The Nazino File
A vision of Hell from the Soviet archives.
Jul 23, 2007, Vol. 12, No. 42 • By GRAEME WOOD
As a general rule, a name like "Cannibal Island" spells doom for property values. But Nazino, in western Siberia, is so naturally awful that even the grimmest name can't make it sound much worse than it really is. An account from the early 1930s described the region as "an immense marshy plain . . . covered with an impenetrable tangle of brush. As for the rare meadows, they are under water until mid-July." The summers, though a brief deliverance from the subzero winters, brought dense clouds of mosquitoes and biting flies. Malaria was endemic, and among forced settlers in 1932, infants died at a rate of 10 percent per month, compared with 10 percent per year in Somalia today.
Nicolas Werth's excellent history of the Nazino gulag is a portrait of a place that went from terrible to unimaginable. By 1933, before Nazino's gulag opened, Soviet authorities had already spent four years shipping the vestiges of the prosperous peasant class to Siberia and, generally, to their deaths. But Stalin pronounced the revolution incomplete. The State's enemies had merely transmogrified, he said, from easily spotted kulaks into insidious saboteurs, rumormongers, and marginals known collectively as "déclassé elements."
These unlucky folk --who constituted the bulk of Nazino's inmates --were plucked from city streets and sent to Siberia. Authorities snatched many of them and hustled them onto trains solely because they had forgotten their internal passports (an innovation introduced that year). The state also rounded up vagrants, beggars, and others viewed as parasites on Soviet society.
The plan's mastermind, Genrikh Iagoda, saw an attractive side benefit to "purifying" cities: Thousands of beggars and criminals could be dragooned into settling and subduing the Siberian wild as "labor colonists." The plan had predictable consequences. Officials in Siberia received only two days' notice that they would have to come up with food, medicine, dwellings, and jobs for a million new settlers. Already the region had reduced its unwilling residents to eating roots and carrion.
In 1931, a district near Nazino was gifted with 800 "socially dangerous" individuals, who arrived and were told simply to "live and prosper," with neither food nor jobs provided. They terrorized the locals, stealing boats to escape their wretched conditions, plundering local gardens and farms, and in general acting like extras from a zombie flick. Residents appealed for government protection. When no help came, they took it upon themselves to hunt down and kill the deportees.
Werth's history of Nazino summarizes this background in careful detail before describing the Nazino gulag, founded in 1933. On May 18, about 5,000 déclassé labor colonists, nearly all men, disembarked at Nazino, an island about half the size of Central Park. Their rations consisted of one large rotting pile of flour communally administered by a few guards, and no containers. The enterprising among them removed their hats and shirts and loaded them with a meager clump of flour--not that it mattered, since they were so crazed with hunger that they ate the flour raw and washed it down with the giardia-infested waters of the Ob and Nazina rivers. Diarrhea struck immediately.
Within two days, dozens had died, and the living feasted on their corpses. Visitors found bodies mutilated and stripped of their tenderest meat and organs, and caught settlers with human livers in their hands. The few guards lacked shoes, uniforms, and discipline, and were, said an official, "in no way distinguished from the déclassé elements they were supposed to monitor." The guards did, however, have rifles, and they eagerly extorted food and favors from their ragged charges. In one case, a guard fell in love with a pretty deportee and tried to protect her. When he returned from a short trip away, the other deportees had tied her to a poplar tree and, while she still lived, cut off her breasts and muscles for meat.
Authorities found out that Nazino had gotten out of hand, and eventually they sent in guards to protect the nearby villagers from being overrun and devoured. But the initial reaction was denial. Officials insisted that rumors of a cannibalistic nightmare lacked foundation and were, by the way, seditious. They contended that those who resorted to eating the dead suffered from mental illness and were "cannibals by habit," rather than because the Soviet system had failed them.