“You have to have courage, you have to say no”

Lucreția Jurj, the last female Partizan, has died. Lucreția Jurj was one of the few women who actively participated in the resistance movement in the mountains for four years. Between 1950 and 1954, she fought alongside the Shusman group from Răchițele against the establishment of the communist regime in Romania. After years of harassment by the authorities, she was arrested. In the ambush that preceded her arrest, her husband, Mihai Jurj, was seriously injured. She will never see him again. She was imprisoned in Jilava, Mislea, Miercurea-Ciuc, Cluj and Văcărești, and was released in 1964, suffering from tuberculosis. She lived through the euphoric moments of the revolution and, through her testimony, played a fundamental role in reconstructing the existence of the Șușman group.

Last year I had the opportunity to interview her. I think it was the last one Lucreția Jurj gave. Even then I discovered something else: what the smile of freedom looks like. Lucreția Jurj had a human smile that evil could not break.

– After reading your testimony, published by the historians Cornel Jurju and Cosmin Budeancă, I had the impression that you went to the mountain more out of love for Mihai Jurj, your husband, than out of anti-communist conviction…

If I hadn’t gone, I would have been arrested. I chose one of two options. The secret police knew that I could lead them to where Michael was hiding. They left me for two months after he escaped, thinking that they might catch him coming home or that I would leave. Michael was very depressed. He couldn’t bear it when I wasn’t with him. Michael was angrier, weaker… He was brave, but I always encouraged him. Otherwise I think he did what old Șușman did.

– Do you remember the day you decided to stay on the mountain with Michael for good?

Old Șușman made a fuss because I was too young and couldn’t resist… I’ve never been a problem for them, I’ve been a support for my husband, God forgive him that… he’s gone at 26…

– How did you spend the time between frequent changes of the hiding places?

We played cards, read newspapers, told stories… I used to read the Bible more, or if I had a book, I would read it.

– What didn’t you like about the mountain?

When the leaves started to fall, we’d cry because we were out in plain sight… People would see us from far away. The trees would be bare and it was a sad, gloomy atmosphere. It rained and rained. If you made a hut or stood in the shade, the leaf would freeze and if you walked on it, you’d make a noise.

– As long as you were in the mountains, you had to build some hidden shelters. What did these shelters look like?

We also made shelters in the ground, we called them “catacombs”. We dug a hole in the ground about a metre deep, just deep enough to kneel in. We put leaves in it, and on top of that we put thick wood and earth. But we did it in a place where people couldn’t get in because it was on the road, and we planted brambles and branches. We made a little door out of pine branches and when we heard someone we’d go in and leave the door open and that was it! And sometimes we slept there.

– And the rest of the nights?

We slept under a pine tree with the branches all the way down, especially in the summer when it was hot. We had a blanket… But we slept with our clothes on! You couldn’t take your clothes off. What would you do if you heard someone running naked?

It was a life you can’t imagine. May God not give man what he can… Man can do so much… Much can be done… And only he who is weak like an angel can’t cope with it. He can’t stand it and ends his life in such a trial. You have to be strong and have faith deep in your heart to carry the cross we carried there. Man must rejoice in the bad as well as the good, because God gives you suffering, but He also gives you strength.

We didn’t get it until our time was up.

– Once you have embarked on this path of resistance against a whole system, you have implicitly accepted the death that could come at any moment. But were you ever tempted to surrender?

We would not surrender, no matter what. My husband would have shot himself, but he wouldn’t have shot me. Michael would have never surrendered. We never thought about surrendering because we knew our fate. They weren’t satisfied with what you said and they would get what they wanted out of you and then sentence you to death.

Well, they didn’t sentence me to death because I didn’t shoot. If I’d said I did shoot… Besides, at the trial they asked me, “Did you have a gun?” “I did, of course I did.” “Why did you carry a gun if you didn’t shoot?” “Well, so my husband wouldn’t carry two!” The husband had a rifle, a ZB and a shotgun. How could he carry three? I liked the rifle because it was smaller. I’d take it out and clean it.

– Would you shoot in a dangerous situation?

Yes, I would.

– How was the atmosphere in the group?

It was a joy for us when we got together in the spring. We all got on very well. It was only in the summer that we stayed together, and we usually stayed together a bit now. Șușman’s boys were young, unmarried, and in the evenings they went to the village of Răchițele. When they returned, they slept during the day. Teodor Șușman Jr. had enough girls in Răchițele… I was also in prison with many of his pretty girls.

We were often angry… We cried a lot… Especially old Șușman. He had such a nice family, a household, and he was wiped off the face of the earth: his wife died, his children were sent to him under house arrest, when his wife died he couldn’t go to the funeral.

– The optimism of the fighters in the Romanian mountains was also fuelled by the belief that the Americans would soon arrive. And was it the same in the Șușman group?

Of course everyone was waiting for the Americans. No one knew that we had been sold out. We listened to the Voice of America and Free Europe, and they kept telling us to be patient. We hoped that maybe something would happen. The same thing happened in 1956 with the Hungarians, we thought maybe something would happen to us. And when it did, it was good… When it was in Hungary, we should have been here, then we’d get rid of them.

– In the villages, the Securitate started a strong repression against the families and all those who helped you. Didn’t you feel their suffering?

Of course they did! Now there were people who informed on each other, even if we didn’t go there. That was then. If a man told the Party that he had seen a suspect in his neighbour’s house, a car would come and pick him up and take him away. They didn’t need any witnesses. That’s what communism was like…

No brother could have endured what I endured…

– From your point of view, did the Romanians give their suffering to their brothers?

Yes. Look, my husband’s brother (Roman Oneț?), he was a real man. Oneț was arrested, beaten, poor man, and forced to tell where we were. When he came to us, he broke his handcuffs and said: “Brother, give me a gun, because we are surrounded, I had to tell where you are”. And he saved us! Oneț was a real brother!

There were many who betrayed their brothers… I thanked God that, of all the brothers, I was the one who suffered. No brother could have endured what I endured…

– An article appeared in the Cluj press in which the author claimed that the Șușmans were supported by the local population only out of fear of the revenge of the fighters. Was this true?

But how could they be afraid? The Șușmans went to the people who knew them. We met farmers we had never seen alive and took them to their homes. And we stayed all winter. They knew my husband by name because my father-in-law was famous in those parts. During the winter, Michael would send the hostess with a note to people he trusted. And this hostess of ours would go and come back loaded: bacon, sausages, meat, everything. We didn’t force anyone… And a lot of people called us, but we didn’t go. We didn’t want to cause them any trouble.

– Did the hard life in the mountains strengthen you for the suffering that was due to come after your arrest?

I have always had strength. You have to have courage, you have to say no. There’s no point in letting the hardship get you down. And in court, when they asked me what I had to say in my last words, I replied: “I have nothing. If you killed my husband, you can sentence me to death. I didn’t ask for mercy. And during the investigation I took a lot on myself to exonerate my husband… I didn’t know she was dead.

– A compatriot of mine was here and told me that he was in the army in 1954. And he found out from another soldier that Michael jumped into a lime pit…

Yes! He jumped into a lime pit… They put lime on him! How could he jump into a lime pit when he he wasn’t able to stand up?

– Your pain is probably eased by some pleasant images that have stayed with you after so many years on the mountain.

Nature, leaves, birds? When we got up in the morning, the birds were singing. We rejoiced when the leaves began to open. Today it was smaller, the next morning there were more leaves. It was fun and a joy. We also saw wolves and bears. When I first saw the wolf, I thought it was a dog. I didn’t know. The same when I saw the bear. I said to my husband: “There’s a donkey!” It was the bear pulling the wool off his back.

When I was with Michael, I wasn’t afraid.

I thought it would be different after the fall of communism.

– After your release from prison you didn’t talk about your past. Why not?

I didn’t want to. I remarried and changed my name. When I was admitted to hospital, the nurses knew what I had been convicted of. And I had to tell the doctors the circumstances under which I got tuberculosis. The doctors looked after me very well. I was very lucky with the TB doctors… And they also gave me a job.

– You’ve also been lucky with good people.

God gave me suffering, right? He also gave me good people along the way. He sent me where I could get help. In Turda, at the hospital, all three doctors were former political prisoners. God gave me suffering, but also a doctor to heal me.

– How did a man who had fought for freedom for so many years experience the revolution?

When I saw Dinescu on television saying “We have won”, I cried. I couldn’t stop. I kept thinking: “Why didn’t he come earlier?” Too late for many. Much too late…

I thought it would be different after the fall of communism. A former political prisoner in Cluj knows the man who beat him… and sees him on the street. And no one is doing him justice.

– Do you have any regrets about those years?

I was with my husband and I don’t regret not leaving him. If I had left him, I’d never forgive myself. I didn’t leave him and I stayed with him until the last hour. Death separated us.

That’s how my life was, like a novel. I never knew happiness…

– Why did you decide to open up after the revolution?

For the dead. God would never forgive me. I’m the only one left. Someone has to talk about them. It would be a shame if no one knew how they disappeared, what their lives were like. I spoke for them, not for myself. I wanted to raise them from the dead and bring them among the living.

Your testimony about the Șușman group has already been published and people are beginning to know about them… What you wanted is starting to come true.

Yes. I’m very happy and I’m dying peacefully… And they think they’re happy where they are. I had to speak. I couldn’t wait for someone to ask me… I wanted to shout in the street! I like to talk, at least at the beginning it was hard. It was painful and they suffered too. Coming from such a big, close-knit family… …they got the worst of it.

History must go on and history was made with people who spoke, right?

(Interview by Octavian Coman – Memoria. Journal of Arrested Thought, no. 49)