The “Casimca” regime
In that cell, whether it was summer or winter, water dripped from the ceiling. It was a damp atmosphere. When he took us “out for air”, steam would come out of us in the narrow courtyard surrounded by a wooden fence.
There were no radiators or stoves to heat. The temperature was constant: COLD.
Three guards took turns. They were all chosen from people with a murderous and ruthless disposition. They had the temperament of animals.
Not even the warden was allowed in these cells. In extreme cases, only a duty officer was allowed in: Lieutenant Stefan.
Lieutenant Ștefan was human in name only, otherwise he was a monster. He had a massive, irregular (asymmetrical) head. When you saw him, fear will automatically be instilled in you.
Both the guards and this Lieutenant Stefan, when they spoke to us, out of ten words, nine were swear words.
In the morning we were given a kind of tea made from coffee substitute or a few spoonfuls of porridge.
For lunch we had a clear soup. Bread was a thin slice of about 50-80 grams a day. It was calculated for a slow death. In the evening we got a clear soup, no bread.
When we had to do our laundry, we put it in the bowl from which we ate, with a little water. We’d get a bar of soap and rub it all over them. We rinsed them with drinking water from the can, which saved a lot of water. Then we’d spread them out on the edge of the bed to dry. After a couple of hours at most, we’d dress them and they’d dry out at body temperature.
The toilet at the end of the corridor was heavily disinfected with lime chloride. This chemical was used in such quantities that it could not be absorbed through the hole in the drain. I couldn’t stay in the toilet for more than a minute or two because of the pungent smell. The carers weren’t affected by the smell because they sat at the end of the corridor where they watched the programme.
The terror of physiological needs was not easy at all… The schedule set by the guards could not be synchronised with the body’s evacuation schedule. Luckily we had nothing to evacuate. The rule was one evacuation every 20 days because of starvation.
Poor Nicolae Petrașcu couldn’t even get out of bed for physiological needs.
He had no choice but to use the mess tin from which he ate. After using it, he washed it with a small piece of soap left over from washing clothes and rinsed it with a little water.
Nicolae Petrașcu had an advanced form of rheumatism, to the extent that he would curl up in bed. Only when he felt someone approaching his middle did he cry out in pain.
The guards knew this and took pleasure in watching this human misery unfold through the visor slot.
Each of us tore a piece of cloth from our clothes and used it instead of toilet paper. After use we washed it with a little water from the can and hung it on the irons to dry. I don’t remember it ever drying.
The order to terrorise came from somewhere high up, from the Central Committee of the Communist Party. But down here it could have been watered down.
No one in this hierarchy of terror tried to reduce the terror dictated from above, but everyone tried to increase it.
Colonel Vasilescu appeared from time to time. Then the door opened wide. He came in and asked:
-How are you?
Once he found me helping Nicolae Petrașcu with his physiological needs. Then he said to me with a sarcastic grin:
– That’s right. “Help your boss, for better or for worse”…
I turned against him too, because it was hard to bear that cowardly shot:
– I’d help you, too, if you were in his position.
– Do you hope so?
– I don’t.
I realised that the guards had been instructed by the Securitate version of events in Pitești, and that they were plotting against us with lies. I didn’t give up. Every time they humiliated us, I told them so:
– That’s what they did to us and to Pitești, and then they found us guilty of the Securitate’s guilt…
(Octavian Voinea – The Massacre of the Romanian Students, by Gheorghe Andreica)