Absolute moral corruption

Just as I have never forgotten Christmas 1948 in Suceava, I will never forget Christmas 1950 in room 3 in the cellar.

We were so dehydrated and weakened by thirst that we looked more like shadows than people.

If the beatings and thirst tortures had not yet reached the limits of absolute degradation, what I was about to describe entered the realm of pathology and satanisation, reaching its paroxysms.

I could never have imagined that a rational human being could humiliate his fellow man to such an extent. What demonic mind could have conceived such cruelty? On Christmas Day itself, when each of us still remembered how we celebrated with our loved ones, we were confronted with facts that astonished us.

That morning, as soon as the alarm rang at six o’clock, Zacharias—who had been absent the previous week—gave the order that from now on every morning we would take our fixed positions on the bench, and that those who had to go to the toilet would no longer do so on the bench, but in their own trough. We were horrified by what we heard. I had never seen or heard anything like it.

That morning, many of us didn’t need a stool because we only went out every two or three days due to lack of food. Only about a third of us had defecated in the canteen. The room reeked, but we endured it because we had become accustomed. After some relieved themselves in the bowls, Zacharias ordered them to sit on the edge of the stool, pick up their spoons, and eat their own feces.

Oh my God! How disgusting, humiliating, and degrading! Many refused, and others had gag reflexes so strong it seemed they would spill their guts. No imagination, not even the sickest, could have conceived such a spectacle.

Faced with this indescribable horror, many wished for death. Yet some of us ate our own excrement; for modesty, I will not name them. Because of the refusal of others, beatings began—beatings as severe as those in room 2 on the ground floor. Prisoners struck one another on the head, face, wherever they could, using all instruments of torture. Many dropped their scales to the floor and simultaneously soiled puncture wounds with feces, which produced a foul odor. Those who spilled feces were taken to wash their soiled clothes, and the remainder was clenched into fists and thrown into the tin.

Those who had to eat their own feces were so weakened from prior beatings that they stood like statues on the prici. Those who had the courage to face Zacharias and tell him that not even the most hideous monsters could degrade their fellow humans in such a bestial way were also cruelly beaten.

For Pintilie, it was the beginning of murder; for Nedelcu, the beginning of madness. Vlad Dragoescu, a non-legionary and sensitive character, still had a vomiting reflex, giving the impression he was surrendering his soul.

I thought with horror about how I would react when it was my turn.

So, dear comrades and readers, this is how we spent Christmas Day, 1950. Yet we forgave those who subjected us to such humiliation.

They poured the daily juice over the remains of feces in our gamoliers and forced us to consume it. Pintilie and Nedelcu refused, so gagging devices were inserted, and the mixture was spooned down their throats.

Later that day, Zaharia went to room 4 of the hospital, returned with papers, and threw them on Măgirescu’s and Păvăloaia’s beds. He walked around the room humming his repertoire. After about half an hour, he stopped and asked Măgirescu who knew Christmas carols and who had prepared to sing before the demolition began.

Knowing all those who had prepared carols, he gathered them in a corner and handed each a sheet of paper, on which, to the tune of the carols, were the vilest words against the Son of God and the Virgin Mary.

Because I am a Christian, and my whole being trembled when I pronounced the name of God, I did not know if I could utter such blasphemous words. The same occurred in all the basement and ground floor rooms.

Not even the most depraved men or women could have dared to speak such blasphemy.

I did not have a musical ear, so I was not obliged to join the satanic choir. Pintilie, Nedelcu, Zelica Berza, Reus Gheorghe, Dinescu, and Gelu Gheorghiu had already refused. They were severely beaten, and the songs continued for three days.

The next day, we were forced to defecate in the bowls from which we ate, and from that cursed day until after Easter 1951, none of us were allowed to wash bowls or spoons.

We could no longer drink water from the cup on the lid of the holder but had to pour it into our canteen first. To delay the moment of eating the feces, many refrained from defecating, leading to constipation and other complications. It sickens me to describe these atrocities—not only for those who endured them, but also for readers who will feel revulsion, disgust, and nausea.

Some vomited at the mere sight of the scales. Some tried to close their eyes or hold their noses; others could not even take a spoonful. Those most resistant included Petrică Tudose, Eneea, Virgil Mitan, Ion Grigoras, and Hutuleac Ion.

I was among those targeted by Zaharia, who witnessed this grotesque spectacle. No matter how much I was pushed and beaten, my gag reflex prevented me from swallowing my own feces. The stench and horror drove nearly everyone to the brink of madness.

Beatings continued with ever greater bestiality until the third day of Christmas, when no one escaped. This was done without the guards’ knowledge, as a committee member, not the guard, distributed our meals.

In subsequent days, the same procedure was applied to urine, with equally devastating results.

The height of degradation came when some were forced to eat others’ feces (I was spared). This outraged even the most desperate among us, who sometimes chose to consume their own feces rather than be forced to eat another’s. The torture lasted three weeks or longer for some, during which beatings were so cruel that it marked the beginning of collective delirium.

I refuse to remember New Year 1951 after these events. During these weeks, Pintilie and Nedelcu were tortured so cruelly that the former died and the latter went mad.

(Dumitru Bordeianu – Confessions from the Swamp of Despair)