Winter 2005 (13.4)
Pages 52-57

Gulhusein
Miscalculations: Resisting the System and Proud it
by Gulhusein Huseinoghlu, in exile for 7 years

Gulhusein (born 1923) is among the few Azerbaijanis still alive today who survived the horrors of the Gulag labor camps. In a rare interview, Gulhusein, now 82, shared some of his memories with us. As a young person, Gulhusein had been one of the leaders of a young student activist group, which called itself Ildirim [Lightning]. In 1944, this group wrote a secret letter to poet Samad Vurghun, trying to persuade him support their efforts and push for wider usage of the Azerbaijani language [See Letter to Samad Vurghun]. However, somehow that letter was turned over to the NKVD and resulted in all members of the group being arrested, imprisoned, and exiled to the harsh conditions of labor camp. [NKVD in Russian means Narodniy Komitet Vnutrennix Del, which translates as the People's Committee for Internal Affairs. It was the forerunner of the KGB]. Gulhusein was sentenced to 25 years of hard labor. Fortunately, his sentence was commuted earlier because of Stalin's death and he survived the ordeal.

I'll never forget the day of my arrest - October 23, 1948. I was in my second year of post-graduate studies at the university. In fact, I was supposed to take one of my exams that day at noon on Marxism-Leninism.

Left: Gulhusein Huseinoghlu survived seven years in the labor camp and returned in 1956. He then remarried. Here he is with his eldest son Yalchin in Sahil Garden in Baku on March 29, 1964.

I arrived at the university half an hour prior to the exam and found my friends sitting in the reading hall, preparing for their exams. I remember telling them to stop cramming, as it was already too late to learn anything.

Then suddenly one of the girls who worked there entered the hall. She seemed pale and frightened. She told me that they were asking for me.

Seems she already knew what it was about. There were special departments at every major institution where an NKVD agent would sit.

There was a woman who worked in that special department of our university. Her name was Andersenko. Usually when they called somebody to that room, they wouldn't open the door for you. You would just talk to them through a little window in the door.

But this time, the doors were opened for me. They invited me in. I was taken by surprise. Andersenko demanded my passport but I reminded her that the school officials had already taken away my passport the week before. I guess they wanted to make sure that I couldn't skip town.

This woman seemed quite nervous, too. Her hands were shaking. She had left the door open. It turned out that she was waiting for the NKVD as they had made prior arrangements to come for me. So, in a little while, three plainclothesmen approached me and showed me the order for my arrest. They urged me to leave quietly with them. The scenario went like this: we would leave the building casually talking with each other so that the students wouldn't suspect anything. Otherwise, they would drag me out of the building.

"I was sentenced to 25 years in exile so I told my wife that it was up to her what to do with her life. I didn't insist that she wait for me. As it turned out, she didn't." --Gulhusein Huseinoghlu

Above: Gulhusein Huseinoghlu as a high school student in 1941, as a university student in the mid-1940s, and as a prisoner in exile (September 2, 1954). Photos: Family of Gulhusein Huseinoghlu.

I wasn't able to tell anyone about my arrest - not my family, nor my wife. I was married and had a daughter. She was one year old at the time. Now she's 52. I couldn't inform anybody that I had been arrested. My family found out later from the university staff.

I knew that Haji Zeynalov and Ismikhan Rahimov had already been arrested so I warned everybody at home that I might get arrested, too. Someone suggested that I run away. But I didn't want to run anywhere. It wasn't long before I became the third Ildirim member to be arrested.

So, I left the university walking out quietly with those plainclothesmen. There was a black car waiting for me at the entrance - one of those "Black Ravens" as they were called. Three people sat there beside me, making escape impossible. They had their hands in their pockets all the time. I suspected they had guns and wouldn't be afraid to use them.

So I didn't have any chance to say goodbye to anyone. It was seven years later when I returned from exile before I would see any of my family again. My wife didn't wait for me. She remarried the following year. During the first year, we wrote to each other, but then she stopped writing altogether. And then my family stopped mentioning her name in their letters, too, and so I didn't bother to ask any questions because everything was already clear to me.

I had told her that I was sentenced to 25 years in exile. Nobody knew what would happen during that time. I told her that it was up to her what to do with her life. I didn't insist that she wait for me. As it turned out, she didn't.

Later when I was released, I sent a telegram to my family in Azerbaijan from Moscow telling them that I was coming home. When I arrived at the train station in Baku, she wasn't there waiting for me. My family was, but not her. I was taken directly to my mother's place from the railway station - not to my own home.

But at the time of my arrest, two of the Ildirim members had already been arrested: Ismikhan Rahimov [September 26, 1948] and then Haji Zeynalov [October 3, 1948]. That puzzled me why they had been arrested before me since I was the actual founder of Ildirim, and naturally, I thought I would be the first one. But they had tracked the letter to Ismikhan's handwriting.

But then why was Haji Zeynalov arrested before me? The thought crossed my mind that maybe it was because he had been dating the daughter of one of the generals of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Maybe, they were trying to split them up so he couldn't marry her. Maybe that's why they had arrested him. Maybe that's what was going on. Maybe that's why they were giving him trouble.

Interrogation
The interrogation lasted for 10 days. I continued to deny everything. But on the 11th day, they brought Haji, and he told me that I shouldn't resist anymore since Ismikhan had already confessed to everything.

It's clear that the NKVD gets what it wants. As for myself, I wasn't really tortured very much. The evidence against Ildirim group rested entirely on that letter that we had sent to Samad Vurghun. He had been fired from his post as Chair of the Writers' Union. I had gathered my friends and, convinced that Samad was our great poet, I insisted that we should write a letter of support to him. I loved Samad very much. That letter was written in an anti-Soviet spirit. It implied: "You're our poet, don't take such things so close to your heart and don't bow in front of the Soviet government."

I remember how we had organized that letter. Ismikhan had come to my place in Ichari Shahar [Old City]. My mom was not at home at the time. He sat down at my desk and I dictated the letter, walking back and forth across the room. That letter came from the bottom of my heart. During the interrogation, I admitted that I had dictated that letter but I never said I was sorry. I told them that I still thought the same way.

Samad had turned this letter over to the NKVD. Clearly, that was the main reason we were arrested. Yes, we believed in Samad. We thought that even if he didn't like the letter, he would just throw it away and pretend that he had never received it. I never dreamed that he would pass it to the authorities.

Together with Ismikhan, we had taken the letter to his house. The caretaker in the courtyard had seen us and asked if he could help. We told him that we were looking for Samad Vurghun. Then he took the letter, promising to pass it to him.

I don't know if that caretaker was an agent or not. I can't say. But I do know that Samad Vurghun often gave him money whenever he brought letters. Samad Vurghun was a generous person. So maybe that's why the caretaker was eager to present that letter to him personally as he knew he would get some money for it.

Then after that, prior to my arrest, I happened to bump into one of Samad's relatives on the street. Since I knew him quite well, I asked him whether Samad Vurghun received lots of letters since he was so popular. And then I probed him what he thought Samad would do if there were any letters with anti-Soviet sentiments among them. He replied: "Of course, Samad Vurghun would take those letters to the NKVD". So I "bit my finger," as we say. I understood that our letter had already been sent to the officials. That very day, we stopped our activities of Ildirim. I told my friends that we would no longer gather and we would only say, "Hello" if we passed each other in the street. That was all.

Three years passed. Then we were arrested. They dogged Ismikhan for three years. They themselves knew that we had done nothing for three years but it didn't matter to them. To them, we were guilty of carrying out anti-Soviet activities.

"Son, I advise that you to return to Azerbaijan and continue your struggle there. You can't defend yourself here. Look, we allow you to write only two letters a year. I'll let you in on a little secret. We only send one of those letters, and that, only after we find an Azerbaijani who can read and screen its contents." --Advice from a kind Major to Gulhusein while he was imprisoned in labor camp

Above: Gulhusein Huseinoghlu, imprisoned as a university student in the late 1940s, is one of very few Azerbaijanis who are still alive who experienced the trauma of Stalin's Gulag - a vast network of labor camps that extended from one end of the Soviet Union to the other, from the Arctic region to Eastern Siberian. Gulhusein, 83, intends to write his memoirs but, in the meantime, he kindly agreed to let us interview and share his story with our international readers in December 2005. Photos: Blair.

So, after Ismikhan confessed everything, there was no use my denying it. Nor can I blame Ismikhan because the NKVD employed such methods. Who can hold out against them? Haji was the first one to be arrested, but then when Ismikhan was arrested, he confessed everything in Haji's presence and so Haji confessed, too. And after two people had confessed, they arrested the rest of us as well. I didn't confess anything for 10 days, but then they brought Haji and told me there was no use resisting anymore.

The interrogation took place in a large room. The interrogator was sitting at one end of the room and I was at the other end - an uncomfortable distance away. The chair that I was sitting on had been nailed to the floor. Maybe, in the past, someone had tried to hurl it at the interrogator. Maybe that's why they attached it to the floor. I don't know. The interrogator would ask questions and I would answer. But I was sitting so far away from him.

Since we were part of the Soviet Union, all the documentation of the interrogation had to be written down in Russian. The poor guy who was drilling me wasn't very literate and didn't know Russian well enough. So I was correcting his sentences so that it would be grammatically correct. Imagine! He was interrogating me and I was correcting his Russian!

Once during one of the sessions, Colonel Padarov, head of the interrogation service of the NKVD entered. The interrogator stood up, but I didn't. He asked the interrogator if I were giving him any trouble. "Everything is in his stomach," he replied, meaning that he couldn't get a word out of me. So, Padarov turned to me and threatened: "I'll make your mother cry."

"That's not a difficult thing to do," I replied. "My mother has been crying ever since the day you arrested me - her only son."

He swore at me. And I shot back: "You come in here wearing that uniform, and you think you're a colonel or something big. But no, you're not free either. I'm a slave, but I'm an ordinary slave. You're a colonel slave. We're against slavery here."

I realized that they would kill me so I wasn't afraid of saying things like that. But, fortunately for us by 1948, Stalin had passed a decree bringing a halt to all executions. Otherwise, we would have been shot.

They had already shot so many people. The world community had started to complain about it. Already the United Nations had been established. In addition, local and foreign newspapers started propagating about the humanism of Stalin, insisting that the Soviet Union had stopped the executions. Thanks to that new ruling, we were alive; otherwise, we would have been shot, especially me since I was the founder of Ildirim. Instead, I was sentenced to 25 years of imprisonment.

Our camp was located in Eastern Siberia ("Vostochniy Sibir" in Russian) close to the Baykal Lake in the forests. This was a huge network of camps, covering territory that extended more than 300 kilometers. We arrived there by train. It was such a long journey. The train would only move when the tracks were empty, and when they didn't interfere with the regular schedule of trains. So, sometimes our train would stop in the middle of nowhere and remain on the sidings, sometimes up to three days. The carriages were called Pulman, but the truth is that they were mostly used to transport cargo: they were boxcars. Each boxcar could carry about 60 people. They were outfitted with three levels of bunk beds.

I always chose the top level so people wouldn't come and sit on my bed. I paid attention to things like that. People used to gather on the lower bunks and sit there all day long.

From Baku, they first took us to a prison in Rostov [Russia], and from there, they separated the members of Ildirim. I was assigned to camp No. 7.

Left: Gulhusein Huseinoghlu returned from Siberian labor camps in 1956 after being imprisoned for seven years. He married and began a new family. Sitting (left to right): Gulhusein Huseinoghlu, daughter Aytak and wife Almaz. Standing: sons Ughur, Yalchin and Toghrul. March 29, 1974 in Baku. Photo: Family of Gulhusein Huseinoghlu.

None of the other members of Ildirim were assigned with me to the same camp. Only once during those years of exile did I ever see any member of our group. Once Ismikhan Rahimov arrived in the same camp and we were together for three days, but then they sent him away. It seems he had been brought there by mistake.

Later when they discovered that we were from the same organization, they separated us. But it was great to see him - even for a few days. In each camp, they were officers assigned to investigate things like that.

There were about six or seven other Azerbaijanis in my camp as well. We used to speak Azeri together. Among ourselves, we could speak any language we wanted to. There were Englishmen, Germans and so many other nationalities - mostly prisoners of war. Once I counted 78 different nationalities assigned to our camp. It was a large camp. I'm not sure how many people might have been there - maybe 1,500 or even more.

At this camp, prisoners were assigned two different kinds of work - lumbering or mining. I didn't work in the quarry much. Mostly, I used to work, cutting down trees all day long. While in exile, we used to wear woolen vests. Our coat had cotton padding inside.

We would get up at 6 a.m. Of course, it was still dark outside. Breakfast was at 7 a.m. They would serve soup for breakfast. The food barely kept you alive because of the strenuous workload. They would weigh out 700 grams of brown bread for each prisoner each day. Sometimes, it wasn't baked very well. Actually, it was enough for me because I had never been a big eater even before I went to prison. For example, this morning I haven't even eaten 50 grams of bread. I usually have a substantial lunch.

In the camps, they would dish out two ladles of soup into our bowls. It was so little that sometimes people would just drink it directly from the bowl and then end up being hungry for the rest of the day. Myself, I would divide the bread into three portions to eat as three separate meals. It was up to you if you wanted to do it that way and hold back a portion for lunch and dinner as well.

I usually divided the bread into three parts and tucked it away in the pocket of my coat. There was an Estonian lad there in the camps, who was good at sewing. He sewed a pocket for me so I could carry my bread inside my pocket. You didn't dare leave it in the barracks; someone might steal it. What could you do to such a person even if they confessed to eating your bread? He was hungry. You couldn't kill somebody over 100 grams of bread. Therefore, to avoid such a crisis, I used to carry the bread in my vest pocket. Some people didn't have the discipline to do that and they would just eat all of their bread in the morning and have none left for other meals. Our plates and cups were made of aluminum, and we used to carry them around with us.

We worked until 1 p.m. They would bring our lunch out to the forests where we worked, but the ration of bread had to last the whole day. Then we would resume working until 6 p.m. and head back to the camp before it got dark. Camp was located about 5-6 kilometers away along a road through the forests.

After arriving back at camp, we would wash up for dinner. If you had worked hard during the day, they would give you additional porridge. It was mostly barley porridge. Those who had fulfilled their work quota 105 percent that day would get an extra spoonful of porridge. Those who achieved 110 percent got two spoonfuls. It went like that. If you didn't meet your quota, then you wouldn't get any extra porridge at all. They would give you the minimum. That was it. Nothing extra.

After dinner, we had a little time for ourselves. We could walk around in the yard. But by 9 p.m., everybody had to be back in his own quarters and the barracks were locked. They even closed the doors separating the barracks inside the building. If there were five barracks in a single building, all of them would be locked separately. Each night there would be roll call to make sure that all the prisoners were accounted for. They would call us by our last name. We had numbers as well, which were written on the back of our vests and coat. My number was "YA-126" ["YA" represents a single Russian letter].

I had turned 25 years old on the exact day that I was sentenced to 25 years of exile. In the end, my sentence turned out to be seven years because Stalin died in 1953 and our case was re-examined. They determined that the verdict had not been just and that we should have been sentenced for five years, not 25. Since we had already been imprisoned for seven years, they released us immediately [May 1955].

The families of all of our friends, except mine, had constantly been writing to Moscow while we were in exile. So, after Stalin's death, the Supreme Court re-examined our case. I didn't write anyone. I still don't consider myself guilty - even now. I want always to be considered an enemy of anyone who tries to occupy my country. We just wanted to be free.

So we were freed. A military officer with the rank of Major told me the news. I asked him if I would be able to start again writing and publishing my works as a member of the Writers' Union since I was a writer. He told me that my document did not deal with "rehabilitation". It merely decreased the number of years of imprisonment for us. But we would still be considered guilty and be labeled "Enemy of the People". I told the major that if that were the case, I didn't want to leave the camp.

As I was still rather young at the time, he admonished me, "Son, I advise you to return to Azerbaijan and continue your struggle. You can't defend yourself here. Look, we allow you to write only two letters a year. I'll let you in on a little secret. We only send one of those letters, and we do that only after we find an Azerbaijani who can read and screen its contents. After all, you might disclosing the exact location of the camp in your letter."

So, you see, they checked every single attempt that we made to communicate. That meant that most of our letters never ended up being sent. I guess that Major liked me or something because he was so sincere in telling me these things. He advised that since I couldn't prove that I was right with a single letter that I should continue my struggle in my own country. That was 1955. I asked him if I could go to Baku, as I didn't want to live somewhere else. He said, "Fine". Usually, they wouldn't let you return to a major city [most prisoners were settled 101 kilometers outside of major cities]. People who had been imprisoned or exiled had to settle somewhere out in the countryside.

Miraculously, all of us from Ildirim were allowed to return to Baku. I specifically asked him about this because if I had to return to some other town, I didn't want to leave the camp. I would just stay there.

Stalin's Death - 1953
I'll never forget the day we heard the news about Stalin's death. That was in March 1953. We were working in the forest. Guards were always watching us when we worked. We overheard them talking about Stalin's death and asked what had happened. There was one guard among them who was really nice to us. Some of them were human beings as well. So, he told us, "Congratulations, Stalin is dead." So, as soon as he said that, we threw our hats up in the air and shouted, "Hurrah!" We were so happy.

The guards watched, but didn't say anything. We shouted and expressed how excited we were. Ismikhan's experience was so different. When he heard the news, he and the other prisoners with him dared not even show any expression on their faces. But we were exuberant in our joy.

Crossing the Line
Let me tell you another interesting story. I read about this in the newspaper "Vostochnaya Sibirskaya Pravda" (Eastern Siberian Truth) which we used to get. There used to be a line drawn around the place where we worked. We were not allowed to cross that line. If we did, even accidentally, a guard could shoot and kill us on the spot. He could even get a medal for doing so because it would show how vigilant he had been.

Once the newspaper wrote how a guard had called one of the prisoners to come over to him. To do so, the prisoner had to cross that line. And yes, the guard shot him down. He had deliberately called the prisoner so he would be able to shoot him and get a medal because he could argue that the prisoner was trying to escape and he had prevented it from happening.

So, one day our brigadier told me that one of the guards was calling me. I told him I wouldn't come to him. I was working and often the guards called the prisoners and ordered them to build a fire for them. It was freezing cold there and, of course, the guards got cold just like we did. For some reason, this guard had picked me from all the prisoners. He was calling for me. But I refused to go.

So, the brigadier went and told him. Suddenly I heard that guard call out in Azeri, "Hey, Gulhusein, it's me calling you. I'm from the village neighboring yours in Azerbaijan."

It turned out that he was from the region of Masalli, just like me. He was doing his military service and had been sent to serve in the camps. So after I realized who it was, I went over to him. He asked me to make a fire for him and we talked together for some time. He offered me some bread. Soldiers used to get white bread, not brown bread, like ours. So, he gave me half of his white bread. I talked to him until I had to go back to work.

I only saw him that once. Never again. You see, in the midst of all these terrible things, there were incredible gestures of kindness.

Anti-Soviet Sentiments
You know, I can truly say that I was never depressed about my sentence. I knew why I had been arrested. Any government would have arrested me because I was deliberately going against the State. So, I was always strong. I had done something - that's why I was there.

Again and again, I repeat: I resisted this system and that's why I was arrested. If I had not resisted, I would not have been arrested. I had been recognized as one of the best students in the university and awarded with a Stalin stipend of 500 rubles, which was later raised to 700 rubles. That was big money in those days. Despite all that, I resisted the system. I was also respected everywhere. But I did this because I loved my nation and didn't want our people to live like slaves.

I'm anti-Soviet from head to toe. I'm against the exploitation of Russians of my country. I'm the enemy of anyone who tries to invade my country. I want freedom for my nation.

When I started Ildirim - actually even before we got organized - I would take any person who was serious about joining our group down to the NKVD building. We would walk around it and I would ask them if they knew what that building was used for.

I remember taking Kamil Rezayev there. He said he knew that it was a NKVD building and that people were brought there when they were arrested. I told him that the group that we were organizing would land us there if we ever got arrested. I asked if he were ready for that. And only afterwards did I explain about our group and invite him to join. He did, and it wasn't long before he saw that building from the inside.

Inside the courtyard, there is a five-storied prison. The construction has been carried out in such a way that you can't see the inner building outside from the street. The building inside is one story lower and has a basement. Tunnels have been built which lead to the sea. This enabled the authorities to take the prisoners, load them into boats and transport them across the bay to Nargin Island where they would be shot.

Return to the University
Two months after returning from exile, I was re-admitted to the university as a post-graduate student. Prior to that, I had gone to the university, but they had told me that they could not re-admit me since I did not have any rehabilitation papers. They told me that I would have to apply for post-graduate studies and take the entrance exams again.

I took back my application and told them that even if Lomonosov came back from the dead and took that exam under such conditions, he would not be accepted [Mikhail Lomonosov (1711-1765) was the Russian genius who made major contribution in numerous fields - literature, language, history and science].

I knew that they would not accept me under any condition until I had my rehabilitation papers. When they finally came [July 22, 1956], I met with the Rector, who was sympathetic and kept asking me who I had met in the camps and about the situation there. Then he asked me if I wanted to be re-admitted as a post-graduate student or as a teacher. I was foolish at that time and chose to enter as a post-graduate student. That meant that I would have to finish my studies in half a year but then I would be without a job for four months. But I was very proud and wanted to continue from the point where I had been interrupted. After graduating, I started writing and even though I didn't have a job for four months, I was being paid for my writing.

It was while I was finishing my classes that I met my future wife. She was in her final year at school. I liked her and so I married her. We were married in 1956. She is still with me.

When I returned, my beliefs were even stronger than when I was arrested. I knew that I was right. My people can't live under repression and invasion all the time. We have to be ourselves. We must be free. If something should ever happen again, I would stand up against it.

A person only lives once. You have to live it with your head high and with dignity. You shouldn't be egoistic, but you must love your nation and your country. You know, if I had to live my life over again, I don't think I would change a thing.

When I returned and started teaching at the university, I had to be careful what I said; otherwise, they would have accused me of propagating anti-Soviet ideas. Much of the time, I couldn't say what I really wanted to. I had to be careful. I did not speak openly at the time. I would just go about trying to focus on my subject. I knew that there might be NKVD agents among students as well.

I guess one of the most important things I learned through all that ordeal was the ability to judge a person's character and understand very quickly if I could trust a person or not. You learn to understand a person by his body language, from his talk, his eyes, the way he conducts himself. It's something that is very much part of me today. Besides, I'm a writer and make use of all my observational skills to judge a person. I'm really a very direct person.

It's so important for young people to know about this period in our history. They must learn their history. Everybody tells me that I should write my memories. I keep promising, but I haven't started yet. But I'm preparing these memoirs in my mind. I want to write them. But there's one major obstacle. If I write them, then I have to relive everything all over again, and I need strength to do that. I would have to live through that horror all over again. Of course, I knew why I was sent into exile and that's why I came back even stronger. That knowledge gave me a sense of freedom that I was prepared to die for.

This rare interview with Gulhusein Huseinoghlu was conducted by Azerbaijan International's editor Betty Blair and staff assistant Gulnar Aydamirova in the Writers' Union in Baku on December 27, 2005. The text was translated into English by Gulnar.

For a complete transcript in English of the NKVD / KGB record of the "trials" of Ildirim members, search "Bunyadov and Ildirim" at AZER.com.

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