SICHKO, VASYL PETROVYCH

Listen to audio files (Petro Vasylyovych Sichko)

Listen to audio files (Petro Vasylyovych Sichko on his family)

Listen to audio files (Petro, Vasyl, Volodymyr Sichko)

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. She, like me, was a political prisoner, also behind the wires.

I was in the central hospital in the city of Magadan. I was in such a bad mood... I was pacing the ward when I heard someone plastering the windowsill. I looked—it was a young girl. Something in my soul prompted me, something that had never happened before: “Go over and introduce yourself. This is your future wife.” I approached the window, bowed to the girl who was plastering on the other side of the bars. We got acquainted. I learned that her name was Stefania, her last name was Petrash, from the village of Zalukva, Halych Raion, in the Stanislavshchyna region. I introduced myself, saying I was from Bolekhiv Raion, the village of Vytvytsia.

I was shirtless, so she said to me: “Why are you without a shirt, my friend?” And I said that when my heart grows heavy, I tear the shirt off my back and cast it away, for that is how the enemies have torn apart my young life. And then she said to me: “And if you were to meet a girl who would sew you a shirt from her heart, would you stop tearing them?” I smiled and said: “Of course! If a girl sews me a shirt from her heart, I will not tear it.” And indeed, she sewed me a shirt and gave it to me as a gift. And I had a copy of “Kobzar” that 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 didn’t have the right to leave, so she worked on an auxiliary farm. She would write me notes, and I would reply. The central hospital was run by Sofia Pavlovna Korotkova, so we maintained constant contact through her. In my very first letter, I called her a 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: “When you cast off your misfortune and are happy among your relatives in your native land—do not forget the forget-me-not that blossomed under your window and left you a memory. Water it not with tears, but with words that come from the bottom of your soul; send food for the heart to an orphan, do not let her wither alone in a foreign land!”

In that hospital, I was trying to save myself from the deadly uranium mines. I had the first labor category, and those with the first category were sent to those mines. I was faking illnesses to avoid 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 shaft! There was a shaft there, about 300 meters deep, where the bodies of dead prisoners were thrown—and no one would ever know where the grave was.

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

The young man started a conversation with me: “You know, my friend, Steftsia and I have known each other since we were free, from the underground. I’ve been released now, and I want to marry her. You’ll never see freedom anyway.”

And it was true, at the time I had a 25-year sentence, 5 years of exile, and 5 years of disenfranchisement. I told him: “You know what, my 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—then she’ll be yours. Of course, this is just my wish—I’m behind the wires, after all.”

And my girl falls to her knees, clasps her hands as if in prayer, and says these words: “Petrus, I will now repeat what I told him yesterday, and he didn’t believe me: even if I had to wait my whole life for you, I will marry no one else! That’s why I brought him here, so he could hear these words of mine, here, by the fence.” Hearing these words, he turned and walked away. A fence separated us—we stood there, filled with longing, looked at each other, exchanged a few words, and she had to leave, and I remained.

With the help of Dr. Sofia Pavlovna, we corresponded for quite a long time. One time, she arranged a visit for us for a whole hour! In a youthful impulse, I was ready to kiss my girl all over... And between kisses, she said to me: “Petrus, what if misfortune decides to mock us? If you are never to see freedom, I wouldn’t mind if at least a child remained, for whom I could live my whole life.” And I loved this girl so much, but I thought, if misfortune truly mocks us so that we can never meet, then, I thought, no—let her marry as a virgin. And I, behind these bars, behind these wires, in the camps, will remember her from time to time. And it will be pleasant for me that the girl will remember: there was such a boy... And her husband will not reproach her.

But it turned out that she did become mine: a decree was issued that even if one spouse had a 25-year sentence, if the other was released—the wife or husband—they were allowed to go to a settlement, but somewhere nearby. So we made an agreement: I began to tell everyone, even close friends, that she was not my girlfriend, but my wife, that we had been married in the underground, which is why it wasn’t noted anywhere: in my documents, I was listed as unmarried, and she as a maiden. Then she began to petition the administration to release me to the settlement. For about three months, she went to the administration almost every other day, knocking on doors—see, she would say, my husband is imprisoned here, he has 25 years, grant him a settlement.

Vow of Fidelity

Sometime in early 1956, I was released to a settlement in the hamlet of Stekolny. It is 72 kilometers from the city of Magadan. There is an agricultural base there. We arrive, get a tiny room next to a greenhouse. Near the greenhouses, underground, there was such a small room... Before starting our family life, we first made a vow in that room—because there was no priest there, and we were just a boy and a girl... We had deceived the authorities to get out to this settlement... From the little finger of our left hands—she from hers, and I from mine—we drew blood and with that blood, on a sheet of paper, we wrote a vow of fidelity in our married, family life...

That’s 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 was a boy, we somehow 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 happened.

And it happened like this. On a Friday, she travels from that 72nd kilometer to the city of Magadan, to the central hospital where she is supposed to give birth. Early on Sunday morning, I get ready to go visit my wife. But just before dawn, I have a dream. It’s as if I am in my native home in Vytvytsia, my wife is sitting on the stove and holding a small infant, a baby... But she is holding the baby in a black embroidered shirt...

I didn’t tell you this. When she was still a girl and I was a boy, she had embroidered a shirt for me with multicolored threads on black linen. There were no threads for embroidery there, so the girls would find scraps of different fabrics, pull out the threads, and embroider with them. She made an extraordinarily beautiful shirt: on black linen, with multicolored threads. I greatly admired the embroidery and wore the shirt on solemn occasions.

And here she is, in this very shirt of mine, presenting the child to me and saying: “Here, Petrus, our son Vasyl has been born.” I take the child in my arms and boast to my mother: “Mom, look what a son has been born!”

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

I prayed, got ready in the morning, and arrived in Magadan, but first I decided not to go to the hospital, to that maternity home, but to turn to our friends—the Zarytsky family. I turn—and they congratulate me on the birth of a son! It turns out, indeed, a son... But for some reason, at that time, I didn't attach any significance to that black shirt. I interpreted the dream as our misfortune, that in such anxiety she presented the child to me in that shirt.

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

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

The “Khrushchev Thaw” found us in this settlement, and they began to release people. And 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, saying that I was so young and yet had spoken out against the Soviet government. I felt the hatred with which they looked at me.

And this was just the beginning, my wife was not yet pregnant. I was so sure that I would be released—after all, thousands of political prisoners were being released 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 the shirt like this, tore it in two, and threw it at the court. I called them wicked scoundrels, who had torn my young fate apart just as I had torn this shirt.

Then the guards took me away and I returned to that 72nd kilometer. Imagine: we had so hoped that we were returning to Ukraine—and then this. My wife began to console me: “Well, God be with them, the moment will come when we will return to Ukraine.”

A year later, in 1956, they summoned me a second time. I went into this commission as a fifteen-year prisoner, 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; in Zaporizhzhia, he worked at a factory where his wife was a foreman. He wrote: Petro, come here, we'll find a place for you somewhere. The city is called Velykyi Tokmak—that's where I was supposed to go.

To Ukraine!

But we have a three-month-old child, and our souls are yearning for Ukraine! So many years I hadn't been there after this misfortune! When I arrived in Magadan to get the documents for my departure, I had that “wolf's ticket” for release. It stated that so-and-so is being sent to the city of Tokmak, Zaporizhzhia Oblast. But when we were already on our way to the airport and still had to stop by the administration office, I said there: “You see, after my release, I took a referral to the city of Tokmak, but yesterday I received (I'm telling a straight-up lie) a letter from my brother that he moved from Tokmak to Stanislav Oblast, to the city of Dolyna.” And the official who issued the ticket and the money crossed it out and wrote what I said: city of Dolyna, Stanislav Oblast. And he added: “Believe the correction,” signed it, stamped it... My wife and I smiled happily and headed to the airport.

And at the airport in Magadan, I had an incident—though years have passed, it’s somehow pleasant to recall. My wife was with little Vasyl in the mother and child room. It was March. I went out to walk around the airport. I look—near a bench lies a document folder. I picked it up, opened it—and on one side was a diploma from a technical college, and on the other—a lot of money was stacked. Two people acted within me. One said: you didn't steal the money—so put it in your pocket. But that thought was only fleeting. The second said: no, go and find this person. I counted it—there was something like 500 or 600 rubles—I don't remember anymore. At that time, it was a lot of money. And there was about 100 in small bills set aside.

I go to the information desk and ask them to announce the last name on the diploma. He could have already flown to Khabarovsk. The woman says that boarding is in progress, and she announces the name. And there, before being allowed to board, a passenger had to check in at the information desk. She says that the passenger will be here shortly. When he came and was checking in, I stood to the side. She says: “And your documents?” He fumbled around—and turned pale: they were gone! Then I hand 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, they would have all been at my disposal.” And three or four common criminals who had been released were standing nearby. They were gnashing their teeth and spitting at my feet because it was incomprehensible to them: not to steal, but to find and return! They called me various names: idiot, you could have at least given it to us if you didn't want to take it yourself. But years have passed, and I recall this moment with pleasure, because if I had kept that money, it would probably still be weighing on my soul as a sin to this day.

When we finally boarded the plane, it felt as if we were tearing ourselves away from that hell, from that Kolyma, the camps, prisons, solitary confinement, from death... As if we were breaking away from some black tar and ascending to the heavens. And it felt so pleasant, so light in my soul, when we had risen high up.

From Khabarovsk, we had a train ticket to Moscow. I went to the toilet on the train. I look—a gold watch. Watches were expensive back then. I had seen a woman leaving this toilet. I approach her and say: “Excuse me, my watch has stopped—could you tell me the time?” She says: “Just a moment, just a moment.” And she tells her husband to hand her the watch. He looks for it—it’s not there. I ask her what her watch looked like. She describes it. I then give her the watch and say: “Don't leave it in the toilet again—it’s a good thing I was the one who found it.” She thanked me profusely.

And when we were already at the border of Russia and Ukraine, I got off at one 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. And I had this simple steel watch that my wife had given me in Kolyma for my birthday. I take it out—only the chain: someone had stolen my watch... I felt so hurt. I thought: I returned the money at the airport, I returned the gold watch, and someone stole my simple steel one... But that indignation was fleeting. All the same, I am pleased that there was no evil on my part.

I had already sent a telegram from Magadan that we were returning to Ukraine, later I sent a telegram from Moscow, and when we were already in Lviv, I also sent a telegram saying which train we would be on, so they could meet us. I wrote it in Ukrainian, and she tells me: “Don’t write to me in a language I don’t understand. Why don’t you write in Russian?” I got angry: “When I was forced to write in Russian in Magadan, I could still accept it. And in Moscow, I tried to write in Ukrainian, but they didn’t accept it, but here, in Lviv, you demand that I write in Russian?! That will never happen!” I got terribly angry, and she was forced to accept it.

Three Holidays

As we approached our Dolyna, I was very emotional. I knew that my brothers who lived in Dolyna—Ivan and Yosyf—would be meeting me now. When the train stopped, I got off the car. I had that wooden suitcase in my hands. My wife was there too. Two men ran up to me. I recognized one of them—my brother Yosyf. He took the child, Vasyl, from my left hand, and the other man took the suitcase from me. When we entered the station, I said to my brother Yosyf (he is two years older than me): “Brother Yosyf, why didn’t brother Ivan come out to meet me?” And this second man was brother Ivan! He was born in 1919. We had parted ways back in 1939. When the Soviet government first came, he was drafted into the army, and then the war... And now it was 1957. And then he said: “Petro, you don’t recognize me? It’s me, brother Ivan!” My God, how we threw ourselves into each other’s arms then, cried like little children! The people around us were crying too, because it was clear from my appearance where I was coming from: in a padded jacket, almost like a prisoner. And my wife was dressed similarly.

We went to brother Yosyf’s place—he lived in Dolyna, in Poluvanky. My God, we didn’t go to sleep until morning, we couldn’t get enough of being happy, talking, and kissing! Everything was so precious to me! In the morning, we went to Ivan’s—he lived in Dolyna, in the part called Vovche. He had a small farm there. My God, he didn’t know how or what to feed us with! He had a cow. He gave us milk, cheese. And I hadn’t had a drop of milk, or cheese, or sour cream for 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 of Vytvytsia. As we approached the house, my mother ran out. My God, she seemed so old to me, so stooped! She burst into tears, threw herself into my arms, kissing me, my grandchild, and my wife! Such great joy—we were preparing for the Easter holidays. My father was already buried. I went to the cemetery to tidy up my father’s grave. And on Easter itself, we baptized Vasyl in my home village. I considered that we had three holidays: the first—our return to Ukraine; the second—the Easter holidays; and the third—Vasyl’s baptism. After the blessing of the Easter breads, the priest baptized Vasyl on Easter itself. All the people were looking on, congratulating us. My God, we hugged, we kissed! There was no end to the joy.

After baptizing Vasyl, we all solemnly approached my father’s grave, prayed, cried, and I invited my father to join us for the holidays. We came to the house where I was born and celebrated three holidays. I remember the weather was beautiful, the Easter holidays were warm and sunny. We opened all the windows. My wife’s entire family came for this celebration, and my family too. It’s 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 to the heavens and kissing us: “Peace be with you, children! And who taught you to love each other so?” Because indeed, our love was so 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 from there take a bus to Halych. We spent the second and third day of the holidays in Zalukva. We returned home—and my mother was crying: “My dears, you had just left the house when the police came, asking where you had gone, they started yelling at me terribly, why I let you go. I don’t even know what this could be! And they said to let them know as soon as you returned.”

But there was no need to let them know—the police came right away (evidently, they were already watching) and said that I was being summoned to Bolekhiv: why hadn’t I yet reported to the district office to register my return.

I go to Bolekhiv for registration. The head of the village council goes with me. There they asked where, how, and when I was released. I presented all my documents. But they were writing and writing something there... There was another man there, from the village of Huziiv. They were pestering him to leave his village and immediately depart from the western oblasts of Ukraine—only to the eastern oblasts (and I too was supposed to go to Tokmak, I didn’t have the right to return to Stanislav, Lviv, Ternopil, Zakarpattia, Rivne oblasts). And then they ask me to sign as a witness that they are presenting such a demand to him, and he is objecting. My God, I started waving 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 like myself? No, that will not happen!” They were terribly angry. I went outside, thinking: well, they probably won’t register me now. But to hell with them—honor and conscience are more valuable. They thought they could use me because my registration depended on it.

We Built a House...

However, after some time, they called me in—they did register me. My wife and I are living in our home village with my mother, our Vasylko is growing up. After some time, I went to Dolyna and got a job at a garage. My older brother Ivan worked there, and he got me a job as a dispatcher. I worked there for maybe a month, a month and a half. Suddenly, Khokhlov—the director of the garage—calls me in: “Were you, Petro Vasylyovych, 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 that I was a former prisoner, that I... I can’t, he says, have you... Well, I say, to hell with it—fire me. And he fired me. I was without a job for some time, but later I got a job as a rate-setter at the Dolyna BMTs. We moved to Dolyna because it was very difficult for me to commute, some 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 houses. When the Soviet government came in 1939, they had 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 wasn’t expensive. And I had returned poor. I borrowed some money, they gave me a plot of land, the right to build. My wife and I picked out these pieces of brick (maybe 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 helper, because I didn’t know how to lay bricks. My wife did the masonry, because she had worked in construction brigades in the North.

So this house we are sitting in now was built by my wife, Stefa. We hired people for the roof and other work. We really wanted to move in quickly because winter was approaching. We finished one room, this entrance room, and moved into it, but the left side wasn't yet fully covered with tiles. I remember, my wife and I went out to finish covering it, and there was such a blizzard, the first snow began to fall. My wife hands me a tile, and I am laying it. I turn around—and she, poor thing, is handing me the tile, and tears are just streaming from her eyes. I say: “Why are you crying, Steftsia?” And she says: “My hands are so cold, Petro, that...” I say then: “Ah, then let’s leave it.” To hell with it, I think, because my heart ached so much when I saw her crying. And she says: “Well, maybe we can just finish it?” “No, God will give us good weather, we’ll 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 Family

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. The family was patriotic, well-brought-up. 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, beautiful. It turned out that she had another brother, but I only learned about this when her eldest brother Antin decided to repair the tomb where their father and mother were buried. My wife was working in the "Silhosptekhnika" system at the time, and she managed to get some metal to make a fence. Antin made the fence, even painted it, and locked it with a padlock. He came to his sister’s house (as 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 Mom and Dad’s grave?” “Yes.” “Well, why didn’t 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 Mom and Dad’s graves and marked my grave.”

Antin woke up at this. It was Yevstakhiy who had appeared, the first boy, the eldest; he had died as a small child. A wedding procession was passing by, he grabbed onto the carriage pole, the horses kicked him, and he died.

Only then did the family learn that there had been another brother, named Stakh. Because the family had already forgotten that there was such a boy. It seems there is some mystery of life, that it was necessary for the soul to ask, after Antin had finished all the work, why he had not marked a small grave in the middle.

Her family was very musical, so that sometimes in this house, where we are making this recording, during the holidays—on the third day of the St. Stephen’s Day holidays—my entire family and my wife’s family would gather, sometimes 35-40 people. When you remember that we returned so poor from that North, had nothing, but how pleasant it is to recall those moments, those caroling sessions! And so here with us is born...

V. Ovsiienko: Wait 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 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 don't remember the date. Somehow these things are forgotten... I knew, but at this moment I've forgotten. (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. It was there, in Kolyma, that we met. She didn't serve the full ten years. There were so-called "credits." If she worked and exceeded her quota, sometimes a day of imprisonment could count 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 early, but also without the right to leave; she had to stay there.

Stance

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. I’ll 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, it’s a very long story to tell how I got there. But it was only because I had a head on my shoulders, because at that time they didn’t have a person who could handle the work that I handled.

I’m telling 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 revival here, he was sent to persecute us and to imprison us again as quickly as possible. So he says: “Ask Petro Vasylyovych why he doesn't greet us.” There was a certain Didokha—the head of the district state administration, and this Tepchuk. And I tell the person who was sent to me: “They’re young enough to be my sons. Tell them that even under the Soviet regime, when I worked at the mechanization base—I had to walk 4 km from my house to get there, there were no buses back then—the head of the KGB was walking towards me. There was this Akynin. 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 Vasylyovych!’ I turn, and he says: ‘Why don’t you greet me?’ And I say to him: ‘Who should greet whom?’ He was much younger than me. ‘If you walk past me and don’t greet me, it seems to me that a dog has walked past me.’” Truth be told, after that, when he walked by, he would greet me. And I would greet him back. Because I was independent. I had not given them any written pledge. They were used to people bowing when the KGB chief... But I spat on him. I had walked such a thorny path, endured all the tortures, and never broke down anywhere. So I said, let him tell this to the 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.

Our Three Children are Growing Up...

V. Ovsiienko: But, Mr. Petro, I would like you to talk more about your wife and your sons. You have already spoken about yourself, and in quite some detail.

P. Sichko: So, our three children are 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. My younger children also did well—both Volodymyr and Oksanka. Volodymyr had two “B’s,” and Oksana had three.

I’ve already told you that soon after I returned, in this very house, I wrote my memoirs titled “Stalin’s PEST-A.” PEST-A stood for “Prisons-Escorts-Camps-Amnesty.” It was over a thousand cards long. It so happened that during my term, I passed through a good hundred, up to 150 of Stalin’s death camps. And it pains me so much that when I was already in the Helsinki Group, I passed on others’ documents abroad, but my own, I thought, I’ll pass them on later, later. And when I returned from my second imprisonment, I found that mice had chewed it all up...

But here I want to return to the children.

Vasyl really grew 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, a book was 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 as a child. But he overcame all of it. He loved to write poems, 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 wasn’t like that with us. We would all lie in our beds, and I would tell the children everything, but, of course, forbidding them to talk about it with 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 sun for people. Take Christmas caroling—it would start with us. They would gather, sing carols for us, and then we would go around to the neighbors. The revival started from here. Even though I had such a job, I still went to church with the children.

We were overjoyed and delighted 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 30-40 of his articles had been published in newspapers. They praised him: the lightest, best, most interesting style of narration—he had it.

But when we arrived in Lviv, it was a problem even to submit the documents. I was waiting to see if Vasyl would manage to submit them. He came out so cheerful: “Dad, I managed to submit them!” I asked how. He said: “They were extremely interested and asked me why I was born in Magadan, who my parents were, how it was that I was born in Magadan. I said that my parents had gone to work on the great communist construction projects.” We laughed so hard then, and he said: “Look, Dad, we’re happy about things that others are not yet happy about.”

The exams begin. Vasyl passes the first exam with an “A,” the second exam with an “A,” the third exam with an “A.” And then the fourth exam... A secretary comes in—I’ve already forgotten what subject it was—and whispers to the professor, but in a way that Vasyl can hear, that here you have so-and-so, Sichko, you dare not even give him a “C” (because if he got a “C,” he would already have a passing score with the three previous “A’s”). And Vasyl, even though he answered well, is given a “D.” They give 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 a lathe operator’s apprentice, and he got his third-class qualification. At the same time, he was preparing for university entrance, because he dreamed of becoming a journalist.

In 1975, Vasyl goes to Kyiv University. When he went to Kyiv, we said 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 back—it was such a great joy for us! But we didn’t really admit it to 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 didn't last long. A man I didn't 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 statement and agree to cooperate with them. They thought they could get me through my children. But I told them: “Mark my words, I have never given any written statements 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 my children would have no place in the university. Vasyl was an excellent student. He finished his first year, started his second—and similar people approached him too.

One time, I came to Kyiv with factory documents for the Ministry of Local Industry and stayed overnight in Vasyl's university dormitory. There was an evening event at the university. Vasyl came back in tears. I asked: “Vasyl, why are you crying?” “Dad, tonight there 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 also drew for it, because he had graduated from art school. And the editorial board put in so much effort into that newspaper that they only read the material and might say, Vasyl, that word would be better replaced with this one, there’s a comma missing there, or something like that. In other words, the newspaper, which Vasyl effectively carried on his shoulders, gets an award, everyone is mentioned, they are given various prizes, certificates of merit, but Vasyl wasn't even mentioned 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 included first, because we know that it was your merit, your main work, but the secretary of the party organization (there was a certain Pohribnyi) came up to me and asked why I had included Sichko. I said that it was mainly his merit—he did everything, and we just sort of...” “No way, 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 faculty at the time.

V. Ovsiienko: Interesting... I knew Pohribnyi in a better light...

P. Sichko: On their instructions, Parakhina—there was such a teacher—already in his second year... Vasyl loved to send such telegrams: “A,” “A.” The last exam remains, and there’s no telegram. But I know when Vasyl is returning. I meet him in Dolyna, and Vasyl gets off the bus with tears in his eyes. “Vasyl, what is the meaning of this?” “Dad, on the last exam, Parakhina gave me a ‘D’ in Russian, despite the fact that I answered everything well. And before I went to take the Russian exam, other students said: ‘Vasyl, don’t boast so much about your A’s, because today we’re going to see how they give you a D.’” That is, his circle knew about it. That Parakhina, who taught Russian literature or language—I don’t remember anymore—brought the deputy dean. Vasyl drew a ticket and went to answer without preparation. They asked him ten additional questions, but somehow fate would have it that Vasyl answered all those additional questions without preparation. But this Parakhina turned beet red and said: “But I am still forced to give you a ‘two’—you did not listen to my advice.” Because she had previously suggested to him that he speak only Russian. “But you didn't speak Russian, and you didn't want 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.’”

Those holidays passed with such pain. Vasyl filed a protest. True, when he returned, a commission from the Ministry arrived, and he retook the subject for them. They gave him a “B,” not an “A,” though. But that joy didn't last long—that Pohribnyi gives him an "incomplete" on his Ukrainian language credit, I think, or literature...

V. Ovsiienko: He probably taught Ukrainian literature.

P. Sichko: Yes, literature. He doesn't give him credit for his subject, Dean Pryliuk for something else—and Vasyl is expelled from the university for academic failure.

V. Ovsiienko: From which year?

P. Sichko: From the second.

V. Ovsiienko: Winter or summer session?

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

Human Rights Activism

Vasyl comes home, already expelled from the university, and writes a statement renouncing his Soviet citizenship and demanding to emigrate abroad, where he could finish his studies. At that time, he was still a Komsomol member, had a Komsomol card. He went to turn in his Komsomol card and passport. Imagine, I am waiting, because I don't know if they will arrest him or not. I pray and wait. He came to the ministry, threw his Komsomol card, passport, and statement of renunciation of Soviet citizenship on the table... Then Vasyl joins the Ukrainian Helsinki Group, and later I join the Helsinki Group too.

So, Vasyl, my son, became a member of the Ukrainian Helsinki Group on February 28, 1978, and I only in the spring. That’s when our human rights struggle began against all the violations that existed then in the Soviet Union. I want you to understand me. We firmly believed in victory, in truth, and therefore this system was not frightening to 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 and I and our friends had not brought to an end. As members of the Helsinki Group, Vasyl and I continued our human rights activities. The Church was especially persecuted in Galicia. Here, there was a struggle for the restoration of 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 made great efforts, for the churches to be opened. We reacted to all facts, wrote appeals, protests to the Verkhovna Rada, etc. Our house was constantly guarded by the police—openly, without hiding. They were on duty on this street around the clock—God forbid anyone came to see us or left our house. And they watched covertly from neighboring apartments. They had the appropriate equipment. But we paid no attention to this—we had chosen a path, we knew that we had to dedicate our lives to the struggle for the fate and freedom of our Ukrainian people.

The Vow at Volodymyr Ivasyuk’s Grave

I remember we were summoned to the State Security Committee in Ivano-Frankivsk—me, Vasyl, and Vasyl Striltsiv, because there were three of us from the Group from here, from Galicia. They held us for the whole day. They talked to us vaguely and let us go in the evening. We didn't even know why we were summoned. After leaving the KGB, we were talking among ourselves about what the purpose of this summons could have been. We went to visit 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 taking part in this funeral. (The funeral was on May 22, 1979. – Ed.).

But on June 10 (it was Pentecost), I went with Vasyl to Lviv to the grave of Volodymyr Ivasyuk. There was no need to ask people where Volodymyr Ivasyuk's grave was—it's at Lychakiv Cemetery—because a sea of people was flowing to and from that grave. For some reason, they mistook me for Volodymyr Ivasyuk's father (I wore a beard then), and they mistook Vasyl for his brother. At this grave, Vasyl was the first to speak and told how they had murdered our composer. He took a flower in his hand and made a vow: “Friend, we will continue the fight against the enemies who destroyed you, we will fight until Ukraine becomes free and independent.” After Vasyl, I also spoke. And by then, Oles Berdnyk had already 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, and there were masses of these various groups who were guarding, watching everything.

From the cemetery, we go 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 wouldn't 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 killing of Volodymyr Ivasyuk. So they escorted us to the bus station, and then—all these people couldn't get on the bus. The people said goodbye to us. The bus, which was heading towards Dolyna, did stop somewhere near the police station, so we thought, here they are, about to arrest us. But they didn't arrest us, because for the arrest of Helsinki Group members, Moscow's permission was needed then, and then Kyiv would give the sanction. So we arrived safely in Dolyna.

The Arrest

I continued to work. And then, maybe a week later—I look, and in the corridor... I immediately felt in my soul that they had come for me. And I had some documents with me, it was undesirable for them to get them. I quickly went to the toilet, threw them in there, and when I came out—they put handcuffs on me. They arrested me and are taking me home for a search.

This was on July 6, 1979.

V. Ovsiienko: That would be on Ivan Kupala Day, right?

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

V. Ovsiienko: And where was Vasyl detained?

P. Sichko: In the city, in Dolyna. He was walking somewhere. I already said that our every step was then being watched—as soon as one of us left the house, the appropriate people were already following us. This system worked precisely.

They take us to Lviv. They take us in different cars. There was already a warrant for my arrest, but Vasyl... I missed one moment—why Vasyl was being 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, went to Moscow to see the chief psychiatrist (Churkin. – Ed.), and he tells me: “If your son accepts the documents and renounces his renunciation of Soviet citizenship, his document will be returned, and if not—then the renunciation of Soviet citizenship is considered schizophrenia and madness.”

Do you understand? All opportunities for Vasyl’s future existence were cut off. He no longer had the right to study anywhere, nor the right to work. They held him in Ivano-Frankivsk for an evaluation for about a week and then released him. And here, when they arrested us, they took me in a “paddy wagon,” a prison van, and him—in an ambulance.

They bring us to Lviv. They put me straight into the prison on Lonsky Street, but my son—I don't know where they took him. The investigation was conducted by a man named Ivanov, I remember. I asked him how many years he had worked as an investigator. He said 30. I told him directly that I would not sign a single document. Bear in mind, I say, that you haven't even opened your mouth yet, and I already know what you are going to ask me. He was very indignant: why, how, on what grounds? I say: because I am a seer. And I will prove it to you by saying: my son Vasyl has already been brought here, to these dungeons. He says: “That can't 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 told you that!” And I said: “You know perfectly well that here, in the corridors of the KGB, two guards are strictly on duty and they are replaced in such a way that if they are a pair today, they might meet again on duty only in a month or even never again. According to instructions, the guard on duty does not have the right to conduct a conversation alone. There must be two of them, so there is no contact. And he says: “It was the woman who distributes the food.” I say: “You also know perfectly well that when the woman distributes food, your wardens stand on either side. And I told you this so that you would understand that I am a seer and will not speak with you anymore and will not sign any document for you.”

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

V. Ovsiienko: Did you agree in advance not to participate in the investigation and the trial?

P. Sichko: No, we just... I felt in my soul that my son... There was even a moment, after the trial... They call us in to write an appeal. My God, I am so worried that, God forbid, my son writes that appeal... When they call me in, I say: “What kind of appeal and to whom would I write? To these criminals? That is out of the question!” But I am worried about my son. The secretary smiled (and there were two chairs there) and said: “I knew it! Because I saw—just a minute ago, in the chair you are sitting in now, sat your son, who also refused to appeal. I knew that if you sat in the chair your son sat in, you would also not give your consent.”

My God! I felt so relieved! I thought: thank God my son didn’t 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 still, Vasyl underwent a forty-day psychiatric evaluation during the investigation and was found sane, right?

P. Sichko: Yes, they conducted an evaluation on him in Lviv, found him sane, transferred him to prison, and tried him, because otherwise, they would not have had the right to try him.

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 for my wife. She was a person of exceptionally strong will, strong faith, strong conviction. Imagine her situation: those watchers were constantly crawling around the house, trying to break into the house... She told me that she always had two axes: she kept one axe on her bed under the pillow, and the other axe in the entryway by the door. And whenever they tried to break in, pounded 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 won't surrender so easily, the first blow of the axe will land on someone’s head. I have an axe in my hands, I am not guilty of anything, but I will defend myself to the death!” In this respect, she was a fighting woman. She told me she always prayed, and prayed sincerely, even as they were crawling around...

I want to add this moment. When my son Vasyl and I were already arrested, my son Volodymyr was still studying at Kyiv University. In the Faculty of Mechanics and Mathematics. When Vasyl and I were convicted, they gave us a one-hour visit before we were transported. My wife informed our son Volodymyr and daughter Oksanka about it. She came with the children to say goodbye. First, they gave me a visit, and later Vasyl. I remember my wife brought me tarpaulin boots and a padded jacket so I would have something to wear on the road, and a hat. When Oksanka handed me the hat, she scratched near my ear like this. I understood that there was money sewn into this 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 going to the visit. Before that, as soon as we were arrested, they had demanded cooperation from Volodymyr, but he refused. Then they demanded that if he wouldn't work against his father and brother, he should spy on his classmates. He categorically refused, saying he would not do such a thing. So in March 1980, they also fabricated an academic failure for him and expelled him from the university. Expelled from the university—he also filed a statement renouncing his Soviet citizenship and wrote various appeals to students around the world.

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

P. Sichko: His classmates treated him very well. And they were terribly outraged by it, because Volodymyr was disciplined and studied well. When they saw these illegal actions and persecution, they began to protest and even wrote a protest to Brezhnev. But the telegram did not reach Brezhnev—it only reached the dean. Those students were summoned and told: who are you defending—you don't know whose son he is and who he is and what.

Volodymyr, having been expelled, appealed to students of the world, wrote protests, but all this yielded no results. He was finally arrested on December 6, 1980. He was accused and tried for refusing to join the army. Since he had renounced his citizenship, he did not want to serve in the army. This trial took place here in Dolyna, right during the Christmas holidays (January 9, 1981. – Ed.). From my wife's account, I know that she wasn't even notified of the trial. She felt in her soul that her son was being tried. When she arrived with her daughter Oksanka, the police would not let them into the courtroom. She still managed to force her way in, expressing her protest. Imagine what was going on in a mother's 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 were breaking down doors, attacking—she was worried that our daughter would be frightened.

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

P. Sichko: There were threats... They continued even after Volodymyr was released. For example, there was a wedding in the family in Hoshev. Oksanka went to this wedding with her brother Volodymyr. Volodymyr was even a groomsman there. And Oksanka says, something in my soul started to ache—I can't sit at this wedding, I'm desperate to go home. And some neighbors (their last name was Kosy) were driving to Dolyna, but their car was full. She started begging: I'll squeeze in anywhere, I'll sit at your feet, because I can't be here a minute longer, my soul is pulling me home. They somehow took her. She arrived. And here we have to cross a small stream. She runs across this stream, and when she found herself at the gate—a huge dog lunges at her. She let out a terrible scream. My wife turns on the light in the house, opens the door—and Oksanka comes in, crying.

The next day it turned out that it was the police who, taking advantage of the children's absence, wanted to murder my wife. Because the window with its frame in the children's room had been removed and was standing in the potato patch. They, evidently, wanted to climb into the house—and then this police dog lunged at my daughter, she screamed, so they ran down. There were tracks leading into the stream. And the dog ran after them. Later, in prison, I met someone who had some connection to this operation. They wanted to take advantage of the moment when the children were not there, climb through the window, murder my wife, and thus leave us all without support. They understood that my wife had a strong will and was morally supporting us.

In the morning, Volodymyr arrives, looks at that window, at all that...

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

When my wife walked through the town, acquaintances would cross to the other side of the street so as not to meet 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 kind of contact do you have?

These were the conditions we had to live in. When my sons and I were in prison, there was some 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—they summoned my wife to the KGB and warned her that she was not to leave the city of Dolyna during this Olympics. Not even to the next town—she had to stay only in Dolyna. And then suddenly, my wife disappears—they raised such a ruckus! It was just then that Oksanka had finished 10th grade. All opportunities for her to enter a university were closed, so she decided to enroll in an art school in Kolomyia. So my wife went there with Oksanka. My wife was gone for several days. The entire Ivano-Frankivsk Oblast was put on alert. My wife returns from there. In Kalush, where her brother and sister still lived—the KGB agents checked there too. One comes in and says: “Did you know that your sister’s house caught fire and she burned in it? I don't know what's happening with the children.” My wife's sister fainted immediately, and her elderly brother, who was over 70 at the time, in such despair, goes to look at the fire, to see what happened to his sister. He crosses the yard, looks—and the house is standing. No sign of a fire. He enters the house—and my wife is just making varenyky. He burst into tears, threw himself into her arms, and says: “My God, you’re alive? How?” And he tells her what they said. That’s how they were trying to find out where my wife had gone. “And where are the children?” And my wife says: “The KGB just summoned Oksanka and Volodymyr.”

After this, the head of the KGB summons my wife and says: “Stefania Vasylivna, where have you been? We warned you that you were not to leave during the Olympics.” And she says: “I went to Moscow.” “For what?” “Mr. Brezhnev summoned me.” “And what?” “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 says: “But seriously, Stefania Vasylivna? Are you making fun of us?” And she then says: “Why the hell are you following me around everywhere? I won’t tell you where I was or what I was doing!” She was a fighter in that regard.

While we were in prison—I, Vasyl, Volodymyr—Oksana had no opportunity to get into any school. She came to Lviv—in Lviv, too, the road was blocked everywhere. Imagine—she couldn't even stay overnight with relatives, because everyone was afraid. My wife decided to go with our daughter to spend the night at the Kalynets’s. Well, what was my acquaintance with the Kalynets family? I hadn't known Ihor and Iryna Kalynets before, but in prison, I received a letter. They were already in exile. On the strict regime, I was only allowed to write two letters a month, and of those, maybe only 30% got through. So I wrote to my wife that such-and-such people had written to me, that she should thank them and keep in contact with them. Thus, my wife was also acquainted with the Kalynets family. (Iryna was released on Jan. 12, 1981, Ihor on Aug. 11, 1981, after serving 6 years of imprisonment and 3 years of exile. – Ed.). They go to the Kalynets's, introduce themselves. My wife hints that she would like to spend the night. Iryna listened to everything, and Ihor Kalynets says: “You know, Mrs. Stefa, I have already given my word (but he didn't say to whom) that I will not meddle in politics anymore.” And Iryna says: “Keep in mind, we have a daughter, we must think about our daughter's future, she needs to get into university. You should go and find a place to spend the night somewhere else.”

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

So, since the path for my child was closed, she secretly, so that the locals wouldn't know, went to Latvia, to Riga. The local authorities there don't know her, and in 1982 she entered a medical college, graduated with honors, and then entered a medical institute, which she also graduated from with honors. Only after she graduated from 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 that was that. 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. Now they 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 knack for making 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, child, God forbid you abuse this. And I reminded her that when she was a schoolgirl, she dreamed of being a doctor. But one who would help people, not take money from them. I say: “Look, child, make sure you and your children are not hungry, not naked, but give 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 finish university—already in an independent Ukraine. He was reinstated and defended his diploma before the same professors who had created the conditions for his dismissal. That is, they atoned for their guilt by accepting him. He finished his studies sometime around 1994, I think, but by correspondence. But first, he worked as a driver, got married, has two children, a boy named Tarasyk, and a girl named Olia. Since it was difficult to find work 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 in construction there, earning a piece of bread, and helps his children and wife here. He is not planning 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 Term

I’ll return to the time when my and Vasyl's three-year prison terms were ending. We later learned that fate was supposed to smile 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 didn't release us then; instead, they threw us into solitary confinement, into punishment cells, and fabricated a second term.

They fabricated a second term 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. And if not—you see this (they shook the narcotics right out of their sleeve), if not, you will get a second term for narcotics. Well, of course, Vasyl did not agree to such a renunciation. Then the investigator shakes out the narcotics, and there are already witnesses—some brigade leader from the prisoners and two or three others. They testified that narcotics were found on Vasyl during a search. When the forensic examination was proving that the narcotics were his, Vasyl said: at least check for fingerprints, because I never even held them in my hands. They issued a verdict that he possessed narcotics without mercenary motives and gave him three years.

And it turns out that at that time, a year dedicated to 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 didn't release her on his own.

I had learned earlier that Vasyl had been tried. They were leading our brigade to breakfast. The deputy head of the camp approaches me and asks: “Do you have a son named Vasyl?” “I do.” “Was he imprisoned in Cherkasy?” “Yes.” “Wow! Your son was tried for narcotics, Radio Liberty already reported it today.” That's how I learned that Vasyl had a second term. They hadn't told me anything yet, but I felt that an axe was hanging over my head.

I am waiting for my release. And according to the law, you can go without a haircut for three months before release. Since I wore a beard and mustache before my imprisonment, I started growing them again. The day of my release arrived. I went out into the yard near the barrack, walking and praying. You know, there was such tension... You wait, thinking that today, maybe, fate will smile, that they will lead you out of this enclosure. Suddenly I see—some gentleman with a briefcase is walking down the central road of the camp. He went into the headquarters. And something in my soul, it was as if it shouted: he has come for your soul, for you! I couldn't walk in the yard anymore. I went into the barrack and lay down on the bunk, dressed as I was for my release. Everything was ready, my little camp bag was packed, which I was supposed to take with me... I dozed off, didn't even sleep. And I dream that I have walked along the river, dressed in my padded jacket, I take off that jacket and push it into the water, trying to sink it. But it’s like rubber—it keeps jumping back at me. And this repeated. Maybe I fought with that jacket 5-6-7 times, kept throwing it into the water, and it kept jumping back onto me. I woke up, and sweat was pouring from my brow. And my first thought was: oh!—there will be no release!

Just as I thought that—a runner (the barrack orderly) comes from the headquarters and says that I am summoned to the headquarters. I arrive. That gentleman is sitting there. He introduced himself as the deputy chief prosecutor of the oblast and immediately presents me with an indictment and a new warrant for my arrest for anti-Soviet activities and connections with foreign countries.

I do not sign the indictment, I say: “I knew it, you traitors! You know how to falsify all these things. I do not wish to have any more 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 that camp in solitary confinement, then they took me to Voroshylovhrad and fabricated a new three-year prison term for me.

Release

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

When we were released, we were placed under administrative supervision 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 check in every week.

The Creation of the Ukrainian Christian Democratic Front

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

He fasted for five days, prayed, and wrote it. It was 1988, I think it was April, spring. He wrote the program and the charter. At that time, it was believed 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 self-dissolve, and if not, they had many different methods to liquidate the party. But Vasyl wasn't thinking about any self-dissolution; on the contrary, he began to expand our ranks. And at that time, there was such a strong religious upsurge. We would go to any village, say, Tserkivna. Vasyl would speak after the Divine Liturgy—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 then..

So, the first impetus for revival was given to the Ukrainian people by the Ukrainian Christian Democratic Front. Here, in this house, a light was lit for all of Ukraine. And even the first flag—they falsify this now—our members brought out the first flag to a rally in Lviv, I can even name the date: April 24, 1988. The second flag—was when Vasyl created the "Plast" organization in the Carpathians. In this "Plast," a blue-and-yellow flag flew on a fir tree for a whole week. My God, when I remember how the people approached, cried, kissed it... What great significance the appearance of the first blue-and-yellow flag had! And in general, Vasyl dedicated the creation of the Ukrainian Christian Democratic Front to the 1000th anniversary of the baptism of Ukraine. Its founding date is considered to be November 1, 1988.

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

P. Sichko: The constituent congress took place in Lviv on January 13, 1989. The second congress also took place in Lviv in 1990. When I remember what an uplift of spirit it was, what beautiful moments of revival! If it had continued at that pace, Ukraine would be truly independent.

My son had something in him, as if he were reading from a book: he could foresee events. I became convinced of this... I want to tell you this.

It was January 9, the third day of the holidays in 1991, the year the independence was declared. A concert group from Ivano-Frankivsk came to us in Dolyna. During the intermission, Vasyl speaks and says: “The police have taken away the blue-and-yellow flag that was displayed near 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 so that the police cannot take it down. I assure you that within a year, a system like the Soviet Union will cease to exist.”

I, his father, listen to what he is saying and think 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 Independence of Ukraine was proclaimed.

Or take this case. When Vasyl was expelled from the university and we were about to be arrested, we went to the forest for berries. Vasyl filled his backpack with stones and carried it into the forest. I ask: “Vasyl, why did you fill your backpack with these stones?” And he says: “Dad, Golgotha lies before us—they will arrest us soon. And we will have to carry this burden. Here, in the form of 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, he died—he always told me: “Dad, I won’t live more than 40 years.” He must have repeated this a hundred times. It really unnerved me. So he would say: “One day you will be convinced that I was right.”

The Snares

V. Ovsiienko: At the beginning, you told the story about the 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? He was summoned by Kravchuk (who later became President), who tried to persuade him to have the party cooperate, and after that, he had a multi-hour conversation with Marchuk. 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 hit him on the head, he loses consciousness. They drag him—he vaguely remembers—into some office and give 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, he developed a strong craving for alcohol. That was in ninety-two, I believe.

Ukraine was supposedly independent already, but this system was still working. That apartment in Lviv, at 4 Turiansky Street, as it later turned out, was provided by the Security Service so that Vasyl could be destroyed. Because when Vasyl lived in Dolyna in this house, he had a habit of writing at night. He could write all night, and in the early morning, he would lie down to sleep for an hour or two, then get up, get behind the wheel, and drive off. But here... He was in Belgium at the time. They summon me and say that various leftist forces have managed to infiltrate our ranks, that Vasyl should move to Lviv to meet with various people, and there are international contacts here...

Vasyl was in Belgium at the time. And here, deputies of the regional council give an instruction to the Lviv city council. I am summoned to a meeting of the city council, they vote to provide such an apartment. They offered three apartments to choose from, but they knew that I would agree to this apartment on Turiansky Street. I gave my consent 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 didn't have to pay. A few years later, I found out that this apartment was specially provided to destroy Vasyl. This apartment had elevated radiation or some other problem, so that when Vasyl moved there, he took to his bed from the very first day and couldn't do anything.

I even started to get indignant, I said: Vasyl, how can this be, when there is a mountain of work to do? And he says: “Dad, something is happening to me, I can't explain it to you. I am not able.” I only understood Vasyl much later, when we swapped apartments, thinking that if Vasyl returned to Dolyna, took a backpack, went to a shepherd's hut for a week or two, maybe he could somehow be saved. But there was no hope anymore. When my wife and I moved to Lviv, only then did I understand my son. Because I too could lie on the bed with my hands folded like this for a whole day and be unable to do anything. I couldn't even help my wife wash the floor. She did everything herself—cooked, everything, and I just lay there and marveled at how she managed it. But what saved me was that I would lie there like that for a day, suffer in this apartment, and then I would have to travel somewhere in the region, or return to Dolyna—and I would feel normal again. But she lived there constantly. It is 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 had to die.

I only recently found out that this apartment was specially set up by the Security Service to lure Vasyl to Lviv, where he could be destroyed. What hurts me is that at that time our friends could not understand that he needed moral support. But it was as if everyone turned their backs on him. He suffered terribly. When he turned forty (this 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 Serhiienko, and remained honorary chairman with the right of veto. And here they summon him, saying they need to discuss something with Vitaliy Zhuravsky.

Vasyl decided to go to Kyiv. I buy him a ticket and give him 10 karbovantsi to have for his return. He left on December 20, 1996, was supposed to leave Kyiv on the 21st, and on the 22nd, right on his 40th birthday, he was supposed to be back in Lviv. I wait in the morning—Vasyl isn't there. I started to worry terribly. I leave my grandchildren, Petrus and Steftsia, and run to the station: maybe the train didn't arrive on time? And Serhiienko had called me from Kyiv, saying he was returning on such and such a train, even named the seventh car. I go to the station, ask the stationmaster if the train has arrived—it has, he says, but he can't say anything, come back in the evening: the head of that train will be returning to Kyiv and he might be able to say something. I agonize all day, I run back at six in the evening, introduce myself, and he looks at me like that and says: “And who are you—the father?” “Yes, the father.” “I see that you are an older man, so I won't hide it from you—be prepared for a message to arrive at any moment that your son is deceased.”

And then he tells me that it happened in Vinnytsia. At first, they thought he was drunk. The police came to take him away. But he was almost dead. It turned out there wasn't even a smell of alcohol. Then they called doctors: he was poisoned with some slow-acting poison. Apparently, it was done by those guys who had so insistently summoned him to Kyiv. Because Serhiienko later said: “I couldn't believe my eyes—how Vasyl ended up somewhere among the guards.” He must have been given the poison in Kyiv, and it began to take effect on the road, and near Vinnytsia, he lost consciousness. Oles Shevchenko was on the same train. He later told me they had only had one bottle of beer together.

And so, in Vinnytsia, Vasyl was taken to intensive care. He only regained consciousness in the morning. His chest was blue. He tells 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 be the day of his death. And since his life was extended, I somehow thought it would be until he was 90. But after that, he only lived for a few more months. He went abroad again to remove the conditioning for alcohol. Because the doctors here couldn't help him. They said they had no power over it. Imagine: a person who 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 that, he said: “Dad, I feel that they have come from Ukraine for my soul.” Exactly three months before he was to die, a person from Kuchma's team from the Vinnytsia region called me almost every day, demanding Vasyl's phone number and address, and demanding that he come for negotiations with Kuchma, because the presidential elections were approaching here. And then, they said, let him return to America, they would pay for his trip. But Vasyl always kept himself under wraps there: if he called, I knew that the phone number was not valid; if he sent a package to the children, the return address was not his.

The Death of Vasyl

So we talked on the phone for three months. My last conversation with Vasyl was on November 16, 1997. Vasyl's last words to me were: “Dad, my old strength has returned to me. I'm coming back to Ukraine to once again lead the Ukrainian Christian-Democratic Party and give it new life, because the struggle is not over.” Then Steftsia and Petrus grabbed the phone from me. But he said that—and a few hours later, he was dead...

The little house where he lived was set on fire. He lived in an unremarkable little house. There were two rooms in the attic—Vasyl lived in one, and some Polish guy lived in the other. Two weeks before that, it seems he had fallen into debt and couldn't pay his rent. Around the time I was having that conversation with Vasyl, the landlord had left the house. The house supposedly caught fire from the roof, and Vasyl was asleep and suffocated from the smoke. They explained that the bed Vasyl was lying on had burned and that it had been thrown out the window. I opened the coffin twice because I thought maybe it wasn't Vasyl they had brought back... And twice I saw Vasyl, sleeping in his coffin—there were no signs of burns at all.

V. Ovsienko: And was the body intact?

P. Sichko: Intact! It's absurd to say the bed burned up and was thrown out the window... What's important is this: when my other son, Volodymyr, arrived to find out what had happened, they didn't let him into the room. They only showed him Vasyl when they were already taking him 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 contacted the ambassador to the US, Yurko Shcherbak, who knew both Vasyl and me very well from the times of the national revival. When he was approached there about transporting the body to Ukraine, he demanded something like 9,000 dollars. So Volodymyr took care of the transportation himself. The institution 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 St. Onuphrius Church to arrange for a Gregorian Mass. That's thirty Divine Liturgies for Vasyl. On the card, I wrote: “For the repose of the soul of my son, Vasyl. Kingdom of Heaven to him!” When the nun was writing the dates “8/12 – 7/1” on the card, I was calm. But when she said aloud, “The Gregorian Masses for your son will begin on December 8 and end on January 7, on Christmas,” I was overcome with such joy, such a light that—I'm telling you—it cannot be put into words. This here on my wall is his portrait, the one that was later carried before the coffin. When the nun said that, I seemed to hear these words from the portrait: “Dad, I will be celebrating Christmas in the Kingdom of Heaven!” Then the funereal mood returned to me, but I believe that somewhere in the Universe, he made that transition.

I always had premonitions of disaster, but before Vasyl's death, I dreamed of nothing. Only Steftsia, his daughter, when she woke up in the morning, said (I didn't pay any mind to it): “Last night, I was sailing on a ship with Daddy, but the ship with Daddy sank, and I was left on the shore.”

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

What's also interesting: even though he is no longer alive, I feel that he continues to look after his children. Allow me to tell you that when Vasyl fell ill and was suffering, his wife took the little children and went to her mother's in an eastern oblast. Steftsia's 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 will not.” Because I saw the little ones on this very bed, playing with him. About a month later, Vasyl went and came back: he carried in Steftsia first (he had even taken off his shirt, because it was cold and the children were half-naked), then Petrus, and said: “Dad, you're like a prophet. Look, it happened just as you said.”

About a year might have passed with the children here with Vasyl. But he was still suffering. I have a second dream: there, in Lviv, where I live, there is a kitchen and two small rooms. And so Lesia, Vasyl's wife, has returned and is asking me to let her set up a bed; she's not claiming anything, just wants to be able to see the children. And Vasyl is as if in another dimension of the world. I tell Vasyl the dream: “You, Vasyl, will be in another dimension of the world.” I understood this to mean America. And then Vasyl says to me: “Dad, when the time comes that Lesia returns and asks to be with the children, you must 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 be able to stand it, not coming to see the children from America?

When Vasyl died and we were waiting for his body to be brought back, my daughter-in-law came and said those exact words to me. So I tell her that dream and say: “If you want, then come back 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. Ovsienko, have brought from good people—it's thanks to him, even though he's in another world. People are helping the children of the deceased. He spoke the truth: “I will look after the little ones and my wife, but I will never return from the other dimension of the world.”

Such was the mystery of his life. He had something about him, that whatever he said would come true. He was a deeply religious man. One time, we were driving in the car. I ask him something, and he's silent. I ask again, and he's still silent. I start to get angry: “Vasyl, your dad is asking you a question—why are you silent?” And he says: “Dad! Don't be angry. Don't disturb me right now, I'm praying.” And I felt better.

It pains me when I recall the struggle within the party. I forgive Vitaliy Zhuravsky for this, but he knows perfectly well who he was, how he wormed his way into our ranks, and how much harm he caused. There's nothing Christian about him; he ought to confess his sins... I hear they're 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 suffered because of him. Somehow it turns out that the people who didn't fight against that system are now the builders of Ukraine, and we are nobodies...

Vasyl's Funeral in Lviv

So Vasyl died on November 17, 1997. But he was brought here only 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 back on the thirtieth, and the funeral was... on a Sunday. (So, December 2? – Ed.).

P. Sichko: I went outside Lviv, where they were supposed to deliver Vasyl... When I brought him home—my God, I can't even 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 the morning. The funeral was on a Sunday; everything took place at 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 the funeral somewhere... Vasyl's coffin was carried to the Lychakiv Cemetery. Vasyl is buried in Lviv next to his mother. I have one grave plot there with two crosses: my mother is buried there, and Vasyl is next to her. My mother, that is, my wife Stefa, was buried in 1996, and Vasyl a year later, in 1997.

The procession went from St. Andrew's Church all the way to Lychakiv Cemetery, turning toward the grave of Volodymyr Ivasyuk. This was all filmed on tape... The only regrettable thing is that the speeches at the graveside were not filmed. It seems the battery died. There is the funeral repast, which was held in a dining hall. But the speeches weren't recorded.

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

Petrus Sichko: I, Sichko Petro Vasylyovych, 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. Ovsienko: And your little sister, Stefania?

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

V. Ovsienko: And where do you study now?

Petrus Sichko: I am a student at the Dolyna Gymnasium-Internat in the 3rd form (which corresponds to the 7th grade in a regular school), and my little sister Stefania studies at School No. 1 here in Dolyna.

P. Sichko: When my wife and I moved to Lviv because Vasyl was in such a difficult state, and he decided to return to Dolyna, he would say: “Maybe, Dad, I'll find some way to save myself. I'll take a backpack, stay in a shepherd's hut for a week or two, and it will be easier for me. 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 difficult it was for me there. Something must have been planted there. I don't feel it anymore. It burned out or was disconnected.

And when Vasyl moved there, the whole place was bugged. Sometimes, Vasyl would convene the Main Council. People would enter the room—and there on the side was a gate shaped like a ladder. We even smiled: look at this—a gate like a ladder. When we were leaving at one o'clock, that ladder-gate was standing under the window: someone had been standing on it, either listening or filming. And holes had been cut in the fence to escape through. Now, you don't feel anything like that there anymore... But back then, they used such methods to influence and destroy people...

The Death of My Wife, Stefania

And my wife was diagnosed with an incurable disease—colon cancer. They didn't tell me anything at first. She started having severe bouts of vomiting. They sent her to a hospital in Lviv. They informed me that an operation was necessary, that there was no other way. And that the operation could only prolong her life by a month at most. A hopeless situation. But after the operation, she lived for another year and two months. And it was then, when she was ill, that she wrote these memoirs, “A Woman's Fate.” She had written things before, but I didn't even know she had written this piece. These memoirs consist of four parts.

She still cooked, although her condition was grave. I remember, about half a year before her death, she sent me to Lychakiv Cemetery to see where she would be buried, to see what the place looked like. And I said: “Listen, Steftsia! What are you saying to me? God only knows which of us will live longer.” — “Ah, you know what you know, and I know what I know.”

And indeed, I had to bury her in the very spot she had pointed out half a year earlier. She was dying in the hospital. It was autumn, and I had gone to dig potatoes. There was no one to look after her. In the hospital, the disease began to progress rapidly. 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, continued to breathe heavily for maybe half an hour, weaker, and weaker, and weaker... And so she closed her eyes and passed away. She died on September 9, 1996.

I feel her loss greatly. She was the companion of my life and destiny. The upbringing she gave the family—another mother, perhaps, would not have provided such an upbringing. She was indomitable in spirit and devoutly believed in the victory of truth. She believed in Ukraine. She liked the words that a man wrote to us in a letter. She would say: “I want you to put these words on my grave one day.” Because he wrote this:

Не жаль мене, не жаль, о ні!

Жаль України, що в мені,

Яка умре тепер зі мною,

Бо друга буде не такою.

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

Published:

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