Oskar BESGANZ – chairman of the German national autonomy of folk culture,
jurist by profession:
- I was born in 1937, the very year which gained notoriety. My parents lived with their three children on the Crimea peninsula; being the owners of a sound batnyard, they were quite well-off. And then, in August 1941, when the war broke out, they be deported all of us, all Germans, to the Caucasus. They said that we would not have to stay there for a long time, maybe just for two months, just for the time while the Fascists were attacking the country. When leaving our home, we took along a minimum of clothes and objects – things which we though might be absolutely necessary. One month later they chased us on board a freight train; without giving any explanation, they forced us to get on waggons normally used for the transportation of cattle and deported us to the northern part of Kazakhstan; it was wintertime, we sank knee-deep into the snow, but, imagine, we had no sturdy footwear. And this is how the funny part of our life began! Father was immediately fetched away; about a month later he was assigned to work for the labour army, and we, three children, were left behind with our seriously ill mother, condemned to henceforth lead a miserable existence. I was the eldest child in the family. The recollection of all those sad and traumatic events is nothing but horror. When I went to school for the first time I was already ten years old; this was due to the fact that I had no convenient clothes to wear, not to mention study shoes. I just disposed of some kind of strange bast shoes
During the first time we lived in the bath house, later we were placed in a barn; we used to eat whatever we could find. I even had to go and beg for leftovers, which other people had thrown away – in order not to die of starvation.
In the spring I went to do fieldwork: I collected putrid potatoes, which had
been overlooked during the harvest in the autumn. And just in this very moment
the leader of the village council was passing by on the hill; he immediately
drove up to me and then began to lash on me and would not stop, until we had
come back to the village, where I lost consciousness.
As if by a miracle he did not strike me dead.
Neighbours gave my mother advice to complain about him to the commandant, but she decided not to do so. And the chairman himself was very interested to cover the whole thing up; for this reason he brought along a whole sack of wheat. We sat down, floured all the grains between millstones and then baked flat cakes – we were content. It is really horrible to recall that time.
This is the kind of every-day life we had to cope with until 1947; only then our father returned home from the trudarmy. We removed to the district town, built ourselves a dug-out, bought a lambkin and drank ist milk. Later, another three children were born. Nowadays, you can only be amazed about the fact that they survived and even had the chance to serve an apprenticeship.
We received our deserts just for being Germans, and the word „Fascist“, with which people would try to insult my, sounded in my ears as long as I had finalyy learned to deal out blows, to fight back. Of course, we felt like lepers among other people.
On e would not even like one’s worst enemy to suffer the kind of fate we were forced to experienece.
Olga RAN, solist with the Krasnoyarsk Opera und Ballet Theater
There was not a single German family not affected by deportation, other ways
of political persecution or mobilization into the labour army. Our family was
not an exceptuion, either.
Grandfather died in a trudarmy camp near Chelyabinsk from dysentery. In
Chelyabinsk the trudarmists built a smelting works. Grandfather did not return
home – nor did mum’s youngest brother who had just accomplished the 15th year of
his life. I had not been born at that time, but all this nightmare is known to
me from what my parents told me. Our family was deported from the Crimea
peninsula to Kazakhstan. The little children died from hunger, cold and the
sudden change of climate. It is really hard to imagine how the Germans lived
there – as if they had ended up on the street. They worked at the grain elevator
next door.
Whenever a few grains happened to get between the wrinkles of their clothes, they would take them home, roast them for a certain time and then use them to cook soup. The situation continued througout the war and even afterwards – until 1950, I believe. As far as I remember there was an overall famine in 1948.
I was born in Kazakhstan. I removed to Krasnoarsk about 20 years ago. Before, I graduated from the Uralsk conservatory and worked for the Academic Opera Theater in Sverdlovsk for 5 years. We, a few people, were invited to work for the newly buile Opera Theater in Krasnoyarsk. Hence, I have started to work here from the very beginning, from the very first season. On the occasion of the opening ceremony I sang the role of Konchakov from “Prince Igor”.
My parents left Kazakhstan in 1993; they now live in Germany. Dead has died there. Mama and I see eachother every year. Either I visit her in Germany or she comes over to Krasnoarsk.
It is hard for her to liver there, in Germany – in moral terms. She lives there all alone. She takes to heart the fact that not all relatives are joined there in one place. And now her husband’s grave hinders her from leaving.
Mum was born on the Crimea peninsula, Dead is from Crimea, as well. When the war broke out both of them were children yet; they were deported to Kazakhstan together with their parents. Mum is able to speak the language for everyday use. During my vacation I visit her for a couple of months and I notice: we have no access to theis kind of civilization. A problem, a very big problem, an entirely different world. However, it seems to be quite easy for children to find their way. Pensioneers are well-off in Germany. They have sufficient material support. This is also true for Mum; she even supports us. But she is unable to acquit herself from all the mental discomfort, which depresses her.
In Germany they call us Russians. No matter, whether you are Russian or German: as soon as you are from Russia they call you Russak. Whenever I stay in Germany, I exclusively spend the time with friends and relatives. Contacts with the German population just do not arise.
Aleksander POPP, Member of the Artists’ Union of Russia
I was born in 1947. I can say that I was born in the very moment, when they pulled may father out of a caved in pit. He was in the trudarmy having to work for on of the Leninsk pits in the Novosibirsk Region. They took father to Novosibirsk, tried to keep him alive, bit all efforts were in vain. My dear sisters all died even earlier, during the war – in Novosibirsk, as well, to were they had deported my family from Saratov in 1941, together with many other German families.
Thus, I was left behind with my Mum. How did we manage our life? As all others did. I remember the dug-out, in which we lived, the little village. This was in the Novosibirsk Region.
I have now been living in Krasnoyarsk for 20. I came here, in order to study art at the Surikov professional school. I graduated. I perambulated the whole region – from the Sayan Mountains all up to Dickson. I went by plane instead of travelling by river barge, and then continued my trip on foot, just equipped with a sketchbook. Sometimes I made such trips all alone, sometimes I was accompanied by other artists. I produced a series of ecologic pictures – mainly views of the Yenisey. It is a series of hundreds of individual pictures. I also realized my project “Siberian stones”, a hige cycle, and a whole galery of portraits.
I am very concentrated on my work. Other artists esteem me. I do not feel any prejudices on account of my nationality. Even when I was a child, nobody called me a Fascist, much less nowadays. I feel fine in social terms.
Whether I am interested in learning details about the history of my ancestors
in the trudarmy?
I would like to answer this way: I am just a German. My entire genetics are
German. Hence, my heart reacts to everything that concerns this natinality.
Unfortunately, I am not very well able to use my mother tongue. Once, Stalin
took us in his hands and threw us far away, scattering us all over the country.
How am I supposed to master the language? Moreover, my parents were petrified of
teaching me our language.
Published in: Friendship League N° 4, 1998