Some family stories are so dark that it takes more than one generation for them to come to light. I must have been about 25 years old when I first told this story to somebody outside my family. In fact, I didn’t think I could talk about it until I listened to my colleague’s story about her grandmother’s survival in the death camp. Then I decided that my family story should be told too.
At the beginning of the 20th century, my family peacefully lived in Poland. During WWI, their city was conquered by the Russian Empire. In 1925 my family was exiled to a labor camp in Siberia. The name of the camp was Krasnoturansk. You did not have to do something wrong in these times to be sent to a labor camp. It was a terrible time. My great-grandparents ought to have been paying more attention to politics, but they were good, hard-working people who didn’t think they needed to be afraid. My family should have run away to Paris or something, but they couldn’t organize it quickly with 12 kids.
All their property was taken away from them. They were called “Vrag Naroda” (the enemy of the nation). They were lucky not to be killed. After that, they were transported on farmer carts to Siberia. I don’t know exactly, but after my research, I suppose what happened next: When my family arrived at the camp, it was an uninhabited place with only a wild forest around. At first, my family might have slept on the ground. My great-grandfather, Mark, was supposed to build a house from the surrounding trees. Mark was tall (6’6”) and extremely strong. He was able to raise the trunk of a huge tree alone, put it on his shoulder, and go. Not everyone survived. They were in this hell for 25 long years.
After her release, my grandmother was banned from the possibility of learning in college and living in big cities, especially near Moscow. All of the babies of my grandmother died, except my mom. She grew up as a very vulnerable child and suffered from heart disease from her childhood. My mom spent her childhood nights listening to people being shot in Siberian city Abakan. It was very dangerous for her to have kids, but she believed that she should have a daughter. I was born in Siberia. My mom was an incredibly beautiful, intelligent, and talented person. She could have been a fashion designer or rocket scientist, but she died prematurely.
I am the first in my family who learned in college. I am the first who left Russia. I got my Ph.D. when I was 22 years old. I gave birth to six kids. My kids don’t know the Russian language, but they know about the crimes against humanity that Russia has committed. It is my family’s “reverse:” I reversed the destruction of my family. Now I am 46 years old. I am sitting and writing in English (that is hard and confusing) because I am not going to give up as my great-grandparents didn’t.
