Gulag

Without question, the system was rigid, inflexible, and inhuman. And yet— if they could, prisoners fought back, against boredom, against the constant small humiliations, against the attempts to divide and atomize them. More than one former inmate has written of how prisoner solidarity was actually stronger in the jails than it would be later, in the camps. Once prisoners were in camps, the authorities could divide and rule with greater ease. To alienate inmates from one another, they could tempt prisoners with the promise of a higher place in the camp hierarchy, better food or easier jobs.

In prison, by contrast, all were more or less equal. Although there were inducements to collaborate, these were fewer. For many prisoners, the days or months spent in jail, prior to deportation, even provided a sort of introductory course in elementary survival techniques—and, despite all the authorities’ efforts, their first experience of unity against authority.

Some prisoners simply learned from their fellow inmates elementary ways to preserve hygiene and dignity. In her prison cell, Inna Shikheeva-Gaister learned to make buttons from bits of chewed bread in order to hold her clothes up, to make needles from fish bones, to use stray threads for sewing up the holes ripped in her clothes during the search, as well as other sundry tasks which would also prove to be of use in the camps.³² Dmitri Bystroletov—a former Soviet spy in the West—also learned to make “thread” from old socks: the socks were pulled apart, and the ends of the threads were then sharpened with a bit of soap. Such thread, like the needles he learned to make from matches, could later be exchanged in the camp for food. ³³ Susanna Pechora, the youthful anti-Stalinist, was taught “how to sleep while they don’t notice, how to sew with matchsticks, and how to walk without a belt.”³⁴

The prisoners also maintained some control over their lives through the institution of the starosta, the cell’s “elder.” On the one hand, in prisons, in railway cars, and in camp barracks, the starosta was an officially recognized figure, whose functions were described in official documents. On the other hand, the starosta’s many duties—ranging from keeping the cell clean to ensuring orderly marches to the toilet—meant that his authority had to be accepted by all.³⁵ Informers, and others favored by the prison warders, were therefore not necessarily the best candidates. Alexander Weissberg wrote that in the larger cells, where there might be 200 prisoners or more, “normal life was not possible without a cell senior to organize the distribution of food, the arrangements for exercise, and so on.” Yet because the secret police refused to recognize any form of prisoner organization (“its logic was simple: an organization of counter-revolutionaries was a counter-revolutionary organization”) a classically Soviet solution was found, wrote Weissberg: the starosta was elected “illegally” by the prisoners. The prison governor heard about it through his spies and then officially appointed the prisoners’ choice.³⁶

In the most overcrowded cells, the starosta’s main task was to greet new prisoners, and to ensure that everyone had a place to sleep. Almost universally, new prisoners were sent to sleep beside the parasha , the slop bucket, gradually progressing away from it and toward the window as they attained seniority. “No exceptions,” noted Elinor Lipper, “are made for sickness or age.”³⁷ The starosta also resolved fights, and generally kept order in the cell, a task that was far from easy. Kazimierz Zarod, a Polish arrestee, recalled that, while serving as cell starosta, “the guards constantly threatened me with punishment if I did not keep the unruly element under some sort of control, particularly after 9 p.m.; when there was a ‘no talking’ rule after ‘Lights Out.’” Eventually, Zarod himself was put in a punishment cell for failing to keep control.³⁸ It seems from other accounts, however, as if the decisions of the starosta were usually respected.

Without a doubt, the prisoners’ greatest ingenuity was applied to overcoming the most stringent rule: the strict prohibition of communication, both between cells and with the outside world. Despite the serious threat of punishment, prisoners left notes for other prisoners in toilets, or threw messages over walls. Leonid Finkelstein tried to throw a piece of meat, a tomato, and a piece of bread into another cell: “when we were taken to the loo, I tried to open the window and push the food through.” He was caught, and put in a punishment cell.³⁹ Prisoners bribed guards to take messages, although they occasionally did so of their own accord. A warder at the Stravropol prison would occasionally transmit verbal communications from Lev Razgon to his wife.⁴⁰