Women at Jilava

They were equal to the men, and enjoyed extra punishment. Jilava was not enough to bring them to their knees. Anything that happened to the female guards, the ultimate gypsies, was a reason to send them to “mititica”. Almost all of them passed through this super torture place of Jilava. This was a damp, cement-floored prison where political prisoners served an imaginary punishment, dressed only in their shirts, with a piece of cornmeal and a bowl of salt water (per day). In these conditions one could not last more than 7 days. The women who passed through here, and there were many, fell ill with pelvic inflammatory disease and rheumatism. They were as hungry as the men. There was also a lack of air and light.

For the sake of authenticity, I quote from the testimony of Emilia Vaida, who was examined without knowing that her husband had been killed during the examination: “I was waiting for the usual food, in which the grains were counted, to satisfy my hunger, when the cell door opened and the political officer signalled for me to take my bag and follow him. Outside, he pushed me into the van that would take me to Jilava, which I will never forget.

Dressed in the few rags I had and some I had received from other inmates, barefoot in the black shoes the prison authorities had given me for the trial, I was again pushed into the van by the officer on duty. He pointed to a wooden door, which I pushed open and entered. It was a 1-metre cell full of iron and rubbish. I sat there until dark, while it snowed on me. Cold and wounded, my teeth chattering, I made my way down into the cursed pit. In cell 2 of Jilava there were 45 inmates, 7 of them suffering from TB, deprived of any kind of care. No heat, nothing. Only human warmth, supplemented by the soul, made us live from today to tomorrow. The appearance of these noble beings was desolate: waxed, unpainted, dressed in tattered clothes. Without towel, soap, brush or toothpaste, the women used either cuffs, collars or sleeves shortened for wiping”. The administration provided a torn blanket for every three people, spoons and perforated mess tins as a standard issue. They ate in rotation because there was never enough.

Inside the cell was the famous “toilet” hut, which emitted a terrible smell. Next to it was a well with water for drinking and washing, which was filled once a day. There was never enough water, and washing was done in rotation, from one day to the next, and in the same areas as eating. The lack of air created a constant feeling of suffocation. It’s easy to understand how the T.B.C. and heart patients who desperately needed AIR felt. The one good of nature, left to the discretion of beings everywhere, was in short supply here. The windows were mostly closed and the shutters prevented any light from entering. The cell walls were constantly damp, giving the impression of being in a cave. And for MANY and MANY it remained a cave.

Despite these living conditions, the prisoners did not despair. On the contrary, they tried to create an atmosphere of understanding. Discussions and even conferences were held on various subjects. The “gypsy” women were very vigilant and did not allow any “talking”, while those who were rebellious and did not stay by the bed risked not sleeping in the room: the “little house” was waiting for them. But they were not intimidated. Here’s a scene from Christmas Eve 1953:

“After the food had been served, around 5 or 6 o’clock in the evening, the cell door opened and the political officer Manta appeared in the doorway, accompanied by several black “sergeants” of the guard. He addressed the head of the room:

– Is the food good? What do you think? Do you like it?

Yes… It’s very nutritious. It’s really good! When I go home, I’ll cook some with arpacaș, replied the boss, very modestly.

– You mean you like it!… Bravo!… said Manta with a smile and then turned to her.

– What do you think, Emilia Vaida? Do you like it? So she’s good?

– It’s terrible! I’ll eat it, vomit it and swallow it again, eat it all so I can make it to the end, so I can see you, with all the Securitate, eating all this food on Christmas Eve… was the prompt reply.

– That is if you are going to make it! We’ll talk again, Manta replied, turning red as he left the cell.

The guard, before tightening the bolts and putting on the padlocks, warned them to be completely quiet, not to say prayers and not to dare to sing songs… or they’d be stuck in prison.

At about 9 o’clock in the evening, after the drums of the guards had sounded in the silence of Jilava, a handkerchief was spread out in cell no. 2, on which were placed: the bread ration of three inmates, four doughnuts and the harpacaș kept in a collar. After the prayer, the gifts were distributed, and a small piece was given to each.

On Christmas morning an informer was taken out to clean up, and in the afternoon the Manta political officer appeared again, accompanied by the whole gang, to address a prisoner:

– I heard that you organised Christmas, Emilia Vaida, and that there were prayers in the group. Is this true?

The country’s constitution does not provide restrictions on prayer, she was told.

– You prayed for me to choke with a bone and, as you can see, I am safe and sound!

– Not true! As a Christian, I would have prayed to Jesus to forgive the sins of the country’s enemies and set us free.

– But you also cursed and incited the others, do you see that I know? You’d better tell your informers not to curry favour by lying, the prisoner replied.

The political officer cursed them all, by all the saints, and left, slamming the door. That’s how Christmas was celebrated in Jilava.

Whole families were forced to spend Christmas at the same time, also in Jilava, but in different cells.

Dorina Ienciu, who was in the women’s section, was taken together with her son – Codruț Ienciu – and her husband, a former general inspector at the Ministry of Religious Affairs. A particularly sensitive person, Dorina Ienciu published a novel entitled “The Cataclysm of 2000”. Having experienced the investigations of the Ministry of the Interior and the hell of Jilava, she described it in verse.

(Cicerone Ionițoiu – Tombs without crosses. Contributions to the chronicle of the Romanian resistance against dictatorship. Vol. II)