At Jilava prison

In May 1960, when the final preparations were made for the transfer of the prisoners to Jilava prison, when those sentenced to more than 20 years’ imprisonment were chained at the hands and feet, a few days before the hammering of the rivets on the handcuffs, we were taken out of our cells and, after waiting for two or three hours in a large yard, we were given cold food for a few days: a stale, dry loaf of bread, a piece of rancid bacon, a slice of salty cheese. Only then could we see the large crowd of those condemned to Bacău.

Hurriedly, under the escort of the soldiers, we were ordered to get into the lorry and, after they had thrown a canvas over our heads, the lorry set off late at night for Bacău station. As soon as we arrived, in the first row, we were lined up in front of the wagons destined for us, and with the same rapidity with which we were divided into teams, we climbed into them, packed in like sardines. Some of the wagons were freight wagons, others had been specially brought in to transport people from the prisons. […]

After two days and nights we arrived in Bucharest, from where we were taken to Jilava station. It was the only time that we entered the capital of our country as slaves, because for us it was no longer the city of culture and civilisation of the people in which we were born! Those who had led the glorious destiny of the nation were now in chains, lying on the floor of the windowless carriage with the doors firmly locked! Through the darkness we arrived at Jilava, where an army of guards was waiting for us on the platform. They also took us in lorries to the Jilava prison, at the gates of which, as Dante said: “In its inferno you leave all hope behind”. That’s what I felt at the entrance.

After a night in which hundreds and thousands of prisoners crowded together, the next day we were ready to be received in the rooms of Jilava. The only consolation was to meet parents, brothers, relatives and brothers-in-law who touched your soul. To see those you had heard about who had died, those you had not seen for years, to meet old and young people who had been, or were preparing to be, the leaders of the nation… …and now found themselves chained up and thrown into prison for life!

The next day, the caravan of guards arrived, clubs in hand, to welcome us. They call us by name, look at each of us with the eyes of a predatory bird, ask us what our convictions are, check that our details match those on the list. What’s your name, what are your beliefs? 5-6-8-9-10-12-14-15 years, and one said 18 years and added: “I didn’t do anything”. “Shut up”, says the guard, “if you hadn’t done anything, he would have given you up to ten years, but if he gives you 18, you’ve done something”…

And so we were taken in smaller and larger groups to different cells. Brother Haralambie and I, along with many others, were taken to the famous cell 14 of the Jilava fortress, along the corridor of which one reached cell “zero” for those condemned to death. […] 

For a few days there were 80 prisoners, two or three to a bed, many also sleeping on the cement floor or on long wooden benches. After a few days the prisoners were sorted out, the old and sick were sent to other prisons, the younger and stronger to forced labour colonies.

These were the last days I spent with Brother Haralambie. He was sick and very weak, so they sent him to the Gherla prison and me to work in the colonies. The separation was very tragic for us because it was the last time we saw each other in this earthly life. We spent the last moments of our separation in the death cell, in that underground cell in Jilava, under the shouts and threats of the guards, who tore the souls apart! […]

I don’t know why those of us who remained in cell 14, destined for the labour colony, were kept here during the spring and summer of 1960, until the end of August. The atmosphere was rather harsh, we were in the underground fortress, without sunlight and in unbearable humidity. Not to mention the terrible smell of the room. The shadows of those who had been killed in that room haunted us. […]

From time to time we were also taken out into the Jilava yard for 5 minutes to breathe the air from the sky. Then we would see the sunlight that bathed us with its warmth and blessed us with its gifts of life! It was a moment of consolation that we were under God’s mercy and not that of the people who had thrown us into darkness with locked doors guarded by beasts who kept you at your bedside seventeen hours a day, day after day, month after month.

When the day came for us to leave for the work colony, another sad memory was added. Two days before, all the inmates had been taken out of their rooms and herded into a large underground hut in Jilavei, with water dripping from the ceiling like a little rain and trickling down the walls, and a sheet of water on the floor. At night, iron beds were put down to keep the water off the cement floor. Besides, you didn’t know whether it was day or night, we were always in the dark. Because of the dampness of the ceiling, the two light bulbs that illuminated the hell in which the 200 people were gathered in the same hellish room were in turmoil and fear! We were in total darkness! The guards come, they make a fuss at the doors, they want to inquire, who put out the light bulbs? They asked who knew how to fix electric lights, because there were many technicians and engineers among us. We needed a ladder and a light to make the necessary repairs. They brought some, but the light in the lantern they brought went out when they put it in our hut. The guards asked with animal cries, “Who is putting out the light?” It was difficult to explain to them that no one was blowing into the oil lamp, that there was no air, no oxygen, and that was why the light was going out. Other guards came and dared to open the door to let air into this damned cell, after which the lamp did not go out and the installation could be repaired. Happy that the electric light had been repaired, the guards also took courage and left the door open for a while to let some oxygenated air in for us, after which the door slammed shut and was locked again…

We were under the complete control of men living in godless revelry! The confidence we had was that the Lord Jesus Christ, who had also been in the tomb for three days, was with us in the preparation of the holy hope of a victory, and would also bring us out, like Adam and Eve and all the dead from the depths of hell in which we were.

After three days, we too will be brought out into the sunlight and the fresh air of the labour camps…

(Archbishop Dr. Vasile Vasilache – Another World. Memories from Communist Prisons, manuscript, pp. 22-27)