Marta Hrytsiak and Taras Romaniuk,
daughter and grandson of Yevhen Hrytsiak,
one of the leaders of the 1953 Norilsk camp uprising
(village of Ustia, Kolomyia district):
"THE UPRISINGS IN NORILSK, VORKUTA, AND KENGIR WERE, IN FACT, THE BEGINNING OF THE END OF THE SOVIET SYSTEM"
"THE DEATH SENTENCE WAS COMMUTED TO 25 YEARS OF IMPRISONMENT"
MARTA: My father always called his father "batko" (a respectful term for father). And his father was such a man… He read a lot, had newspapers, and many people came to their home to talk with him. This was in the village of Stetseva [1], not far from us—on the way to Horodenka, about 10 kilometers from Sniatyn.
It was probably in that family environment that my father’s worldview began to take shape. In his book, he wrote about how, upon hearing of Konovalets’ [2] death, he asked his father, “What is the OUN?” He received an answer and immediately wanted to meet at least one Ukrainian nationalist.
When he went to study at the trade school in Sniatyn, Osyp Zinkevych [3]—who later lived in Canada—asked him, “Would you like to join our Union of Ukrainian Nationalists?” To which he replied, “I’ve been ready for this for a long time; I truly desire it.” That’s how he first became acquainted with the organization and took his first steps on that path.
TARAS: He shared that when he went to study at the trade school, he received an invitation from Osyp Zinkevych, his friend from a neighboring village, and joined the OUN youth network. They formed underground groups, and he became part of such a group with Osyp Zinkevych and Mykola Plaviuk [4] , who would later become the president of the Ukrainian People's Republic (UNR) in exile. It was Plaviuk who handed over the regalia of the UNR to Leonid Kravchuk [5] in the 1990s.
This underground group, which consisted of five young men, also included their fellow villager Markovskyi, who unfortunately died in battles with the NKVD, and Skoreiko. The fates of the latter two were tragic—they perished in the struggle against the Soviet system—while the other two, Zinkevych and Plaviuk, emigrated to the West.
Osyp Zinkevych became the chief editor of the publishing house Smoloskyp [6], which published Ukrainian literature in America. After Ukraine became independent, the publishing house moved to Kyiv. Every member of the organization had a pseudonym. They trained to resist any totalitarian regime and any oppressor.
They began their activities during the German occupation, when Germany, among others, seized Western Ukraine. The nationalists understood that they could not fully rely on the Germans and therefore formed their own core to fight for independence.
Yes, there was a time when they had significant hopes that an independent Ukrainian state could emerge with Germany's support. But that was Hitler’s game, and now we can evaluate it clearly. Hitler never planned to grant independence to any of the peoples he enslaved, but neither did the Soviet Union.
This was not yet combat experience; it was resistance training. The Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) was a political organization, while its combat wing was represented by the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA). Two of his friends from the underground branch, Markovskyi and Skoreiko, joined the UPA.
My grandfather also applied to join the UPA, but he was told to wait due to the lack of resources. The UPA fought with captured weapons, and there was not even enough clothing to properly outfit the growing number of insurgents. They told him to stay at home and wait until they had the capacity to include him.
As it happened, the Red Army arrived in the region, and my grandfather was mobilized. He served in the Fourth Ukrainian Front on the Soviet side. He was wounded in Czechoslovakia and received combat decorations.
After World War II ended, he continued to serve in the Soviet army, and his unit was stationed in Kolomyia. There, he was able to reconnect with friends from Stetseva, including those who were in the UPA. My grandfather was responsible for guarding German trophy depots, which contained a large number of medical supplies. He used these supplies to secretly assist the UPA.
Later, Soviet counterintelligence uncovered his past involvement in the youth wing of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and learned about his assistance to insurgents in Kolomyia. My grandfather was arrested and sentenced to death, a sentence that was later commuted to 25 years of imprisonment. This marked the beginning of his life behind barbed wire—transit prisons and labor camps—starting with the Ivano-Frankivsk prison, then Kharkiv, followed by Kazakhstan, and finally, the Karaganda-Norilsk route.
At that time, Norilsk [7] was not yet a city. It was a settlement being built into a city by the hands of prisoners. What Russia takes pride in today, and the Soviet Union once boasted of, was constructed at the cost of countless lives. They called it the northernmost city in the world, celebrated for its vast mineral resources, but no attention was drawn to the immense human toll it took to build.
When the foundations of Norilsk’s buildings were being laid, several prisoners died every day. Their bodies were taken to Schmidt Mountain [8] and buried in unmarked graves, where they remain to this day. Only a small memorial chapel honors the memory of those who gave their lives during the construction of the city.
TARAS: After Stalin's death, the prisoners expected some relaxation of the regime, but it turned out that it primarily applied to criminal offenders, not political prisoners. Amnesty began for those serving terms for minor or domestic crimes.
This, combined with the arbitrariness of the camp administration and constant executions in these camps, led to resistance. The execution of prisoners during a transfer was the final straw, sparking the Norilsk Uprising on May 25, 1953 [9].
The uprising ended in a violent crackdown. On one hand, the Soviet authorities seemingly responded to the prisoners' demands by sending a commission from Moscow, headed by Colonel Kuznetsov, a personal aide to Beria [10] —a high-ranking official. But at the same time, a political struggle was unfolding in Moscow. Beria was arrested, and the camp administration was unsure whether to follow the orders of Beria's aide. This uncertainty played into the hands of the prisoners involved in the uprising.
Efforts were also made to establish connections with UPA (Ukrainian Insurgent Army) units in Western Ukraine. Mykhailo Soroka [11], one of the prominent insurgents, created the "OUN-North" network and, even while in the camps, organized the work of former OUN and UPA members.
First and foremost, this was a fight for dignity. The Soviet system sought to humiliate and demonstrate the inferiority of Ukrainians in every possible way. These insurgents began standing up for their dignity, refusing to bow to the system.
My grandfather wrote his book during Soviet times and managed to secretly send the manuscript abroad. As a result, the first edition of his memoirs was published in Baltimore by the Smoloskyp publishing house. He wanted the memory of the Norilsk Uprising to be preserved, and with the help of Osyp Zinkevych, the book was not only printed but also translated into English and German.
MARTA: I remember how it actually happened. My father had a typewriter and had learned to type while studying at trade school. He used it to type his memoirs, which he titled "For Myself" [12]. Why did he decide to write them? Because he was constantly being harassed. I believe the KGB [13] even threatened him with a psychiatric hospital. He thought he had to write down everything he knew and remembered to document it before they could claim it was all fabricated once he was institutionalized.
He typed the manuscript on the typewriter, handing over a few sheets at a time to my mother. She, in turn, took them to her friend for safekeeping. Her friend kept the pages hidden, possibly in a stove, until the entire manuscript was complete. I think the handwritten copy was passed to Father Karas in Kolomyia, and later, through the artist Zalivakha [14], it was smuggled abroad.
When my father was typing his memoirs, he was taking a great risk. We never knew when or who might visit us, and the KGB would often stop by for “preventive” conversations. Every month, my father was summoned to the KGB and would be gone the entire day. He would leave in the morning, and my mother and I would anxiously wait for him, peeking out the window, but he wouldn’t return. There were no phones, and even if there had been, who would have informed us? Every month, we sent him off as though it might be the last time we saw him.
Even now, as I recall these events, I feel nervous, as if reliving them. Once, while my father was typing in the third room, my grandmother led the KGB agents into the house. They didn’t wait for anyone to let them in; they simply walked in. She began speaking loudly with them, so my father could hear and prepare. My father quickly came out, placed a chair right in front of the door to the room where he was working, and sat down. The agents sat too, and they talked for at least an hour.
You can imagine how dangerous this was. If they had glanced into the adjoining room, they would have seen a table with the typewriter and all the pages. The doors were partly glass, though there were embroidered curtains on them. Still, it felt like a miracle that they didn’t look. God must have been protecting us because my father managed to avoid being caught. When they left without noticing the typing, it was such a relief. I was about ten years old at the time.
These visits were frequent, and I grew familiar with all the KGB officials who came to see my father. I still remember them from my childhood. We had a beautiful yard—unlike typical village households with chickens and geese running around, everything at our place was kept in enclosures. Our yard had flowers and grass, meticulously cared for by my father.
I’ll share a slightly amusing moment. There was a KGB officer named Petrenko, a short man. He came into the house, took off his shoes in the hallway, and all the children started trying on his shoes because they were so small. I held the door, my heart pounding with fear that he might notice, while the others took turns putting on his shoes. There were a lot of us, and we kept passing the shoes around in a circle. It was both terrifying and, oddly, fun. Even though I knew they might take my father away at any moment, somehow, we found humor in that moment.
[1] Stetseva is a village in Ukraine, located in the Sniatyn Urban Community of the Kolomyia District, Ivano-Frankivsk Region.
[2] Yevhen Konovalets (1891–1938) was a Ukrainian statesman, military leader, and politician. He was a colonel in the Ukrainian People's Army, commander of the Sich Riflemen, head of the Ukrainian Nationalist Leadership (1927), founder and first leader of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) from 1929 to 1938, and one of the ideologists of Ukrainian nationalism.
[3] Osyp Zinkevych (1925–2017) was a Ukrainian literary scholar and publisher. He served as chairman of the board of the independent Ukrainian publishing house "Smoloskyp," a member of the Washington Committee for Ukrainian Helsinki Guarantees, and an organizer and first head of the Museum-Archive of Ukrainian Samizdat in Ukraine (1998). He was also the compiler of the "Encyclopedia of the Dissident Movement" (2010).
[4] Mykola Vasylovych Plaviuk (1925–2012) was a Ukrainian political and public figure in exile, the last president of the Ukrainian People's Republic (UNR) in exile (1989–1992), and the head of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (1979–2012).
[5] Leonid Makarovych Kravchuk (1934–2022) was a Ukrainian politician and statesman, the first President of Ukraine following the restoration of its independence (1991–1994), Speaker of the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, and the last Speaker of the Verkhovna Rada of the Ukrainian SSR (1990–1991).
[6] The Smoloskyp Publishing House was founded by Ukrainian émigrés in Baltimore, USA, and named in honor of Vasyl Symonenko. After Ukraine gained independence, the publishing house relocated to Ukraine.
In the United States, Smoloskyp published dissident and human rights literature, as well as works by Ukrainian writers repressed under Stalin's regime. In Ukraine, Smoloskyp focuses on publishing debut books by young authors, aiming to nurture and expand the community of creative Ukrainian youth.
[7] Norilsk is a city beyond the Arctic Circle, located in the southern part of the Taymyr Peninsula. Administratively, it is part of the Taymyr District in Krasnoyarsk Krai. The city was officially established in 1953 (previously, it was a settlement).
[8] Schmidt Mountain ("Shmidtikha") is situated near Norilsk and was named after Fyodor (Friedrich) Schmidt, a scientist who first documented the area's mineral resources. At its base lies a massive burial site for Norilsk prisoners. The phrase "to go under Shmidtikha" became synonymous with death.
[9] The Norilsk Uprising of Political Prisoners lasted from May 26 to August 4, 1953. In response to the shooting of prisoners by camp guards in the 4th zone of "Gorlag," the prisoners stopped working on the construction site and wrote on one of the buildings: "They are killing us and starving us to death." Other zones joined the 4th zone in protest. The 3rd zone, predominantly composed of Ukrainian and Baltic nationalists sentenced to hard labor, held out the longest. According to official documents, during the storming of the camp, the total number of fatalities reached 150. Gorlag ("Norilsk Forced Labor Camp Group") was a network of Soviet concentration camps located in the Taymyr (now Dolgan-Nenets) District of Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia. All industrial enterprises in the district were under the jurisdiction of the Norilsk Camp Administration, which managed approximately 40 camps. In the Norilsk area alone, the total number of prisoners was no less than 50,000. Prisoners worked in mines, coal shafts, brick and copper factories, Chlorine-Cobalt Plant No. 25, and woodworking plants, as well as constructing the city of Norilsk itself.
[10] Lavrentiy Pavlovich Beria (1899–1953) — Soviet statesman and political figure. He was part of Stalin's inner circle, head of the NKVD (1938–1945), and General Commissioner of State Security of the USSR (1941–1945). After Stalin's death, he was arrested on charges of espionage and plotting to seize power, and he was executed.
[11] Mykhailo Mykhailovych Soroka (1911–1971) — Ukrainian public and military figure. He spent 34 years in imprisonment, 31 of which were in Soviet labor camps. He was the organizer of the resistance movement OUN-North. This organization, also known as the Arctic Circle OUN Leadership, was established in 1947 in Vorkuta camps. It fought for the rights of political prisoners, helped them survive and preserve their identity, and organized strikes and uprisings. This was one of the reasons for the Soviet Ministry of Internal Affairs' order on February 28, 1948, to separate political prisoners from criminal ones. Soroka died of a heart attack in a Mordovian labor camp.
[12] In 1980, the foreign publishing house Smoloskyp published Yevhen Hrytsiak's book "A Brief Record of Memories: The History of the Norilsk Uprising."
[13] The Committee for State Security of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (KGB) was the central union-republican state management body of the USSR responsible for state security. It operated from 1954 to 1991.
[14] Opanas Ivanovych Zalivakha (1925–2007) — Ukrainian painter and a prominent figure of the Sixtiers movement. From 1965 to 1970, he served a sentence in Mordovian labor camps for "anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda."
"THE UPRISINGS IN NORILSK, VORKUTA, AND KENGIR WERE THE BEGINNING
OF THE END FOR THE SOVIET SYSTEM"
TARAS: During the transfer of prisoners to Norilsk, the camp administration told the local criminal inmates that a group of bloodthirsty "Banderites" from Karaganda was arriving to kill them and that they should prepare themselves. The administration even handed out knives to the criminals in anticipation of this so-called threat.
When the Banderites arrived, they didn’t attack anyone. Instead, they sought out fellow Ukrainians, socialized, and exchanged experiences. However, the criminals, provoked by the administration into believing that they needed to eliminate the Banderites, were ready to kill. There were cases where they assaulted Ukrainians, thinking they could pick them off one by one. But they did not expect retaliation.
Soon, incidents began to occur where these criminals—favored by the administration and given certain privileges—were found dead or severely injured. One such criminal, Gorozhankin (if I’m not mistaken), was discovered decapitated in the snow. Another was attacked and suffered severe injuries, leaving him with permanent psychological trauma.
The Ukrainians demonstrated that they would not allow themselves to be destroyed so easily. Even during the uprising itself, they organized cultural life within the camp. For instance, they staged a performance of Nazar Stodolia in the camp club.
The uprising lasted from May 25 to August 4, making it the longest in the GULAG system. In fact, it was the first of its scale. There had been earlier attempts at resistance, but nothing as massive as the Norilsk Uprising. That same year, another uprising broke out in Vorkuta [15] , followed by one in Kengir [16] the next year. These events effectively led to the dismantling of the GULAG system. Some researchers even consider these uprisings the beginning of the end for the Soviet regime. The cracks created by these events spread deeply, making it impossible to stop the collapse.
The camp was divided into separate zones, which joined the uprising in a chain reaction, though events unfolded differently in each zone. My grandfather led the uprising in the fourth zone, which housed over 5,000 prisoners. From the very beginning, he promised that he would do everything in his power to prevent bloodshed and ensure the prisoners survived.
After the shooting in the third zone, my grandfather sensed that a similar massacre was imminent in the fourth. To prevent this, he announced that the prisoners would surrender to the administration. This decision greatly surprised Colonel Kuznetsov, who had declared that no negotiations would take place until the prisoners left the zone. The commission overseeing the camp had also issued ultimatums.
It was only later that my grandfather learned the administration had planned to execute the prisoners and suppress the uprising in the fourth zone within two hours. His decision to evacuate saved their lives.
Some of his supporters criticized this choice, believing they should have resisted to the very end. But my grandfather maintained that preserving life was the highest priority, and that was the principle he stood by.
I once asked him how, as a young 26-year-old man, he wasn’t afraid to lead such a large uprising. My grandfather said, “There was simply no other choice. I realized that I could either meekly keep chipping away at the permafrost until they buried me here somewhere, or I could die with dignity and still do something for Ukrainians.” He understood that surviving 25 years in such conditions and being released alive was unrealistic. So, he chose his path.
Even there, conspiracy was crucial. My grandfather shared that back in Karaganda, they had already started planning an uprising and discussed it among themselves. The conversation was held within a very narrow circle of former UPA members and OUN members. Yet, by the next morning, the administration had all the details. As a result, they were dispersed and transferred to different camps. My grandfather ended up in Gorlag.
It was much harder to establish connections and maintain secrecy in the camps. Fully recreating the structure that had existed in the forests was impossible. The villages where UPA units operated were predominantly populated by Ukrainians, and despite the presence of Soviet political control, the local population provided significant support.
In the camps, however, they had to adapt to the conditions they found themselves in. Political prisoners tried in every way to establish communication with leadership in Ukraine and even published underground newspapers. I’ve mentioned Mykhailo Soroka before—he was, you could say, a trailblazer in this regard. He systematically worked to establish cooperation between Ukraine and those UPA and OUN members who were imprisoned.
The camps housed people of various nationalities. Many were prisoners of war who ended up there after World War II, including Japanese, Germans, Romanians, and residents of the Baltic states—essentially, people from all over. One of the significant challenges was organizing this multinational unity, which was achieved by prioritizing human dignity above all else.
Of course, there were moments of tension. The prisoners' committee included representatives of different nationalities. My grandfather had conversations with Russian prisoners about their political vision of the future in the event the Soviet regime were overthrown. They could not conceive of Ukraine as an independent state—only as part of Russia. When Ukrainians expressed their desire for independence, they were not even willing to listen.
In recent decades, Russia has attempted to present the Norilsk Uprising as an exclusively Russian achievement. I’ve seen their documentaries, and there’s no mention of Ukrainians at all. Yet Ukrainians were the driving force of the uprising—they were the majority.
After their release, many former prisoners maintained contact. My mother probably remembers a Jewish man, Avraham Shifrin [17] .
MARTA: Yes, he was there. Avraham Shifrin, originally from Odesa, later emigrated to Israel. He was a lawyer and held a prominent position. He also wrote a book in which he mentioned my father.
Many people wrote letters to my father, visited him, and called frequently. I remember a man from Pechenizhyn [18] named Hrabovetsky, who used to visit and call almost daily. My father always enjoyed those conversations. Many others also called and wrote letters to him.
[15] The Vorkuta Uprising took place from July 19 to August 1, 1953, in the "Richlag" camp, one of the high-security GULAG camps for political prisoners in Vorkuta (Komi ASSR, Russian Federation). The uprising was triggered by the publication of a decree by the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR granting amnesty, which did not apply to the political prisoners in this camp.
[16] The Kengir Uprising of political prisoners in the Steppe Camp (Steplag) at the Kengir camp division near Dzhezkazgan (Kazakh SSR) took place from May 16 to June 26, 1954. It involved approximately 5,200–8,000 prisoners, most of whom were Ukrainians convicted under political charges, as well as Russians, Balts, Jews, and others. The uprising was brutally suppressed with the involvement of the army and the use of tanks, making it the only instance in Soviet history where tanks were deployed to crush a camp uprising.
[17] In 1973, Yevhen Hrytsiak received an invitation to emigrate to Israel from his friend and fellow campmate Avraham Shifrin, with whom he maintained a close relationship. However, he was never granted permission to leave, despite repeatedly appealing to various authorities, including directly to Leonid Brezhnev.
[18] Pechenizhyn is an urban-type settlement in Ukraine and the administrative center of the Pechenizhyn Territorial Community in the Kolomyia District of the Ivano-Frankivsk Region.
"HE SPENT HIS LIFE UPHOLDING WHAT THEY FOUGHT FOR IN NORILSK—HUMAN DIGNITY"
TARAS: During Soviet times, the preventive "conversations" my mother mentioned were aimed at convincing my grandfather to cooperate with the authorities. They justified this by pointing out his role as one of the leaders of the Norilsk Uprising, claiming he had connections with many individuals of interest to them. This included Japanese officers and even his former classmates from trade school, such as Mykola Plaviuk. It was clear they intended to use my grandfather’s name for covert operations.
The KGB revisited this topic monthly, but every time they received a refusal. Of course, they employed various methods—enticements, offers of prestigious jobs in Ivano-Frankivsk, an apartment, as well as threats.
MARTA: …and even my mother’s dismissal from her job. She was a teacher of Ukrainian language at our school, but they repeatedly reassigned her to teach Russian or reduced her teaching hours. At one point, the principal told her, "That's it, Mariya Ivanivna, you won’t be returning to work next school year." My mother replied calmly, "That’s fine. I’ll mop floors or work in your garden. I’m not afraid of hard work!"
That summer, my parents were in Sniatyn when they ran into the KGB chief. He asked, "So, Mariya Ivanivna, how’s your vacation? Are you ready for the new school year?" Acting as if he knew nothing. My mother replied, "I’m not returning after vacation."
"Why not?" he asked. "The principal told me not to come back," she said. He responded, "No, Mariya Ivanivna, you will return to work." And so she did. Neither she nor the principal said anything further about it. This became a constant struggle—my grandmother had no pension, my father wasn’t given work, and my mother was endlessly subjected to reductions and reassignments.
MARTA: I remember a parcel arriving for my father from abroad. I’m not sure who sent it—either Zinkevych or Plaviuk—but it contained a yellow jacket for me, and I also had blue pants. Without a second thought, I wore them together. The school principal saw me and said, “Look at these nationalists, even dressing their child in the colors of the flag!” Everything irritated them, even my jacket and pants.
At school, I had only one grade of “4” (equivalent to a "B") in history because the principal was the history teacher. But even with one “4,” students could enter higher education institutions. I applied seven times—to schools in Ivano-Frankivsk and Chernivtsi—and was rejected every time. It wasn’t until 1989, just before independence, that I managed to get into the medical school in Vashkivtsi.
Later, we learned that every admissions committee included a KGB representative, and they knew who we were. That explained everything. Yet here I am, still working in a school.
TARAS: My grandmother worked as the deputy principal before marrying my grandfather. Right after the wedding, she was dismissed from that position and reassigned to teach Russian instead of Ukrainian. Even this was meant as a humiliation.
My grandfather always said that during interrogations at the KGB, he never showed contempt for the officers. He spoke with them as equals, listened to their offers, and explained why he could not accept them—but he never displayed disdain.
MARTA: Because he understood that they, too, had dignity.
TARAS: He simply defended his views without belittling theirs. Yes, he realized that they were in a privileged position—they summoned him, they interrogated him—but he never placed himself below them. He responded as an equal and upheld exactly what they had fought for in Norilsk—human dignity. When Ostankino wanted to frame his story as if he had been unjustly convicted, he objected: “No, it was just. I am a Ukrainian nationalist!”
MARTA: I remember one particular incident. There were elections. Who in the Soviet Union could afford not to vote? Everyone was required to vote, 100 percent. But my father refused. Everyone went, but he didn’t. The school principal told my mother, “Mariya Ivanivna, this is unacceptable. We’ll bring the ballot box to him if he won’t come.” The principal came to my father with the ballot box, but my father said, “No, I won’t vote.” “Why not?” asked the principal. “Where is the choice?” my father replied. “These are supposed to be elections, but you’ve brought me a ballot with only one candidate. Give me two candidates, even if they’re both communists, but give me two so that I can make a choice.” And he didn’t vote.
TARAS: I saw dignity in his eyes, in the way he spoke about what he had lived through. Of course, it inspired me.
MARTA: He never raised his voice, never got angry. He always listened carefully and expressed his opinion without any outbursts or emotional displays. He was very composed.
TARAS: In one interview with a newspaper during the years of independence, my grandfather spoke about the prevalence of hatred, saying that many of the enforcers who served the Soviet regime had secured positions in both Ukraine and Russia. When asked how these tormentors could be punished, he came to the conclusion that the greatest punishment was forgiveness.
That was his position. He said it was impossible now to find all those who had tortured and oppressed us; it was impossible to physically punish them. But we could punish them through forgiveness. He saw it as the only solution to the situation.
He believed that forgiveness was necessary for one’s own peace of mind because carrying hatred and anger only harms oneself.
Yes, much still needs to change in Ukraine. I believe that change will come with time, across generations, and through the processes we aspire to. If we want to be part of the European Union, we must implement reforms. In time, we will also reach the point of officially condemning those crimes—even if posthumously, as many Soviet-era criminals are no longer alive. However, the fact of their crimes must be officially acknowledged and condemned.
It’s also important to mention that my grandfather was imprisoned twice. In 1956, alongside the release of criminals, many political prisoners were also freed. My grandfather submitted a request for his case to be reviewed. It was reviewed, and he was released.
His release came with an automatic prohibition on returning home. He ignored this prohibition and went back to his village.
But the punitive organs persisted, demanding that he leave his native land.
At first, he moved to Vinnytsia Oblast, but soon he was asked to leave there as well and ended up in Donetsk Oblast, eventually making his way to Karaganda. There, he found work. However, in 1959, an officer from Ivano-Frankivsk traveled to Karaganda to arrest him again, as the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR declared his reduced sentence invalid, reinstating the original 25-year term.
He was rearrested based on the initial 1949 conviction and continued serving his sentence. It wasn’t until 1965 that he was finally released.
At that time (we have a certificate of his release in our museum), a commission reviewed his case and concluded that his sentence had effectively been reduced to 10 years. Since he had already served those 10 years, his conviction was annulled. Thus, he returned home... officially no longer convicted.
He came back to his village, and after his second release, he met my grandmother, got married, and in 1966, my mother was born.
My grandmother made this decision consciously—my grandfather hid nothing from her. He even warned her about the possible consequences of marrying him, but she was not deterred.
MARTA: When my father returned home, he struggled to find suitable work. So he engaged in what was then called "craft trades." He worked as a photographer and stove-maker and constantly sought ways to earn a living.
He was highly skilled in construction and even oversaw the building of the House of Culture in Steceva. At one point, an "accident" was orchestrated against him there: he was supposed to climb onto scaffolding, where a board had been deliberately sawn through in advance. If he had fallen from that height, it would have been fatal.
But my father was fortunate—there was always someone who would warn him in time. This gave my father a strong argument: he mentioned the incident to the KGB. Of course, he didn’t reveal who had warned him, but the mere fact of it was, to put it mildly, unpleasant for the KGB—it not only failed to achieve its goal but also alerted its target to the plan.
MARTA: Once, a man from a neighboring village came to us and said, "Yevhen Stepanovych, I want to visit my mother in Canada, but I need you to make a copy of this book for me." My father replied, "Why not just take the book for your mother?" The man said, "Ah, it takes up space. I need it on film." My father agreed, "Alright, leave it here."
The man left the book and asked when to come back. But the evening before he was supposed to pick it up, he came back and said, "Tomorrow, I’ll come to you with a tape recorder." He then confessed that the KGB had driven him to our village and explained everything, overwhelmed with guilt because he couldn’t go through with the plan.
The next day, he came with the tape recorder, and my father saw it. He asked if the film was ready. My father said, "I didn’t make it." The man was surprised, "Why not? You promised." My father replied, "I didn’t make it because that film could be used to photograph classified objects, and then I’d end up in prison."
TARAS: He also added, "So you don’t run into any trouble at the border."
MARTA: Yes, "so you don’t run into any trouble at the border." But then my father went to the KGB and said to them, "How carelessly you act: you dropped him off right outside the village, and people saw him get out of your car." What could they say to that?
TARAS: The next day, the person who had given him a ride was already dismissed. At least, he was no longer seen in Sniatyn. Perhaps he was transferred elsewhere.
In general, our shared history with Russians is deeply intertwined with theft on a grand scale. Russia, or rather Muscovy, has always tried to appropriate the history rooted and developed in Kyiv. "Rus" is a purely Ukrainian term, a name that the Muscovites stole when they later renamed Muscovy to Russia.
Further events connected to the restoration of freedom and independence, to the Ukrainian Cossacks, and to the destruction of the Sich, clearly demonstrate that Russia persistently sought to destroy Ukrainians, their identity, and culture, portraying Ukrainians as non-existent—a mere minor component of Russia, devoid of its own language or culture, simply a part of a greater Russia.
At the beginning of the 20th century, the Ukrainian revolution tried to restore independence and statehood but once again failed. This was partly due to the lack of coordinated actions among Ukrainians and the constant changes of power in Ukraine.
Later, the struggle of Ukrainian insurgents became another chapter, beginning during World War II and continuing even after its conclusion. The insurgents remained in hiding, often in underground bunkers, for years after the war. They carried out armed raids and engaged in clashes with NKVD forces. There are documented cases of such skirmishes even into the 1970s.
We see that Russia continues its attempts to destroy Ukraine. We understand that this is annihilation, not just occupation or annexation. They aim to erase even the memory of Ukraine's existence. But we are fighting and believe that Ukraine will be free from Russia’s yoke, that Ukrainians will stand among the European nations, representing their culture, language, and the values we have always held dear.
Today, through the internet, social media, and messaging apps, Russian information and psychological operations (IPSO) are being actively promoted—spreading false information. Countering this is one of the modern school’s responsibilities. We have a civic education course where we teach students about media literacy, how to avoid reacting to provocations, and not to spread fake news that serves the enemy’s agenda.
MARTA: I just want to add one thing. When the full-scale war began, people cried out in unison: "Oh, who could have thought this would happen? We never imagined Russia was capable of this…" I always say: "But my father knew!" My father always said that Russia would never leave us in peace. He passed away in May 2017, and he was deeply worried that by November of that year, full-scale war would begin. Because it marked 100 years since the October Revolution, and Putin is so fixated on anniversaries! It happened five years later, but it did happen. And my father knew…
But we will endure. Ukraine will prevail! [19]
[19] The author of this slogan is a Luhansk blogger, Olena Stepova (a pseudonym), who, since 2014, after the declaration of the separatist "DPR" and "LPR" (Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics), supported and later annexed by Russia, began sharing what was happening right before her eyes. The slogan emerged as a counter to the then-popular phrase in Luhansk and Donetsk regions, "Everything will be Donbas!"
