Miron Dolot - Execution by Hunger

These were familiar words, but we were not ready for them at that particular evening gathering. We had come to the meeting determined to stand up for our rights; to witness the defeat of the local Party functionaries; and to hear the proclamation of a new policy—anything but collectivization! Instead, we met a completely unknown individual—a stranger who bullied us even before we found out who he was. That was too much for us. Spontaneously, pandemonium broke out: everybody began talking and shouting at the top of their voices; I also heard heavy stomping of feet somewhere behind me.

But the representative seemed caught off guard only for a moment by this outburst. He just stood behind the table, playing nervously with his pencil. After staring at the table for a moment, he raised his head and his commanding voice cut through the hubbub.

“I’ve had enough of you!” he bellowed. His nervous tension had disappeared, and his voice rang out with self-assurance: “I’m acting here on the direct orders of the county Party organization. Anyone who opposes this meeting is against the Party policy. Anyone who insults me insults the Party, for I’m the Party’s representative here, whether you like it or not!” His words were as sharp as a razor.

We got the message. A breathless and oppressive quiet fell over the audience. It was a terrifying moment for all of us. Our hope for change was quashed.

To end the embarrassing situation, the member of the village soviet hurriedly proceeded with the formal aspects of the meeting. He asked the audience to elect the chairman and secretary of the meeting, as was general practice. However, no one seemed to be anxious for this honor. All kept silent, as if conspiring to do so, and no one named any candidate to chair and conduct the meeting. This was an unforeseen and tense state of affairs.

The representative stood in front of the audience and continued toying with his pencil. From time to time he would glance indignantly at the member of the village soviet as if reproaching him for his inability to control the people. Seeing that the situation was becoming more critical, he stepped forward. As before, he threw his hands up into the air (this gesture seemed to be his trademark), then he fixed his piercing eyes upon us and remarked casually in a low voice: “People who are against me always regret it sooner or later.” He paused, viewing the audience to see what impression his words were making, and then he continued “That applies to you, too, just in case you wish to disregard the fact that I am a representative of the Communist Party.” Then he added in the same low tone of voice, but emphasizing each word: “Anyone, I repeat, anyone who opposes the Party deserves to be eliminated!”

His words had the desired effect. The stillness was awesome. No one laughed or spoke. Everyone was mute, unable and afraid to utter any protest.

“These people of yours,” he then addressed his companion loudly so that everyone would be able to hear him, “these people are not able, or simply don’t want to take advantage of the democracy which is being given to them by the Communist Party.”

He paused, expecting a response to his remark, but none came. All were sitting meekly like children in front of a dictatorial father, their attention riveted on him.

Comrade Representative cleared his throat.

“Comrade, proceed with the agenda without any formalities,” he ordered his companion who now had to conduct the meeting himself, without an elected chairman and secretary. This he did. After a moment of hesitation, he announced that Comrade Representative was to make a speech. The latter was already heading toward the rostrum.

As mentioned previously, Comrade Representative was a stranger in the village. We did not know who he was or what his occupation was. But we could tell that he wasn’t one of us and that he wasn’t a laborer—he was a city dweller, like all other newcomers to our village. He was clean, well fed, and dressed in good taste, as far as I could judge. One could easily sense that he resented us, as if we were to blame that he found himself stuck in our village. As he approached the rostrum and raised his head to address us, I had a chance to better scrutinize his physical appearance, noticing that he had a huge nose, and a mouth with thin lips which he was constantly moving as if finishing a tasty meal.

Judging from his previous bullying tactics, we didn’t expect to hear anything pleasant from Comrade Representative’s speech. But then, as he began, we just couldn’t believe our ears! Was this the same man who had spoken to us just a few minutes before? It was unbelievable! He had changed completely, like a chameleon. His tone had become smooth and warm; his manner modest; and he even smiled from time to time.

At first he talked in very general terms so that sometimes it was difficult for us to understand him. The gist of what he said, as far as I could remember, was that men were fallible creatures and prone to make mistakes easily. Several times he repeated the axioms that to err is human, and that one learns as long as one lives. He asked us to show understanding for those who had erred and to be generous to those in need. This certainly sounded like a church sermon, and we were beginning to realize why. As he continued, we became more and more convinced with each word that the rumors about Stalin’s article were true. And, before long, he had told us everything.

“A lot of things have been happening lately,” he recited. “Some of them good; some not so good.”

Thereupon he launched into a lengthy recital of the good things that had happened. He repeated phrases which we knew by heart. Then, changing his tone to a lower key, he went on to expose what he termed were the “not so good.” Here, for the first time, he mentioned Stalin and his article, “Dizziness From Success.” In fact, without much ado, he announced that he was going to read it, and he did. He read it slowly, word for word, as if he were afraid to leave out a single sentence.

We learned, as we listened to Stalin’s article, that collectivization was a great success; more than fifty percent of the farmers in the USSR were collectivized. What this meant was that the Five-Year Plan for Collectivization of Agriculture was doubled. But then, to our disbelief, we heard that this success was not success at all for it was achieved by means of distortion of the Party line: the principle of voluntary collectivization had been violated and coercive measures had been applied. As a result, some middle-class and local poor farmers fell into the ranks of kurkuls. Brutal and criminal actions were often employed against them by the Party officials. The farmers were victimized through robbery, expropriation of property, and arrest. A compulsory collectivization of farm dwellings and farm animals such as goats, sheep, hogs, and domestic fowl had been carried out. As a consequence of such extortions, collectivization had been discredited, and farmers were hastily withdrawing from collective farms.

We listened with great attention, for our entire existence depended on those words. Not a single soul dared to move, or to utter a sound.

The representative finished reading at last. Without glancing at us, he took his handkerchief and started wiping the perspiration from his forehead. He did it slowly, as if trying to win time, or to figure out what to do next. Still not looking at us, he announced that he was going to read a resolution of the Central Committee of the All-Union Communist Party. Later I found out that this was published in Pravda on March 15, 1930. We learned that the Party resolved to stop the compulsory methods of collectivization; to stop the collectivization of farmers’ dwellings and their domestic animals; and to make inquiries into the methods of expropriation of kurkuls.