenko settled in Tarusa and married Larisa Bogoraz; and continued his human rights and journalistic activities. From the moment he was released, the authorities forced Marchenko to emigrate, threatening him with a new arrest if he refused.
After refusing to emigrate, persecution by the authorities continued - he was convicted for the fifth time, this time under Article 198-2 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR, “Malicious violation of the rules of administrative supervision,” and sentenced to 4 years of exile, which he served in Chun, in Eastern Siberia, together with his wife and child. During this exile, Marchenko became a member of the Moscow Helsinki Group and signed an appeal to the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR calling for a general political amnesty in the USSR. Anatoly Marchenko was released in 1978.
Arrested for the sixth and last time on March 17, 1981. This time, the authorities did not resort to fabricating “non-political” charges: Marchenko was charged with “anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda.” The indictment included almost all the texts he wrote (with the exception of “My Testimonies” and journalism from 1968–1971, for which the statute of limitations had expired), including drafts of unfinished articles. Immediately after his arrest, he stated that he considered the CPSU and the KGB to be criminal organizations and therefore would not participate in the investigation. Sentenced by the Vladimir Regional Court (09/04/1981) under Art. 70 part 2 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR to ten years in a maximum security camp, followed by reference to five years.
In his last speech at the trial he said: “If this political system believes that its only way to coexist with people like me is to keep them behind bars, well, then that means I will be forever, until the end of my days, behind bars. I will be your eternal prisoner."
In the article “Save Anatoly Marchenko,” A. Sakharov called the verdict “overt revenge” and “outright reprisal” against Marchenko “for wonderful books about the modern Gulag (which he was one of the first to talk about), for steadfastness, honesty and independence of mind and character.”
On August 4, 1986, Anatoly Marchenko went on a hunger strike demanding the release of all political prisoners in the USSR. From September 12, 1986, he was force-fed every day except Sunday, which is why Marchenko wrote a letter to the USSR Prosecutor General, accusing prison medical workers of using torture.
“The nutritional mixture is prepared deliberately with large pieces-lumps of food products, which do not pass through the hose, but get stuck in it and, clogging it, do not allow the nutritional mixture to enter the stomach. Under the guise of cleaning the hose, they torture me by massaging and tugging at the hose without removing it from my stomach. ...
As a rule, this entire procedure is performed by one health care worker. Therefore, he is not able to stir it when pouring the mixture, since both of his hands are already occupied: with one he holds the hose, and with the other he pours the mixture into it from a bowl. I repeat that in this case, under the guise of a humane act, the Soviet authorities, represented by the medical department of the prison, are subjecting me to physical torture in order to force me to stop the hunger strike.”
Marchenko went on a hunger strike for 117 days. A few days after breaking his hunger strike, he felt unwell and was sent from prison to a local hospital.
On December 8, 1986, at 23:50, at the 49th year of his life, Anatoly Tikhonovich Marchenko died in the hospital of the Chistopol watch factory. He was buried in grave No. 646. Relatives were present at the burial. Later he was reburied in the cemetery of the city of Chistopol.
Marchenko's death had a wide resonance in the dissident environment of the USSR and in the foreign press. His death and the reaction to it prompted Mikhail Gorbachev to begin the process of releasing prisoners convicted under “political” articles. Sakharov was returned from Gorky's exile. And a few years later the communist regime collapsed...
1938, January 23. — Born in the city of Barabinsk, Novosibirsk region. Father - Tikhon Akimovich Marchenko, driver at railway. Mother - Elena Vasilyevna Marchenko (b. 1900), cleaner.
1955-1958. - Leaving school. Departure on a Komsomol voucher for the construction of the Novosibirsk State District Power Plant. Obtaining the specialty of a shift drilling foreman. Work at construction sites of Siberian state district power plants. Work in mines and geological exploration in the Tomsk region. Work at the Karaganda State District Power Plant.
1958 - Arrest for participating in a fight in a workers' dormitory. Court. Karaganda camps. Work in gold and uranium mines.
1960, October 29. - Attempted escape to Iran. Capture. Investigation in the investigative prison of the Ashgabat KGB.
1961, March 2-3. — Meeting of the Supreme Court of the Turkmen SSR. Sentence: 6 years in labor camp. Declaring a hunger strike to protest against the trial and sentence. Force feeding. Ending the hunger strike.
1961, March. — Stage to the camp. Tashkent, Alma-Ata, Semipalatinsk, Novosibirsk, Taishet transit prisons. First meeting with political prisoners.
1961, May 4. — Stage to Mordovia. Novosibirsk, Sverdlovsk, Kazan, Ruzaevskaya transit prisons.
1961, end of May. — Arrival in Darkness. Direction to the 10th camp point. Enrollment in the field crew. Meet Anatoly Burov, K. Richardas, Anatoly Ozerov. Conditions of detention of prisoners. Preparing to escape. Digging a tunnel. Caught red-handed. Beating. Placement in a punishment cell. Residential zone of special regime. Suicides and self-harm in the camp. Consequence. Interrogations.
1961, end of September. - Court. Sentence: replacement of 3 years from the camp term with 3 years in Vladimir prison.
1961, October. — Stage to Vladimir. Potminskaya, Ruzaevskaya and Gorky transit prisons. Arrival in Vladimir. Acceptance. Imprisonment in a cell for five people. Staying in a cell with Anatoly Ozerov. Conditions in prison. Hunger.
1963, June. — Early transfer from prison to camp. Transfers: Gorky, Ruzaevka, Potma. Direction to the 7th camp near Sosnovka station. Work as a loader in an emergency brigade, in a finishing shop of furniture production, in a foundry. Organization of literary and singing evenings in the barracks. Sports activities. Political classes in the camp. Date with Mother (1964). Friendship with Nazhmuddin Magometovich Yusupov, Gennady Krivtsov, Anatoly Rodygin.
1965, September 17 - 1966, February. — Sending to the hospital at the 3rd camp point. Device by an orderly. Direction to the 11th camp point.
1966, February. - Work in an emergency team. Meet Julius Daniel. Meningitis disease. Return to the brigade.
1967, spring - December. — A trip to my parents in Barabinsk. Return to Moscow. Finding a job and living in Alexandrov. Working on the book “My Testimonies”. Help from Larisa Iosifovna Bogoraz. Reprint of the manuscript. Transferring a copy abroad and to samizdat. Escape from the KGB from L.I.’s apartment. Bogoraz. Establishment of constant KGB surveillance of Marchenko.
1968, July 22. — Writing an open letter, addressed to Soviet and foreign newspapers, as well as the BBC radio station about the threat of a Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia.
? — Arrest. Butyrka prison.
1968, night from 20 to 21 August. — Crossing the Czechoslovak border by troops of the Warsaw Pact countries.
1968, August 21. - Court. Lawyer Dina Isaakovna Kaminskaya. Sentence: 1 year of imprisonment to be served in a maximum security colony.
1968, August 26. — News of a demonstration of dissidents on Red Square and the arrest of its participants.
1968, September - mid-December. — Transfer to Krasnopresnenskaya transit prison. Kirov, Perm and Solikamsk transit prisons. Stage to Nyrob.
? — Receive news of sentences for demonstrators. Work in a construction team. Correspondence with Larisa Bogoraz, who served time in Chun.
1969, summer. — Initiation of a case under Article 190-1 (slander of the Soviet system among prisoners). Arrest and detention. Consequence. Transfer to Solikamsk. Sent to Perm for a psychiatric examination. Delivery to Nyrob by plane under special escort in handcuffs. Court.
1971. - Liberation. Arrival in Chuna. Work at a logging plant.
Marriage to Larisa Bogoraz.
Life in Tarusa (Kaluga region). Continuation of human rights and journalistic activities. Forcing A. Marchenko by the authorities to emigrate, threatening a new arrest in case of refusal.
1973 - Birth of son Pavel.
1975, February 25. — Arrest in Tarusa. Announcing a hunger strike. Delivery to Kaluga detention center No. 1. Beating. Consequence. Investigator on duty. Force feeding.
1975, end of March. — Charge of violating the supervised regime. Court. Speech with the last word. Sentence: 4 years of exile in Siberia. Continued hunger strike. Date with my wife.
1975, April 12 - 1979. - Sending a hunger striker without accompaniment and relevant documents in a general stage to the place of exile. Yaroslavl, Perm, Sverdlovsk, Novosibirsk, Irkutsk transit prisons. Harassment and beatings of the convoy. Ending the hunger strike (April 21).
Arrival in Chuna. Installation at a logging plant. Writing the essay “From Tarusa to Chuna” (October 1975).
Signing in exile an appeal to the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR calling for a general political amnesty in the USSR. Writing, together with L. Bogoraz, the article “The Third is Given,” devoted to criticism of foreign politicians who accepted the Soviet concept of détente (1976, beginning).
Transfer to Vladimir prison. Incrimination of A. Marchenko of texts written in 1975-1981, including drafts of unfinished articles. A. Marchenko’s refusal to participate in the investigation, a statement that he considers the CPSU and the KGB to be criminal organizations. The verdict of the Vladimir Regional Court under Art. 70 part 2 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR: 10 years of imprisonment in a maximum security colony, followed by exile for five years.
Serving time in Perm political camps. Persecution by the administration. Brutal beating by security officers (1984, December).
1985, October 25. — Transfer “to serve a sentence in institution UE 148/ST 4 at the address Tatar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic, city of Chistopol.” Only possible form resistance in prison - hunger strike.
1986, August 4 - November 28. — Carrying out a long hunger strike for a general political amnesty. The main demand is an end to the abuse of political prisoners of the USSR and their release.
1986, December 8. — Died in Chistopol prison (Tataria). He was buried in the cemetery in Chistopol.
1988. - Posthumously awarded the prize named after. A. Sakharov by the European Parliament.
Since 1989. - Publication of works by A. Marchenko in his homeland.
* information beyond the scope of memories is in italics
Acknowledgments
We would like to thank the Archive of the Scientific Research Center "Memorial" for providing the Museum with the photograph.
