Time to read: 16 minutes(s)

In October of this year, Vologda Oblast Governor Georgy Filimonov announced that a monument to dictator Joseph Stalin would be erected in the region's capital. He claimed the monument had been requested. put residents of the city, and it will stand near the house where the "father of the people" once spent three years in exile. Vologda authorities count them.that “the installation of the sculpture on the museum’s premises meets the interests of historical education and the objectives of developing the historical and cultural potential of the city of Vologda.” 

In response to this, historian Ivan Dzhukha wrote An open letter in which he proposed several alternative locations for the monument. For example, near the home of the writer Shalamov, who spent 20 years in the Gulag. NeMoskva spoke with Ivan Dzhukha about why he decided to write this letter and why he still can't access his grandfather's criminal case.

 Before moving to Gelendzhik, where I now live, I lived in Vologda for 35 years. Therefore, I consider myself a lifelong Vologda resident, and everything that happens in Vologda is interesting and important to me. I am a geographer and geologist by training, but for the last thirty years, I have become more of a historian. There is a saying: geography is history in space, and history is geography in time. So it's no surprise that a geographer became a historian. And for many years now, I have been in both capacities. Geology hasn't gone away: I go on short geological expeditions every year. During these trips, I also pursue my historical interests, the main one being the project "Greek Martyrology: The History of the Greeks in the USSR during the Stalinist Era." My first historical book about the Greeks was published in 1993, at the height of my teaching and geological career. Incidentally, the book was published in Vologda. The project has also resulted in the publication of eight books in Russian. A book co-authored by German historians from the Ruhr University was published in Germany in German. This year, a major publication in Polish was published in Poland. Next spring, a two-volume Greek-language edition of "Citizens of Greece in the Gulag" will be published in Greece. In total, over the past 40 years, a dozen and a half books have been written. Another of these, "Shalamov's Geography," was published in Vologda. I also came up with the idea for the Varlam Shalamov Memorial Room in Kolyma. 

An important part of the "Greek Martyrology" project, which, of course, has an anti-Stalinist focus, is the installation of monuments and memorials where I've discovered mass graves of my fellow Greeks. This is how monuments appeared in Krasnodar and Magadan, in areas with dense Greek populations where mass repressions against them took place: in Krasnaya Polyana, Vityazevo, Abinsk, Kabardinka, Novorossiysk, and Stavropol. Recently, together with the descendants of those repressed, I was able to erect a memorial at the Tesnitsky firing range near Tula, where in 1938, during the NKVD's Greek operation, about 20 Greeks were executed. I plan to install a memorial in Sandarmokh.

— How did you find out about your repressed relatives?

As a child, I didn't ask questions about my repressed relatives. My childish mind didn't feel uncomfortable knowing only one grandfather was spoken of. We always remembered my mother's father, Grandfather Nikifor, as a hero. He died in the first months of the war in 1941. But Grandfather Ivan was never spoken of openly. Grandfather Nikifor's portrait hung in the house, but there was no photograph of Grandfather Ivan. As I grew older, I began to wonder: what happened to him, where is he? Gradually, the picture of my family's tragedy began to become clearer. 

Great-grandmother Fedora had fourteen children. In 1930, the family of her eldest daughter, Sofia, was dispossessed. She was exiled to Siberia. In 1933, as a result of the famine orchestrated by Stalin, Ivan's grandfather's wife, Khristina Mavrodi, died. And in December 1937, just as the NKVD's Greek operation began, great-grandmother Fedora's three sons—Ivan, Andrei, and Alexei—were arrested. Grandfather Ivan and Andrei were executed (which was discovered decades later), and the youngest, Alexei, was sent to Kolyma. He returned 11 years later. Grandfather Alexei broke the wall of silence surrounding what happened in 37. My father often talked to him about it. They spoke Greek. More than once, I heard the word "piran," meaning "taken." This word is from the common lexicon; the Chekists expressed it in their own way—"seized." For almost thirty years, there was no news of Grandfather Ivan and Andrei. At first, the authorities lied, saying he had been sent to a camp, allegedly without the right to correspondence. This, too, was a lie, since even those convicted under Article 58 had the right to correspondence. Then, under Khrushchev, they sent a false death certificate stating he had died in the camp from some illness. Under Brezhnev, as is well known, there were no repressions in the 30s, only distortions of the party line, so my father learned no new information. It was only under Gorbachev, hated by the Stalinists, that our family received the true death certificate for Grandfather: "Cause of death: execution." 

Already living in Vologda, where I moved after studying in Moscow and began studying the history of my people, I managed to find all the documents, including the protocol and order for my grandfather's execution, signed by Yezhov. (Eighteen years ago, when they were filming my book, I met his daughter.) I copied all 133 protocols on the Greek line from the FSB's central archive. This way, the names of all the Greeks arrested during the Greek operation were identified. And the number was 13,500. Eleven thousand of them were executed.

In my home village in Donbas alone, 164 people were arrested in two and a half months, 158 of whom were executed. So, yes, there's a "piran" in every home.

— What struck you most in the history of your relatives?

When I began researching this topic, I didn't focus on my own family tree. The "Greek Martyrology" project is about the Greek people of the USSR. Hundreds of archival and investigative files stored in regional FSB offices, as well as camp files from the archives of Magadan, Norilsk, Vorkuta, Krasnoyarsk, Rostov, Krasnodar, Odessa, and Kazakhstan, allowed me to learn almost everything about the catastrophe that befell the Greeks under Stalin. But I lacked the courage to familiarize myself with my grandfather's file. I'm not ready to meet him, and I don't think I ever will be. The main reason was that I had to show these documents to my father. I had no doubt that reading them wouldn't add precious weeks to his life in the twilight of his life, but rather take them away. This is what made me abandon the idea of ​​​​reading materials about a person so dear to me. The NKVD was a serious operation: full-face and profile photographs, fingerprints before and after executions. How would my father, orphaned at seven with two younger brothers, have reacted to this? Studying the cases of those executed and those who died in the camps becomes more and more difficult with each passing year. It's impossible to get used to it, even for a researcher. I can't approach it technically. Each new case is a new stress. 

You, the author of a book about Shalamov, wrote an open letter to the governor of the Vologda region, who decided to erect a monument to Stalin in the birthplace of the great writer, who spent almost twenty years in the camps at Stalin's hands. Aren't you afraid, given the times we live in, that pressure might be exerted?

The first time I was pressured was when I was 27. Back then, during lectures at the Polytechnic Institute, I quoted excerpts from Solzhenitsyn's "The Gulag Archipelago" to students, calling him a great Russian writer. Back then, that carried a six-year prison sentence. Back then, due to my youth and, perhaps, my stupidity, I wasn't afraid. After the denunciation, I was summoned for a "conversation." It took place in the Church of St. John the Baptist, a closed-to-many church. It was a KGB safe house. However, the KGB didn't go very far. Since they couldn't find Solzhenitsyn's book, they resorted to petty blackmail—harassing me about my graduate program in Moscow, where I was planning to apply. 

Over the past fifty years, our country has experienced several ideological somersaults. Yesterday's enemies of the people have become its friends, banned writers are now studied in schools, opponents of the war in Afghanistan have been proven right, and so on. 

As for the open letter, I can already be considered a repeat offender in this regard. I once wrote an open letter to the Greek Minister of Justice. At the EU ministerial meeting in Tallinn, which coincided with the Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Nazism and Communism, the Greek minister was the only one who didn't go to lay flowers at the monument. So, the letter ended with these words: Please accept my assurances of my deepest respect. And they'll deal with the Vologda governor without me. Time flies. We've had similar experiences in our history. This, too, will pass.

— How did the idea for the book about Shalamov and his memorial room come about?

I'll start from afar. In 1974, I first visited Kolyma as part of a geological expedition from Moscow State University. At the time, I was prospecting for placer gold on the tributaries of the Debin River. The Debin River is a tributary of the Kolyma River. In 2003, I returned to those parts. In the village of Debin, formerly known as Left Bank, I met the hospital's head physician, Georgy Goncharov. Upon learning that I was from Vologda, he took me to the Shalamov Memorial Room, which he had just opened. Georgy Borisovich had collected all sorts of camp artifacts, Shalamov's published books, and copies of various documents about the prisoner Shalamov's work at this hospital—formerly the Central Camp Hospital.  

Georgy Borisovich then asked me why the people of Vologda didn't install a memorial plaque to their great compatriot on the hospital building. After all, he was born in Vologda, and here he was born a second time! He arrived at the hospital a weakling and would have died if not for a stroke of luck... And he told me how, indeed, Varlam Tikhonovich Shalamov had ended up in a paramedic training course and later worked as a paramedic. This is what saved his life.

Returning to Vologda, I conveyed this proposal to the mayor. It was intended to be a gift from the city of Vologda to the village of Debin. The mayor supported the idea, but either being busy with other matters or something else prevented me from fulfilling the mission. Since then, I've been visiting Kolyma every year, and I always visit Debin. And each time, Goncharov reminded me of the memorial plaque.

This continued for ten years. When, in 2012, I decided to move and leave Vologda, I realized I couldn't do it until the memorial plaque was installed. In other words, the task had gone from being a city one to a personal one. 

I gathered my friends, we chipped in, and even raised a small amount through petitions. And off we went to Kolyma. Almost the entire village turned out for the plaque installation ceremony in Debin. Three years later, the book "Shalamov Geography" was published. The material for it was my trips to all of Shalamov's Kolyma sites, that is, to the former camps. And Shalamov visited many of them. 

Then the idea arose to renovate the memorial room. It is visited by everyone traveling along the Kolyma Highway. But the room's condition clearly didn't match the level of its dedication. The necessary funds were quickly raised again through signature lists. I also asked for donations of one thousand rubles each, so that as many people as possible could participate in this project. Shalamov's heir, Alexander Rigosik, provided significant assistance. He sent dozens of Shalamov's books in foreign languages ​​to Debin. The renovated room was ceremoniously opened on August 14, 2023. It was then closed immediately, three weeks later. 

Why?

It's a chain of coincidences and stupidities. I don't even want to talk about it. This August, I was in Kolyma again, meeting with the Minister of Culture of the Magadan Region and the head of the Yagodninsky District. The head allocated a new room—in the district center, not in the hospital. In March 2025, I'll fly there and restore everything.  

— Why do you think the figure of Stalin is becoming more and more popular?

"My answer is banal: we haven't learned the lessons of history. When, in the late 80s, thick magazines announced the publication of previously banned works, including those by Shalamov and Solzhenitsyn, the number of subscribers to these magazines increased sharply. Then came the advent of individual publications by the same "renegades" and "denigrators" of Soviet (read: Stalinist) reality. Any previously banned literature was snapped up—on gray paper, with poor printing. Such was the thirst for truth. However, for many, just one breath of freedom was enough. The oxygen was so abundant that it became difficult to breathe from its excess, just as it had been difficult before from its lack. Books and magazines with the history of our country—not the one drummed into us by the "History of the CPSU"—were not read. And if they were read, they weren't deeply felt. Stalin remained in many minds a wise ruler and victor in the war, the savior of the country, who destroyed only the enemies of the people. That's how Russian mythmakers portrayed him in films. And if there were any innocent victims, it was Yezhov and Beria...

These myths are maintained and reinforced today. And Governor Filimonov contributes his share to Stalin's myth-making. 

Several years ago, when the centenary of the Cheka-NKVD-KGB-FSB was celebrated, the authorities even went so far as to claim that the repressions of the Stalin era were partly justified. Everything is clear with the authorities, but the question remains: why don't people want to know the truth? Thousands of documents have been published, revealing Stalin's truly enormous personal role in unleashing the repressions. The so-called Stalin execution lists, with his signature on the sentences of tens of thousands of Soviet citizens, have been declassified. Anyone who wants to know the truth about the repressions, rather than feed on myths, can do so. But the fact is that many don't want to know the truth. This is the greatest danger. Because, as Plato said, "Ochlos begets tyranny." 

The question of whether crimes were committed or not, whether Stalin was an executioner or not, is no longer a historical question. It's a moral question. Everyone must answer for themselves: is it right to kill some so that others can live well? This is the line that divides the supporters and opponents of Stalinism. I believe in large percentages who support the revival of Stalinism and the erection of monuments. I don't want to call these people immoral, but there is something ochlocratic about it. The paradox is that while in Plato's time the ochlos were deprived of political rights, today the authorities rely on this very category. 

I have a story about this. About a boy named Vanya, who traveled to Moscow in 1938 after his grandfather's arrest and met with Stalin. Joseph Vissarionovich received him warmly. Vanya told the leader that his grandfather had worked as a simple carter on a collective farm, hauling stone from a quarry. But he had been arrested. Vanya tried to convince Stalin that his grandfather was innocent, that he had always worked honestly. Stalin replied: "You see, our security services never make mistakes, so something must have happened." Vanya countered: "How can they not make mistakes if they arrested a man for nothing?" "My grandfather even went to rallies with a red flag, and once even with your portrait." "You understand," the leader said, "even if the security services made a mistake, it wasn't out of malice." There's an expression, Vanya: "When you chop down a forest, the chips fly." After all, we have so many enemies around us, they're preventing us from building the best possible state, one in which everyone will be happy. When we build it, your dad, you, and your brother and sister will go to school for free. You'll go to pioneer camps for free, get a higher education for free. And then you'll get a free apartment and a good job. Not like your peers in the West. You'll live in a communist paradise. But first, we need to get rid of everyone who gets in our way, all the enemies of the people. To this, Vanya said the following: thank you, dear Joseph Vissarionovich. Let everything you've said be paid for, let me not go to pioneer camps and study at the best university. Let me not have a free apartment if all this means shooting my grandfather Ivan. Let him go! 

"Yes, many people say that, even when they talk about their repressed, exiled relatives. They say they were simply exiled, not executed."

— Well, yes. "Thank you for not shooting me." Like the old joke about Lenin's kindness, stroking the boy's head. But he could have slashed him with a razor... What's there to comment on? 

— You do talk to students, right? Who do they think Stalin was now?

When I taught at the institute and was simultaneously a local political activist, I didn't demand ideological loyalty from my students. I never imposed anything on them or asked my students what their views were. Students are adults, capable of choosing their own path. Incidentally, the most active students, not from the natural history and geography department where I taught, were from the history department. I'm still friends with some of my students. I go on mineralogical expeditions with them. I admit that not all of them share my political views. But I'm no longer a politician, and that doesn't stop us from communicating and enjoying travel. 

When I became involved in politics, I thought I could change the world. Along with my comrades in the struggle against the all-powerful Communist Party of the Soviet Union, I became the organizer of the first democratic opposition in Vologda. None of us set out to become members of parliament; we simply wanted to awaken the population; we were engaged, so to speak, in political education. Later, we realized, at least I did, that this burden proved too much. That a task had to be undertaken within one's capabilities. Such a task turned out to be the task of decommunization within a single family. I was an Octobrist, a Pioneer, and a Komsomol member, but I never became a Party member. My eldest daughter was an Octobrist and a Pioneer, but she never became a Komsomol member. My middle daughter was an Octobrist, but she never became a Pioneer. And my youngest never experienced the joys of being an Octobrist. That's what I was up to. 

— You mentioned your children. At what age do you think children should be told about the repressions?

As soon as they become interested in history. As soon as they begin to understand their country's place in history. I tried to raise both my children and my grandchildren in the context of world history. Of course, the history of our own country is closest to us. But to avoid false patriotic ostentation—like, we're the coolest, "we can do it again!" and all that—it's necessary to know the history of not only your own country but also your neighbors. But it's essential to know the true history of your own country: with all its victories and all its repressions. 

The truth cannot be offensive. 

— Russia has a law preserving the memory of victims of political repression, but we see monuments being destroyed. Why do you think that is? 

"Two radically opposed processes have collided: the declared one of preserving the memory of the victims of Stalin's repressions, and the quiet process of rehabilitating Stalinism. The latter is winning. The Memorial has been destroyed, the State Gulag Museum has been closed, monuments to the victims of repression are being desecrated (and no one is being held accountable for it), readings at the Solovetsky Stone on Lubyanka have been banned... The latter is winning. I'm not sure it's temporary..."

But something definitely went wrong.

— On top of everything else happening in the country, rehabilitation certificates are being revoked, saying someone was an enemy of the state after all. What could this lead to?

"I don't think this will lead to anything. Where did it come from? They picked on one name from the multi-million-strong Memorial List of Victims of Stalinism-Bolshevism. They found something connected to the Germans. The authorities simply needed some pretext to shut down Memorial. But it's impossible to reverse the rehabilitation of millions of Soviet citizens, including, for example, Sergei Pavlovich Korolev or General Gorbatov. It's impossible even to reverse the rehabilitation of Yezhov and Beria, which would mean upholding the accusations that they were either British, German, or Japanese spies. Insanity won't reach that level." 

— People are comparing the current era to the times of Stalin and Brezhnev. What periods in our history would you compare it to?

"The current era has elements of both Stalinism and Brezhnevism. The state is now cracking down on the printed word, something we've already seen in Brezhnev's time. Back then, they caught people reading the wrong books or telling jokes. And when Andropov was in charge of the KGB, writers were persecuted. Some were forcibly expelled from the USSR, like Solzhenitsyn, while others left voluntarily."

 As an absolute example of absurdity, Viktor Nekrasov, a combat officer and participant in the Battle of Stalingrad, was declared undesirable in the USSR. He was awarded the Stalin Prize, and his book "In the Trenches of Stalingrad" was removed from public access in libraries and hidden in special collections. We see the same thing today. Those who fight books are in trouble...