Interview with Viktor Vasyliovych SAVCHENKO
(Edited April 19-21, 2008. Corrections from V. Savchenko received May 1, 2008).
The interview took place in the office of the Dnipropetrovsk organization of the National Writers of Ukraine. The writer Oleksa Vusyk was present and occasionally made comments.
V.V.Ovsiienko: April 4, 2001, city of Dnipropetrovsk. Viktor Vasyliovych Savchenko is speaking, and Vasyl Ovsiienko is recording.
V.V.Savchenko: I was born on March 22, 1938, in the city of Voznesensk in the Mykolaiv region. I graduated from the Dnipropetrovsk Metallurgical Institute with a degree in chemistry.
During my postgraduate studies, I met Mykhailo Chkhan, an engineer at the same institute. Even then, I was trying to write my own prose works, and it was on this basis that Chkhan and I actually came together. He brought me to the literary association of the Writers named after Pavlo Kononenko, introduced me to writers and aspiring authors there, but most importantly, Mykhailo Antonovych Chkhan—I can say this now without exaggeration—instilled in my consciousness a sense of patriotism and an attraction to our native history, which practically no one knew, as it was under a great ban. And Chkhan at that time had somehow read Bantysh-Kamensky, and Arkass “History of Ukraine,” and had read Hrushevsky, and would quote Hrushevsky to me.
I started writing about scientists, about the world I lived in, but under Chkhans influence, I was drawn to history and began writing a novel about the Zaporozhian Cossacks. I went to the regional library. By the way, the local history department of the Dnipropetrovsk Regional Library is very rich Yavornytsky was also there—I saw his works for the first time. It must have been Chkhan who instilled in me an attraction to Yavornytsky, which eventually resulted in me writing a play about Dmytro Yavornytsky in 1995, which was staged for the 140th anniversary of his birth at the Dnipropetrovsk Shevchenko Theater. It ran for two years, and for this play, I was awarded the Yavornytsky Prize and the “Blahovist” Prize. But in these achievements, I still see Chkhans hand he was the one who laid the foundation.
V.O.: Please tell me when and where you were a postgraduate student.
V.S.: I was a postgraduate student at the Dnipropetrovsk Metallurgical Institute, which is now called the Metallurgical Academy. I believe those were the years 1965-68.
V.O.: That was just around the time of “The Cathedral.”
V.S.: Absolutely right. That was the time of “The Cathedral.” Did “The Cathedral” come out in 1968?
V.O.: In 1968, in the first issue of the magazine “Vitchyzna.”
V.S.: Yes, in 1968, in the first issue of “Vitchyzna.” I have that magazine, I keep it, it’s a green one.
V.O.: I have one too.
Remark by Oleksa Vusyk: And it was published in the “Novels and Novellas” series.
V.S.: Yes, and in the “Novels and Novellas” series. Everything started with “The Cathedral”... Because when “The Cathedral” was published, some of the authorities didnt yet know what it was about and didnt ban it. I was a postgraduate student then. I dont know if you can call it studying—it was full-time postgraduate studies, I was teaching then, because postgraduates teach their own students. So Im sitting there during the chemistry lab sessions, and while the students are doing their experiments, Im skimming through “The Cathedral.” They come up to me: “Viktor Vasyliovych, whats that book youre reading?” “Honchars ‘The Cathedral.’” “Ah, weve heard about it, weve heard. Where can we get it?” “Here, take it.” It cost 20 kopecks back then, that little book from the “Novels and Novellas” series...
V.O.: I had one too—the KGB guys took it.
V.S.: Well, I calculated that I bought 40 copies then. 40 books—and gave them all to students. This, undoubtedly, became known.
In fact, “The Cathedral” was, one could say, a provocation by our side aimed at the consciousness of the citizens. To some extent, “The Cathedral” became—I wont be mistaken if I say that it became a barricade that arose between the creative intelligentsia and the authorities. And whats most important is that not all people in power condemned “The Cathedral”—there were those who supported it. But the official propaganda, the KGB, which was in fact the enforcer of the authorities efforts against Honchar, began to track those who spoke out in favor of “The Cathedral.” And I got caught up in that too. But perhaps that wasnt even the most important thing. The literary association at the Writers also split into two parts. I wasnt a member of the , but Chkhan and his company used to take me there. Our literary association was large, powerful, hundreds of people gathered there, mostly university youth, philology students. And at this literary association, a crack also appeared between those who stood with Honchar and those who were against him. This is where it all truly began—with Honchar. Maybe if “The Cathedral” hadnt existed, things would have gradually, gradually eased up, settled down in an evolutionary way and flattened out, as they say, and everything would have been fine. But “The Cathedral” appeared—and it effectively split society.
And what was the main thing? Now, looking back at those times with a retrospective gaze, I dont see many scoundrels. They were just a few individuals. The vast majority were normal, good people. Some remained silent—lacked the courage to speak out, or what, but most approved. Although I dont know if I should say this: in principle, “The Cathedral” is not Honchars best literary work, its just his boldest. Who was Honchar? Honchar became a star of the first magnitude, he was part of that system—and he said what no one else dared to say. This had extraordinary significance because in our society, people like Honchar were trusted more than dissidents or human rights activists.
And it started from there. At the literary association (I was elected deputy chairman there by the members themselves), I pursued a line of not allowing Honchar to be vilified. But here and there in the press, harassment started to appear. And that was also being tracked. Then Ivan Sokulsky, who attended the literary association with me (he often visited me—we lived at 13 Chicherina Street, sometimes he would by after the association we traveled to Crimea on my motorcycle he was in his fourth year at the university then and already had some conflicts with the university authorities)—he decided to collect this material. In the Writers , people spoke out for “The Cathedral.” We had a guy named Sheinin (Shirokov), a Jew, he was an excellent publicist, literary scholar, a brilliant critic—he published an article in the newspaper “Zorya” highly praising “The Cathedral,” and then they started to “break” him. He was a party member. They fired him from his job. There were cases like that. For the most part, people supported Honchar—some directly, others silently, but they supported him. But there were also people... There were fewer of those, undoubtedly.
And so Ivan Sokulsky decided to collect the facts of the persecution of Honchar and the people who supported him. Thats how the idea of the “Letter of the Creative Youth of Dnipropetrovsk” came about. Ivan undoubtedly wrote this letter, and he had many respondents. For example, Rima Stepanenko, the chief director of the Shevchenko Theater—they started harassing her too. Why? She staged the play “Godfather to the King.” So people walk in before the play—on stage, in front of the curtain—theres a huge, humorous back of a head. Vatchenko didnt like the back of the head because he found some subtext there.
V.O.: A hint at his own fat back-of-the-head?
V.S.: Yes, they saw a hint and began to harass the person, although it was something completely different: the artist drew this back of a head because it was the play “Godfather to the King.”
V.O.: Is that by Stelmakh?
V.S.: Yes, Mykhailo Stelmakh. Ivan took this case. Then someone was harassed in “Zorya” or somewhere else—he took that too. I told him about Mykhailo Chkhan and Valentyn Chemeris, that they spoke out for Honchar in the Writers and were “dealt with” at party meetings—he included that too. That is, I was also one of the respondents. Well, when he had collected this material—I dont know—Mykhailo Skoryk somehow dropped by the Kuzmenkos, I saw him there once, and I met Volodymyr Zaremba at Kuzmenkos once, he went there more often. Ivan brought me ten printed pages, the second or third copy. Or maybe a few more pages, I dont remember now—probably more. And so it was: “Here, take a look, Ive prepared the ‘Letter of the Creative Youth,’ from all of us.” “Well, let me read it.” I took it. I still remember it: we had a shack on Chicherina, Ivan is sitting, Im reading and reading, then I took a pencil—“Stop, dont do that. Just short notes so I can erase them later.” I said: “Ivan, you cant do that, this is editing, thats not right.” “Alright, just do it neatly so I can erase it.” He didnt want to get me in trouble. Ivan was taking all the blame on himself then.
One day he came to me—it was, I think, in early May or April (1969 - V.O.), when we were living on Chicherina—and said: “Viktor, Im going to send this ‘Letter of the Creative Youth’ to all the authorities.” I thought: “Well, go ahead, its normal, to the authorities—so be it.” It was only later, when the case was initiated, that they showed me those “Letters” in the KGB. Wherever he sent them—to institutes, Komsomol organizations—they all ended up there, in those volumes of the case file. They showed me those volumes. He and Mykola Kulchynsky printed them. And Kulchynsky was just a kid, but a patriotic one, his father was a priest, he was the one who typed it. Ivan was the generator, and he typed. (M. Kulchynsky, b. 1947, met I. Sokulsky on March 9, 1969, at the Shevchenko monument. - V.O.).
V.O.: So he was the one who typed this “Letter”?
V.S.: Yes, Kulchynsky. They found the “Letter” on him. Someone informed on them, they conducted searches, and at Kulchynskys place, they found the typewriter with four or five carbon copies still in it. They printed a lot, a whole lot—and all these “Letters” ended up with the KGB. When Mykhailo Antonovych Shkonda, the investigator, showed me how much material they had, I thought: wow, they must have found so many witnesses. But then I saw that it was all just those “Letters.” And they had nothing on Ivan except for this “Letter of the Creative Youth.” They took Kulchynsky then too... Ah, in early May or April, Ivan came to my home. I remember walking him to Ostrovsky Square, where he would catch a bus to go to where he lived with his mother. On the way, he said to me: “You know, ‘Radio Liberty’ broadcast our ‘Letter.’” I said, “Ivan, things are bad, be careful.” He was working as a sailor on a ship that went to Kyiv at the time. And Oleksandr Kuzmenko had taken the “Letter” to Kyiv. He handed out the “Letter” to everyone there. And supposedly Mykhailo Skoryk... In short, this “Letter” got from Kyiv to abroad.
V.O.: And it was broadcast on Radio Liberty?
V.S.: Yes, I think it was Radio Liberty that broadcast it—from abroad, from “beyond the pale.” I said: “Ivan, this is it. What you sent to our authorities—they might have forgiven that. They would have harassed you a bit and forgiven you—but this is it, be careful.” Indeed, they took him... He returned from Kyiv on one of his trips, and they picked him up right at our river station.
V.O.: The arrest date is June 14, 1969.
V.S.: Probably so. About a week later, they came for me. A pleasant young man, a KGB agent, looked a bit like a Jew or an Armenian, intelligent, came and addressed me quite normally—“Viktor Vasyliovych.”
Remark by O. Vusyk: To your home?
V.S.: To my home, on Chicherina. I think it was already the summer break. Right, a couple of weeks into the break. “Do you know Ivan Sokulsky?” I said, “I do. I know he’s been arrested.” “Well, wed like to talk with you too.” “So, whats the problem, lets talk.” “No, lets go to our office.” I said, “Alright.” I was used to what you see in movies, I looked out the window, thinking a “black raven” [KGB car] would be there. But no—a white “Volga”... I remember clearly that as we drove, I thought that times had changed, because not so long ago they came for people like me in a “black raven,” and now I was riding in a fashionable car, calmly talking in the back seat.
And so he brought me to the KGB and said, “You know, I came here from the Komsomol, they sent us,”—how did he put it?—“to ‘strengthen’ these agencies, because they have a lot of bad things on their record.” I felt a little relieved. Then he brought me to Tutyk—there was this literary henchman, Anatoliy Antonovych Tutyk. He was an NKVD man of the old school. And so they started to “break” me. First, they told me that they had known me for a long time, that they knew everything about me, that there was no point in denying anything, everything was already decided. I had read a lot of detective literature, and I just smiled at all their tricks. By the way, thats why Tutyk didnt like me—because I took everything he said with a smirk, with irony. I saw right through him, I saw an empty person who had nothing human in his consciousness. He was a cog that would fit into any state machine—whether it be the KGB, or the Gestapo, or the “Siguranța,” or the “Mossad”—it didnt matter. I saw right through this Tutyk, and he understood that I understood him.
In short, at first they suggested that I tell everything as it was, otherwise they would take me to court. A teacher of mine, and not just a teacher, but my grandmother too, used to tell me: “The first lashing is for the informer. You must never ‘snitch’ on anyone—its shameful, a sin before God.” And this moral principle was so deeply ingrained in me that I would rather have had my head cut off than to have “ratted” on anyone. And my situation was made easier by the fact that I actually didnt know anything, I had nothing to hide from them. The only thing was that I knew a lot of people whom they would have gladly imprisoned. I knew many such people, and one word would have been enough for them to start torturing them too. But Im still a person who was engaged in theoretical chemistry in my postgraduate studies, I understood: say a word about a person or name them—and they will start extracting something from that person. Whether they extract it or not—maybe they will, and not necessarily something positive, they might extract something negative. Thats why in my investigation materials, if you were to look at them, you wouldnt find a single name. I didnt name a single one.
To my misfortune, a provocateur turned up, whose name I wrote down—Pyrlyk. He had wormed his way into our group, and I gave him things to read that Ivan Sokulsky had given me. This included “A Report from the Beria Reserve”—maybe you remember it?
V.O.: By Valentyn Moroz.
V.S.: Yes. I think it was on photographic paper. Ivan gave it to me. Then, the speech by General Petro Hryhorenko at the jubilee evening for the writer Kostiorin in defense of the Crimean Tatars—that was the second document. And also a speech by academician Aganbegyan at the Mysl publishing house. He gave a speech there, it was recorded—it was called The Current State of the Soviet Economy, where he irrefutably showed that this economy was doomed, it couldnt last long. Those things.
And the third thing—I met Sviatoslav Mandebura in Kharkiv, hes a Ukrainian intellectual. He gave me a book by Mykhailo Molner, Slovaks - Ukrainians—a study of the connections between Ukrainians and Slovaks. There was one article in it, by an author named Taras Volia, but I dont remember the title. The article was about twenty pages long. What was that article about—that there was a world congress of Slavs in Belgrade and everyone was there except for Ukrainians. The tsarist government didnt allow it. The second largest Slavic nation—we were not allowed. This material fell into the hands of the KGB, and they started to build a criminal case against me—those two things that Pyrlyk mentioned, and that one—three in total. If there had been two, it would have been okay, two grains are not a pile, but three grains are already a pile.
V.O.: Thats already “systematic distribution.”
V.S.: Systematic, yes. In short, they started to build a criminal case against me. They began tormenting me in June, and the whole procedure ended in November or December. I was called in for questioning at the KGB many times, almost every week. And Ivan couldnt take it. The investigator, Shkoda, finally told me: “Viktor Vasyliovych, what are you denying, Sokulsky has confessed, look, heres his testimony that he gave you the materials by academician Aganbegyan and General Petro Hryhorenko, heres what he says.” “Well, thats his business, let him say it, he didnt give me anything.” “But Pyrlyk here says you gave it to him, youre in the middle.” I thought: no, I need to have a talk with Ivan... “Then lets have a confrontation.” “Alright, lets do it.” They arranged a confrontation for us, Ivan comes in, his hands behind his back, wearing a black-gray uniform, his head shaved. We greeted each other, sat down.
V.O.: Did they let you shake hands?
V.S.: Yes. It wasnt Shkoda there anymore, but Pokhyl—a young guy, probably eight, six years younger than Ivan and me.
V.O.: Thats a famous investigator, Pokhyl. I think hes from Kyiv.
V.S.: Pokhyl is in Kyiv now. He later went to Kyiv. Fedir Herasymovych Pokhyl. Yes, I remember: “Can we say hello?” I ask. “Yes, please.” We greeted Ivan, sat down. Pokhyl says: “Well, you know what this is about? Ivan Hryhorovych says so-and-so, and you, Viktor Vasyliovych, say it didnt happen.” I said: “It didnt happen, I dont remember. What are you making up, Ivan?” And he says: “Listen, do you remember, I gave you this material, went to the garden myself, we were doing something with my mom, and you were sitting in my room reading. Then you took it and left. You returned it to me on such-and-such a day.” He laid it all out. What was I supposed to do? “I dont remember, maybe it was like that.” “So, maybe or not?” “I dont remember.” That Pokhyl wrote it down. And Ivan looks at me: “Listen, cut it out. Well, what—its all over, everything...” “I suppose it was like that.” I never actually said it was so. “Well, probably so, if Ivan says so.” Heres Pyrlyk on one side, whom I gave it to, and on the other side Ivan, who gave it to me—its a fork, nothing more could be done. I later saw in the case file what else Ivan was incriminated with—several more such charges were incriminated. There was almost nothing there, I dont know why they imprisoned him. Well, for nothing, it was just some kind of arbitrariness.
V.O.: A few more poems. Oxen, Nostalgia, Sviatoslav, and others.
V.S.: Yes. So that was the situation with Ivan.
When the investigation was over, my wife and I got into a taxi, and Korzh and the director of the publishing house, Moroz, were sitting there... Was there such a person or not?
Remark by O. Vusyk: There was, Vasyl Vasylovych Moroz.
V.S.: So they were riding, and we got into the same taxi. And Korzh says to me: “Viktor, Tutyk was in our editorial office, theyre setting you up for a year in Dniprodzerzhynsk prison.” This was before the trial. I think the trial started on the 19th, of what January?
V.O.: Ill look it up here. The trial ended on January 27, 1970.
V.S.: Yes, it ended, but it started on the 19th. Well, we—me, my wife, and my mother-in-law—thought Id have to serve a year. The trial goes on, they incriminate me with these three things and “systematic distribution.” They gave me a lawyer, Petro Polikarpovych Yezholyi, who instead of...
V.O.: What was that again?
V.S.: Yezholyi.
V.O.: What a name...
V.S.: Petro Polikarpovych Yezholyi. Instead of defending me, he spoke like this: “At a time when our people are so-and-so, these young people...”
Remark by O. Vusyk: Like an accusation.
V.S.: Yes. Sokulskys lawyer, Romm, I think his name was, and Kulchynskys lawyer, Sarry—Rem was missing an arm, a war invalid, and Sarry was either missing a leg or limped—two Jews, they came from Moscow, our human rights defenders managed to get them to come here. I dont remember this anymore, but recently I was talking to my wife—maybe you saw her today, she works at the radio, Halyna Savchenko, maybe she recorded you, a director, well, it doesnt matter—she reminded me: “You immediately refused the lawyer.” I was defended not by my lawyer, whom I paid a hundred rubles, but by Romm and Sarry—Sokulskys and Kulchynskys defenders. I refused, saying I refuse the lawyer, I will defend myself. I prepared, gathered a whole stack of legal literature, I was extremely well-prepared, but it wouldnt have helped if not for chance again. Theyre pinning this third charge on me: “Slovaks - Ukrainians” by Mykhailo Molner. It was published abroad, in Prešov. The lawyer Romm helped me. He asked the judge if he had a list of literature that was forbidden to be brought into our country... No, whether this book was on the list of literature forbidden to be brought into the Soviet . And they say: “We dont know.” I dont remember how they answered there. “Then how can you incriminate a man for this—this is our fraternal republic? Moreover, he writes about cultural ties—how can you incriminate him for that?” This was on the first day of the trial.
Then Mandebura flies in, he was a witness. I have nothing against him, well, they got him there... He said that he gave me this book by Mykhailo Molner. In fact, he said nothing against me, only that he gave me this book. And I gave it to that provocateur Pyrlyk. But it so happened that he, Mandebura, came from Kharkiv and spent the night at my place. Then he went out and bought the newspaper Literaturna Ukrayina and brought it to me... Ah, but before that, Shvedova at the radio had advised me. “Listen, theres a description of newspapers and magazines in the library, look for Molner—I think I studied with this Molner.”
Remark by O. Vusyk: She studied with him in Kyiv.
V.S.: Yes. “Hes a normal guy. Look for him.” I went to the regional library, and the girls there found about a dozen of Molners articles on this topic in our periodicals. I asked to have these publications added to our case file. They didnt like that, I saw it, both the KGB agents and the judges. In the courtroom, just so you know, sat my wife, Sokulskys mother, and I think Kulchynskys father, but Kulchynskys brother, Bohdan, I think, was not allowed in. And the KGB agents and the press, which later covered this, were sitting there.
V.O.: Well, Ivan, of course, was in the dock under guard. And you?
V.S.: I came without a guard.
V.O.: And where did you sit?
V.S.: Ivan and Kulchynsky—they were sitting under guard, and I was there next to them. And next to them stood some guys—either Uzbeks, or something like that.
V.O.: So they wouldnt understand anything.
V.S.: Oh no, they understood a lot, Ill tell you about it later.
So, I told them I requested that this be added. If you remove Molner, then two documents remain—then what kind of trial is this? No, its still an “ideologically harmful book.” “How is it harmful if it condemns the tsarist regime—are you justifying the tsarist regime? This was in 18-something.” No, still ideologically harmful. In short, Mandebura rushes in—I think it was already the last day of the trial, or close to it—throws Literaturna Ukrayina on my table: Read. I look—a small article, Ive already forgotten the author, I have it stored somewhere, and it says that in the near future, the publishing house Dnipro will release the book by Mykhailo Molner Slovaks - Ukrainians. At this point, it was impossible to ignore, especially with the Moscow lawyers right there.
We gathered: Nina Pavlivna, my mother-in-law, Halynas mother, Halyna—well, we were ready. But they werent taking me into custody, and they werent.
V.O.: What, is the trial ending?
V.S.: No, the verdict hadnt been delivered yet. They were invited into another room for the verdict and they announced: Sokulsky, 4 years and 6 months of strict-regime, Kulchynsky—2 and a half years of general-regime imprisonment, Savchenko—2 years (they told me it would be one year) suspended sentence with a three-year probationary period. Thats when I got it... That is, for those two documents, they gave me two years. I was effectively walking on a knifes edge: if I didnt punch my tram ticket, theyd take me away.
V.O.: Yes, easily.
V.S.: I was fired from my job once (I have it all recorded in my work book), twice, three times—fired about five times. No matter where I got a job—go away, or become an informer for us, or well keep firing you. It got to the point where my wife, when I was fired for the fifth time, I think, went to Andriy Yakovych Pashchenko, the secretary for ideology, and said: “What is he supposed to do now? The man has a finished dissertation for a Candidate of Chemical Sciences, and they keep firing him” from the metallurgical institute once, and then here next to the Trinity Church—the SKTB (Special Design Bureau for mining rescue problems)—fired. To the Institute of Mineral Resources, Volodymyr Sirenko got me a job there, by the way, they took me on a probationary period, just in case—fired a month later. Halyna went—they reinstated me, then again: We have downsizing—thats all. The director, Arnold Veselov, said: “Viktor Vasyliovych, you should go somewhere to Siberia, stay there for a while.” I said: “Yes, but this ‘tail’ will follow me there instantly. Here at least they know I didnt do anything, but there they dont know, and the ‘tail’ will grow with rumors.”
In short, when Halyna went to Pashchenko, Pashchenko must have called the KGB and told them to leave me alone. Otherwise, they could summon me anytime, and the last time, I remember it like it was yesterday, they summoned me to the Ukraina hotel—have you seen our Ukraina hotel?—to the second floor, to see Kapustnikov. He would summon me from time to time to talk. I had no choice, because I had two years with a three-year suspended sentence. And so today is January 27, and tomorrow, January 28—three years would have passed. I go in, General Mazhora is sitting there, in some room, and in hotels, their people usually work as directors, the secretary of the KGB party organization is sitting there, I think his name was Volyk (well, he was from the party, a normal man, he didnt try to “break” me). And that Mazhora and Kapustnikov tormented me for probably two hours to get me to become their informer. People were drawn to me because they saw I hadnt betrayed anyone, hadnt set anyone up, on the contrary—I ran away. As soon as I saw a good person during those three years, Id get as far away as possible so my shadow wouldnt fall on them.
It was already nine oclock in the evening, and they had summoned me for seven. Or maybe even ten. Well, I thought, what kind of provocation could they stage before midnight? After midnight, thats it—the term of my sentence ends. Well, he sees that nothing will work. I said: “I have a policy: hire me on the KGB staff, Ill work. Im a lieutenant, a lieutenant of tank forces from the institute—give me at least a senior lieutenant and Ill work for you on staff.”
V.O.: And Ill have a job!
V.S.: Yes, and Ill have a job, everything will be normal. They laughed. “Alright,” said the general, “you can go.” Theyre sitting there, and Im walking to the door, I reach the door. “One moment,”—I stop—“but Im warning you,”—I wonder what hell say?—“dont get in our way of building communism.” Well, that amused me so much that I was laughing on the bus all the way home—“dont get in our way of building communism”!
And so nothing happened by midnight. They called me when I had already published my first book, thirteen years later, “I Will Return,” a prose collection. First, they asked the academic secretary of the Institute of Mineral Resources (Volodymyr Sirenko and I worked together): “Ask Savchenko what he meant when he titled the story ‘I Will Return’?” And then Yelchenko called. He and Kapustnikov used to summon me sometimes, one then the other, but then I said, “That’s it, dear sirs, that train has left the station.” Well, I was cautious: Whats the matter? He said: “Calm down, Viktor Vasyliovych, I just wanted to congratulate you on your book, youve published a good book.” Indeed, in the book, I wrote quite warmly... “So I congratulate you.” And thats how it ended.
What more can I say? That not just for me, but probably for most people who ever had dealings with the KGB, its a lifelong complex. That person who didnt want to meet with you (Volodymyr Zaremba. - V.O.)—he suffers from this complex too.
V.O.: Obviously.
V.S.: I took a long time to get over it, a very long time. Everything had already changed, all those people had died out, other people came, they performed those functions, but they were different people, it was a different generation—but the complex remained. What can I say now, looking back with a retrospective gaze? The judge told me when I came to pick up my documents... There were a lot of papers... And do you know what the judges last name was?
V.O.: Tell me.
V.S.: Tubilets. That is, a native. That, too, was probably part of their plan. That is, your own natives are judging you.
I am now studying this slice of time, those times, quite deeply. The people of the Soviet endured great atrocity, it was a true apocalypse—62 million people died during the years of Soviet power, 21 million were just shot and 41 million did not return from those places where you were. It was a real apocalypse. When we were tried—that was already the calming of the apocalypse. The judge told me: “Youre lucky to be on trial now, and not ten years ago—ten years ago you would have been shot.”
And now there are people who are trying to attach themselves to this cause. I know one poetess who dedicates poems to Ivan Sokulsky, a poet who worked his whole life as a director of a printing house (and you know under whose supervision printing houses were)—now he dedicates poems to Ivan Sokulsky. I know people who are latching onto this Letter. Mykhailo Skoryk wrote that Savchenko, so to speak, shamelessly attributes authorship of the Letter to himself. But I never attributed it to myself! Not once did I say that I wrote the Letter. We were on the radio with Tasya, Taisiya Kovalchuk (who recorded you), and I told the same story I just told you, about how that “Letter” was written—that Ivan wrote it.
V.O.: Did you have any other dealings with the authorities on the grounds of dissidence—after this case? Were there any other claims against you from the KGB, the authorities?
V.S.: No, not after that. I still have a “tattoo” on my back from their targeting frame. I feel it on me all my life. But from around 1979, I think, a lot changed, a lot. Malanchuk left. He died. Other party officials took his place. This process of rotation, starting from Lenins company, was constant. Stalinism was the peak of atrocity. And when Khrushchev came—he was more or less a human being. Brezhnev, although a cult was created for him, was also more of a human than a beast. And when Gorbachev came to his place—he was a human being altogether. We came in on the down-slope of this peak of atrocity in the Soviet.
V.O.: And when were you able to publish your first book, and what was it called?
V.S.: In 1982. It was called “I Will Return.”
V.O.: Ah, youve mentioned it already. And when were you admitted to the Writers?
V.S.: In 1984.
V.O.: If youd like, you can list your books, by year.
V.S.: Alright. The first book was published in 1982, “I Will Return”—it’s a collection of novellas about scientists, the scientific world. The second book—I write science fiction, I’m interested in fantastical things—was published by “Veselka.” Yes, the first book came out from “Molod”—they wouldn’t publish me in Dnipropetrovsk. The second book also came out in Kyiv, from “Veselka,” called “A Night in the Carboniferous,” science fiction. Carboniferous—its a geological term. And the third book came out here, from “Promin,” because they saw that Kyiv was publishing me, so they published “The Consuls Tower,” also science fiction.
V.O.: What year?
V.S.: Also 1984. I wasnt being published, so I wrote and wrote, and then it started coming out. I published what I had written when I wasnt being printed. I didnt publish a new novel until 1988, also from “Veselka” in Kyiv, with a large print run of 115,000, a science fiction novel. I had been getting published since about 1980. Almost every science fiction anthology published in Ukraine has my work. Not only in Ukraine—in Moscow, that magazine-almanac Fantastika, which comes out annually. They the best works for it. Im in there too. Not in every issue, but I was published often. Then at “Sich”—the publishing house “Promin” was renamed to “Sich”—this was in 1990—I published “Adventures on the Fifth Horizon.” Its not science fiction, but a realistic book. In 1994, I published the science fiction novel “Under the Sign of the Cricket.” In 1995, a play was published in a magazine, and our Shevchenko Musical and Drama Theater staged this play, “Born Under the Sign of Scorpio,” about Dmytro Yavornytsky. This was 1995—the 140th anniversary of Yavornytskys birth. I published this play as a separate book in 1997. In 1999, I published the book “Two Peaks of the Horoscope”—about scientists, its not science fiction. I published a small book “God Does Not Give a Cross Beyond Ones Strength”—it features absolutely all the poets of our Dnieper region. I was preparing an anthology, and this is about the poets, with photographs, biographical notes, a list of works, creative writing style—this is “God Does Not Give a Cross Beyond Ones Strength.”
V.O.: Thats a very good title.
V.S.: I prepared and published the “Anthology of Poetry of the Dnieper Region,” a large book—430 pages. And my latest book—I hope not my last—is called “And I Saw a Beast.” This is a book of an occult, esoteric nature—a study, a search for the causes of the events that took place. But a search for causes not in the material world, but in another world, another dimension.
V.O.: The title is from the “Revelation of John the Theologian”?
V.S.: Yes, its based on the “Revelation of John the Theologian.” Out of the 22 chapters of the “Revelation of John the Theologian,” the “Apocalypse,” I have actually deciphered about 13-14 chapters. That is, I proved that it relates to our time. Well, not all of it, but some of it relates to our time. Thats the work.
V.O.: And you are also the head of the regional organization of the Writers?
V.S.: Yes.
V.O.: And since when?
V.S.: It is called: The Dnipropetrovsk Organization of the National Writers of Ukraine. Since, I believe, 1994.
V.O.: And I would also like to know your address here. Because someday this text will be transcribed onto paper, and I would like to send it for you to read.
V.S.: Thats the right thing to do.
V.O.: Then it becomes a document.
V.S.: 49044, Dnipropetrovsk, 6 Hoholya Street, apartment 47.
V.O.: This wont be transcribed so quickly, but I will send it to you someday. Thank you for telling your story so well. Perhaps youd like to add something?
V.S.: We were talking about those guys, the convoy at the trial. I dont know if they were Uzbeks or Tajiks, from Asia. There was an interesting situation there. When the criminal indictment was being read out regarding General Hryhorenkos speech at the jubilee evening for the writer Kostiorin—he spoke there in defense of the deported Crimean Tatars—I noticed that these guys at first looked at us a bit savagely, but then, when they heard that we were actually defending the interests of the Crimean Tatars, who I think are related to them by faith or perhaps by some ethnic features, they started looking at us completely differently. They took turns, went out, and Mariya Kuzmenko—thats Oleksandr Oleksiyovychs daughter—would go up to them and talk to them. It made a completely different impression. I think that for those guys who were guarding Sokulsky, Kulchynsky, and then me, it was an education. They went back to their regions already ‘well-versed’.
V.O.: Youre not the only one who tells stories like that about the convoy—it happened quite often.
V.S.: Because people are blind. They believe the propaganda, and then they see what people are being tried for—for defending basic human rights. They used to call them churka [a derogatory term for Central Asians], made up all sorts of nasty things about these people, and here comes the intelligentsia, defending them, and being tried for it.
(V.O.: I then read to Savchenko and Vusyk the poems by Vasyl Stus “The Broken Bough of Evening Sways,” “Oh, enemy, when will you be forgiven...”, and he told a story about Stus.)
V.S.: Stuss parents lived somewhere in Smolyanka in Donetsk.
V.O.: 19 Bashkyrska Street. Not far from the train station.
V.S.: Right, thats the Smolyanskyi district. Volodya Mishchenko told me that they were in the same group in class. I think Oleg Orach, Lazarenko, who lives in Donetsk now, were there. Volodya Mishchenko talks about how during the holidays—this was the philology department—they would go on student folklore expeditions. He told how they walked through villages, traveled all the way to Crimea, to the Sea of Azov. And this was together with Vasyl Stus. And even then, he says, he gave the impression of being older than his classmates, although he was probably a year or two younger. But the main thing is that they were lucky to have teachers like Kost Teslenko, Mariya Lisovska. Kost Makarovych taught in this group, where Mishchenko and Stus were. In those days, you understand, you couldnt speak out as openly as Stus did. Stus was different in that he spoke honestly, he made no compromises—he was a knight who rode with his visor open. Kost Makarovych would explain to them that, guys, you cant do that, you have to be more cunning here, this is a system that you cant just break so easily. Mishchenko said that Stus often got indignant: Kost Makarovych, look whats happening here, how can one be silent! Well, he tried to restrain him as he could, but it was with this very foundation that Stus went to Kyiv. Just as I was filled with inspiration from Mykhailo Chkhan, so Stus took that inspiration from Kost Makarovych Teslenko.
And how do I know Teslenko? When I was on a suspended sentence, I got a job in geology. By the way, Volodymyr Sirenko got me a job at the Institute of Mineral Resources. People there didnt like to go on business trips to the mines, but for me, it was practically a salvation: whenever there was a business trip to the mines—I went. Viktor, will you go to the mines? Yes, Ill go, lets do it—instantly, just to not be here, in Dnipropetrovsk. I took my first novella I Will Return to the magazine Donbas. Sitting there is the completely bald, with a shaved head, this Kost Makarovych Teslenko. We met. Im from Dnipropetrovsk. Oh, I know Chkhan there. So I wrote a novella. Well, lets have it, Ill take a look. And the Donbas magazine was published like this: half in Russian, half in Ukrainian, with Russian editors, Ukrainian editors. I approached Kost Makarovych, the Ukrainian editor. I left the novella with him, but I thought it was hopeless because only a year or two of my suspended sentence had passed, so the KGB had probably notified everyone. I often went to Donetsk, and after a couple of months, I thought, Ill by Kost Makarovychs place. Good day. Good day. You know, were going to publish your novella. Thank you. And I felt a little uneasy, because I was putting him in a difficult position. But then I thought: And why is he obligated to know everything about me? I live in Dnipropetrovsk, I had problems there, and hes in Donetsk—so why should he be obligated to know this? Who are the good guys you have there? I said: Who, the poets? We have Mykhailo Chkhan, hes my friend. Bring Mykhailo Chkhans works, well give a page for Dnipropetrovsk. Alright. I returned home, told Mykhailo Chkhan, he comes over: What did you want, Vitko? I said: Well, theres an opportunity to get published. Ah, I know him. I said: Lets have some of your works, Mykhailo Antonovych. He selected some, and the next day brought me several poems. I said to Sirenko: Give me some poems, maybe I can try to place them somewhere. He brought me two good poems. A week later, I took them to Kost Makarovych, he looked at them: Good poems, well publish them. Chkhan—under constant surveillance, me—my suspended sentence term hadnt even ended, Sirenko—the KGB was watching him too. And suddenly, in March, the magazine comes out—a novella by Viktor Savchenko, I Will Return (about a year and a half after the trial!), poems by Sirenko and the dissident Chkhan (Sirenko, perhaps, couldnt even be called a dissident then). There was a colossal commotion, this issue of the magazine became a bestseller in Dnipropetrovsk. Before that, no one had noticed it. And how did it happen? It turned out that Roman Andriyashyk had submitted the novel Poltva there. This novel was supposed to be published in Donbas, but some party orthodox or Russian-speaking editor wrote to Degtyaryov—the first secretary of the regional party committee—saying, look, look what the Ukrainian half of the magazine is publishing—theyre publishing a nationalist, hes such-and-such. The regional committee said: remove Poltva—so they removed Poltva. And Teslenko says (Teslenko and Hryhoriy Kryvda were there): What are we supposed to do, we had it all prepared, everything was ready. Take someone else, dont you have anyone? Well, we have this stuff from Dnipropetrovsk here. Well, lets run Dnipropetrovsk, says the regional committee.
In short, they put this material in the issue—and a month later, both Teslenko and Kryvda were fired. I then said to Chkhan: What should we do? And he says what I told you before: Why is he obligated to know what kind of problems you have here? They hadnt even been fired yet when I went to see them, I brought some cognac, we went to the Kyiv deli. You could stand there, there were tables. Me, Teslenko, and Hryhoriy Kryvda. I said: Kost Makarovych, I think I got you in trouble? He smiled and said: Ive known about you for several years, and about your whole Dnipropetrovsk company. I did this consciously. They would have fired us anyway, but this way we went out with a bang. If we were going to be fired, let it be with a bang. He told me: Viktor, Ive moved to a new apartment, heres my new phone number, when you come here—be sure to by. And so I arrived, went to the mines, took care of my business, came back to the hotel, thinking, what should I do? Let me call Kost Makarovych. And he said: Listen, come on over, where are you wandering around, come over. I took a bottle, and thats when he told me about Stus.
One time I came to him, and he was upset: “You know, they put Vasyl in the punishment cell.” And they immediately broadcasted it from abroad. And then I came once, brought some wine—I always brought wine—and he says: “You know what, put the wine aside.” He takes out, I remember, an opened bottle of vodka, slices some salo: “Let’s commemorate a good man.” I thought, maybe one of the writers? “They killed Stus,” he says. I don’t remember if he was killed by criminals, when they put him in with criminals, I dont know...
V.O.: Is that what he said?
Remark by O. Vusyk: He died, I believe, in the punishment cell.
V.S.: Or died in the punishment cell...
V.O.: Do you want me to tell you how it was?
V.S.: Tell me.
[End of recording]
Viktor SAVCHENKO, April 4, 2001. Photo by V. Ovsiienko.