93rd Anniversary

The purpose of this blog is to create awareness of the genocide that occurred against my ancestors, who were citizens of Imperial Russia, though they were of German descent, and living in "South Russia" which is today known as the country of Ukraine. What was most unique about them is that they were Mennonites: peaceful Christians who led lives very similar to the Amish, believing in hard work, strong faith, and dedicated to freedom and nonviolence. They lived in tight communities: clusters of villages referred to as colonies. In these colonies, they would not intermarry with Russians, only other Mennonites of German descent. It goes without saying that citizens in each colony were closely related, and many Mennonites were related to those in other colonies as well.

93 years ago to the day of this posting, one of their colonies was brutally attacked by a militant anarchist named Nestor Makhno, who had a particular hatred for Mennonites. In a time where Russia was extremely unstable, the Imperial White Army was fighting a civil war against the Red Army, and there was widespread government and societal collapse. The Mennonites were mostly unaffected because they lived relatively isolated lives and kept out of politics. They were wealthier than most of their fellow countrymen, largely due to their simple lives and strong moral values such as modesty and temperance. In a way, they were victims of their own success.

Heritage is another strong value of the Mennonites. They believe it is important to know your lineage and many of them preserved their family histories in memoirs and journals. I have the journals of several of my Mennonite ancestors as well as several journals from their relatives. I am going to share the journal of Elizabeth Bargen, who was an aunt of one of my ancestors. I am going to transcribe it as true to her own words as possible. If you read it with a German accent in mind, some of the awkwardly translated parts might make better sense, as her native language was Low German, her second language was Russian and possibly Ukrainian, and her third language would eventually have been English after the survivors fled to Canada and America.

The village names described in the journal are mostly Mennonite villages inside the Zagradovka Colony. Zagradovka itself has many spelling variations today, due to the different spoken languages and written alphabets. I prefer to use the most common spelling, with others ranging from the Germanic Sagradowka to the contemporary Ukrainian Zahradivka, which is still there today on the eastern shores of the Ingulets River. Most old Mennonite villages are there as Ukrainian villages today, repopulated by Ukrainians and renamed after the Stalinist Purges a dozen years after these events take place.

That should be enough of the background story for a bit of context, so let us listen to Mrs. Bargen:
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On the 28th of November, 1919, we had butchered two pigs. There was plenty of every kind of meat. Both my parents and my husband's parents, as well as our neighbor, John Martens, came to help us butcher. There had been much talk of murder and violence that I was so excited and began to feel sick and weak.

My parents, K. Regehr, went home for the night. My husband's parents, Peter Bargen, stayed night at our place. They thought it would be safer here in Tiege than in Altonau. In Altonau, many strange riders had already been seen during the day. These riders had told the people that Altonau would receive some visitors. Before my parents left for home, we read Psalms 91 and prayed together.

The night was peaceful, but the next day which was November 29th was the most dreadful day of our lives. In the morning, I took a liver sausage and some spare ribs to our neighbor, the Martens. He had ordered some meat. Mrs. Martens met me and seemed very scared. She told me that she had not slept all night. Mr. Martens hadn't even undressed for the night. When I entered the room, Mr. Martens began to cry and said,
"Today is my birthday, but I'm going to be murdered today. They'll come and kill me!" I begged him to call Minister Frank Klassen who could comfort him and would pray with him. Rev. Klassen was at the Martens's home that afternoon.

As I walked home, a great number of our neighbors were standing in our street, old and young, and were exchanging their fears with each other. Soon after that, father Bargen left for home. Mother stayed with us. My husband dressed in his worst clothes in order that the robbers would think of him as a poor man and not rich. On his feet, he wore some wooden slippers which he hadn't worn for years. Mother and I cleared away the meat while the 15 year old nursemaid Rosa played with the children and our housemaid Pauline cooked us some coffee.

Frank, my husband, came into the house and told us that they were already murdering and robbing in Gnadenfeld. Towards evening I undressed the children and put them to bed. Frankie, our little son, was only two years old, and Lizie, our daughter, was nine months. The housemaid went out to milk the cows, and the nursemaid was going to set the table for the evening meal when a man entered our house. He came in running and his face was deathly white as he said,
"Now they are here! They came from Orloff. It is burning!" He had barely uttered the words when our yard and house were full of the bandits. There were so many that they stood and walked close to each other. They looked like the devil himself. They were covered with filth and blood. Many carried their bare swords in their hands that were still dripping with blood! On some we saw icicles of frozen clotted blood.

David Wiens of Steinfeld lived in our summer kitchen. Wiens, who was seeking his wife, pressed through the band of robbers into the kitchen. They yelled at him thinking he was host of this house. In his anxiety, Wiens said,
"I am not host, he is," pointing to my husband who was standing next to me.

These demonic men pulled my husband from my side and two men began wielding their blood splattered swords at him. One who was quite drunk, yelled time and again,
"I'll knock your head off!" He would wield his sword again, but never hit him. All he did was chop big holes into the wall. Frank didn't say a word. I had my baby, already in her night clothes, in my arms and our son by the hand. I stood there and witnessed this terrible scene which I will never forget. Our son walked up to one of the murderers and tried to take his gun. He said,
"Give that here, that's my dad's!" The men put his sword to the boy's back and said to his companion,
"Kill the little one. He will only grow up to be our enemy," but the man stroked Frankie's head and answered,
"Let the little boy live."

While all this was going on, my husband had left the room. Because he was dressed so poorly, they thought him to be a worker and let him walk out. One man even told him to go and hide, for they were going to murder everyone. Frank took off his slippers and walked into the garden on stocking feet and escaped in the direction of Nikolaifeld.

From me the robbers demanded money and gold. They took me from room to room by poking their bloody swords at me. All at once, one of the men grabbed my baby out of my arms and hurled her across the room. She gave one cry and then lay still. I thought she was dead. In the meantime, I had lost track of my son and couldn't see him anywhere.

Then with much cursing and pushing me around with their swords, they wanted me to fulfill their desires. If I wouldn't, they would chop me to pieces. I told them they could kill me but first they should kill my children. Then my mother-in-law, Maria Bargen [nee Martens] stepped in and begged the men to leave me alone because I was sick. They turned their attention to mother and began beating her. They forgot me, so I went and picked up my baby. She was blue and limp. I pressed myself through the band of men into the entry. Here, one man handed me my son and winked towards the door. That is, I should get out. I took my children and pressed through the cursing troop and came out into the open.

While these men were harassing me in the house, I saw how they slashed Mr. Martens across the chest as I looked out of our window. After a few more strokes with the sword, the robber pulled a short gun from his pocket and shot him. Later I heard he was shot with an explosive shell.

As I emerged into the open, the two maids called me from the pig pen which was built onto the shed. Here is where they had been hiding. There among the pigs and mire which almost reached our knees, my baby regained consciousness and began to cry pitifully. There was one window towards the shed in which a great number of bandits were milling around. They would have seen us had they only looked through the hole, but God kept his protecting hand over us.

It was very cold in this pig pen so that the mud around us got quite stiff during the night. I took off my dress and petticoat and wrapped my crying baby in them. By now, both children and both maids were crying. Inside the shed was such heathenish noise that they didn't hear us. Oh, how we prayed to God there, among all this dirt. The children fell asleep but we three sat there shaking and faint hearted.

Soon we heard some loud cursing and moaning in the shed. I was afraid it was my husband they were molesting, so I dared myself and looked through the hole into the shed. I saw a very nice looking girl being raped by a shed full of robbers. All at once from out in the yard, someone yelled that he had grabbed a nice girl. The bandits in the shed all ran out into the yard leaving the girl on the straw. I called her and told her to come quickly to the hole. She was barely on our side of the wall when her tormentors returned. They looked everywhere for the girl, but seemingly never saw the hole in the wall. My, how we prayed to God for protection!

We heard one bandit suggest that they burn the shed, then they would get even with those hiding in it, so we left our hiding place. We actually got away! As we were running and turned around to look at our village, we saw many yards in flames. We could hear the cattle bellowing in the burning barns. When we sat down to rest ourselves, the girl told me they had killed my husband. How that hurt! I couldn't say a word nor shed a tear. On the next morning when they told her that her father had been killed, she cried bitterly.

We fled all night and were running on stocking feet since we had lost our shoes. Over plowed and frozen fields, we fled. From time to time, we heard people passing not far from us, but since we didn't know if they were friend or foe, we remained very quiet.

When we arrived in Blumenort, we couldn't find anyone in the village. How lonesome a deserted village appears! We ran to Alexanderkrone. The girls changed off carrying my son. I carried my baby the entire time for that was the only way we could keep her quiet. Before we reached the village, and in the darkness, we came upon some ice through which I broke. I sank into the water til under my arms. My baby also got wet. I couldn't go any further. The girls dragged me to the first house. The people, Peter Friesen, were just ready to flee. They gave me and the children dry clothing, loaded me on their wagon, as sick as I was, and took me to Neu Schoensee and put me into the house of Jacob Janzen.

Mrs. Janzen put me into a warm bed and nursed me as well as she could. I thought I would die, for I was in urgent need of a doctor. I wanted to die, and therefore welcomed it, for then I would see my husband again. In the afternoon, we got word that the bandits were approaching. Everybody fled; only Mrs. Janzen stayed with me, but those approaching were not bandits. They were people who were fleeing, and with them was my husband! What a meeting we had! Now I could cry. Until now, neither of us had been able to shed any tears. Too much had happened to us.

Soon after that, we had to flee Neu Schoensee, as an attack was feared. They loaded me on another wagon and drove me to Neu Halbstadt, where I was again put to bed at the home of Minister Janzen. Mrs. Janzen here cared for me as a mother looking after her child.

After about five days, when all the bandits had left, we were able to move back into our house, but oh my! Our house looked a mess. There wasn't a trace of clothes nor bedding. Neither was there anything to eat. The dresser drawers lay in front of the door, covered with human waste. On the table lay a pile of broken glasses of canned fruit and jam. They even used the top and underneath the table as their bathroom!

In spite of all this, we were fortunate - for our house was still standing, and our loved ones were alive. Many of our people could not say this. It is true, after this experience, our people would have liked to leave Russia, but this was not possible.We could not expect help from anywhere. It taught many, as Mr. Fast said, to again turn to the Lord in prayer. Small surprise attacks became the order of the day. Large attacks could happen again any day. How could we prevent them from coming?

Abram Quiring of Shoenau walked on the street in the beginning of December. Someone saw a man step out from behind a post and shoot him. Who was this murderer? Why did he do it? No Man could answer these questions. No police investigated the shooting, for there were no police. It was evident to all of us; that which happened to Mr. Quiring could happen to someone else tomorrow.

On February 1920, someone knocked on the window of the home of Frank Wiens, chairman of the Neu Schoensee village. When he asked who was there, they told him they were soldiers who wanted to be taken on a wagon. This happened every day. Wiens got dressed and went with the heavily armed men to the farmer who had the wagon. When they came even with Jacob Janzen's yard, the men called a halt and said they didn't want to go any farther. They wanted the owner of this house to drive them. Wiens had to submit to this. He awoke brother Janzen and told him these men wanted him to drive them somewhere. Mr. Janzen barely opened the door when these men began to rob him. Janzen's wagon was driven in front of the house on which the bandits piled anything from his house that they desired. When this was done, they took Janzen's son and stood him in front of his father, and Wiens in front of the son. One of the bandits shot Mr. Janzen in the back. This bullet was meant to kill all three of them at the same time. They would have accomplished this if they had not used a sawed-off gun which diminished the power of the bullet. Janzen cried,
"I'm hit!" and fell to the ground and was dead. His son was injured and Wiens was unharmed. Both remained alive. Since the lamps were out, the murderers ran out of the room as if someone had used a whip on them. They jumped on the wagon and chased out of the village.

Likewise in the village of Alexanderfeld and Nikolaifeld, blood was shed. No one could feel secure any more. Not rich or poor, German, Russian, or Jew. No woman, young or old, pretty or homely, well or sick, was sure of her honor. No man was sure of his belongings. Robbing, raping, and murdering was continued whenever it suited them.

This was the atmosphere in which we lived.