by Omer Bartov
Kozarska conceded that in Buczacz the three ethnoreligious groups in fact “lived together and yet apart, especially with the Jews,” and that her own “parents did not invite any Jews [to the house] and did not make friends with any Jewish families,” even though in school “we spent every day with them.” While she had “a very close Jewish girlfriend who used to invite me during the Holidays to taste their special cakes,” her own family never reciprocated. Unlike the two Christian denominations, “the Jewish religion was completely different.” It also provided an opportunity for childhood pranks. During the Jewish holiday of Sukkot (Tabernacles), for instance, the Jews would build booths, “cover the roof with branches, light candles, and pray in another language, swaying right and left.” This was an opportunity for Kozarska and her friends to climb on the hill and “throw rocks” at such booths “from the top.” But she insisted that “there was no aggression or condemnation in any of this.”
As Kozarska saw it, in Poland’s borderlands “we had to coexist whether we liked it or not, and therefore people reconciled themselves to that.” But she admitted that toward the end of the 1930s “some animosity arose” between Poles and Ukrainians, especially over state support for the new Polish colonists’ villages, while the “indigenous Ukrainian villages” were left mired in poverty. She also claimed that “the Jews certainly dominated the retail trade, small industry and the so called professional intelligentsia,” such as physicians and attorneys. She specifically remembered one Pole whose new store in Buczacz quickly went out of business because “he was not capable of trading, he lacked that tradition”; such a person could easily “shift the responsibility” for his failure to a Jewish store owner who made good. But, she insisted, “this doesn’t mean that he wanted to kill that Jew or that he hated him only because he was a Jew; no, he hated him because he was an obstacle to his career as a trader.”
Thinking back about Soviet rule, Kozarska was willing to accept that Ukrainians “saw things quite differently” and “treated this as a unique opportunity to resolve their problem,” not least because “Hitler had promised them to create a free Ukraine.” And yet she could not desist from asking, “Did the Ukrainians already think at that time that they would stab us in the back?” Her most personal sense of betrayal was associated with her father’s denunciation just hours after the Soviets marched into Buczacz. That very afternoon a group of armed soldiers, accompanied by a Jewish coachman—almost certainly the abovementioned Goldberg—broke into the family home and arrested her father. This same Goldberg, who used to drive her father home from the train station, had clearly denounced him. Perhaps, she tried to rationalize, the coachman had been “unaware of what he was doing” or had acted out of fear. She refused to collectively blame all Jews: “I don’t know, I can’t tell how many Jews agreed to collaborate.” But she never quite forgave the Jewish coachman who had betrayed her father. Though he survived imprisonment, he never quite recovered.
Like almost all Poles, Kozarska asserted that while “the Polish intelligentsia suffered greatly” under the Soviet occupation, including from deportations, “not as many” Ukrainians were deported; she could not remember any Jews being deported and concluded that they had “benefited most” from the new regime, both because the Soviets “did not focus their policy of destruction” on them and because the Jews “thought they would achieve a better social status under the Soviets.” Her younger brother maintained that the Jews “were the only informers.” But Kozarska demurred: “We must not say what we have heard, we have to say what we saw with our own eyes, what we experienced.”8
Witold Janda, who came with his mother and brother to spend the summer vacation of 1939 in Buczacz, recalled a warm relationship with the Ukrainian couple who initially hosted them in the suburb of Nagórzanka. Stranded in Buczacz when the war broke out, the family stayed in the city until May 1940. At the gymnasium he studied history with the same Edward Pelc who had served as a model of Polish borderland patriotism before the war. But now the teacher spoke “in a soft and broken voice”; he “discussed whatever the curriculum demanded of him, but at the end of his lesson he used to correct all historical distortions.” One of the students must have denounced him, for “he was arrested by the vigilant NKVD just a few weeks into the school year and disappeared forever.” His replacement, “a Jew from Kiev,” was a “perfect ignoramus” who spoke “broken Polish” and “dressed in the same style as Papa Stalin, his most revered and highest superior.” He also replaced the old headmaster, Jan Szajter, who was forced to serve as his deputy. His teaching was so appalling that even Janda’s “Jewish friends agreed that something about it smelt bad.”
Throughout this period Janda “never noticed any serious hostility between Poles and Ukrainians related to national origin.” There were “numerous mixed marriages” between the Christian denominations, and all holidays “were jointly observed,” while, thanks to the Jewish predominance in businesses, on “the Sabbath the majority of shops were closed.” Precisely because of this “idyllic scene,” Janda was horrified to find out a few years later from a former classmate “about his savagely murdered friends, male and female, who were also my friends.” He also learned, “Our former congenial landlord from Nagórzanka was one of the ‘commanders’ of the UPA [Ukrainian Insurgent Army], and . . . many of my childhood playmates from that suburb of Buczacz had changed into bloodthirsty henchmen. And yet they had been so pleasant, congenial, amicable and hospitable during that beautiful summer of 1939.” Janda could only understand this as the result of “a nationalist propaganda of hatred, which is nourished by the most base, beastly—surely not human—instincts!”9
Soviet propaganda presented the invasion of Poland, agreed upon with Hitler and barely resisted by a Polish military already on the verge of collapse from the hammer blows of the Wehrmacht, as a “great task of liberation.” A Soviet newsreel screened at the time declared, “The Red Army and Soviet Union bring freedom to all the working people of Western Ukraine and Western Belarus. . . . The Polish eagle—symbol of oppression and lawlessness—will never again fly over this land.”10
The Ukrainian-language daily Za Nove Zhyttia (For a New Life), issued by the Buczacz District Committee of the Communist Party of Soviet Ukraine, was a favorite venue for such propaganda on the local level. Even as the inhabitants of Buczacz were queuing for long hours in breadlines, and on the eve of the first mass deportation, the paper carried the triumphant headline on January 15, 1940, “A New Life Grows in the Liberated Land, Filled with the Joy and Happiness of the Workers.” One reason for this joy: “The largest factory in our city is the technologically advanced mill with a turbine drum, in which 44 workers are employed.” Although this “Stalin Mill,” as the workers named it on “their own initiative,” could allegedly “produce up to a wagon-full of flour every day,” it clearly failed to satisfy the needs of the population. But its workers were apparently quite happy, having created for themselves an inn at their workplace, fondly referred to as the “Red Corner.” They would reportedly “recover from work through cultural activities, listening to the radio, having newspapers read out to them, and sitting together.” While many workers were illiterate, it was hoped that “the more familiar they become with the works of Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin, the more rapidly will their class consciousness grow.” In the past they had labored under “inhuman working conditions,” but “now, after the liberation of Western Ukraine from the repression of the lords, their work has become pleasant and full of joy.”11
The plentiful flour produced by the “Stalin Mill” was efficiently made into bread thanks to “the nationalization of the four bakeries” in town, which provided ample amounts of loaves and rolls: “Thanks to improved mechanization, the work of the bakers has become greatly simplified,” explained the paper; the bakers were also more motivated because “each of them works now no longer for a master and an exploiter, but for himself and for his Fatherland.” Such cheerful productivity naturally also m
eant constant progress in the community’s cultural life. As Za Nove Zhyttia reported, the Jewish theater club was preparing “a production of a comedy by Sholem Aleichem,” a vast improvement over “the time of Polish rule,” when “Jews were not allowed to play on stage” and, in fact, “had no rights at all.” Now “Soviet power has finally allowed culture to blossom once again, artistic in form and socialist in content”; this facilitated the genuine self-expression of the “liberated people of Western Ukraine” by way of “a whole array of cultural associations” throughout “the small towns and villages of the district,” where “self-organized art clubs and groups engage in political enlightenment.” At the center of it all was the Stalin Club in Buczacz, located in the former Sokół building, whose eager members could join “theater, singing, music, and chess clubs.”12
Education was another source of propagandistic pride in socialist progress. “Now,” declared an article about the state gymnasium published in Za Nove Zhyttia in late January 1940, “all have the opportunity to attend school and to learn,” whereas under the Poles most students “were children of the rich, or of those who worked for the authorities.” In the past, the school was “the site of great animosity between the nationalities,” but under the town’s progressive Soviet rule, the total number of students had doubled to 650. Moreover “the level of the school” was “higher than before, since the students exert themselves to acquire good preparation in each discipline,” knowing that this would enable them to attend university, which in the past “only the rich” could expect. But a crucial part of youth education was political mobilization, accomplished by the Komsomol, the communist youth organization. Four new recruits in early 1940 were publicly celebrated as “the avant-garde of the youth in the Buczacz district.” The young men had joined this “famous” organization “in order to fight for the honor of Lenin and Stalin under Stalin’s banner,” thankful for having been liberated from “living without rights and being subjected to persecution in lordly Poland.” Now their hearts were “filled with thanks to the Red Army and Soviet power and above all to comrade Stalin for their new, joyful, and happy life, for the rights of nationality and education—for their right to a just life.”13
“Under the Banner of Marx, Engels, Lenin and Stalin, Forward to the Victory of Communism!,” Za Nove Zhyttya, May 1, 1940.
The officials on the ground, however, had to distinguish between the fiction and the reality of Soviet rule, which was vastly different from its propagandistic depiction. In early January 1940, for instance, the Tarnopol Oblast (Province) Committee observed that “despite the organization of new cooperatives, the opening of new stores, cafeterias, and restaurants, and the significant growth in the circulation of goods by the consumer unions, the state of commerce” in the districts of Czortków and Buczacz remained “unsatisfactory.” This too was an understatement. As the report elaborated: “The stores are dirty; the premises for commerce are ill-equipped; bread is sold by the loaf and not by weight, which violates the rules of Soviet trade; on some occasions consumer goods are held in storage but not available at the stores.” This dismal situation was attributed in part to the fact that the responsible administrative apparatuses were “not adequately controlled and not up to their task” and that “the preparatory work for unifying the cooperatives” was “proceeding poorly.”
The head of the provincial consumer union, Comrade Maslachenko, was therefore ordered to ensure the redistribution of such staples as bread, salt, and cheese by January 20; to determine store opening hours and ensure their cleanliness; to provide “the district consumer unions and the village committees with honest and vetted cadres”; and to arrange training courses for “the rank-and-file working contingent of the cooperatives.” The problem extended to agriculture, since only two-thirds of the cereal grain had been threshed by the first day of 1940, leading to an eventual shortage of essential food for the population. This too was the result of local incompetence and negligence, and the district authorities were warned that it was “their personal responsibility” to improve matters rapidly. But it was probably too late to prevent severe damage to the food supply, which in turn caused long breadlines and a flourishing black market.14
As for transportation facilities, the Buczacz railroad station was found to be in an “unsanitary state,” offering no “civilized conditions for passengers,” and the railroad tracks were unlit at night. Similarly road repair and construction had been “conducted very sluggishly.” Instructions were issued from Tarnopol to bring about “a significant improvement of the work at the Buczacz station” and to accelerate road building, as well as to undertake “an especially thorough study” of how “to achieve, on the basis of widespread socialist competition,” a better work ethic and higher productivity.15 But none of that happened.
As for the educational accomplishments of the new regime, in May 1941 the aptly named Polish-language organ of the Tarnopol oblast, Bolshevik Truth, boasted that Soviet power was doing “its utmost to create the best possible conditions for the youth’s education, work, and rest” by way of a growing number of schools provided with “perfectly furnished libraries, laboratories and classrooms.” Under the new Soviet system, all “formerly tyrannized and debilitated nations were given the opportunity to develop their national cultures according to socialist form and content,” ensuring that “the young generation” would be “armed with the most revolutionary Marxist-Leninist theory.” In return the grateful students were expected to “repay Stalin for his fatherly care with the highest number of excellent grades and a high degree of discipline.” But this, conceded the paper, was not always the case, not least because headmasters—clearly fearful of official censure—had tried to meet these standards of excellence by administering intentionally easy exams. For this, assured the paper, they would be punished. Behind the façade of joyfully fulfilling “their honorary obligation” to “the great friend of the youth—comrade Stalin,” there lurked deep layers of terror and resentment.16 Before long some of these youngsters would be conscripted into the Red Army; many others were destined to join the German security apparatus, go underground, or be targeted for mass murder.
As part of their attempt to legitimize and consolidate control over the newly annexed territories, the Soviets staged a series of elections; in practice, this only heightened interethnic tensions. The first elections, on October 22, 1939, which produced the National Assemblies of Western Ukraine and Western Belarus, left the strongest impression on the population. Participation was compulsory, and there was only one list of candidates, all appointed or approved by the authorities. On the face of it, the vast majority of eligible voters participated and almost all candidates were elected; in fact the entire undertaking was rigged. Rather than being an exercise in democracy, the election campaign provided the authorities with an opportunity to educate the population in the workings of the Soviet system through a combination of massive propaganda and blatant terror. In Western Ukraine 93 percent of those eligible cast a vote, and 91 percent chose the official candidates (1,484 out of a total of 1,495). Most of the new deputies were Ukrainian; only twenty Jews were elected. In the immediate wake of the elections the National Assemblies of Western Ukraine and Western Belarus requested, and were granted, formal incorporation into the Ukrainian and Belarusian Soviet republics of the USSR.17
Most Poles in the city and district of Buczacz experienced the elections as nothing more than an exercise in coercion, in which Soviet power flaunted its capacity to monitor and control everyone under its rule. The attorney Leopold Fenerstoin recalled, “Mass propaganda events began already in September; people were compelled to take part in these events, where the Soviet constitution was read out.” In order to ensure participation, “the communist youth went from house to house,” threatening “arrest and other measures” to anyone not attending. It was also “generally known that not voting would result in arrest.” Fenerstoin, who “pretended to be sick,” was “visited by the communist youth sev
eral times in order to check why [he] had not shown up at the polling station.” He was finally arrested and deported in March 1940, followed by his family shortly thereafter. The fire brigade instructor Biedroń said people were enticed to the polling stations by “a free cold buffet and a banquet,” courtesy of the authorities: “The voters were given cards with two names and were instructed to cross out whichever they liked less, and were then politely led to the buffet and the music.” Those who were or pretended to be sick “were brought to the polling station under police escort.” Biedroń was “escorted at 9 p.m. from a restaurant to the polling station”: “On the way I was scolded for my disloyal attitude.”18
The near-universal Polish aversion to the elections is reflected in numerous surviving accounts from Buczacz. The carpenter Józef Thieberger testified that “people were forced to join any kind of association,” simply because each of them “had its own agitators, who praised the entire Soviet system.” On Election Day “vast posters were plastered on the houses,” and “a whole array of voters were carted” to the polling stations. Similarly Turkowa remembered that election officials either brought ballot boxes to the homes of the sick and the handicapped or “carted the people to the polling station.” As the attorney Teodor Daniłow explained, refusal to vote “was considered a hostile action against the Soviet rulers.” Nothing was left to chance. According to Mroczkowski, not only were “the critically ill and the very old carted to polling stations,” but they were also handed “envelopes with instructions to throw them into the ballot box.” Anyone who refused was interrogated by the NKVD, “and the same night that person was already in jail and his entire property confiscated, while the rest of the family were left to fend for themselves and later deported to Russia.”19