My name is Vladimir Veshnevsky. I was born to a better off peasant family on the outskirts of Moscow. When I was sixteen I got a letter informing me that my father, who had been fighting during the Great War, had died. My mother Helga was heartbroken, and as I was the eldest son I had to take over the maintenance of our small but profitable farm land. Though I saw the Russian revolution and civil war which followed, I remained politically inactive. I was far too preoccupied with helping my mother, my younger siblings and my sons live heartily. And for awhile we did.

That was until the famine hit in the year 1928 and our government decided to steal our hard-earned grain. They came to try and seize our crop, but I vehemently refused, for without it my family would be left broke and soon would surely have starved. I was able to hold off the thieves for awhile but soon they came and arrested me, claiming I was a threat to the state. I was sent to Solovki camp, an island in the icy white sea. My starving family was then sent to a commune to work. All of our personal property was seized and given to “the people”.

I was in Solovki for 11 years. Every day we would toil, doing brutal labor such as mining and digging trenches– every night I would wish death upon myself. In freezing temperatures the guards would deprive us of blankets and food, making some men go so far as to eat their excrement, most would die. I saw one man, a former priest, when caught praying aloud, he was stripped naked and sent to be “crucified” on a mock cross. The sadistic guards used the cold to their advantage. Some men who would defy them where taken out to shower, outside during the winter. Some were thrown into ice holes. My punishments were not as severe, in fact, at times I felt lucky. For begging for more water, they gave me 100 lashes on my back and deprived me of the water I had wanted for three days. However, in 1939, my prayers seemed to have been answered– they closed Solovki, they told us there was another great war of which “the motherland” was fighting in. After a few years of being shifted around to different prison camps, they gave me the option to fight against the Germans or to be sent to another forced labor camp. I chose to fight.

Defending Volgagrad, now known as Stalingrad (yet I refuse to call it that), I saw and killed many men. I did not have any war buddies, as I detached myself from them. I did not see any reasons for friends, as they would all die anyways. After the war ended, I had my freedom. For five years I looked for my family only to find out that they all died, all of starvation, however one of my son was sent to the prisons and shot.

I left Russia for Italy where I have lived for the last 2 years. I have not made any friends, as no one could possibly understand what I have seen. I am crippled, I can barely walk. Sometimes I hope I can find comfort in sleep, only to wake up at night screaming and sobbing. My life is in ruin. My family dead. And what for? Because I felt I deserved the grain that I farmed.