Under Stalin's Sun: My Escape From A Siberian Gulag

By Suren H. Oganessian

This particular book reflects the first-hand account of Suren H. Oganessian's arrest, incarceration, and escape from the Soviet Union's gulag system during portions of the 1930s and 1940s. His reflections during those harrowing times were handwritten in private journals from the mid-1950s through the mid-1960s, which was when Hairenik published his writings in a serialized format. Oganessian's work caught the attention of historians, academics, and intellectuals during its initial print run but was limited to an Armenian-literate audience.

In 1976, an imprint in Buenos Aires, Argentina compiled his collected works and published them into a single Armenian volume ("Baykari Dirkerum"). In addition to Oganessian's gulag experience, the book also included his reflections on Armenian history, current events, and other topics of interest related to his native country. He self-published a similar collection in 1984 called "Hayreni Ashkhari Gyankits," constituting the second and final volume of his works spanning reflections from 1920-1984. Many, if not most, of the collected works in both volumes were originally published in Hairenik.
Oganessian's gulag experience was eventually translated into English with a book entitled Under Stalin's Sun. James H. Tashjian—who had served as chief editor for Hairenik, Armenian Weekly, and the Armenian Review during lengthy partnerships with various publishing organs of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF)—was responsible for the translation. A friend and associate of William Saroyan, Tashjian also edited My Name Is Saroyan (Coward McCann, 1983), a collection of early Saroyan works: many of which also appeared in Hairenik under the pseudonym Sirak Goryan. Tashjian's lively translation of Under Stalin's Sun drew mostly from Oganessian's original source materials published in Hairenik but also included information from conversations with the author in the leadup to the publication of the book. Self-published in 1981, Under Stalin's Sun saw very limited distribution but remains one of few English language accounts of the gulag experience written by an Armenian—making it rare and unique.

In spring 2016, a decision was made to publish a second edition of Under Stalin's Sun wherein a fresh new translation by Murad A. Meneshian was put into motion and ultimately completed that September. In contrast to the Tashjian translation edition, Meneshian opted for a pure literal translation of Oganessian's source materials focusing on his original handwritten notes. In doing so, those who happen to possess both editions will notice a distinct difference in style and tone even though the core content remains essentially the same. The name of this new edition now includes the tagline "My Escape from a Siberian Gulag" to reach a wider audience as a more descriptive title.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798350930788

Book preview

I

LENINAKAN TO TIFLIS

In the middle of the night, we heard the clanking of keys outside followed by the heavy grind of the steel cellar door as it opened. A blast of cold air rushed into the small cellar filled with twenty-two men, transforming the warmth and humidity into a dense fog that rose and speedily escaped while surrendering to the draft. In an instant, our cellar—a space that resembled a Russian steam bath— darkened and rendered everything inside invisible, save for a dim electric lamp. In waltzed a state security (Cheka¹) officer. Shaken from our half-naked slumber on the damp cellar floor, we all raised our heads like frightened sheep wary of a wolf attack. At that time of night, prisoners removed from the cellar never returned.

The state had recently built the prison in Leninakan² specifically for political detainees. Buried two meters below ground, the cellar was divided into five equal parts. The walls—supported with steel beams—reached ground level, and there were no windows other than a small opening in the ceiling (not for natural light but rather observation).

We all waited with raised heads and palpitating hearts to see who would be sent to the next world this time. Yet the officer sternly ordered all of us to join him outside with our belongings. Most had none except the clothes on their backs given our previous workplace arrests. Within two minutes, we found ourselves out in the courtyard: lined up in four rows, per officer orders. We totaled one hundred prisoners. Following the roll call and accounting of all, the courtyard gates opened wide as we were rushed beyond their perimeter. After marching a short distance, we realized the guards were taking us to the train station. We also surmised new prisoners were coming from Yerevan, Armenia’s capital city, to join us.

The streets were completely empty. The person next to me, Avo from Leninakan, looked around in vain to find someone—anyone—before screaming out in the hope an unknown bystander would hear him and inform his family of his plight. Yet only the howling wind was privy to our predicament, blowing stinging snowflakes into our faces. A hundred steps from the train station, the guards ordered us to stop as their ringleader went to see if the train had arrived. As it had not yet pulled into the station, the guards ordered us to sit in the snow in our scant summer clothing. Those who dared to ask for shelter in the train station were ignored.

Finally, the train arrived. Save for the first and last wagons, the remainder were of the Stolypin³ type. The interior had equalized cages with a narrow aisle for the guards. Three cage walls were made of steel, and the sides facing the aisle had thick iron bars so the guard could see inside at all times. Only two prisoners occupied each cage during the Russian tsarist regime: a number that increased to nine during Soviet times. With only two prisoners, each was able to stand, sit, and even take a few steps since each cage had just one bunk. Now with three bunks, each prisoner was forced to lie down and face the guards at all times.

The guards ordered us to stand up and move forward. It was January 15, 1931. Sitting on snowdrifts at 22 degrees centigrade, our bodies had stiffened. The bayonets and rifle butts, however, persuaded us to move nonetheless. We were packed into the cages as the guards secured the wagon doors behind us. The train began its journey toward Tiflis⁴, a terrible trip I refuse to describe. Finally, we arrived at the Navtluz station to find special guards from the Medekh prison awaiting us. After the head guard received the prisoner list, he ordered us to sit down while he accounted for all five hundred of us. He then ordered us to stand up and move forward to the Medekh prison entrance, where we were told to sit down. The prison warden appeared and announced: Whoever’s name I read, sound off and enter the prison. A small door within a larger one opened, with two guards standing by the open door. One by one, prisoners summoned crossed through the gate to