Unzhlagiya: a secret newspaper, a secret road, a secret country
The Nizhny Novgorod village of Sukhobezvodny celebrated its 80th anniversary. It is the "capital" of a massive penal camp popularly dubbed "Unzhlagia Country."
No one knows when the exile of undesirables began here—whether under Peter the Great or Tsar Gorokh—but Unzhlag was officially established on February 5, 1938. There is no precise count of the number of prisoners killed, and their burial sites are unknown. No modern researchers or off-roaders have been able to travel across this territory from one border to the other—Unzhlag is vast, overgrown with forest, and the roads are blocked by windfall. "NeMoskva" visited Sukhobezvodnoye, the first settlement prisoners saw upon arrival at their prisons. The "capital of Unzhlag" also established itself here—the seat of the Unzhensky Correctional Camp Administration, the residence of senior officials, and the site of unique social facilities for the time. The correspondent also spoke with researchers who have studied the life, customs, and customs of Unzhlag. Memories of those places turned out to be very varied.
The village of Sukhobezvodnoe
The main village of Unzhlag
About two hours by commuter train from Nizhny Novgorod, Sukhobezvodnoye is here. To the right of the platform is a freight train, and to the left is a similar one. From the railway bridge, it's clear they're loaded with timber: with the closure of Unzhlag, some OLPs (separate labor camps) were converted into penal colonies, but the country still needs timber. There's also a commercial timber harvesting operation.
The village is one large private sector with several apartment buildings, a kindergarten, and a school. On the outskirts are a technical school run by the Federal Penitentiary Service and the Nizhny Novgorod Tuberculosis Dispensary. In the center are a modern community center and a decorative monument, "I Love Sukhobezvodnoye." The streets are deserted, save for men discussing something in a wide-open garage. It's quiet, with the occasional distant whistle of a locomotive.
Just under a hundred years ago, this place was bustling with activity: civilians lived and worked on the railway and other sites, military personnel worked in the labor camps and the administration, and released prisoners settled here permanently. The first were the "lucky ones," who had received sentences of only two to five years, and later, those who had served 15 years of imprisonment and hard labor.
Unzhlag was a component of the Main Directorate of Correctional Labor Camps (GULAG). Its territory covered 3500 hectares—roughly the size of Denmark or Switzerland. Unzhlag occupied part of the Gorky (Nizhny Novgorod) and Kostroma regions.
Now all that remains are the skeletons of barracks in the impenetrable taiga wilderness, some declassified documents, maps compiled “by eye” and the memories of those who lived on the other side of the barbed wire and on this one.
At Sukhobezvodnoye station
"Not a sanatorium at all"
"The village's eightieth anniversary was celebrated well; there were definitely 800 people in attendance. We watched amateur performances, went pony riding, and there were games for the children. We also celebrated All Saints' Day at the All Saints' Chapel—it was built in the 1990s. Many people came to our area to find the graves of their convicted ancestors, but finding them was difficult... They began to take at least a handful of earth and visit the chapel." — says a native of Sukhobezvodny, a local historian Boris Bavin.
In the DK group on VKontakte about the anniversary, among other things, says as follows:
"The festive events took place at the GDK and administration squares. Before the ceremony, "Merry Starts" were held, with participation from village organizations. This was followed by the "Miss Sukhobezvodnoye 2024" competition. At the "Appetizing Voyage" charity fair, everyone could purchase products from village businesses for the needs of the SVO."
We meet in the House of Culture—a modern, spacious space. Boris Ivanovich, along with all his materials—maps, archival photographs, newspaper clippings, and old newspapers—occupies a small room on the second floor. In the "anteroom," display cases are still unfilled with exhibits, and in the hallway in front, local women are weaving camouflage nets. They are hung along the railing.
Boris Ivanovich was the son of a printing house worker who was sent to Unzhlag for some careless prank at work. There, he met the man's mother, and their sons were born. It was uncommon for the family to talk about his father's prison term, and he never discussed the conditions of his imprisonment.
Boris Bavin
Bavin is sedate, thorough, and cautious; he begins his story from afar, from the founding of Sukhobezvodny. At first, it was simply a train stop, a siding where firewood was loaded to heat Moscow's institutions and homes. Residents from surrounding villages worked there—there was no other work. They lived in poverty: the land was sandy and infertile. At some point, it became clear that local labor was insufficient, but the 1930s arrived, and a plentiful supply of free labor became available. At first, convicts were brought here and built barracks for themselves—a kind of penal settlement. Then Unzhlag appeared, which eventually grew into about 30 separate camps. The prison population fluctuated: in the year of its founding, over 30 prisoners were brought in; by the end of the war, over 16 remained; by 1948, about 13 remained. Unzhlag was closed in the early 1960s.
— It was intended as a temporary one for timber extraction, — says Bavin. — Logging and harvesting timber is one thing, but the forest needed to be given time to "rest" and recover. So Unzhlag was disbanded. During its existence, camps continually multiplied for various reasons. For example, German prisoners of war were brought to the camp, but the local prisoners flatly refused to live and work alongside them, even rioting. So a separate camp was established for the Germans. Or women—for a time, they were held in the same zone with the men, but disorder and outrages began to break out, and the women were also resettled.
In addition to harvesting timber, prisoners built a railroad that was intended to connect the Gorky railway line with the Severnaya. It was only completed as far as Lapshanga; from Lapshanga to Brantovka, it remained unfinished. During the war, the tracks began to be dismantled for other purposes.
"In those years, the road was, of course, classified; it wasn't on any maps, and Unzhlag didn't even exist. Literally everything was classified. The department's political department published its own newspaper, "Trudovaya Vakhta," but every issue was marked: "Do not take outside the unit's boundaries." - Boris Ivanovich shows several issues with yellowed pages. They published articles there, for example, about how some criminal had reformed, renounced his past, and called on other prisoners to do the same.
The Secret Newspaper
Regarding the prison population, he says: there were those convicted innocently, and there were those who were "unmarkable." For example, one engineer was convicted for carelessly wrapping a piece of bacon in a newspaper with Stalin's portrait. Another, who played and sang remarkably well in a propaganda team, was even considered for release by the high-ranking officials on the visiting commission. They requested his file. It turned out that during the occupation of Minsk, he had performed for the Germans, informing on his own people. Several counts of rape—of both girls and boys—were also proven. While the "high-ranking official" initially asked in surprise, "What is such a talented person doing here?!" after reading the file, he was outraged again: "What is such a bastard doing on stage? He should rot in a logging camp for the rest of his days!"
"There's so much here that it's impossible to cover it all in one article. And everyone speaks and writes from their own perspective. Behind the fence, it's all memories, but for me, Unzhlag is everything: my childhood, my life. How can you remember anything bad about your childhood if it was spent outside? But I started collecting all the information about it, the documents, the memories, so that everyone would remember and know: all sorts of things happened in that country. Both innocent victims and the guilty, who can hardly even be called human. But the children who grew up behind barbed wire—they were born and raised there, waiting for their mothers' release—will have different memories. They played different games: "transport," "godfather," and the like. Unzhlag—it's full of contradictions, but it certainly wasn't a sanatorium or a resort." — concludes Bavin.
He could probably talk about Unzhlag for days on end—he has ample memory and materials for it. The only problem is there's almost no room to store them. Until recently, he and his exhibits lived in the spacious adjoining building, but he was evicted. They say there's not enough space for the children's activities. He agrees: yes, the children's needs are more important.
Unofficial map of Unzhlagiya
"The trees were felled by hand. The tools were a crosscut saw, a beam saw, and an axe. The head of the medical unit was the camp commander's wife. She sent everyone who could walk even a little to work. Six to eight people a day died of cold and starvation along the way. The dead were carried on stretchers to the camp zone. At night, they dug a shallow hole—a 'grave,' lightly covered it with earth or snow, and placed a wooden cross and the camp's number. Writing down names was forbidden."
(From the memoirs of Mikhail Tyukalov)
"It's not something scary."
Researcher of "free" life in Unzhlag, author of several books Vera Morozova She began writing after reading Solzhenitsyn's works. Her family moved to the village of Lapshanga in the early 1960s, when Vera was four years old. The modern infrastructure, the level of education and healthcare, the culture, and the presence of Muscovites and members of the intelligentsia astonished her. She retained feelings of admiration and gratitude throughout her life, but the "injustice according to Solzhenitsyn" outraged her, and she began writing—to whitewash the characters.
Vera Morozova (photo from personal archive)
"Unzhlag isn't something terrible for me; it's simply the place of my bright childhood. When Solzhenitsyn's books came out, I read them. I was particularly struck by the chapters about the camp commanders, the officers. And for me, they were, for example, Uncle Vanya, Konstantin Ivanovich... Their children were my girlfriends. I saw Uncle Vanya 24 hours a day: the light was on—Uncle Vanya went to have tea, or went to milk the cow. Solzhenitsyn described them as if they weren't very decent people, to put it mildly. But I saw them completely differently. How is it that they're like this in the camp, and then different after? And then one day I arrived, and it turned out there was no one to talk to; those officers were gone, there was no one to ask about the real situation, only children and widows. And I realized that this injustice, as Solzhenitsyn described it, was triumphant. And I wanted to describe them from a different perspective, that there was another side. It wasn't all that bad. He describes the local population in a negative way, too. I didn't live at the camp; it had already been disbanded, but I thought: this can't be true. And I decided: I'll write down my memories. But, interestingly, there were almost no prisoners left either. And my classmates—the children of you know who [prisoners]—supported me.
"They fed us poorly: 400 grams of bread a day, gruel. They didn't give us any fat, and the production quota was 7-10 cubic meters of wood. If we didn't meet the quota for several days, we were put in solitary confinement, a tiny room where 10-15 people could barely stand. We stood there all night, and then went to work in the morning. In any weather. We took two pairs of bast shoes with us, but there weren't enough to replace them."
(From the memoirs of Lev Pashin)
According to Vera Fedorovna's recollections, Unzhlag's Lapshanga was a paradise on earth compared to the typical Nizhny Novgorod villages: some of them lacked electricity, and matches were considered a luxury. Therefore, they took turns tending the fire: one hut would burn 24/7, everyone would come in the morning with kindling, and the next day, others would be "fire watchers." At the same time, Lapshanga had electricity, a community center, a hospital, a ten-year school, an evening school, and, further away, a school for illiterate prisoners. The general education school was large—in its graduating class alone, 60 young men and women received diplomas.
Exhibits at the museum corner in Sukhobezvodnoye
According to the recollections of the characters in Morozova's books, advanced technologies already existed in the hospitals of Unzhlagia. For example, at the beginning of the war (1941-1945), blood transfusions were already widely practiced, a technology previously only available in large cities. It was introduced at the instigation of a former prisoner, a former employee of the Leningrad Institute of Blood Transfusion. Another hospital, using high-tech equipment ("even Gorky didn't have anything like it!"), performed operations that are now called neurosurgery. A specialized hospital was established in the village of Kaisk, treating venereal diseases and tuberculosis, which often afflicted prisoners. According to Morozova, each camp had its own medical centers, but prisoners with serious illnesses were treated in these three medical centers, using the same high-tech equipment.
"The only time the camps had a high death rate was in 1942—it was a very cold and terrible year, and many died. Solzhenitsyn writes that they oppressed people in the camps with the intention of exterminating them. Of course, that's not true. Each zone was given a quota from above; if the zone commander didn't fulfill it, he'd get such a kick in the pants that he'd be sent to Kolyma. So every commander tried to fulfill this quota, and oppressing and exterminating prisoners wasn't even on their minds; that's just speculation. Yes, they died themselves—from hard labor, from malnutrition, all that happened, but to destroy them themselves... If half the zone died today, who would fulfill the quota, who would keep you afloat? Basically, everything was exaggerated." — the interlocutor reasons.
"In 1949, there was a terrible famine. They were given 50 grams of bread in the morning and 50 in the evening. Soup consisted of a leaf of green cabbage, water, and a spoonful of vegetable oil. One day, they brought in salted sprats and herring and gave them out without rationing. The hungry people pounced on the food and began to bloat from the salt and water. The mortality rate was horrific. The dead were taken away by the truckload."
(From the memoirs of Nikolai Potsik)
Lapshanga's population was "diverse": civilians, former prisoners, visiting specialists, and widows lived alongside the camp administration. At school, children of prisoners and officers shared desks. She also first read about "enemies of the people and the children of enemies of the people being oppressed" in literature and the media, and saw it in films. Supposedly, such things hadn't happened in her childhood. On the contrary, the daughter of a prisoner—a traitor to the Motherland (a Ukrainian, deported to a concentration camp, where he served as a guard, a kapo)—was "an authority figure" in her class; her opinions were respected. It wasn't the children of prisoners who were shunned, but those who were themselves "scoundrels in life."
"Don't say 'bullied,' please. There were two boys in our class, and they were always chasing each other, one yelling 'Moscow' at the other, and the other yelling 'Chita!' at the first." It turned out the father of the boy nicknamed 'Chita' had previously worked as a detective in the prison, while the father nicknamed 'Moscow' was a prisoner—an informant, a snitch for 'Chita.' And the sons knew it. Many years later, 'Chita's' son told me there was no malice toward each other, they were just fooling around, blowing off childish energy.
The culture of Lapshanga occupies a special place in Morozova's books. The community center boasted a huge white grand piano, and amateur performances were top-notch, as was the local choir; there were even two brass bands. They played, for example, a fanfare after goals during matches between OLP personnel, and played at all events. This level of performance was, in part, thanks to the intelligentsia who came to work and serve in Unzhlagiya. For example, Moscow officers "brought" the idea of an ice rink and flooded it. They played music, and painted simple light bulbs different colors, creating a "color music" effect. The wives and mothers of officers visiting their sons were fashion trendsetters. Local women in galoshes and tarpaulin boots tried to emulate them, copying their designs and sewing similar ones. Lapshang even had its own Women's Council—a respected governing body that monitored cleanliness and order in homes and taught proper etiquette. Slobs and slobs were shamed and rehabilitated.
Photo from the "Children of Unzhlag" group on OK
At the same time, a "team" of women worked in Unzhlag to please the prisoners. They would send messages in advance: "We'll arrive at such-and-such a place on such-and-such a date." The prisoners would make arrangements with the guards, who, for a bribe, would feign ignorance. The women would arrive at the logging sites, where they would service the prisoners. The prisoners would pay them with the money they earned at work. The interviewee claims that everyone knew these women, and no one judged them—they said they were simply making a living as best they could, and everyone understood that. They also had nicknames, which have faded from popular memory; only one remains: "Tonya the Gray Coat."
He says of prisoners: asking about the charges under which they were serving their sentences was unacceptable, "and they all said they were convicted of nothing." When they maimed or killed each other in the camps, there was a serious investigation, and nothing was allowed to pass. Today, descendants come to the Nizhny Novgorod archive, some even asserting their rights, claiming that their father was wrongfully convicted. And then it turns out that this same father was a repeat offender, not a victim of the regime.
“I wanted to preserve the memory of these worthy people, — Vera Fedorovna concludes. — One classmate [the son of a serviceman] even told me: if my father had lived to see the light, if he had known that someone would tell the truth, he would have been so grateful! People don't tell you about this, but they are grateful for the bright memories.
"That evening, I sat in the dining hall behind a special partition, eating a powdered omelet, stewed potatoes, and chunks of fatty herring. Behind the partition, a crowd of half-dead soldiers in dirty gray pea coats huddled, staring fixedly at me, some with dull, empty eyes, others with a predatory glint of angry, greedy envy. The orderlies, also half-dead soldiers, drove them away with curses and kicks. I tried not to look in that direction, not to listen."
(From the memoirs of prisoner Lev Kopelev, who was appointed quartermaster and given additional rations)
"Where is she, really?"
Not a single former prisoner can be found on the grounds of the former Unzhlag. All conversations with local residents about the conditions of detention and the treatment of prisoners by the administration and guards boil down to one thing: "It's all been written and rewritten." Much has been written about Unzhlag, but it's also impossible to say that it's been "studied inside and out." For example, it's known that an Honored Artist of the RSFSR served time there. Lidiya Ruslanova and a Soviet history professor Alfred Mirek, a Russian and Czechoslovak military leader during the Civil War Sergey Voitsekhovsky and Chuvash poet, translator Vasily Mitta, literary scholar and dissident Lev KopelevWriters and memoirists also served their sentences there. Zalman Shifrin (father of Efim Shifrin) and Nikolai Ustinovich, Belarusian journalist Sergey GrokhovskyGrokhovsky was accused of counterrevolutionary Trotskyist and fascist activities and Belarusian nationalism. He was arrested, and his wife and infant child were evicted from their room in a communal apartment onto the street. Their newborn son died in the freezing cold. He would later describe Unzhlag in his book, "Zone of Silence":
"We were surrounded from the front, back, and sides by guards in gray greatcoats and black Kubanka hats, looking at us warily and with hatred, holding long rifles with bayonets at the ready. I looked at them and thought: 'What drove you to this dog-like service? After all, you, like us, are camp inmates, only on opposite sides of the barbed wire. Who told you that we are 'enemies of the people'? Perhaps there are no people more honest and devoted to our system than we are, and the enemies are those who spent a whole year beating us up, beating out lies, so that honest people could be led to the 'tower' or driven to their deaths in the mines and these impenetrable forests.' "What devil do those who fervently broke the ribs of old communists, who shoved sharpened pencils into women's nipples, who crushed their toes with chair legs, and left them rotting for months in cold, dark punishment cells serve? They are the ones who herded us here, and forced you to hold us at gunpoint. Where is it, really? And was it ever there, does it even exist?"
Destroyed buildings of Unzhlag (photo: Yandex Maps)
Few have survived short notes Memories of children of prisoners. They tell of how their parents bore the stigma of "children of enemies of the people" their entire lives before their rehabilitation, and of how they couldn't find their convicted relatives—they couldn't even imagine where Unzhlag was located because of its secrecy. Some were able to request their parents' files from the archives, others weren't—archivists simply couldn't find them. Many didn't even want to know, as being the child of a prisoner was shameful.
The writer was not ashamed of his “prisoner” past Alexander SolzhenitsynHe wasn't at Unzhlag, but he collected information about all the camps and spoke with prisoners there. He wrote about the conditions of detention and "correction" as follows:
"Non-healing ulcers, epidemics. No linen. No medicine (1948-1949). Weakened, exhausted. Even the strongest worker reaches the clear during the logging season. Most of them die during the winter.
"They used to bury people in their linen, but then there was a unified order: don't waste money on linen (it could still be used for the living) and bury them naked. They were taken out on a sled or a cart, depending on the season. Their hands and feet were tied with twine so they wouldn't dangle. After that, they piled them up like logs and then covered them with matting. They dug mass graves: large ones for many. Small ones for four. The linen, shoes, and rags of the dead—everything was used for the living."
According to local accounts, the dead were buried directly on the railway embankment. Their burial sites are scattered throughout the Nizhny Novgorod-Kostroma taiga.
To this day, there is no memorial to the innocently convicted in Sukhobezvodny. Some say this is because there were no "politicals" or innocents nearby, only criminals. In the village of Severny (Lapshaga), there is such a memorial—a stone with a plaque engraved with the inscription: "To the victims of political repression—with repentance." A little further away stands a wooden cross.
Sukhobezvodnoe railway platform