PETRASH-SICHKO, STEFANIA VASYLIVNA

PETRO SICHKO ON HIS FAMILY

Interview conducted by Vasyl Ovsiienko on February 4–5, 2000, in the city of Dolyna

Meeting Stefa in Magadan

Petro Sichko: I met my wife, Stefania Petrash, in May or June of 1954 in Kolyma. Like me, she was a political prisoner, also behind the wire.

I was in the central hospital in the city of Magadan. I was in such a terrible mood… I was pacing the ward when I heard someone plastering the windowsill. I looked over and saw a young lady. Something in my soul spoke to me, something that had never happened before: “Go over, get to know her. This is your future wife.” I went to the window and bowed to the girl who was plastering on the other side of the bars. We introduced ourselves. I learned her name was Stefania, her last name was Petrash, and she was from the village of Zalukva in the Halych Raion of Stanislavshchyna. I told her I was from the village of Vytvytsia in Bolekhiv Raion.

I wasnt wearing a shirt, so she asked me, “Friend, why are you without a shirt?” I told her that when my soul grows heavy, I rip the shirt off my back and cast it away, because that is how the enemy has torn apart my young life. Then she said to me, “And what if you were to meet a girl who would sew a shirt for you from the heart? Would you still rip it then?” I smiled and said, “Of course not! If a girl sews me a shirt from her heart, I will not rip it.” And indeed, she sewed me a shirt and gave it to me. I had a copy of “Kobzar,” which my sister had sent me. So we exchanged gifts: she gave me the shirt, and I gave her Shevchenko’s “Kobzar.” That is how our acquaintance began.

She was released later, but she was not allowed to leave the area, so she worked at an auxiliary farm. She would write me notes, and I would write back. The central hospital was run by Sofia Pavlovna Korotkova, so we maintained constant contact through her. In my very first letter, I called her the forget-me-not flower that had blossomed under my window. When I was about to be sent from Kolyma to the mainland, she wrote to me: “Коли кинеш недолю і щасливий будеш між рідними в рідній землі – не забудь незабудку, котра під віконцем розцвіла і спомин лишила тобі. Підливай ти її не сльозами, а словами, що йдуть з дна душі, корм для серця пришли сиротині, не дай всохнуть одній в чужині!”

I was in that hospital to save myself from the uranium mines. I had a first-degree work fitness classification, and those with the first classification were sent to those mines. I would fake illnesses to avoid being sent to the mine because it meant drilling rock for three months, getting silicosis of the lungs, lying in the hospital for another two or three months, and then—into the pit! There was a pit there, about 300 meters deep, where the bodies of dead prisoners were thrown, and no one would ever know where their grave was.

One day, our hospital was moved to another location. They let me out for a walk. I looked up (our camp was down below) and saw my girl coming down the hill with some young man. Imagine, I was sentenced to 25 years, and such jealousy took hold of me… They approached from the right to stand between some cars (there was a garage there) so we could talk, because otherwise, the guards on the watchtowers would shoot—it was forbidden to get close.

The young man started the conversation: “You know, friend, I knew Steftsia back when we were free, from the underground. I’m free now, and I want to marry her. You will never see freedom anyway.”

And it was true, at the time I had a sentence of 25 years of imprisonment, 5 years of exile, and 5 years of deprivation of rights. I said to him, “You know what, friend? As long as a single cell in my body is alive, you will not marry her! You’ll have to step over my dead body for her to be yours. Of course, that is just my wish—I am behind the wire.”

And my girl fell to her knees, folded her hands as if in prayer, and said these words: “Petrusiu, I will now repeat what I told him yesterday, which he did not believe: even if I have to wait for you my entire life, I will not marry anyone else! And that is why I brought him here, so he could hear these words of mine right here, by the fence.” After hearing these words, he turned and walked away. A fence separated us—we just stood there, full of sorrow, looked at each other, exchanged a few words, and she had to leave, while I remained.

With the help of Dr. Sofia Pavlovna, we corresponded for quite a long time. Once, she arranged a meeting for us that lasted a whole hour! In a youthful impulse, I was ready to cover my girl with kisses… And between kisses, she said to me, “Petrusiu, what if ill fate decides to mock us? If you are never to see freedom, I would not be against having a child, for whom I could live my whole life.” I loved this girl so much, but I thought that if ill fate were truly to mock us so that we could never meet, then no—let her marry as an innocent girl. And I, behind these bars, behind the wire, in the camps, would remember her from time to time. And it would be pleasant for me to know that the girl would remember there was such a boy… And her husband would have nothing to reproach her for.

But it so happened that she did become mine: a decree was issued that if one spouse had a sentence of even 25 years, but the other—the wife or husband—was released, they would be allowed to go to a settlement, but somewhere nearby. So we made a plan: I began to tell everyone, even close friends, that she was not my girlfriend but my wife, that we had been married in a church ceremony back in the underground, which is why it wasnt documented anywhere: I was listed as unmarried in my papers, and she as a single woman. Then she began to petition the administration to release me to a settlement. For about three months, she went to the administration office almost every other day, wearing out the thresholds, saying, “You see, my husband is imprisoned here, he has 25 years, please grant him a settlement.”

The Oath of Fidelity

Sometime in early 1956, I was released to a settlement in the hamlet of Stekolny. Its 72 kilometers from the city of Magadan. There’s an agro-base there. We arrived and were given a tiny room near a greenhouse. There was a small room in the basement next to the greenhouses… Before starting our family life, the first thing we did in that room was to take an oath—because there was no priest, and we were just a boy and a girl… We had deceived the authorities to get out to this settlement colony… From the little finger of our left hands—she from hers, and I from mine—we let blood and, with that blood, wrote an oath of fidelity in our married, family life on a sheet of paper…

That is how we began our family life. After some time, my wife became pregnant, and in 1956, our son Vasyl was born.

By the way, when she was still a girl and I a boy, for some reason, we firmly believed that our first child would be a boy and his name would be Vasyl. Because her father was Vasyl, and my father was Vasyl. And so it was.

And it happened like this. On a Friday, she traveled from that 72nd kilometer to the city of Magadan, to the central hospital where she was to give birth. Early on Sunday morning, I was getting ready to go visit my wife. But just before dawn, I had a dream. It was as if I was in my family home in Vytvytsia, and my wife was sitting on the stove, holding a small infant in her arms, a little baby… But she was holding the baby in a black embroidered shirt…

I forgot to tell you something. When she was still a girl and I a boy, she embroidered a shirt for me with multi-colored threads on black cloth. There were no embroidery threads there, so the girls would find scraps of different fabrics, pull out the threads, and embroider with them. She created an exceptionally beautiful shirt: multi-colored threads on black cloth. I really admired the embroidery and wore the shirt on special occasions.

And so, in my dream, she was wearing that very shirt of mine, holding up the child to me and saying, “Here, Petrusiu, our son Vasyl has been born.” I take the child in my arms and boast to my mother, “Mama, look what a son has been born!”

This dream alarmed me so much—after all, by our calculations, the baby wasn’t due for another week.

I prayed, got ready in the morning, and went to Magadan, but first, I decided not to go to the hospital, to the maternity ward, but to turn toward our acquaintances, the Zarytsky family. I turned, and they congratulated me on the birth of my son! It turned out it really was a son… But for some reason, I didnt attach any significance to the black shirt at the time. I interpreted the dream to mean that this was our ill fate, that in such anxiety, she had handed me the child in this shirt.

So, Vasyl was born in the city of Magadan on December 22, 1956.

It was such a great joy! I gave my wife a corset and some other things. When I brought my wife back to our 72nd kilometer and we bathed our child Vasyl for the first time, we placed an icon of the Mother of God and a copy of “Kobzar” by the first bath: we consecrated him to continue the struggle for the fate and freedom of the Ukrainian people that we had not finished. And he truly grew up to be that way.

The “Khrushchev Thaw” found us in this settlement, and they began to release people. They started summoning us to a commission in Magadan. There were already cases of even those with 25-year sentences being released. The first commission only reduced my sentence by 10 years, leaving 15. The court reproached me for being so young and yet opposing the Soviet government. I felt the hatred with which they looked at me.

And this was just the beginning my wife wasnt pregnant yet. I had been so sure I would be released—after all, thousands of political prisoners were being freed from Kolyma at that time. When they read out that they were only taking off 10 years and leaving 15, just as I was, in my shirt, I grabbed it, ripped it in two, and threw it at the court. I called them wicked heathens for tearing my young fate apart, just as I had torn that shirt.

The guards took me away, and I returned to the 72nd kilometer. Imagine: we had so hoped to return to Ukraine, and now this. My wife began to console me, “Well, God be with it, the moment will come when we return to Ukraine.”

A year later, in 1956, they summoned me a second time. I went into that commission as a man with a 15-year sentence, and I came out a free man. They released me, but without the right to return to Western Ukraine. I was supposed to go to Zaporizhzhia—a friend of ours was there, who had been released earlier. He worked at a factory in Zaporizhzhia where his wife was a foreman. He wrote: “Petro, come here, we’ll find a place for you.” The city was called Velykyi Tokmak—thats where I was supposed to go.

To Ukraine!

But we had a three-month-old child, and my soul yearned for Ukraine! So many years had passed since that misfortune! When I arrived in Magadan to get my travel documents, I had that “wolfs ticket” of release. It stated that so-and-so was being directed to the city of Tokmak, Zaporizhzhia Oblast. But when we were already on our way to the airport and had to stop by the administration office, I said, “You see, after my release, I was directed to the city of Tokmak, but yesterday I received a letter (I just lied outright) from my brother saying he had moved from Tokmak to Stanislav Oblast, to the city of Dolyna.” And the official who was issuing the ticket and the money crossed it out and wrote what I said: the city of Dolyna, Stanislav Oblast. And he added: “Correction to be trusted,” signed it, and stamped it… My wife and I smiled happily and headed to the airport.

And at the airport in Magadan, I had an experience that, though years have passed, is still pleasant to recall. My wife and Vasylko were in the mother and child room. It was March. I went outside to walk around the airport. I saw a wallet lying near a bench. I picked it up and opened it—on one side was a diploma from a technical college, and on the other, a lot of money was tucked in. Two people inside me started to argue. One said: you didnt steal the money, so put it in your pocket. But that thought was only fleeting. The other said: no, go and find this person. I counted it—there were about 500 or 600 karbovantsi, I dont remember exactly. At that time, it was a lot of money. And there was about 100 in smaller bills set aside.

I went to the information desk and asked them to announce the name on the diploma. The person could have already flown to Khabarovsk. The woman said that boarding was in progress and announced the name. Back then, before being allowed to board, a passenger had to check in at the information desk. She said the passenger would be there shortly. When he arrived and was checking in, I stood off to the side. She asked, “And your documents?” He fumbled around and turned pale: they were gone! Then I handed him the documents with the money. He got so emotional, “Let’s go for 100 grams!” I said, “Man, if I wanted your 100 grams, I would have had all of it at my disposal.” Three or four recently released common criminals were standing nearby. They were grinding their teeth and spitting at my feet, because they couldnt comprehend it: finding money and returning it instead of stealing it! They called me all sorts of names: a fool, said I could have at least given it to them if I didnt want it myself. But years have passed, and I recall this moment with pleasure, because if I had kept that money, it would probably still be a sin on my soul to this day.

When we boarded the plane, it felt like we were tearing ourselves away from that hell, from Kolyma, the camps, prisons, isolation cells, from death… It felt as if we were breaking free from some black tar and ascending into the heavens. And it was so pleasant, so light on the soul, when we were high up in the air.

From Khabarovsk, we had a train ticket to Moscow. I went to the toilet on the train. I looked down and saw a gold watch. Watches were expensive back then. I had seen a woman leaving that toilet. I approached her and said, “Excuse me, my watch has stopped—could you tell me the time?” She said, “Just a moment, just a moment.” And she asked her husband to give her the watch. He looked for it—it wasnt there. I asked her what her watch looked like. She described it. I then gave her the watch and said, “Dont leave it in the toilet again—its a good thing I was the one who found it.” She thanked me profusely.

When we were at the border of Russia and Ukraine, I got off at a stop to get a bottle of beer. I returned to the car, the train started moving, I poured the beer into cups, and my wife and I were talking. I had a simple steel watch that my wife had given me in Kolyma for my birthday. I reached for it—only the chain was there: someone had stolen my watch… I felt such a pang of pain. I thought: I returned money at the airport, I returned a gold watch, and someone stole such a simple steel watch from me… But that resentment was fleeting. I was still pleased that I had done no wrong.

I had sent a telegram from Magadan saying we were returning to Ukraine, then another from Moscow, and when we were in Lviv, I sent another telegram stating which train we would be on so they could meet us. I wrote it in Ukrainian, and the clerk told me, “Dont write to me in a language I dont understand. Why dont you write in Russian?” I got angry: “When they forced me to write in Russian in Magadan, I could accept that. And in Moscow, I tried to write in Ukrainian, and they wouldnt take it, but here, in Lviv, youre demanding I write in Russian?! That will never happen!” I was furious, and she was forced to accept it.

Three Holidays

As we approached our Dolyna, I was very emotional. I knew my brothers who lived in Dolyna, Ivan and Yosyf, would be there to meet me. When the train stopped, I got off the car. I had that wooden suitcase in my hand. My wife was with me. Two men ran up to me. I recognized one—my brother Yosyf. He took the child, Vasylko, from my left arm, and the other man took the suitcase from me. When we entered the station, I said to my brother Yosyf (he was two years older than me), “Brother Yosyf, why didnt brother Ivan come to meet me?” And that second man was brother Ivan! He was born in 1919. We had last seen each other in 1939. When the Soviet government first came, he was drafted into the army, and then the war… And now it was 1957. And he said, “Petro, you don’t recognize me? It’s me, your brother Ivan!” My God, we threw ourselves into each others arms and cried like little children! The people around us were also crying, because you could see from my appearance where I had come from: in a pea coat, looking almost like a prisoner. And my wife was dressed similarly.

We went to my brother Yosyp’s place—he lived in Dolyna, in the Poluvanky district. My God, we didnt sleep until morning, we couldnt get enough of talking, rejoicing, and kissing! Everything was so dear to me! In the morning, we went to Ivan’s—he lived in Dolyna, in the part called Vovche. He had a small homestead there. My God, he didnt know how or what to feed us! He had a cow. He gave us milk, cheese. And I hadnt had a single of milk, or cheese, or sour cream in over ten years. I ate my fill of dairy products—and suffered for it painfully.

My wife and I stayed with this brother for a week, and then the holidays were approaching. A week before Easter, we went to my village, Vytvytsia. As we approached the house, my mother ran out. My God, she seemed so old, so stooped! She burst into tears, threw her arms around me, kissed me, my grandson, and my wife! Such great joy—we prepared for the Easter holidays. My father had already passed away. I went to the cemetery to tidy up my fathers grave. And on Easter Sunday itself, we christened Vasyl in my home village. I considered that we had three holidays: the first was our return to Ukraine, the second was Easter, and the third was Vasyl’s christening. After the blessing of the Easter breads, the priest christened Vasyl on Easter Sunday itself. All the people gathered around, congratulating us. My God, we hugged and kissed! There was no end to the joy.

After christening Vasyl, we all solemnly went to my fathers grave, prayed, cried, and I invited my father to join us for the holidays. We returned to the house where I was born and celebrated our three holidays. I remember the weather was beautiful, it was a warm, sunny Easter. We opened all the windows. My wife’s entire family came for this celebration, and so did my family. Its hard to put into words now what a great and joyful moment that was. Even my uncle from Yanyshivka kept coming up to us, raising his hands, and kissing us, saying, “Peace be with you, children! And who taught you to love each other so?” Because our love was truly boundless.

The next day, we went to my wife’s village—Zalukva. It’s in Halych Raion, a bit far. We had to go to Kalush and then take a bus to Halych. We spent the second and third days of the holidays in Zalukva. We returned home, and my mother was crying, “Children, you had just left the house when the police came, asking where you had gone, and they started yelling at me terribly for letting you go. I dont even know what this could be about! And they said to let them know as soon as you returned.”

But there was no need to let them know—the police arrived immediately (they must have been watching) and said they were summoning me to Bolekhiv to ask why I hadnt yet reported to the district office to register my return.

I went to Bolekhiv to register. The head of the village council went with me. There they asked where, how, and when I was released. I presented all my documents. But they kept writing and writing and writing… There was another man there, from the village of Huziiv. They were pestering him to leave his village and immediately move out of the western oblasts of Ukraine—only to the eastern oblasts (and I, too, was supposed to go to Tokmak and had no right to return to Stanislav, Lviv, Ternopil, Zakarpattia, or Rivne oblasts). And then they asked me to sign as a witness that they were presenting him with this demand, and he was objecting. My God, I waved my hands—I had never signed any documents as a witness: “What are you thinking! Do you really think I have fallen so low that I would sign a document as a witness against someone just like myself? No, that will never happen!” They were furious. I went outside, thinking, well, they probably won’t register me now. But to hell with them—honor and conscience are more precious. They thought they could use me because my registration depended on it.

We Built a House…

However, after some time, they summoned me—they had registered me after all. My wife and I lived with my mother in our home village, and our Vasylko was growing up. After a while, I went to Dolyna and got a job at a garage. My older brother Ivan worked there, and they hired me as a dispatcher. I worked there for maybe a month and a half. Suddenly, Khokhlov, the director of the garage, summoned me: “Petro Vasyliovych, were you in prison?” “Yes.” He held up four fingers: “Behind bars?” “Yes.” “Oh no, no, I can’t keep you on the job.” Because when he hired me as a dispatcher, he didn’t know I was a former convict, that I… “I can’t,” he said, “I can’t have you…” “Well,” I said, “to hell with it—fire me.” And he fired me. I was jobless for a while, but later I got a job as a rate-setter at the Dolyna Building and Assembly Center. We moved to Dolyna because commuting was very difficult, about 15 km every day. We decided to build our own little corner, the one we are sitting in right now.

In Dolyna, there were old, ruined buildings. When the Soviet government came in 1939, they started to build, but during the war, the buildings were destroyed. They were selling the bricks. You could dig them up, clean them, and it was inexpensive. And I had returned poor. I borrowed money, they gave me a plot of land and permission to build. My wife and I picked out these pieces of brick (perhaps only a tenth of them were whole), stacked them into cubes, paid for them, brought them to this spot, and built this house ourselves. I was the assistant, as I didn’t know how to lay bricks. My wife did the bricklaying, because she had worked in construction brigades in the North.

So this house, where we are sitting now, was built by my wife, Stefa. For the roofing and other work, we hired people. We really wanted to move in quickly because winter was approaching. We finished one room, this entry room, and moved into it, but the left side wasnt fully covered with tiles yet. I remember my wife and I went out to finish the roof, and there was such a blizzard, the first snow began to fall. My wife would hand me a tile, and I would lay it. I turn around, and there she is, poor thing, handing me a tile, with tears streaming from her eyes. I ask, “Steftsia, why are you crying?” And she says, “Petrusiu, my hands are so frozen that…” I said then, “Oh, let’s leave it.” To hell with it, I thought, because my heart ached when I saw her crying. But she said, “Maybe we can somehow finish it?” “No, God will give us good weather to finish it.” And indeed, the weather cleared up later, and we finished that little piece in good weather.

That is how we began our life in Ukraine. My wife became pregnant again, and our second son, Volodymyr, was born. Vasyl was born in 1956, and Volodymyr was born in 1960, on July 26. And on April 10, 1963, our daughter Oksana was born.

Stefania’s Lineage

V. Ovsiienko: I want to take you back a little and ask for your wife Stefania’s date of birth and about her family…

P. Sichko: My wife was born on April 1, 1925, in the village of Zalukva, Halych Raion. Her maiden name was Petrash. It was a patriotic, well-raised family. She was the youngest of the girls. The family consisted of two brothers, Antin and Yaroslav, and five sisters: Rozalia, Olha, Milia, Bohdanna, and my wife, Stefa. We often visited Zalukva. Her sister Bohdanna still lived there. Sometimes we celebrated Easter there, sometimes Christmas. The village is very patriotic, very beautiful. It turned out she had another brother, but I only learned this when her eldest brother, Antin, decided to repair the family tomb where their father and mother were buried. My wife was working in the “Silhosptekhnika” system at the time, so she got a bit of metal to make a fence. Antin made the fence, even painted it, and locked it with a small padlock. He came to his sister’s house (he was living in Kalush at the time) and lay down on the ottoman. He lay down on the ottoman and had a dream: a little boy comes to him and says, “Antokhu, did you fix Mama’s and Papa’s grave?” “Yes.” “Well, why didnt you make a little grave for me?” “But I don’t even know where you’re buried.” “You should have made a small tomb between Mama’s and Papa’s graves and marked my grave.”

Antin woke up at that point. It was Yevstakhiy who had appeared to him, the first boy, the eldest, who had died as a small child. A wedding was passing by somewhere, he grabbed onto the wagon tongue, the horses struck him, and he died.

Only then did the family learn that there had been another brother, named Stakh. Because the family had already forgotten there was such a boy. It seems there is some mystery of life, that only after Antin had finished all the work, a soul had to ask why he hadnt marked a small grave in the middle.

Her family was very musical, so sometimes in this very house, where we are making this recording now, on the third day of the Christmas holidays, on St. Stephen’s Day, all of my and my wife’s family would gather, sometimes 35–40 people. When you remember how poor we were when we returned from the North, how we had nothing, but how pleasant it is to recall those moments, that carol singing! And it was here that our...

V. Ovsiienko: Wait a minute about the family—we want to talk about Stefa. She was imprisoned. For what?

P. Sichko: She was also in the underground, in the Youth Network, even the leader of the district’s Youth Network. And later she studied at the pedagogical institute in Stanyslav. She was arrested in her first year. They gave her 10 years. She was arrested in forty-seven or forty-six… I dont remember the date. Somehow, these things are forgotten… I knew, but I’ve forgotten at this moment. (S. Petrash was arrested on June 28, according to documents, July 2, 1947. – Ed.). She was held in Stanyslav, and after the trial, she was sent to Vladivostok, and later ended up in Kolyma. That’s where we met, in Kolyma. She didn’t serve the full ten years. There were so-called work-day credits. If she worked and exceeded her quota, a day of imprisonment could sometimes be counted as a day and a third, or even a day and a half. So she served about eight and a half years and was released before her term was over, but also without the right to leave she had to stay there.

Demeanor

Here in Dolyna, the Soviet authorities made us feel at every step that we were former prisoners, that we were people who could not be trusted. But my conscience was clear, I spat on their persecution. Let me tell you a little episode from my life.

I worked at the mechanization base as the head of the planning and production department. People sometimes reproached me for this: how did I get there at that time, when only party members held such positions. Well, its a very long story to tell how I got there. But it was only because my head worked, and they didnt have a person at that time who could handle the work that I handled.

I’m telling you this because the Brotherhood of OUN-UPA has now approached me. The current head of the district council here is the former chief of police. At the time when we were starting the national revival here, he was sent to persecute us and to imprison us again as quickly as possible. So he says, “Ask Petro Vasyliovych why he doesnt greet us.” There was this Didokha, the head of the district state administration, and this Tepchuk. And I told the person they sent to me, “They are young enough to be my sons. Tell them that even under the Soviet government, when I worked at the mechanization base—I had to walk 4 km from my house, there were no buses then—the head of the KGB would be walking towards me. There was this man named Akinin. Somewhere near the hospital, where there was no one within a 50-meter radius, he walked a few steps past me, stopped, and said, ‘Petro Vasyliovych!’ I turned, and he said, ‘And why don’t you greet me?’ And I said to him, ‘Who should greet whom?’—he was much younger than me. ‘If you walk past me and don’t bow your head, it seems to me that a dog has just walked past me.’ To be fair, after that, he would bow his head when he passed. And I would bow back to him. Because I was independent. I never gave them any written pledge. They were used to people cowering when the head of the KGB… But I spat on him. I had walked such a thorny path, endured all the tortures, and never broke anywhere. So I said, let him tell this head of the district state administration and the district council that they should greet me, because I am older than them. That’s how it is.

We Have Three Children Growing Up…

V. Ovsiienko: But, Mr. Petro, I would prefer if you spoke more about your wife and your sons. You have already told us about yourself in quite some detail.

P. Sichko: So, we have three children growing up. Vasyl was an excellent student in school. When he started first grade, he had nothing to do there, because he already knew how to write and read at the age of four. He was an exceptionally good student in school. My younger children also did well—both Volodymyr and Oksanka. Volodymyr had two ‘B’s, and Oksana had three.

I have already told you that soon after I returned, right in this house, I wrote my memoirs titled “Stalins TETA.” TETA stood for “Tyurmy-Etapy-Tabory-Amnistiya” (Prisons-Transports-Camps-Amnesty). On more than a thousand cards. It so happened that during my sentence, I passed through a good hundred, up to 150 of Stalins death camps. And it hurts me so much that when I was already in the Helsinki Group, I passed on other peoples documents abroad, but my own, I thought, Ill pass them on later, Ill pass them on. And when I returned from my second imprisonment, I found that mice had gnawed it all to pieces…

But here I want to return to the children.

Vasyl really did grow up to be as we had consecrated him—to continue the struggle we had not finished. Even as a little boy, he began to take an interest in politics. He loved books immensely. For him, books were above all else. We adored him—we were so happy with that child. But in his childhood, he developed asthma, so we had a lot of trouble. He was very sickly when he was young. But he overcame all of it. He loved to write poems and various stories: he had a gift for writing, a gift for conversation.

Those were times when parents were afraid to tell their children that they had been imprisoned. But it wasnt like that in our family. We would all lie down on our beds, and I would tell the children everything, but, of course, forbidding them to talk about it among other children. My wife did the same. So Vasyl and all our children knew who we, their parents, were. All the more so because our house was like a beacon for people. When Christmas caroling began, it started with us. They would gather, sing carols for us, and then we would go to the neighbors. The revival started from here. Even though I had such a job, I still went to church with my children.

We were overjoyed that our children were growing up, but we felt that their path to higher education would be blocked. In 1974, Vasyl graduated from high school and prepared to apply to the journalism department at Lviv State University, because he had a talent for it. About 30 to 40 of his articles had been published in newspapers. They praised him: the lightest, the best, the most interesting style of narration—he had it all.

But when we arrived in Lviv, it was a problem even to submit his documents. I was waiting to see if Vasyl would manage to submit them. He came out looking so cheerful, “Dad, I managed to submit them!” I asked how. He said, “They were extremely curious and asked me why I was born in Magadan, who my parents were, how it was that I was born in Magadan. I told them that my parents went to work on high-priority Communist construction projects.” We laughed so hard, and he said, “Look, Dad, we are rejoicing over things that others don’t yet rejoice over.”

The exams began. Vasyl passed the first exam with an ‘A,’ the second exam with an ‘A,’ the third exam with an ‘A.’ And then the fourth exam… The secretary comes in—I’ve already forgotten what the subject was—and whispers to the instructor, but in a way that Vasyl can hear, that you have so-and-so here, Sichko, you are not to give him even a ‘C’ (because if he got a ‘C,’ he would already have a passing score with the three previous ‘A’s). And even though Vasyl answered well, they gave him a ‘D.’ They gave him a ‘D,’ and thus Vasyl did not get into Lviv State University. I was working at the Verkhniostrutynsky Metal Products Plant at the time, so I took him there. There he was first an apprentice lathe operator and got his third-level qualification. At the same time, he was preparing for university entrance, because he still dreamed of becoming a journalist.

In 1975, Vasyl went to Kyiv University. When he went to Kyiv, we told people here that he was taking exams at the Lviv Polytechnic Institute. He managed to submit his documents and passed three subjects with ‘A’s and one with a ‘B’ and was enrolled as a student in the journalism department. My God, when he came home, it was such great joy for us! But we didnt really tell people, so as not to make a big fuss. At the department, they selected ten people for international journalism, and Vasyl was selected for that group of ten.

Children Are Responsible for Their Parents

But that joy didnt last long. A man I didnt know came to see me at the factory. He introduced himself as the head of the Dolyna KGB. He said that if I wanted my son to study in the journalism department, I had to give them a written pledge and agree to cooperate with them. They thought they might catch me through my children. But I told them, “Bear in mind, I have never given any written pledges in my life. If my children are to sit in traitors’ chairs, I would rather see them in handcuffs and behind bars than in your traitors’ chairs. That will never happen.”

He threatened me, saying that if that was my stance, then I would see that there would be no place for my children in the university. Vasyl was an excellent student. He finished his first year and started his second—and such people began to approach him too.

Once, I came to Kyiv with factory documents for the Ministry of Local Industry and stayed the night with Vasyl in the university dormitory. There was an event at the university that evening. Vasyl came back in tears. I asked, “Vasyl, why are you crying?” “Dad, tonight was an event where they were handing out certificates of merit for the university newspaper.” There was an editorial board, but Vasyl wrote the entire newspaper himself. He even drew the illustrations, because he had graduated from art school. The editorial board put so little effort into the newspaper that they only read the material and might say, ‘Vasyl, that word would be better replaced with this one,’ or ‘there’s a comma missing here,’ or something like that. In other words, the newspaper, which Vasyl effectively carried on his shoulders, won a prize. They read out everyone’s names, gave them various awards and certificates of merit, but didnt mention Vasyl even with a single word. When he later approached the secretary of the Komsomol organization and asked why and what this meant, the secretary said, “Vasyl, I don’t know myself—you were listed first, because we know it’s your achievement, your main work, but the secretary of the party organization (there was a man named Pohribnyi) came up to me and asked why I had included Sichko. I said that it was mainly his achievement—he did everything, and we just…” “You can’t, remove him immediately, because you don’t know who his parents are, what kind of family he grew up in, how he was raised, and who he is.” And he was forced not to include Vasyl.

V. Ovsiienko: Pohribnyi—is that Anatoliy? The same Doctor of Philology who now tells us on the radio how to love the Ukrainian language?

P. Sichko: The very same one who was until recently the Deputy Minister of Education. Anatoliy Pohribnyi was the secretary of the party organization then, and Pryliuk was the dean of the department.

V. Ovsiienko: Interesting… I knew Pohribnyi from a better side…

P. Sichko: On their instructions, a teacher named Parakhina, in his second year… Vasyl loved to send telegrams: “An ‘A’,” “An ‘A’.” The last exam remained, and there was no telegram. But I knew when Vasyl was returning. I met him in Dolyna, and Vasyl got off the bus with tears in his eyes. “Vasyl, what does this mean?” “Dad, on the last exam, Parakhina gave me a ‘D’ in Russian language, despite the fact that I answered everything well. And before I went to take the Russian language exam, other students said, ‘Vasyl, dont boast so much about your ‘A’s, because today we’re going to see you get a ‘D’.’” In other words, his circle knew about it. That Parakhina, who taught Russian literature or language—I dont remember which—brought the deputy dean with her. Vasyl drew a question slip and went to answer without preparation. They asked him ten additional questions, but as fate would have it, Vasyl answered all those additional questions without preparation. But this Parakhina turned red and said, “But I am still forced to give you a ‘two’ [D]—you did not listen to my advice.” Because she had previously suggested that he speak only in Russian. “But you didnt speak Russian, and you refused to speak it with students in the dormitory, you have a bad accent, and I am forced to give you a ‘D’.” He says, “I then stood up and, since I had already been warned that they would give me a ‘D,’ I said, ‘Thank you for carrying out the KGB’s mission.’”

That vacation passed with such pain. Vasyl filed a protest. To be fair, when he returned, a commission from the Ministry came, and he re-took the exam for them. They gave him a ‘B,’ not an ‘A,’ but still. But that joy didnt last long—that Pohribnyi gave him a failing grade for a credit in Ukrainian language, I think, or literature…

V. Ovsiienko: He probably taught Ukrainian literature.

P. Sichko: Yes, literature. He failed him on his own subject’s credit, Dean Pryliuk on another—and Vasyl was expelled from the university for academic failure.

V. Ovsiienko: From which year?

P. Sichko: From the second.

V. Ovsiienko: The winter or summer session?

P. Sichko: That was the summer session of 1977. For academic failure…

Human Rights Activism

Vasyl came home, already expelled from the university, and wrote a statement renouncing his Soviet citizenship and demanding to emigrate abroad, where he could finish his studies. He was still a Komsomol member then and had his Komsomol card. He went to hand in his Komsomol card and passport. Imagine, I was waiting, not knowing if they would arrest him or not. I prayed and waited. He went to the ministry, threw his Komsomol card, passport, and statement of renunciation of Soviet citizenship on the table… Then Vasyl joined the Ukrainian Helsinki Group, and later I joined the Helsinki Group as well.

So, Vasyl, my son, became a member of the Ukrainian Helsinki Group on February 28, 1978, and I joined in the spring. That was the beginning of our human rights struggle against all the violations that existed in the Soviet at the time. I want you to understand me. We firmly believed in victory, in truth, and so that system did not frighten us. This struggle inspired us. We walked this path and knew that we had no right to stray from it. I was very happy in my soul when I saw in my son a fighter who would continue the struggle that his mother, our friends, and I had not brought to completion. As members of the Helsinki Group, Vasyl and I continued our human rights activities. The Church was particularly persecuted in Galicia. Here, there was a struggle for the restoration of the Greek Catholic churches and, in general, for the rehabilitation of the Church in our society. Many churches here were closed. We insisted, and Vasyl especially put in a lot of effort, that the churches be opened. We reacted to all the facts, writing appeals, protests to the Verkhovna Rada, and so on. Our house was constantly watched by the police—openly, without hiding. They were on duty on this street around the clock—God forbid anyone came to our house or left it. And they watched covertly from neighboring apartments. They had the appropriate equipment. But we paid no attention to this—we had chosen our path, we knew that we had to give our lives to the struggle for the fate and freedom of our Ukrainian people.

The Oath on Volodymyr Ivasyuk’s Grave

I remember we were summoned to the Committee for State Security in Ivano-Frankivsk—me, Vasyl, and Vasyl Striltsiv, as there were three of us in the Group from here, from Galicia. They held us all day. They talked to us vaguely and let us go in the evening. We didnt even know why they had summoned us. After leaving the KGB, we talked among ourselves about what the purpose of this summons could have been. We then stopped by the home of Valentyn Moroz’s wife, Raisa, sat there for a while, and when we were on the bus, we heard that there had been a funeral in Lviv. They were burying Volodymyr Ivasyuk, who had been murdered by the KGB. We then understood that the purpose of their summons was to prevent us from attending the funeral. (The funeral was on May 22, 1979. – Ed.).

But on June 10 (which happened to be Pentecost), Vasyl and I went to Lviv to Volodymyr Ivasyuks grave. There was no need to ask people where Volodymyr Ivasyuks grave was—it’s at the Lychakiv Cemetery—because a sea of people was flowing to and from that grave. For some reason, people there mistook me for Volodymyr Ivasyuks father (I wore a beard at the time), and they took Vasyl for his brother. At this grave, Vasyl was the first to speak, explaining that our composer had been murdered. He took a flower in his hand and swore an oath: “Friend, we will continue the fight against the enemies who destroyed you we will fight until Ukraine is free and independent.” After Vasyl, I also spoke. And by then, Oles Berdnyk had also been arrested, so we mentioned him as well. (Founding member of the UHG O. Berdnyk was arrested on March 6, 1979. – Ed.). And after that… Well, there were masses of those various groups who were guarding and watching everything.

From the cemetery, we went to the station. A whole crowd of people escorted us from the cemetery to the bus, because they were afraid we would be arrested, that we wouldnt make it home.

V. Ovsiienko: Did you introduce yourselves there as members of the Ukrainian Helsinki Group?

P. Sichko: We introduced ourselves as members of the Helsinki Group, spoke about its human rights activities, and expressed our outrage at the murder of Volodymyr Ivasyuk. So they escorted us to the bus station, and then onto the bus—all those people couldnt fit. The people said goodbye to us. The bus heading towards Dolyna did stop somewhere near a police station, so we thought, this is it, theyre going to arrest us now. But they didnt arrest us, because at that time, an arrest of a Helsinki Group member had to be authorized by Moscow, and then Kyiv would give the sanction. So we happily arrived in Dolyna.

The Arrest

I continued to work. And then, maybe a week later, I looked up, and in the corridor… I immediately felt in my soul that they had come for me. I had some documents with me that I didnt want them to get. I managed to duck into the toilet and throw them out. I came out, and they put handcuffs on me. They arrested me and took me home for a search.

This was on July 6, 1979.

V. Ovsiienko: So that would be on Ivan Kupala Day?

P. Sichko: Yes. They brought me home and began the search. They brought Vasyl from the city. They conducted the search, drew up the protocols…

V. Ovsiienko: And where did they detain Vasyl?

P. Sichko: In the city, in Dolyna. He was walking somewhere. I already mentioned that our every step was watched then—as soon as one of us left the house, the appropriate people would follow us. That system worked precisely.

They took us to Lviv. They took us in different cars. There was already a warrant for my arrest, but Vasyl… I missed one detail—why Vasyl was taken in an ambulance.

When Vasyl renounced his Soviet citizenship, they caught him and locked him up in the Ivano-Frankivsk psychiatric hospital, diagnosing him with “schizophrenia.” I was outraged and went to Moscow to see the chief psychiatrist (Churkin. – Ed.), and he told me, “If your son takes back his documents and renounces his renunciation of Soviet citizenship, his document will be returned to him, but if not, then the renunciation of Soviet citizenship is considered schizophrenia and madness.”

Do you understand? All avenues for Vasyl’s future existence were blocked. He no longer had the right to study anywhere, nor the right to work. They kept him in Ivano-Frankivsk for an evaluation for about a week and then released him. And now, when they arrested us, they took me in a “voronok,” a prison van, and him in an ambulance.

They brought us to Lviv. They put me straight into the prison on Lonskoho Street, but my son—I dont know where they took him. The investigation was conducted by a man named Ivanov, I remember. I asked him how many years he had been an investigator. He said 30. I told him straight out that I would not sign a single document. Bear in mind, I said, you havent even opened your mouth, and I already know what youre going to ask me. He was very indignant: why, how, what grounds do you have? I said, Im just that clairvoyant. And Ill prove it to you by telling you this: my son Vasyl has already been brought here, to these dungeons. He said, “That cant be!” I prayed and told him not only the day but the hour—it was half-past one in the afternoon. And his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He said in Russian, “The guard on duty must have told you!” And I said, “You know very well that here, in the corridors of the KGB, two guards are strictly on duty, and they are rotated in such a way that if they are on duty together today, they might not meet again on duty for a month or even longer. According to instructions, a guard is not allowed to have a conversation alone. There must be two of them to prevent any contact.” And he said, “It was the woman who distributes the food.” I said, “You also know very well that when the woman distributes food, your wardens stand on either side of her. I told you this so you would understand that I am clairvoyant and I will not speak with you further, nor will I sign any documents for you.”

And indeed, until the end of the investigation, we did not participate in it, meaning we remained silent. They asked various questions. They finished and put us on trial.

V. Ovsiienko: And did you agree beforehand that you would not participate in the investigation or the court proceedings?

P. Sichko: No, we just… I felt in my soul that my son… There was even a moment, after the trial… They summoned us to write an appeal. My God, I was so worried that, God forbid, my son would write that appeal… When they summoned me, I said, “What appeal, and to whom would I write it? To these criminals? Thats out of the question!” But I was worried about my son. The secretary smiled (there were two chairs there) and said, “I knew it! Because I saw—just a minute ago, in the chair youre sitting in now, sat your son, who also refused to appeal. I knew that if you sat in the same chair your son sat in, you wouldnt agree either.”

My God! I felt such a weight lift from my soul! I thought, thank God my son didnt write that appeal after all! Because I generally viewed this system as criminal. Looking at all their violations and actions, we felt in our souls how morally superior we were to those criminals!

V. Ovsiienko: But Vasyl still underwent a forty-day psychiatric evaluation during the investigation and was found sane, correct?

P. Sichko: Yes, they conducted an evaluation on him in Lviv, found him sane, transferred him to prison, and put him on trial, because otherwise, they would have had no right to try him.

Are We Serving Time, Son? – We Are, Dad!

V. Ovsiienko: How did you conduct yourselves at the trial? You didnt give any testimony during the investigation, correct?

P.V. Sichko: None—I didnt sign a single document. And at the trial, we also didnt speak. When they put us in the cage where the defendants are held, the court entered, and they announced, “All rise! The court is now in session!”—we did not stand, because we did not recognize this court. For us, it was not a court of truth. We remained seated, and the guards grabbed us by the arms and pulled us up. So you hold us up—thats your business. Thats what the trial was like. There were various questions, but we didnt answer any of them and said that we did not wish to have a conversation. But they still brought the trial to a conclusion and gave both Vasyl and me three years under Article 187-prime, that is, for anti-Soviet activities. From there, we were sent to different places—Vasyl to Cherkasy, and I to Luhansk, the former Voroshylovhrad.

The Family Under Siege

V. Ovsiienko: So, your wife Stefa was faced with the fact that her husband and son were convicted, and she herself, her son Volodymyr, and her daughter Oksana were constantly terrorized…

P. Sichko: I pray to my wife. She was a woman of incredibly strong will, strong faith, and strong conviction. Imagine her situation: those watchers were constantly creeping around the house, trying to break in… She told me she always kept two axes: one she kept under her pillow on the bed, and the other in the entryway by the door. And when they tried to break in, pounding on the windows with their fists, shouting for her to open up, she would say, “I will not open for you. I know you can break in, but I wont surrender so easily the first one will get an axe to the head. I have an axe in my hands, I have done nothing wrong, but I will defend myself fiercely!” In that respect, she was a fighting woman. She told me she always prayed, and prayed sincerely, even while they were creeping around…

I want to add this detail. After my son Vasyl and I were arrested, my son Volodymyr was still studying at Kyiv University. In the Faculty of Mechanics and Mathematics. When Vasyl and I were sentenced, they gave us a one-hour visit before we were transported. My wife informed our son Volodymyr and daughter Oksanka. She came with the children to say goodbye. First, they gave me a visit, and then Vasyl. I remember my wife brought high-top boots, a quilted jacket, so I would have something to wear for the journey, and a hat. When Oksanka handed me the hat, she scratched near my ear like this. I understood there was money sewn into the hat. When I arrived at the camp, I unstitched it and found it.

When Volodymyr returned to the university on December 11, 1979, they immediately began to treat him very negatively for having gone to the visit. Before that, right after we were arrested, they had demanded that Volodymyr cooperate, but he refused. Then they demanded that if he wouldnt work against his father and brother, he should at least spy on his classmates. He categorically refused, saying he would never do such a thing. So in March 1980, they also artificially created academic problems for him and expelled him from the university. Expelled from the university, he also submitted a statement renouncing his Soviet citizenship and wrote various appeals to students around the world.

V. Ovsiienko: Interesting, how did his friends and classmates react to that?

P. Sichko: His classmates treated him very well. And they were terribly outraged, because Volodymyr was disciplined and a good student. When they saw these illegal actions and persecution, they began to protest and even wrote a protest to Brezhnev. But the telegram didnt reach Brezhnev—it only reached the dean. Those students were summoned and told, “Who are you defending? You dont know whose son he is or who he is.”

Volodymyr, having been expelled, appealed to students of the world, wrote protests, but none of it yielded any results. He was arrested on December 6, 1980. He was charged and tried for refusing to be drafted into the army. Since he had renounced his citizenship, he didnt want to join the army. The trial took place here, in Dolyna, right during the Christmas holidays (January 9, 1981. – Ed.). From my wifes account, I know they didnt even inform her about the trial. She just felt in her soul that her son was being tried. When she arrived with our daughter Oksanka, the police wouldnt let them into the courtroom. She still managed to force her way in, expressing her protest. Imagine what was going on in a mothers soul when she saw her son on trial…

Thus, three of us from the family ended up behind bars. My wife was left at home with our daughter Oksanka. My wife, poor thing, was always worried, because as I said, they would break down the doors, attack—she was worried that our daughter would be frightened.

V. Ovsiienko: Were there similar threats against your daughter?

P. Sichko: There were threats… They continued even after Volodymyr was released. There was a wedding in the family in Hoshiv. Oksanka went to the wedding with her brother Volodymyr. Volodymyr was even a groomsman there. And Oksanka said that something in her soul ached—she couldnt sit at that wedding, she was desperate to go home. Some neighbors (their last name was Kosy) were driving to Dolyna, but their car was full. She started begging, “Ill squeeze in anywhere, Ill sit at your feet, I cant stay here another minute, my soul is pulling me home.” They somehow took her. She arrived. And here, we have to cross a small stream. She ran across the stream, and when she reached the gate, a huge dog lunged at her. She let out a terrible scream. My wife turned on the light in the house, opened the door, and Oksanka came in, crying.

The next day, it turned out it was the police, who, taking advantage of the childrens absence, had intended to murder my wife. Because the window and its frame in the childrens room had been removed and were standing in the potato patch. They had apparently intended to climb into the house, but then that police dog lunged at our daughter, she screamed, and they ran down towards the stream. There were footprints in the stream. And the dog ran after them. Later, in prison, I met someone who had some connection to this operation. They had wanted to take advantage of the moment when the children were away, climb in through the window, murder my wife, and thus leave us all without support. They understood that my wife had a strong will and was supporting us morally.

In the morning, Volodymyr arrived, looked at the window, at everything…

These were the circumstances my wife and my entire family had to live in.

When my wife walked through the town, acquaintances would cross to the other side of the street to avoid meeting her. Because, God forbid, if they spoke to her, the KGB would immediately summon them: “What were you talking about with Sichko’s wife? What contact do you have with them?”

These were the conditions we had to live in. When my sons and I were in prison, there was some kind of world festival or something in Moscow—I’ve already forgotten.

V. Ovsiienko: In 1980? Was that perhaps the Olympics?

P. Sichko: The Olympics, the Olympics. When it was happening, my wife was summoned to the KGB and warned that she was not to leave the city of Dolyna during the period of the Olympics. Not even to a neighboring town—she had to stay only in Dolyna. And then suddenly, my wife disappeared—they raised such a commotion! It just so happened that Oksanka had finished the 10th grade. All opportunities for her to enter a university were closed, so she decided to apply to the art school in Kolomyia. So my wife went there with Oksanka. She was gone for a few days. The entire Ivano-Frankivsk Oblast was put on high alert. My wife returned from there. In Kalush, where her brother and sister still lived, the KGB checked there too. One of them went and said, “Did you know that your sisters house caught fire and she burned to death? I dont know what happened to the children.” My wife’s sister fainted immediately, and her elderly brother, who was over 70 at the time, went in despair to see the fire, to see what had happened to his sister. He crossed the yard, looked—and the house was standing. There was no sign of a fire. He went into the house, and my wife was just making varenyky. He burst into tears, threw his arms around her, and said, “My God, you’re alive? How?” And he told her what they had said. That’s how they tried to find out where my wife had gone. “And where are the children?” And my wife said, “The KGB just summoned Oksanka and Volodymyr.”

After that, the head of the KGB summoned my wife and said, “Stefania Vasylivna, where have you been? We warned you that you were not to leave during the Olympics.” And she said, “I went to Moscow.” “For what?” “Mr. Brezhnev invited me.” “And what happened?” “We opened the Olympics together. We opened the Olympics, Brezhnev thanked me, drove me to the airport—and here I am, you see, in Dolyna.” And the KGB chief said, “But seriously, Stefania Vasylivna? Are you making fun of us?” And she replied, “Why the hell are you following me around everywhere? I wont tell you where I was or what I was doing!” She was a fighter in that respect.

When we were imprisoned—I, Vasyl, and Volodymyr—Oksana had no opportunity to enroll anywhere. She went to Lviv, but in Lviv, too, every road was blocked. Imagine—she couldnt even spend the night with relatives because everyone was afraid. My wife decided to go with our daughter to spend the night with the Kalynets family. Well, what was my connection to the Kalynetses? I hadnt known Ihor and Iryna Kalynets before, but in prison, I received a letter from them. They were already in exile. On the strict regime, I was only allowed to write two letters a month, and maybe only 30% of them got through. So I wrote to my wife that so-and-so had written to me, and that she should thank them and stay in touch. Thus, my wife was also acquainted with the Kalynetses. (Iryna was released on January 12, 1981, Ihor on August 11, 1981, after serving 6 years of imprisonment and 3 years of exile. – Ed.). They went to the Kalynetses place, introduced themselves. My wife hinted that she would like to spend the night. Iryna listened to everything, and Ihor Kalynets said, “You know, Pani Stefa, I have already given my word (though he didn’t say to whom) that I will no longer play at politics.” And Iryna said, “Bear in mind, we have a daughter, we have to think about our daughter’s future, she needs to get into university. You should go, find a place to spend the night somewhere else.”

When they went out into the hall, Oksanka fell into my wife’s arms, bathing her mother in tears, and said, “Mama, theres no place for us even here!” And so my wife and Oksanka went and spent the night at the train station. Thats how terrifying that time was—that even people who had served their sentences were also afraid. Of course, Iryna later tried to justify herself she felt the guilt for this. But it was painful for me, because I had walked this path and had not broken anywhere. I forgive, but it hurts: these people should not have been afraid.

So, since the path was closed for my child, she secretly, so the local authorities wouldnt know, went to Latvia, to Riga. The local authorities there didnt know her, and in 1982 she enrolled in a medical college, graduated with honors, and then entered a medical institute, which she also graduated from with excellent marks. Only after she finished the institute did she come home and show herself all that time it was kept a secret where she was and what she was doing. She left, as they say, and she was gone. Perhaps the “organs” later found out, but they were probably satisfied that she was far from Ukraine.

V. Ovsiienko: Is Oksana still in Latvia?

P. Sichko: After graduating, she stayed to work in Latvia, got married, and started a family. They now have two children—a boy, Danylko, and a girl, Khrystynka. And now she even works two jobs: at the central hospital and in the diagnostic department in the center of Riga. They invited her because she has a certain ability to make accurate diagnoses.

V. Ovsiienko: A gift from God.

V. Sichko: Yes, she has this gift from God. When I found out she was working two jobs, I told her, “Look, my child, God forbid you abuse this.” And I reminded her that when she was still a schoolgirl, she dreamed of being a doctor. But one who would help people, not take money from them. I said, “Look, my child, make sure you are not hungry, not naked, and your children too, but give your money and everything you can to people, help them, so that your conscience is clear and your dreams come true.”

And Volodymyr was arrested when, after being expelled from the university, he renounced his citizenship.

V. Ovsiienko: On December 6, 1980?

P. Sichko: Yes. And on January 9, 1981, he was sentenced to three years for refusing to serve in the Soviet Army. My wife described the trial to me in a letter, how they concealed everything from her. It alarmed me so much that I declared a three-day hunger strike with a vow of silence.

He served his term in Zaporizhzhia Oblast. When he was released, he worked as a driver, because there was no question of being reinstated at the institute. But fate had it that he did eventually graduate from the university—already in an independent Ukraine. He was reinstated and defended his diploma before the very same professors who had created the conditions for his dismissal. In other words, they atoned for their guilt by accepting him. He finished his studies sometime around 1994, but through correspondence. But first, he worked as a driver, got married, and has two children, a boy named Tarasyk and a girl named Olya. Since it was hard to find a job here and the financial situation was such that there was nothing to live on, he went abroad around 1996, to America, on a short-term visa. He still works there in construction, earning a piece of bread, and helps his children and wife here. He doesnt plan to bring his family there he wants to return because he says he misses Ukraine very much, his soul aches for it. (Since December 18, 2001, Volodymyr has been living in Ukraine. – Ed.).

The Second Sentence

I’ll return to the time when my and Vasyl’s three-year sentences were ending. We later found out that fate was supposed to have smiled on us: we were supposed to go to France. The President of France had interceded for us with Gorbachev. At that time, the Fifth Directorate of the KGB in Ukraine was headed by Mr. Yevhen Marchuk. They didnt let us go then instead, they threw us into isolation cells, into strict-regimen barracks, and fabricated a second sentence.

They fabricated a second sentence for me under the same Article 187-I—“dissemination of slanderous fabrications that defame the Soviet state and social system,” and for Vasyl—they summoned him, holding narcotics in their hands, and directly offered: if you renounce your previous views, we will release you, reinstate you at Kyiv University, and you will continue your studies. But if not—see this (he shook the drugs right out of his sleeve)—if not, you’ll get a second sentence for drugs. Well, of course, Vasyl did not agree to such a renunciation. Then the investigator shook out the drugs, and there were already witnesses—some brigade leader from among the convicts and two or three others. They testified that narcotics were found on Vasyl during a search. When the forensic expert was proving that the drugs were his, Vasyl said, “At least give me the fingerprints, I never even held them in my hands.” They concluded that he had possessed narcotics without intent to sell and gave him three years.

And it turned out that the year of our family had been declared abroad. But then fate smiled on Iryna Ratushynska. Mr. Marchuk, who was then head of the Fifth Directorate of the KGB, brought Ratushynska home. Of course, he didnt release her on his own.

I found out earlier that Vasyl had been tried. We were being led in our brigade to breakfast. The deputy chief of the camp approached me and asked, “Do you have a son named Vasyl?” “Yes.” “Was he imprisoned in Cherkasy?” “Yes.” “Wow! Your son was tried for drugs, Radio Liberty reported it today.” That’s how I learned that Vasyl had a second sentence. They hadn’t told me anything yet, but I felt the axe hanging over my head.

I was waiting for my release. And according to the law, you can go without a haircut for three months before release. Since I had worn a beard and mustache before my imprisonment, I started growing them again. The day of my release came. I went out into the yard by the barracks, walking and praying. You know, such tension… You wait, thinking that today, maybe, fate will smile on you, that they will lead you out of this enclosure. Suddenly I see a gentleman with a folder walking down the central path of the camp. He went into the headquarters. And something inside my soul screamed: he has come for your soul, for you! I couldnt walk in the yard anymore. I went into the barracks and lay down on the bunk, dressed as I was for my release. Everything was ready, my little camp bag packed, which I was supposed to take with me… I dozed off, not even really sleeping. And I dreamed that I was walking along a river, dressed in my pea coat, and I took off the coat and pushed it into the water, trying to sink it. But it was like rubber—it kept jumping back on me. And this repeated. Maybe I fought with that pea coat 5-6-7 times, kept throwing it into the water, and it kept jumping back on me. I woke up, and sweat was pouring from my forehead. And my first thought was: oh!—there will be no release!

Just as I thought that, the inmate orderly from the headquarters came in and said they were summoning me to the headquarters. I arrived. The gentleman was sitting there. He introduced himself as the deputy prosecutor of the oblast and immediately presented me with charges and a new arrest warrant for anti-Soviet activities and connections abroad.

I refused to sign the charges, saying, “I knew it, you traitors! You know how to falsify all these things. I do not wish to have any further conversation with you.”

They immediately shaved off my mustache in the prison manner and put me in a cell. I spent two or three days in a solitary cell in that camp, then they took me to Voroshylovhrad and fabricated a new three-year prison sentence for me.

Release

You see, I was released about a month before Vasyl, because he had to finish his first unserved term and then another three years. (The father was released on May 26, the son on July 6, 1985. – Ed.). Vasyl returned from imprisonment very seriously ill. He was diagnosed with tuberculosis he had about eight cavities in his lungs. He was at home for a short while, but then he had to find a job immediately, as they demanded. He got a job at the sawmill at the reinforced concrete products plant in Dolyna—and immediately fell ill and had to spend a whole year in the hospital.

When we were released, they put us under administrative surveillance for a whole year: from eight in the evening until six in the morning, we were not allowed to leave the house—it was considered a violation. We had to go and register every week.

Creation of the Ukrainian Christian-Democratic Front

It was then that the idea came to Vasyl that a human rights-focused Helsinki Group was not enough for Ukraine. Ukraine needed a party that would take on not only human rights activities but also the struggle to build a Ukrainian state. After leaving the hospital, he first worked in Mizyn, where they made caskets and boxes—he did carving. He also worked at home. He even began to sew childrens suits, involving me and my wife. We all helped him. When he had saved up a little money, he said to me, “You know, Dad, why I’m saving this money? This will be the initial start-up capital for the party I’m going to organize.” Right here, behind this wall, is the children’s room: he asked us not to disturb him, because he was going to fast, pray, and write the program under this inspiration.

He fasted for five days, prayed, and wrote it. It was 1988, sometime in April, I think, in the spring. He wrote the program and the charter. At that time, it was thought that such things as registering a party had to be done through Moscow. He took the documents to Moscow, and Moscow sent them to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Ukraine. He was summoned and offered to dissolve the party, and if not, they had many different methods to liquidate it. But Vasyl had no intention of dissolving it on the contrary, he began to expand our ranks. At that time, there was a very strong religious revival. We would go to any village, say, Tserkivna. Vasyl would speak after the church service, and immediately some 250–300 people would submit applications to join our party. The first to join were ordinary peasants, simple people, because the intelligentsia was afraid back then.

So, the first impetus for the revival of the Ukrainian people was given by the Ukrainian Christian-Democratic Front. Right here, in this house, a flame was lit for all of Ukraine. And even the first flag—they falsify this now—the first flag was carried by our members to a rally in Lviv, I can even give you the date: April 24, 1988. The second flag was when Vasyl created “Plast” in the Carpathians. In this “Plast” camp, the blue-and-yellow flag flew on a fir tree for a whole week. My God, when I remember how the people would come up, crying, kissing it… What great significance the appearance of the first blue-and-yellow flag had! In general, Vasyl dedicated the creation of the Ukrainian Christian-Democratic Front to the 1000th anniversary of the Christianization of Ukraine. Its founding date is considered to be November 1, 1988.

V. Ovsiienko: And when and where did the founding congress take place?

P. Sichko: The founding congress took place in Lviv on January 13, 1989. The second congress also took place in Lviv in 1990. When I remember the spiritual uplift, what wonderful moments of revival those were! If it had continued at that pace, Ukraine would be truly independent.

My son had something in him that made it seem like he was reading from a book: he could predict events. I became convinced of this… Let me tell you this.

It was January 9, the third day of the Christmas holidays in 1991, the year independence was declared. A concert group from Ivano-Frankivsk came to us in Dolyna. During the intermission, Vasyl spoke and said, “The police have taken away the blue-and-yellow flag that was displayed by the Shevchenko monument. I ask all participants, after the concert, to march to the Shevchenko monument. I have a blue-and-yellow flag (he raised it and showed it to the people), we will install it, and I will post a guard to prevent the police from taking it down. I assure you that within a year, a system like the Soviet will cease to exist.”

I, his father, listened to what he was saying and thought to myself, son, what nonsense are you telling people! But he repeated it three times. He said this on January 9, and on August 24, the Act of Declaration of Ukrainian Statehood was proclaimed.

Or another instance. When Vasyl was expelled from the university and we were about to be arrested, we went to the forest to pick berries. Vasyl filled his backpack with stones and carried them into the forest. I said, “Vasyl, why did you fill your backpack with these stones?” And he said, “Dad, a Golgotha lies before us—we will be arrested soon. And we will have to bear this burden. So, in the form of these stones, I am carrying this burden up the mountain.” When we reached the top of the mountain, he emptied the stones from his backpack. And indeed, two weeks later, we were arrested.

Or the fact that he is gone, that he perished—he always told me, “Dad, I will not live past the age of 40.” He must have repeated this a hundred times. It really unnerved me. And he would say, “One day you will be convinced that I was right.”

Snares

V. Ovsiienko: At the beginning, you told a story about a black embroidered shirt…

P. Sichko: Yes, yes, at the time I didn’t attach any significance to that dream, that my wife was supposedly handing me the baby in that shirt. But now I understand…

How did his fate unfold? Kravchuk (who later became President) summoned him and tried to persuade him to have the party cooperate, and after that, Marchuk had a multi-hour conversation with him. But Vasyl could not agree to either, because after that, he would have been considered a traitor to the Ukrainian people. After this, he was abroad. He returned and was walking in Lviv without a guard. They struck him on the head, and he lost consciousness. They dragged him—he remembers it vaguely—into some office and gave him three injections. They carried him out of that office and onto the street. They must have been watching… He barely made it home, barely crawled back. From that time on, he developed a powerful craving for alcohol. That was in nineteen ninety-two, I believe.

It was as if Ukraine already existed, but that system was still working. That apartment in Lviv, at 4 Turyanskoho Street, as it later turned out, was provided by the Security Service so they could destroy Vasyl. Because when Vasyl lived in Dolyna in this house, he had a habit of writing at night. He could write all night and then lie down for an hour or two in the early morning, then get up, get behind the wheel, and drive off. But here… He was in Belgium at the time. They summoned me and said that various leftist forces had managed to infiltrate our ranks, that Vasyl needed to move to Lviv to meet with various people, and there were international contacts…

Vasyl was in Belgium at the time. And here, deputies of the Oblast Council gave an order to the Lviv City Council. I was summoned to a meeting of the City Council, and they voted to provide such an apartment. They offered three apartments to choose from, but they knew I would agree to this one on Turyanskoho Street. I agreed and was the third or fourth person in Lviv to privatize and pay for an apartment. But this was done artificially it was a trap. Because right after I privatized this apartment, that is, paid for it, all of this was canceled. A year later, there was state privatization, where you didnt have to pay. A few years later, I found out that this apartment had been specially provided to destroy Vasyl. There was high radiation or some other problem in that apartment, so that when Vasyl moved there, he took to his bed from the very first day and couldnt do anything.

I even started to get angry, saying, “Vasyl, how can this be when there is so much work to do?” And he said, “Dad, something is happening to me, I cant explain it to you. Im not able to.” I only understood Vasyl later when we swapped apartments, thinking that if Vasyl returned to Dolyna, took his backpack, went to a mountain hut for a week or two, he might somehow be saved. But there was no hope by then. When my wife and I moved to Lviv, only then did I understand my son. Because I, too, could lie on the bed all day with my hands folded, unable to do anything. I couldnt even help my wife wash the floor. She did everything herself—cooked, everything, while I just lay there and marveled at how she managed to overcome it. But what saved me was that I would lie like that for a day, suffering in that apartment, but then Id have to travel somewhere on business, or Id return to Dolyna, and I would feel normal again. But she lived there constantly. Its very possible that this was the cause of her rapid death. Because she was never sick, never lay in any hospital. But it turned out to be duodenal cancer, and she passed away.

I only recently found out that this apartment was specially set up by the Security Service to lure Vasyl to Lviv, where they could destroy him. What pains me is that our friends at the time couldnt understand that he needed moral support. But it was as if everyone turned away from him. He suffered terribly. When he turned forty (which was supposed to be the day of his death), there were calls from Kyiv… Vasyl had already handed over the leadership of the party to Oles Serhiyenko and remained an honorary chairman with the right of veto. And now they were summoning him, saying they had something to discuss with Vitaliy Zhuravsky.

Vasyl decided to go to Kyiv. I bought him a ticket and gave him 10 karbovantsi for his return trip. He left on December 20, 1996, was supposed to leave Kyiv on the 21st, and on the 22nd, on his 40th birthday, he was supposed to be back in Lviv. I waited in the morning—no Vasyl. I started to worry terribly. I left my grandchildren, Petrus and Steftsia, and ran to the station: maybe the train hadnt arrived on time? And Serhiyenko had called me from Kyiv to say that he was returning on such-and-such a train, and even mentioned the seventh car. I went to the station, asked the station master if the train had arrived—it had, but he said he couldnt tell me anything, to come back in the evening: the conductor of that train would be returning to Kyiv and might be able to say something. I agonized all day, and in the evening, I ran back at six oclock, introduced myself, and he looked at me and said, “Are you the father?” “Yes, the father.” “I see you are an older man, so I wont hide it from you—be prepared for a message to arrive at any moment that your son is deceased.”

And then he told me it happened in Vinnytsia. At first, they thought he was drunk. The police came to take him away. But he was already almost dead. It turned out there wasnt even a smell of alcohol. Then they called doctors: he was poisoned with some kind of slow-acting poison. Apparently, it was done by those guys who had so insistently summoned him to Kyiv. Because Serhiyenko later said, “I lost sight of him—somehow Vasyl ended up somewhere among the security guards.” They must have slipped him the poison in Kyiv, and it began to take effect on the way, and he lost consciousness near Vinnytsia. Oles Shevchenko was on the same train. He later told me that the two of them had only drunk one bottle of beer.

And so, in Vinnytsia, they took Vasyl to the intensive care unit. He only regained consciousness in the morning. His chest was blue. He told me (because he had said many times that he would die at forty), “Dad, I was on the other side, I had a conversation. I am not allowed to say a word about these things to anyone. But my life has been extended.” I believed him, because that was supposed to have been the day of his death. And since his life was extended, for some reason I thought it would be until he was 90. But after that, he lived only a few more months. He went abroad again to have the de-addiction coding for alcohol removed. Because the doctors here couldnt help him. They said they had no power over it. Imagine, a man who had led a vegetarian lifestyle was brought to such a state!

Vasyl informed me from America that his former strength had returned, that he had even started writing a scientific work there. And three months before, he had said, “Dad, I feel that people have come from Ukraine for my soul.” Exactly three months before he was to perish, a person from Kuchma’s team from Vinnytsia Oblast called me almost every day, demanding Vasyls phone number and address, and demanding that he come for negotiations with Kuchma, because the presidential elections were approaching. And then, they said, he could return to America, and they would pay for his travel. But Vasyl always kept himself under wraps there: if he called, I knew the phone number was not real if he sent a package to the children, the return address was not his.

The Death of Vasyl

So they called for three months. My last conversation with Vasyl was on November 16, 1997. Vasyl’s last words to me were, “Dad, my former strength has returned, I am returning to Ukraine and will again lead the Ukrainian Christian-Democratic Party, give it new life, because the struggle is not over.” At that moment, Steftsia and Petrus snatched the phone from me. But he said that—and a few hours later, he was dead…

The small house where he lived was set on fire. He lived in some unremarkable little house. There were two rooms in the attic—Vasyl lived in one, and some Polish guy in the other. Two weeks before, he had apparently fallen into debt and had no way to pay the rent. Around the time I had that conversation with Vasyl, the landlord left the house. The fire supposedly started on the roof, and Vasyl was sleeping and was suffocated by the smoke. They explained that the bed Vasyl was lying on had burned, and that the bed had been thrown out the window. I opened the coffin twice because I thought maybe it wasnt Vasyl they had brought back… And twice I saw Vasyl sleeping in the coffin—there were no signs of burns.

V. Ovsiienko: And the body was intact?

P. Sichko: Intact! Its some kind of absurdity that the bed burned, that it was thrown out the window… Whats important is that my other son, Volodymyr, when he arrived to find out what had happened, was not allowed into that room. They showed him Vasyl when he was already being taken to the plane. They opened the lid a little, told him to say goodbye to his brother, and that was it. And this was about two weeks after his death. We appealed to the ambassador to the USA, Yurko Shcherbak, who knew both Vasyl and me very well from the times of the national revival. When they approached him there about transporting the body to Ukraine, he wanted something like 9,000 dollars. So Volodymyr took on the transport himself. The company where he worked paid for it, and then they deducted the money from his salary every month.

When I received the news that Vasyl was dead, I went to the Church of St. Onuphrius to arrange for a Gregorian Mass. That is thirty Masses for Vasyl. On the card, I wrote, “For the repose of the soul of my son Vasyl. May his Kingdom be Heavenly!” When the nun wrote the dates “8/12 – 7/1” on the card, I was calm. But when she said it out loud, “The Gregorian Mass for your son will begin on December 8 and end on January 7, on Christmas,” I was overcome with such joy, such light, that—I tell you—it cannot be described in words. I have his portrait here on the wall, the one that was later carried before the coffin. When the nun said that, I seemed to hear these words from the portrait: “Dad, but I will be celebrating Christmas in the Kingdom of Heaven!” Then the funereal mood returned, but I believe that somewhere in the universe, he had this transition.

I always had premonitions of disaster, but before Vasyls death, I dreamed of nothing. Only Steftsia, his daughter, when she woke up in the morning, said (I didnt attach any importance to it), “Last night I was sailing on a ship with Dad, but the ship with Dad sank, and I was left on the shore.”

Here is a book bag he sent for the children, and over there is a large clock. When I was getting on the bus with the child that day, the glass on it cracked in half for no reason. And only later did we find out: that was the exact moment Vasyl passed away.

What’s also interesting is that although he is no longer alive, I feel that he continues to look after the children. Allow me to tell you that Vasyl’s wife, when Vasyl fell ill and was suffering, had gone with the children to the eastern oblast to her mother’s. Steftsias birthday was approaching (she was born on May 22, 1991). Vasyl was planning to go there to see the children. He prepared a sack of sugar, a sack of flour, and took a hot plate to cook on (because the conditions there were difficult). Then I had a dream. I had a dream and I said, “Vasyl, you know, the children will return to you, but Lesia wont.” Because I saw the children right on this bed, as he was playing with them. About a month later, Vasyl went and returned, carrying first Steftsia in his arms (he even took off his shirt, because it was cold and the children were half-naked), then Petrus, and said, “Dad, youre like a prophet. Look, it happened just as you said.”

Maybe a year passed with the children here with Vasyl. But he continued to suffer. I have a second dream: there, in Lviv, where I live, there is a kitchen and two small rooms. And Lesia, Vasyl’s wife, has returned and is asking me to let her put a bed there she doesnt claim anything, just wants to be able to see the children. And Vasyl seems to be in another dimension of the world. I tell Vasyl the dream, “You, Vasyl, will be in another dimension of the world.” I understood that to mean in America. And Vasyl then says to me, “Dad, when the time comes that Lesia returns and asks to be with the children, you take her in. And I, from the other dimension of the world, will never return to the children or to her, but I will help both the children and her.” And I thought, how will you manage that, not coming from America to see the children?

When Vasyl died and we were waiting for his body to be brought back, my daughter-in-law arrived and said the very same words to me. I then told her that dream and said, “If you want, you can return to the children.” She settled her affairs there and returned to the children. And I thank God that the children at least have their mother now. She treats them very well. And it’s easier for me too, because this burden has been lifted from my shoulders.

And this help that you, Mr. Ovsiienko, have brought from good people—it’s thanks to him, even though he is in another world. People are helping the children of the deceased. He spoke the truth: “I will look after the children and my wife, but I will never return from the other dimension of the world.”

That is the mystery of his life. He had something in him that, whatever he said, it would come true. He was a deeply religious person. Once, we were driving in a car. I asked him something, and he was silent. I asked again, and he was silent. I started to get angry, “Vasyl, your father is asking you—why are you silent?” And he said, “Dad! Dont be angry. Dont disturb me now, I am praying.” And I felt lighter at heart.

It pains me when I remember the struggle in the party. I forgive Vitaliy Zhuravsky for this, but he knows very well who he was, how he infiltrated our ranks, how much harm he caused. There is nothing Christian there he should confess his crimes… I hear they are forming those committees in the Verkhovna Rada. The committee on spirituality is headed by Les Tanyuk, and the deputy is Vitaliy Zhuravsky! He knows how much pain Vasyl endured because of him. Somehow, it turns out that the people who did not fight against that system are now the builders of Ukraine, while we are nobodies…

Vasyl’s Funeral in Lviv

So, Vasyl died on November 17, 1997. But he was brought here in December—I’ve already forgotten what date the funeral was. I was in despair, I don’t remember—was it the sixth... Petrus, do you remember when the funeral in Lviv was?

Petrus Sichko: Dad was brought here on the thirtieth, and the funeral was... on a Sunday. (So, December 2? – Ed.).

P. Sichko: I went outside Lviv, where Vasyl was supposed to be delivered... When he was brought home—my God, I can no longer convey all that pain. If it weren’t for the people... You know, one cannot endure such grief without people. He was at home until morning. The funeral was on a Sunday, and everything took place in St. Andrew’s Church. Several priests celebrated the Divine Liturgy. There was a sea of people. St. Andrew’s Church was full. I have a videotape of this funeral somewhere... Vasyl’s coffin was carried to Lychakiv Cemetery. Vasyl is buried in Lviv next to his mother. There I have one grave with two crosses: Mom is buried there, and Vasyl is next to her. Mom, that is, my wife Stefa, was buried in 1996, and Vasyl a year later, in 1997.

The procession from St. Andrew’s Church went all the way to Lychakiv Cemetery and turned toward the grave of Volodymyr Ivasyuk. All of this was recorded on cassette... The only sad thing is that the speeches at the graveside were not recorded. It was as if the battery died. There’s a recording of the memorial meal, which was held in a cafeteria. But the speeches were not recorded.

V. Ovsiienko: And you, Petrus, were you at your dad’s funeral? But first, state your name and date of birth.

Petrus Sichko: I, Petro Vasylyovych Sichko, grandson of the great patriot Petro Sichko, was born in 1988 in the city of Dolyna on August 2, on the feast of St. Elijah.

V. Ovsiienko: And your sister, Stefania?

Petrus Sichko: My sister, Stefania Vasylivna Sichko, was born on May 22, 1991, in the city of Dolyna.

V. Ovsiienko: And where are you studying now?

Petrus Sichko: I am studying at the Dolyna boarding gymnasium in the 3rd grade (equivalent to the 7th grade of a regular school), and my sister Stefania studies at the first school here in Dolyna.

P. Sichko: When my wife and I moved to Lviv because Vasyl was in such a difficult condition, he decided to return to Dolyna again, saying: “Maybe, Dad, I’ll find a way to save myself. I’ll grab a backpack, stay in a shepherd’s hut for a week or two, and I’ll feel better. Or maybe I’ll take up farming somewhere... I’ll dig garden beds, plant things...” That’s why we ended up in Lviv. I told you how hard it was for me there. Something must have been wired up there. You can’t feel it anymore. It either burned out or was disconnected.

And when Vasyl moved there, the place was completely bugged. Sometimes, Vasyl would convene the Main Council. People would enter the room—and there, on the side, was a gate in the form of a ladder. We even smiled: look at that—a gate like a ladder. When we were leaving at one in the morning, this gate-ladder was standing under the window: someone was standing on it, either listening or filming. And there were holes cut in the fence for escaping. You don’t feel anything like that there now... But back then, they used such methods to influence and destroy people...

The Death of My Wife Stefania

And my wife turned out to have an incurable illness—colon cancer. They didn’t tell me anything at first. She began to have severe vomiting. They sent her to a hospital in Lviv. I was informed that surgery was necessary, that there was no other way out. And that the surgery could only extend her life by a month at most. It was a hopeless situation. But after the surgery, she lived for another year and two months. It was then, when she was ill, that she wrote those memoirs, “A Woman’s Fate.” She had written things before, but I didn’t even know she had this piece written. These memoirs consist of four parts.

She was still cooking, though her condition was serious. I remember, about six months before her death, she sent me to Lychakiv Cemetery to see where she would be buried, what the place looked like. And I said: “Listen, Steftsia! What are you saying to me? God knows which of us will live longer.” “Oh, you know your business, I know mine.”

And indeed, I had to bury her there, where she had indicated six months earlier. She was dying in the hospital. It was autumn here, and I had gone to dig potatoes. There was no one to look after her. In the hospital, the disease began to progress instantly. She died in my arms. She was conscious until the last minute. She said her goodbyes, told me how things should be. Her last words were—she said it three times: “Petro, I’m dying. Petro, I’m dying.” And the third time she said it even more quietly. And that was it—she closed her eyes and, in my arms, she breathed heavily for maybe another half hour, weaker, and weaker, and weaker... And so she closed her eyes and passed away. She died on September 9, 1996.

I feel a great loss. She was a friend of a shared destiny and life. The upbringing she gave the family—another mother, perhaps, would not have given such an upbringing. She was indomitable in spirit and firmly believed in the victory of truth. She believed in Ukraine. She liked the words a man had written in a letter to us. She said: “I want you to write these words on my grave one day.” Because he wrote:

Не жаль мене, не жаль, о ні!

Жаль України, що в мені,

Яка умре тепер зі мною,

Бо друга буде не такою.

V. Ovsiienko: On February 5, 2000, we concluded our conversation with Mr. Petro Sichko about his family. City of Dolyna, Ivano-Frankivsk Oblast.

Published in:

Three Uprisings of the Sichkos. In 2 vols. Vol. 2: Memoirs. Interviews. Letters / Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group Editor-Compiler V. V. Ovsiienko Book Designer O. Aheiev. – Kharkiv: Folio, 2004. – pp. 134-164.