Miron Dolot - Execution by Hunger

Each Thousander was accompanied by an entourage of propagandists. They were selected from among those in each county (raion) who were Communists or members of the Komsomol, the Young Communist League.

The Thousander and his propagandists were people who had always lived in cities—professors, teachers, and factory workers. When these strangers appeared in our village, some of them tried to make contact by attempting to strike up conversations with passers-by. Others simply walked around, curiously looking at everything and everybody, as if they had never seen anything like the countryside and country folk before.

Their personal appearance amused us. Their pale faces and their clothes were totally out of place in our village surroundings. Walking carefully to avoid getting snow on their polished shoes, they were an alien presence among us.

Although they exhibited curiosity and enthusiasm about their new environment, they could not hide their ignorance of country ways. The villagers laughed at their citified behavior, and within a few days the strangers had become the butt of many funny stories.

The name of our Thousander was Zeitlin—Comrade Zeitlin, to be exact. This was the only name by which we knew him, although he stayed in our village for a few months. Comrade Zeitlin was to us more the embodiment of the regime he represented than a person. We did learn that he had come from Kiev, and that he had been a member of the Communist Party even before the revolution. Although none of us knew his previous occupation, it was obvious that he knew little about country life. Nor could anyone determine his nationality. He spoke some Ukrainian, but he certainly was not a native.

Comrade Zeitlin was rather short with a huge head resting on his narrow shoulders. We never saw him smile; he always seemed to be preoccupied with some problem. He spoke rarely, and when he did, it was only about official matters in a language of Party slogans and trite phrases. Only occasionally would he greet a villager, and then in a disrespectful manner.

All Party and government representatives who came to our village wore some kind of weapon, usually carried discreetly. But Comrade Zeitlin was probably unsure of his popularity in our village because he always prominently displayed a revolver on his person. He assumed authority without delay. On the day of his arrival, he began going from house to house. Many stories originated from these visits. One anecdote about Zeitlin was especially popular: It was said that while he was visiting a farmer’s stable, a mare happened to twitch her tail in his face, depositing some dung on him.

“Woo,” he growled angrily, “that damn cow!” and he kicked the mare’s hoof. The mare responded in kind, and the farmer had to help the flustered Comrade Zeitlin to his feet.

The mare’s blow failed to deter him from his inspection. In the cattle pen, he reversed his error. Perhaps to convince the farmer that he still was not afraid of animals, he approached a calf.

“What a fine colt!” he exclaimed.

The farmer was a polite man, and hesitated to correct his visitor after the first mistake, but after the second, he gently remarked:

“This is not a colt. It is a calf; the offspring of a cow. The colt is the offspring of a mare.”

“Colt or calf,” Comrade Zeitlin retorted, “it does not matter. The world proletarian revolution won’t suffer because of that.”

The latter phrase was his favorite expression, although at that time we villagers did not understand its meaning. But we were amused by a representative of the Party and government not knowing the difference between horses and cows and their young.

Comrade Zeitlin did know his job, however. He also knew the Party’s instructions as to how it was to be done. While the villagers were entertaining and diverting themselves with stories about Comrade Zeitlin’s ignorance, the center of the village was alive with activity. Messengers called designated villagers to the center, thereby instilling both curiosity and fear in us. Other strangers, often high-ranking army officers, appeared in our village almost daily. Often we would see the Thousander with both village officials and strangers inspecting houses.

One day, a team of telephone workmen arrived and quickly laid a telephone line between our village and the county center. Only a few villagers knew what a telephone was, but even they probably could not have guessed the real reason for bringing the telephone into our village. The officials did not neglect to point to it as a symbol of the great progress the village was making under the Communist regime.

WE DID NOT have to wait too long for Comrade Zeitlin’s strategy to reveal itself. The first incident occurred very early on a cold January morning in 1930 while people in our village were still asleep. Fifteen villagers were arrested, and someone said that the Chekists [2] A Chekist was a member of the original Soviet secret police, the Cheka, which is an acronym for Extraordinary Commission, or more precisely, All-Russian Extraordinary Commission for Fighting Counterrevolution and Sabotage (1917–1922). It was succeeded by the GPU. The old title, Chekist, is still in use. Even today’s members of KGB are often referred to as Chekists. Communist propaganda eulogizes them as national heroes. had arrived in the village at midnight, and with the cooperation of the village officials, had forced their prisoners into their van and disappeared before the villagers awakened.

The most prominent villagers were among those arrested: a school teacher, who had been working in our village since prerevolutionary times; the clerk of the village soviet (council), an influential and popular figure who gave advice in legal matters; and a store owner. The remainder were ordinary farmers of good reputation. None of us knew for what offense they had been arrested, nor where they had been taken.

This was frightening. Our official leadership had been taken away in one night. The farmers, mostly illiterate and ignorant, were thereby left much more defenseless.

Almost immediately the families of the arrested farmers were evicted from their homes. I witnessed what happened to one such family. We lived not far from one of those arrested, Timish Zaporozhets, whom we children called Uncle Timish. Sometime around noon, a group of the village officials arrived at his house. The official in charge, facing Uncle Timish’s wife, announced that inasmuch as her husband had been arrested as an “enemy of the people,” all his possessions were to be immediately confiscated and declared state property. The woman, confused and upset, tried to argue with the officials. She asked them what treason her husband had committed against the people that he should be proclaimed their enemy. But the officials were in no mood to discuss such a matter. The order to leave the house was repeated. She was also told that she might remove from the house only her own and her children’s personal possessions, such as clothing. Everything else had to be left behind.

By now, she realized that the officials meant business. With tears in her eyes, she begged them to let her stay in the house at least overnight so that she could collect her things. But she pleaded in vain. The order was again repeated; then she fainted and fell to the floor. Her children started to cry. The man in charge ordered her to be picked up and taken out to the sleigh which was standing ready in front of the house. She came to herself at that moment, and sobbingly told the officials that she did not have any place to go. This had been her home for many years. She, with her husband and children, had built the home.

Neither tears nor pleas helped. The officials only urged her to hurry. The man in charge took her by the shoulders. Screaming, she tore herself away from him. The one in charge ordered her to be evicted bodily from her house. When they grabbed her, she struggled and pulled their hair. She was finally dragged out of the house and thrown onto the sleigh. While two men held her, the children were brought out. A few of their possessions were thrown onto the sleigh and it moved off. Still restrained by the two officials, Uncle Timish’s wife and his children, wailing and shouting, disappeared in the winter haze.