By Uran Kalakulla
Part Fifteen
Nazism and Communism
Memorie.al / Nazism lasted 12 years, while Stalinism lasted twice as long. In addition to many common characteristics, there are many differences between them. The hypocrisy and demagogy of Stalinism was of a more subtle nature, which was not based on a program that was openly barbaric, like Hitler’s, but on a socialist, progressive, scientific and popular ideology, in the eyes of the workers; an ideology that was like a convenient and comfortable curtain to lie to the working class, to lull the sharpness of intellectuals and rivals in the struggle for power.
One of the consequences of this peculiarity of Stalinism is that the entire Soviet people, its best, capable, hardworking and honest representatives, suffered the most terrible blow. At least 10-15 million Soviets lost their lives in the KGB torture chambers, martyred or executed, as well as in the gulag camps and others like them, camps where it was forbidden to correspond (in fact they were prototypes of the Nazi death camps); in the mines in the ice of Norilsk and Vorkuta, where people died of cold, hunger, from crushing labor in countless construction sites, in the exploitation of forests, in the opening of canals and during transportation in leaded wagons, or in the flooded barns of the death ships.
Continued from the previous issue
Also about the unworthy attitude of some of my former group mates, who really had the right to defend themselves, but did not seek to completely relieve themselves of the burden and place it entirely on me. Unfortunately, that is exactly what happened. And on this occasion, I felt both great pities for them and great disappointment. And there is nothing more serious when a person is disappointed by those in whom he had confidence and felt confident in their positive assessment.
The manhood and nobility of man are not even visible, much less have horns. It shows itself, perhaps once only in a person’s life, with a certain attitude in difficult situations. I, for my part, am satisfied that from my apology, from the dialogues with the jury, as well as throughout the investigation, I have never burdened any of my friends, on the contrary, I have faced evil myself. And for this I feel proud.
The only one who held a truly modest, but dignified (for me) stance in court was my old, good and always noble friend, Riza Kuçi. Well done to him! On the fourth and last day, the verdict was given. For me and Pjetri, it was death (by shooting); for Pjetri’s friend, Zeqiri, 20 years in prison; for Riza Kuçi, 15 years in prison; for Agim Musta and Tanush Kaso, 13 years in prison each and for Kahreman Paftali, 10 years.
We had stood up. When I heard the verdict, I felt that my whole body, in an instant, went through something like a shiver, like an electric current, but I neither turned pale nor flinched. I don’t know if I have ever been brave or, somewhat less, declared myself to be so. But, for the sake of truth, I can say that I stood strong and did not move. Of course, I felt sorry for my life that would be cut short at a young age, but I felt much worse for my only child, a baby, who would remain an orphan forever; for my young wife, who would remain a widow; for my old mother, who would suffer that unprecedented tragedy, and so on: for my brother, my sisters.
I felt as if my body had turned to stone, and in those moments the jury, the police, and the room full of security guards seemed like flies to me, as if I were some Catalan or those Lilliputians. I had never experienced that even towards death; one can walk, with one’s head held high. And, when I think of it today, after thirty or so years, to be honest, I feel pleasure, a pleasure that has nothing to do with ridiculous boasting, but with a modest pride. Even for all that I am saying, I beg the reader to forgive me for this uncontrolled outburst of emotion.
As soon as the verdict was given, the guards who were around us attacked Pjetr and me and immediately handcuffed us with our hands behind our backs, while the other five were tied tightly, two by two, just as they had done when they had brought us to court. Was this a forced measure, to demobilize us, so that we would not make any sudden gesture of despair?! I mean, so that we would not rush at the stinking Llaz, grab him by the throat, and take his soul? It never even occurred to me to think of such a thing. I felt much higher morally than Llazka and everyone else present in the hall.
They escorted us from the exit down the stairs. But, even in that state, I noticed that there were a lot of people; both inside and outside. Behind a glass door, I noticed the silhouette of my wife. I had not seen her for more than a year and a half and, oh, how I longed for her! She shouted at the top of her voice: “Don’t worry, Uran, don’t worry”! It seems that the deserted one, because she had heard that the prosecutor had asked for 25 years for me, the judge would have reduced it to 20, was trying to give me courage. And I answered her in a loud voice, going down the stairs: “Goodbye, Deti”! Then I felt that someone from behind punched me (I almost fell down the stairs) and said to me furiously: “- You’ll see how everything works, when we get to prison”.
This was a Security captain, who was accompanying us at the head of the police. He was a wretched man (to me because he seemed like a dwarf) and I returned fire, fire for fire: -“May you have a cannon, because I’m not asking about you at all”! When we got out of the car, in the back yard of the prison (which was in a way the dungeon yard), my friends, with the exception of one, were crying. And I remember very well that, Rizai (almost like my wife), with tears in his eyes, said to me: “Don’t be sad, Uran, don’t be sad”! The policemen grabbed us by the arms and took us away. Thus we were separated from our friends, with the risk of never seeing each other again. Our path was now towards the “death chamber”.
Death chamber
My death chamber was a narrow dungeon, big enough to hold only a mattress. It was indeed lined with boards, but they were all damp and moldy; even more so, because it was located not only next to the toilet of the row of “Coach dungeons”, but also below its level, almost half a meter. And, since the dividing wall between the two was made of brick, it is understandable what beautiful consequences it had. Above the upper part of the door, on its outside, were clearly written, in black letters, the words “death chambers” and below them a skull with two well-known crossed coaches, like the pirate flag; or like the insignia of the Nazi SS.
This “chamber” had no windows, but (as I have said), in the row of those dungeons (there were about ten), there were some small chimneys in the ceiling, about the size of a woman’s handkerchief, through which light and air should enter. From now on, I was handcuffed (with my hands behind my back) and they were secured with a padlock, so that I had no chance of loosening them at all. I had to stay in these handcuffs day and night, until the moment I appeared before the firing squad.
And maybe I would have them with me in the pit that was supposed to replace the grave, until the whole body melted, the bones exploded and the handcuffs became part of them. But maybe after the murder, before dragging me to the pit, the squad police could take them off me, because they needed them to tie up the others who would come after me. Even more so when they had imported them from East Germany, which is why they had proudly attached the name; “German woman”.
When I entered the dungeon, I was still standing for a good while. I still had the fire of revolt, anger, indignation, and hatred in my soul. There was nowhere to go there, except to run around like a fugue. It was no more than a meter wide and a meter and a half long. It was almost like a grave on the ground, with walls and a ceiling above, in a constant semi-darkness. When the wave of anger began to gradually cool down, as happens to every person still alive, I really didn’t laugh, but to be honest, I didn’t feel any fear at all. It seems that I had gathered my mind, to wait for the fatal moment with a kind of stoicism. The main reason for this attitude, I believe, did not come from a sense of revolt, but from a long-standing and deep conviction of mine.
The inevitable in life must be waited for calmly, with equanimity and always with courage and especially with dignity. I still think to this day that anyone who has even the slightest respect for themselves and puts human dignity first must likewise wait for every misfortune that comes their way in life. Despair, lamentation, tears, sobs and cries as if from a woman, have seemed to me (in such cases) not only signs of an absolute inability of the self to restrain itself, but of such weakness, which has its roots both in an infinite love for oneself (and, consequently, an extreme compassion), and in an absolute lack of seriousness and respect for oneself.
I do not know whether this thesis of mine has the name of bravery (and the second part of this thesis the name of weakness), but this is how it happened to me and I think so to this day. But what tormented me was time. How long would I have to endure this torture? Why was a single thought now dominating me: better an end with horror, than an endless horror? That is why I wanted this whole story to end immediately, an hour ago! Of course, I, like every human being, felt sorry for this not only unexpected, but also undeserved end:
Because I didn’t feel any guilt in myself, I didn’t have any remorse for what I had done. If I had the chance to come back to life, I would certainly do the same thing, albeit with more subtle methods and, at a more studied time, but oh, I would do it again! I felt that not only had I not done anything wrong, but, on the contrary, I had done well; I had done my duty as a citizen, as an Albanian and, finally, my duty as a human being. Nothing more.
I don’t know how those sentenced to death, which are waiting in the cells of the world, could have experienced the moment before their execution. Here I want to believe that in ordinary convicts, there is certainly a feeling of guilt, perhaps even remorse for what they have done, deep in their conscience. So, in the meantime, I say with honesty and sincerity, that I have not done any special bravery, except, as I said before, my duty that I had undertaken to perform, in the bosom of our society massacred by the barbarity of the communist dictatorship; a duty undertaken with my own initiative and free will.
Of course: I regretted my new life, but, believe me, I regretted much more my new wife, my little son, who would be condemned to remain an orphan. I also regretted the tears in the aged and tired eyes of my mother and, after her, also of my other family members. I also regretted my work left in the middle, for many plans that I had begun to realize in the field of literary creativity and in the field of social studies. Above all, I felt sorry that I would die longingly, without seeing the noisy and shameful collapse of the bloody fortress of communist power, built on the bones of its victims, just as I had seen the overthrow of the Nazi-fascist fortress. That’s all I felt sorry for.
When your hands are tied in front of you, it’s half the trouble, because you can do several things: eat, drink, urinate, smoke a cigarette, fight the rats that enter the dungeon through the lower crack of the dungeon door, scratch yourself (at least your head and the front of your body, since you haven’t washed for so long), but also write. Above all: you can sleep. But try doing all these things when your miserable hands are tied behind your back! You will be convinced that this is a very big, even fundamental, change. It seems they had tied my hands behind my back, so that I would not be able to do any of these actions independently, but of course, even if I had no chance to kill myself, we would deprive our executioners of the pleasure of this work.
For this, those sentenced to death also have their feet tied and a helmet is tied to their head (so that they cannot take it off), so that they do not move at all and do not have the opportunity to spill their brains, by banging their heads against the walls. This is how the “official philosophy” of these dirty and cruel works motivates it. It even argues that all this work is not done to further torture the condemned, but, on the contrary, to make suicide impossible, because, legally, there is always a chance to be spared. My groupmate and I were neither tied to our feet, nor were helmets put on our heads. What were these kinds of half-measures?
Was it some kind of comedy to instill fear in us? I can’t say for sure, until the death sentence, given by the Tirana Military Court (as I have shown), was upheld by the Supreme Court, with the notorious Aranit Çela as its president! Then, the communists didn’t really like to make such comedies, especially with “enemies of the people”. So, who knows how it was! Even to this day, I don’t know how to answer that!
Holding your hands behind your back all the time, they start to hurt your shoulders, but the biggest problem is when you want to sit down and lean against the wall. The handcuffs really hinder you; they kill you in the column. Even worse, if you try to lie down to sleep, you can’t sleep on your side, because it takes up your arm at the end of your body and it goes completely numb. You can’t lie on your back. It’s understandable why. The only way: to sleep upside down.
Even so, it still hurts, because with your arms behind you it is very difficult to lie down upside down. Then, you also get short of breath. I don’t know how others did it, but I somehow found a way that was suitable. I supported my suspended body only on three points: on my right cheek, on my right shoulder and on my left knee. This was the only way I could relax and sleep somehow.
Otherwise it was impossible. Don’t be surprised! What are people not used to! I slept a few hours during the day, because I knew that they wouldn’t come to take you for execution during the day. For many reasons of their own. They usually came at night, even after midnight. The wolf always prefers fog, when he is going to grab and tear his prey apart.
That’s how the security (wolves) acted. So I stayed up all night, with my face turned towards the door, so that when they opened it, they would find me standing there, ready. Not to be dragged. For me, this was more a matter of dignity. Because I reasoned: when you are sleeping and you are violently awakened, you cannot immediately and completely collect yourself and, in those solemn moments, you can faint and then all your dignity is dragged to the ground. Then, I had decided to shout some slogans, so that all the convicts could hear; until my throat was full, just like before the firing squad.
For me, the situation was somewhat less tense during the day. I believe that was the case for the one next to me, in the next dungeon, and also for three other death row inmates, in the dungeons below, who were still from Teme Sejko’s group. I never learned their names.
During the day, there were also services: going out three times a day to perform personal needs (breakfast, lunch, evening) and eating twice a day (lunch and dinner). The guards would untie our hands and stand by us: while we ate or at the door of the prison; one for each of the five of us. Of course, they did this because they didn’t like to feed us like babies, let alone take our pants and panties down and clean our bottoms, as was proper.
I don’t know how many days had passed since my death sentence, when one day (I think it was Tuesday), the door to my cell suddenly opened and the distorted silhouette of guard Rustemi appeared before me. He would escort us and bring us to the interrogation room. He would take us out to the door of the cell to receive what our family had brought us. Now, why had he come?! For the interrogation room?! I had finished that calculation and had already been “promoted” to the highest rank! What did they want then?!
– “Get up, they’re looking for you”!
– “Who is looking for me?”
– “I don’t know, but they are looking for you. Get up!”
– “Without telling me who is looking for me and why, I will neither get up nor come”! – I answered him firmly. I knew that they were not looking for me to execute me. It was morning. It was about ten o’clock. Then, Captain Rustemi was not coming for that job. Especially since he was alone. Others were coming.
– “Get up, get going, because that is my order”!
I thought for a moment and stood up. I thought that he was not at fault in this. He was just an obedient piece of equipment, in someone else’s hands. He had chosen that path, to make a living out of the filth and that was it. I followed him, always with my hands tied.
At the door that separated the long corridor of the dungeons from a smaller corridor of the investigation offices there, I saw the silhouette of a Sigurimi officer (as he appeared from his uniform). I felt my jaw clench involuntarily and my forehead furrowed. Who was this and why had he sought me out? As if through it, it seemed to me (as I approached him) that that withered, unfriendly face had caught my eye somewhere, in those gloomy surroundings. But I had never had anything to do with him before. Who was this guy? When I got really close, he started speaking in a trembling voice, almost stammering in the Shkodran dialect, “You have a meeting with the family”!
– “Meeting”?!
– “Yes, meeting”. I don’t know how it came to me. I felt a great shock in my soul. I felt my heart start beating faster in my chest. It happened like a sudden storm, on the flat surface of the sea. As if a whirlwind lifted the still, stagnant water up, bringing it like a giant whirlpool through the air; with billions of sparkles, all brilliance and light, they spread around.
I was used to my situation. The gloomy stratification had already taken a firm place in my soul. I had submitted to my fate and did not expect anything new, except death. The officer’s words, as if they were a rapid pull, from the edge of the grave towards the field of life. And this movement was not small! However, I managed to somehow collect myself and asked the officer who had the rank of first captain: / Memorie.al
Continued next issue
