An Interview with Ihor KICHAK
V. Ovsienko: On March 21, 2000, in Kolomyia, Mr. Ihor Kichak tells his story.
Mr. Ihor! Please tell us when you were born, the date, place of birth, and briefly about your family.
I. Kichak: December 12, 1930, in Kolomyia.
My father’s greatest distinction was that during the German occupation, and in 1941 when there was still a Ukrainian government, he was the director of the “Volia Pokuttia” printing house in Kolomyia. That was the most important thing in his biography. And from those times, from 1942, 1943, when I was 12–13 years old, I read, for example, the Bandera-affiliated journal “Idea i Chyn” (“Idea and Deed”), thanks to Kurliava—he was a district leader in Kolomyia. And he was my father’s accountant at the printing house. It was this literature from Kurliava that was confiscated from our house during a raid on March 14, 1950.
I was connected to the underground. I was in personal contact with the district leader, Borys. He gave me the pseudonyms “Sokil” (Falcon) and “S-18”—I received them on July 25, 1948. That was a Sunday. I was arrested in 1951, on the evening of January 28 (also a Sunday) in the city of Kolomyia, when I came home from Chernivtsi University after the winter session.
V.O.: So you were a university student?
I.K.: At Chernivtsi University, in the history department.
V.O.: From what year?
I.K.: From 1949 to 1951. I was arrested there because Borys was killed on October 20 (I was supposed to meet him on the 21st). He was killed in Prokurava (?). And I was in Sheshory on the 22nd. He was killed, and they found my letter on him with a detailed description of the raid in March 1950. Although I had signed it “S-18,” the content was such that they immediately identified me as “S-18.” And I got 25 years in January 1952, on January 12.
V.O.: What court tried you?
I.K.: The Military Tribunal of the MGB troops of the then-Stanislav Oblast. They gave me 25 years and sent me to Vorkuta. In 1955, my case was reviewed, and my sentence was reduced to 10 years. I served them, with two years of credit for work, meaning I actually served eight years. Physically. But legally, it was ten. Then I was released.
V.O.: So when were you released?
I.K.: In 1958, on October 28. I was forbidden to return home to the western regions, so I was in Eastern Ukraine, first in Mykolaiv Oblast, then in Dnipropetrovsk, Kirovohrad, and back in Dnipropetrovsk, working on state and collective farms. That kind of work.
But I always wanted to influence people's way of thinking. I knew Franko’s poem, “The Great Anniversaries,” by heart (I learned it in Taishet from Mykhailo Soroka). It was a wonderful poem, and I also knew Shevchenko’s “Kobzar.” I had Ivan Franko’s journalistic work, “Our View on the Polish Question,” about the so-called marriages and divorces between nations. This is very relevant to Russian-Ukrainian relations. This work was useful to me as well. Even such trifles as Yuriy Smolych's novel “Peace to the Huts, War to the Palaces.” It contains a speech by Petliura, where he says: “Down with the stepmother Russia, long live mother Ukraine”—if you have read it. It had such an effect on those eastern Ukrainian peasants; I was pleased with that. Those people were proud that there was such a person as Petliura. This was on the state farms, in the villages.
In March 1960, I wrote a letter to my second cousin, Oksana Horbachevska, and in it I mentioned the assassination of Bandera. I wrote that great political assassinations have neither averted nor stopped anything in history. Therefore, Bandera's murder was futile, and the assassinations of Petliura and Konovalets did not stop or avert anything in the Ukrainian liberation movement.
The letter reached her; I wrote the address in a way that she would receive it.
V.O.: And where was she?
I.K.: She was studying at Chernivtsi University. The letter arrived at her godmother’s, addressed to her grandmother, Kozlovska. No one intercepted the letter. She collected it. But her mother later wrote to her daughter in Chernivtsi (and the mail between mother and daughter was monitored): “That letter you took with you, make sure it disappears, remember!” They searched her dorm room; she had crumpled the letter, but they took it, and I was arrested for the second time because of that letter.
V.O.: When were you arrested?
I.K.: On April 9, 1960.
V.O.: Where exactly?
I.K.: In Dnipropetrovsk Oblast, in the town of Vasylkivka. I was working on a state farm there. That was the pretext for my arrest. It wasn't enough to convict me, so they added a couple of letters from my camp years—one letter for each year from 1957, 1956, 1955.
V.O.: Those were your letters, right?
I.K.: Yes, the ones that had been intercepted. And two postcards saying “Christ is Risen!—Ukraine will rise!,” which we used to make in the camps and send to Ukraine. In the camps, I myself wrote an essay on the history of Ukraine from memory, and I wrote various articles, including a long article titled “What is Soviet Power?” By the way, it has now been published in London, because those articles were preserved in Stryi. A young man brought them to me, I restored the text, and this article was published in London in the journal “Vyzvolnyi Shliakh” (“Liberation Path”). It’s a long article—an analysis of Bolshevism from its origins and in its development, in that style. It was written in 1955.
This is what they had on me. But apparently, they didn't have enough evidence. My investigator, Major Moroz, said: “If I show you what we have, you’ll turn gray.” Maybe they had materials, because in Bila Tserkva, they confiscated that essay on Ukrainian history from some guys, but it wasn't in my handwriting. And no one suspected who the author was. So I was supposedly a historian. But they had this letter about the Bandera assassination, where I wrote that the people do not know whom they have lost, that since the day of Shevchenko’s death, Ukraine has not known such a great loss.
At the trial, when the judge asked me what I thought about Bandera, I answered: “I know of no other Ukrainian name that is as widely known in the world as the name of Stepan Bandera.” He replied to me (Chebotaryov): “But he fought against Soviet power!” With that, he confirmed that I was right. But I answered him that Bandera fought against all and any occupiers of Ukraine. And I got another ten years. Franko’s “The Great Anniversaries” burned me, Franko's poem. But I say that I know this poem by heart, and I will write it down again. "Кожен думай, що на тобі мільйонний стан стоїть!" Remember? It was a poem that no one published. And I learned the whole thing by heart from Mykhailo Soroka. It came in very handy in conversations in Eastern Ukraine among those easterners. I wanted to influence people's way of thinking, because they had become not the kind of Ukrainians they should be, those *khokhly*. And they were changing. People admitted it to me later.
They also pinned some outright lie on me, they found some German, who was making things up. I forget his name, whether he was a beekeeper or someone else—that I supposedly incited him “to fight for an independent Western Ukraine on the model of small countries.” I told them it was nonsense. So the investigator wrote in the protocol without the “Western,” as if it were for the whole country. Well, how could one fight for that “Western Ukraine”? It's just ridiculous. But they needed more than just that letter and those few other letters seized from previous years.
V.O.: And what article were you charged with?
I.K.: The tenth—agitation. It was called the “second article” back then. At that time, there was an all-Union law that came out in December 1958. The new code wasn’t in effect yet, the previous one was no longer valid, and that was the article that repeated all the Article 58s. (I. Kichak was convicted under Article 7, part 2 of the USSR Law of 25.12.1958 “On Criminal Liability for State Crimes.”—V.O.).
V.O.: So, essentially, “anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda,” right?
I.K.: Yes. That’s what it was called. And so I got a ten-year sentence.
V.O.: How long did the investigation last?
I.K.: Not long, from April 9 to June. On June 23, 1960, I was already sentenced, and on August 13, Colonel Zashchitin from Kyiv came to me in prison and offered me a place in their Central Committee school.
V.O.: That's interesting!
I.K.: I said, “But I’ve already been sentenced!” And he says: “That doesn't matter! There you’ll have literature, beautiful girls”—in that tone. “We need people like you. But we have to start with you giving me character references for everyone you knew in Vorkuta.” I refused. This time I was sent to Mordovia. I served a ten-year sentence in Mordovia.
V.O.: Where in Mordovia were you?
I.K.: In Mordovia, I was in Camp No. 7. Levko Lukianenko ended up in my barracks, right in my section. He mentions me in his memoirs. I recited the “Decalogue” to him for the first time, and our ideological and political foundations—I know the Declaration by heart since 1945. He mentions in his memoirs that because of me, he began to think differently. Because he arrived at the camp as a communist. A supporter of independence, but a communist. And through me, he began to change his way of thinking towards nationalist positions. He mentions me now.
I served the last eight years where they had that cell-based system—a special-regime facility, the tenth camp point. I was released from there.
V.O.: How did you end up in the tenth? What regime were you given?
I.K.: In 1962 or so, they created different regimes, and as a particularly dangerous recidivist, I was sent to the tenth because I was serving my second sentence.
V.O.: To the special regime?
I.K.: I served eight years there, to the end. Together with Ivan Myron in that tenth camp. It was a cell-based system. I was in a cell there for eight years, but we went out to work. I worked there. It was a branch of an automobile plant that produced Moskvich cars. I made brake pads for Moskviches. It was lathe work on machines. An auto plant.
But earlier, when it was a general regime in the seventh camp, I was with Lukianenko. And on special regime, I was with Dmytro Syniak, who was Homin’s guard.
V.O.: I know Dmytro Syniak.
I.K.: He was the guard for Homin, the regional propaganda leader of our region. He was my closest friend in that camp. Olexa Vodeniuk from Vorkuta was also there.
V.O.: I know Vodeniuk, too. But I met him after his release. He lived in Berdychiv. And he was imprisoned in Vorkuta.
I.K.: Yes, in Vorkuta, then in Mordovia. We were in the same cell. Syniak was on the other side of the wall from me. So it was.
I served those eight years and came home.
V.O.: When did you come home?
I.K.: In April 1970.
V.O.: Home to where?
I.K.: They finally allowed me to return home to Kolomyia, to my parents. And here’s an important point. From a young age, I was interested in the history of Ukraine. When I was 12, for my birthday, my aunt gave me a book by Dontsov called “Mariia Holub.” Where to look for our historical traditions—for a twelve-year-old boy. I was already reading the journal “Idea and Deed.” And another one, Omelian Terletsky’s “The Liberation Struggle of the Ukrainian People.” I had a book from my father from 1940, “History of Ukraine” by Doroshenko—a beautiful book, with a red cover and varied letters. What interested me was the word “Antes.” That's the question. And look, this is an ideological weapon. It's interesting, who were the “Antes”? I have the “Soviet Encyclopedia,” the four-volume “History of Ukraine,” and Mykhailo Braichevsky writes there that “Antes” is a word of unknown origin and meaning. Based on Soviet literature, I concluded that in all Turkic languages, the word “ant” means “oath.” So, we, our ancestors, were called “Antes,” meaning those “sworn” to each other, by our Turkic neighbors, you understand? That is what the word “Antes” means and where it comes from. It's Turkic for “oath,” “one who has sworn.”
The second question—“The Tale of Ihor’s Campaign.” I was interested in what “Troyan” was. And pay attention, this is what I wanted to say about that ideological weapon. In the seventh age of Troyan, events of the 11th century, several years in a row, are described. Eleven minus seven equals four. The first age of Troyan is the 4th century—that is the first age of the Antes' State. It turns out, “Troyan” is the self-name of the Antes’ State. And why “Troyan”? Back in the camp, I got a book from my father, “The Origin of Rus’” by Mykhailo Braichevsky, 1968. There’s a map in it, I don’t remember the page—146 or 148, as I recall. Three groups of Ukrainian tribes: the Polianian group—six tribes, the Derevlian, and the Siverian. Kyiv is at the junction of the three of them—there's your “Troyan”! Three. And they are all Antes. Braichevsky himself believes that only the Polianians were Antes, according to that book. But Procopius of Caesarea writes that the Antes live along the shores of Pontus, which is the Sea of Azov and the Don, and up to the Tanais, where the Siverians live. So, the Siverians are also Antes. And the Derevlians, according to Tretyakov, are also Antes. Therefore, the Antes are three groups of tribes. And it turns out that the Antes’ State—its self-name being Troyan—is the first Ukrainian independent united state, with the first date about the Antes' State being 376, until 602, when it was destroyed by the Avars. The first Ukrainian independent united state, without any elder or other brothers, from the San to the Don, with Kyiv as its capital. Do you understand me?
I wrote an article on this topic, I think in 1983 or 1982. I forget how it was. I wanted to publish it in the journal “Zhovten” (“October”), as it was called then. I titled it “Once More About a Riddle in Our History.” “Zhovten” scheduled it for publication. I didn't know about it, because I never got a reply from them; the KGB intercepted it. When I wrote a second time, they replied that they had already answered. I understood what was going on. But some captain or major came to see me—they switched ranks, Petrenko from Ivano-Frankivsk came to my home in April 1983, and in August 1983—he came to my work (I was working as an electric welder at a factory in Kolomyia), a major named Masliy, to talk about scholarly topics.
I also had another topic—about the 2,500th anniversary of the Scolotian state. Because it is generally accepted that the Scythians are Slavs. I specified that they are not just Slavs. That the Scythians are the proto-Polianians, the ancestors of the Polianian tribes. That's one topic. Similarly, the Neuri (?) are the ancestors of the Derevlians, and the Melanchlaeni (?) or, earlier, the Cimmerians, are the ancestors of the Siverians. It’s the same. The Cimmerians are the Siverians, just the letters are Greek, but it's the same thing. But only the Scolotian state is our great proto-Polianian state. What's important is that this is the first Ukrainian united state. And what happened? My article, it turns out, was supposed to be published. But the KGB interfered. So I sent it to London. In December, they received it in London. Because on St. Nicholas Day, I already received a message via Poland, I had a contact.
V.O.: What year was that?
I.K.: 1983. I had contact through Poland. The question was whether to publish it under a pseudonym or not. And what happened? On December 24, on Polish Christmas Eve... I had noticed earlier, it was like this: three meters to the fence and three meters further—behind the wall, there's a repair office, and something was not right there. And the watchman tipped off my mother that there was a group of KGB operatives from Frankivsk there. I thought to myself, I shouldn't look at who comes to see me, because at that time, in November 1983, Lukianenko's wife, Nadiia Nykanorivna, had stayed overnight. They were wondering when I would leave. As I was leaving, I told my wife I was going here and there to a tailor to have a suit made. Two KGB agents intercepted me over the Chornyi Potik—that's the passage from our street to Dovbusha Street. One of them, at arm's length, lit a match in front of my face, as if he wanted to get a light from me or ask if I had a cigarette. The other one sprayed a stream of something in my face—I didn't even see what, but it felt dangerous. What turned out later? I crossed to the other side and turned behind the bushes to see what would happen. They turned back; they weren't going to the bus station via Zhdanova Street, but they had been waiting for me at that spot from the bus station. They returned, searching for something. They were looking, probably, for some ampoule. They lit matches, striking them, and went onto the territory of that repair and construction office. It was a Sunday. In the morning, at work, I had a heart attack; I kind of blacked out.
V.O.: When did this happen?
I.K.: December 24, 1983. Andropov was the General Secretary then. And here is the reason. They wanted to bury my idea of a Ukrainian independent united state, which existed a full five hundred years before Kyivan Rus’, with me. They wanted to hide this idea. The doctor, Lisnianska, later told me that it was calculated to work in a day and a half. I was supposed to die of a heart attack within a day and a half. My mother gave me some tea with caraway seeds, and it hit me right away, I thought my end had come. “Mom,” I said, “I’m dying. I’m cold.” They called an ambulance, carried me out on a sheet. I was lucky that I made it to the hospital in time, that they did a blood test: hemodialysis—blood purification, a blood transfusion. I survived, and the doctor, Droylyk, wrote down my illness, I have the record. It says: “bacterial shock due to contact with a bacterial cloud.”
Around that time, some Chekist was buried, who had died unexpectedly. I even said (my wife brought me the newspaper “Chervonyi Prapor”): “It must have been the one who was standing next to me, because an arm’s length is not far.” He didn't expect it, but maybe that spray got him too, it’s possible. Anything can happen. A Chekist was buried instead of me. They say, he who digs a pit for another falls into it himself.
From the hospital, I wrote a letter to London: “Publish that article immediately.” They already had both articles there. That was my guarantee of safety. The articles came out at the beginning of 1984. One and then the other, in the first issues of “Vyzvolnyi Shliakh.” I was hauled into the KGB, of course. If it was my hypothesis, then killing the opponent is a fine argument in a discussion. For such a hypothesis.
But there was also something else. In August 1984, they planted Bandera-affiliated literature in my house. How did that turn out, interestingly? I was in Sheshory because I had pneumonia. With my wife and daughter. My daughter was little then, a schoolgirl. The KGB agents were trying to find out if I was there alone or with my family. They found out we were all there. We returned home in August. I saw that in my house, in the bookshelf, two books were placed incorrectly: I never put them with the pages facing into the room. So, a KGB agent had been in my house. Maybe there were two of them. I was told that someone had been in the house. There was a good man in the KGB. And at that time, my wife had a dream. There were two of them. One said: “We were in your house and left something under the wardrobe. Tell Ihor to be careful!”—that’s what she told me about her dream. She said: under the wardrobe. But I didn't find anything anywhere. We went to my mother-in-law’s. And my daughter… you know, I had some Swiss calendars that Halska-Vincenz had sent me… Illustrated ones, with animals, birds, landscapes. Halska-Vincenz sent them. There was a wonderful writer during the Polish era, Stanisław Vincenz, his song is “On the High Mountain Meadow.” And she's his relative, his daughter-in-law, Halska-Vincenz, who sent me those calendars from Switzerland.
My daughter pulled out those calendars and in one of them found an underground brochure from 1948, 31 typewritten pages. All they needed to do was come, pull it out—and I would have another ten years! Well, where did that Bandera literature come from? Was I hiding it there, right? When I returned, my daughter showed it to me and asked: “What's this ‘Legend’ you have?” It was called “The Pereyaslav Legend.” There was no author listed. I burned it. But maybe there was something else? At work, everywhere, I said that I was expecting a search. I had already found something that wasn't mine.
So, I’m waiting for a search. If they find anything in my possession, it won’t be mine, because I’m expecting them. There was no search. And then perestroika began. And I was calm. That was the last moment, in August 1984.
But what was the reason? It seems it was this “Troyan” of mine. If it’s a hypothesis, it can be discussed. But apparently, this hypothesis is so well-founded that the only argument was to kill the man, so that this idea would be buried with him. This topic is finished.
V.O.: I want to ask, what is your status now? Are you retired or do you work somewhere?
I.K.: I've been a pensioner since 1992. I worked until my time was up, and then there was no more work. I was receiving both a pension and a salary, while a young man was getting only a salary for a half-shift. I left my job on my own. Because I was ashamed to exploit him like that.
V.O.: I would like to have your address and phone number on record.
I.K.: I don't have a phone, but the address is 22 Leontovycha Street, apartment 5.
V.O.: Are you a member of any public organizations?
I.K.: I am in the Union of Political Prisoners. I've been on its Council from the beginning. This year I left the Council because I was tired of handling everything on the Council and in the Brotherhood. I am in the Brotherhood of OUN-UPA, as a former member of the OUN. And not just former, but current as well, naturally, we continue to exist as such. No other organizations.
Ploshchak lives here in Kolomyia now. Kurliava has now returned from Russia, the one who was the district leader back during the German occupation. Vasyl Kurliava, whose underground publications I read back in 1942 as a twelve-year-old boy. He now lives in Kolomyia, having returned from Russia. He was also imprisoned twice. Because one time he was caught as a supra-district leader, but under a false name.
V.O.: Do you still have your 1960 verdict?
I.K.: No, I don’t.
What's strange is that they used a biological weapon against me—for a scientific hypothesis! But it's a very strong hypothesis. Because everyone knows about the Antes’ State. But no one figured out that it's the same thing as Troyan, but it is. And that “Antes” in our language means the sworn, and literally—it means sworn brothers among themselves. “Anty” in Turkic means sworn brothers, that's how it can be translated, and “Ukry” is the same thing in Sanskrit. So, Ukraine means “the land of sworn brothers.”
V.O.: That’s an interesting hypothesis!
I.K.: I have published articles on this topic. Should a person be killed for this? One can argue and prove that it’s not true, rather than induce a heart attack.
V.O.: Well, it's clear who you were dealing with!
I.K.: You know what they missed? They could have hanged me there, I wouldn't have been able to stop them, I’m small, what could I do? And they were two tall, healthy men. They would have hanged me on those willow trees and said I hanged myself for some reason. If I had just waited to see if they would publish it in that “Zhovten.” But that didn't happen.
V.O.: I wonder, were those articles published abroad?
I.K.: Yes. Right away, in the first months of 1984, both articles were published in the London journal “Vyzvolnyi Shliakh.” I published a lot there. And this year, by the way, in the eighth issue, there is my article about 1959. It’s called “A Year in Great Ukraine.” About the year of my freedom in our Ukraine, from 1958 to 1960. “A Year in Great Ukraine” was published this year in the eighth issue of “Vyzvolnyi Shliakh.”
V.O.: Good. I can find these issues somewhere. Thank you.
This was Mr. Ihor Kichak, on March 21, 2000, in the city of Kolomyia, in the house of Myroslav Symchych. Recorded by Vasyl Ovsienko. Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group.
Ihor Yosypovych Kichak. Photo by V. Ovsienko, 21.03.2000.