Tragedia de pe Vâlsan

În iulie 1951 s-a petrecut pe Valea Valsanului un episod dramatic al luptei dintre partizanii de la Nucșoara şi Securitate. Acesta i-a fost povestit lui Cornel Drăgoi în închisoare chiar de către Titu Jubleanu, unul dintre protagonişti. În acea zi ca oricare alta Titu Jubleanu, soţia sa Marioara, fiul lor Ţică şi Ionel Marinescu (zis Doctorul) au fost surprinşi de trupele de securişti total nepregătiţi. Ultimele cuvinte ale mamei au fost ,,Trage, Titule, să scape băieţii!’’, băieţii au scăpat, dar ea a fost  împuşcată cu un glonţ de zebeu. Titu a fost nevoit să se predea. Povesteşte în continuare Cornel Drăgoi cum ,,L-au pus să sape oleacă de mormânt, cu unghiile, cu degetele, a săpat şi cu o ruptură de lespede. Iute, iute!... A săpat ca un lat de palmă şi au spus: Ajunge!...<<Am pus peste ea cu mâinile nisip şi bolovani, după ce am sărutat-o, şi atât a fost tot…>> Şi pă el l-au dus la Piteşti, la Securitate, unde ne-am văzut şi el mi-a arătat… Mi-a arătat gura cu dinţii rupţi cu cleştele de cuie…I-au smuls dinţii cu cleşte de cuie… Avea un dinte rupt pe jumătate, un dinte rupt la nivelul gingiei şi erau porţiuni unde cleştele muşcase şi o bucată de gingie. I-au făcut asta atunci, când l-au prins, ca să-l silească să spună unde sunt băieţii.’’

Titu Jubleanu in inchisoare

      Această tragică istorisire am aflat-o când am citit ,,Povestea Elisabetei Rizea. Urmată de mărturia lui Cornel Dragoi’’ acum mai bine de zece ani. De atunci am transmis-o şi eu mai departe elevilor mei şi cititorilor paginilor mele de facebook. De curând am găsit însă o altă mărturie, a unui alt participant la acea vânare a partizanilor. Redau mai jos un fragment din jurnalul ţinut de Tică Jubleanu, luat de Securitate după ce acesta şi-a pierdut viaţa în ultima confruntare din istoria mişcării muscelene, în mai 1958.

     ,,Am mâncat şi ne-am culcat şi dimineaţa tata cu mama s-au sculat mai de dimineaţă şi eu m-am apucat să pingesc ………..şi după ce am terminat m-am încălţat şi în timpul ăsta s-a făcut şi masa gata şi am mâncat şi după aceia eu m-am dus şi am luat nişte lucruri de la o scorbură că aveam de gând să facem baie. Mama a adus apă şi a pus-o să se incalzească și în timpul ăsta doctorul mi-a zis, hai să facem o partidă. Ne-am apucat noi de joc şi am făcut câteva partide şi doctorul se enerva şi vorbea tare şi mama ne tot sucea să terminăm că s-a încălzit apa şi la un moment dat auzim uite unul cu o puşcă ! Vai miliţia !!! Doctorul la auzul acestor cuvinte n-a mai aşteptat şi a rupt-o la fugă desculţ şi fără armă. Eu am apucat pistolul mitralieră şi mama fiind în urma mea a călcat pe el până să-l ridic de jos şi mi-a scăpat din mână şi cum eram pornit nu m-am mai întors după el şi i-am dat şi eu drumul după doctor, iar tata a apucat să ia mauzerul cu patru focuri care erau în el şi cum am plecat individul care era  maxim la 5…….. de noi  a tras dar nu m-a lovit fiindcă n-a tras ochit sau i-a tremurat mâinile şi cum ne-am despărţit noi câţiva metri l-am auzit strigând la ceilalţi, hai încoa băă, că au fugit şi tata a zis să fugim mai iute că au văzut că ne-au rămas armele şi vin după noi şi doar ne-am depărtat noi puţin şi au luat-o şi ei după noi, strigând stăi! şi trăgând la focuri de armă. După o fugă de un km şi ceva i-am auzit cum foșneau frunza pe urmele noastre şi la un moment dat se făcea şi o coastă repede. Doctorul era înainte, tata după el şi eu am luat pe mama de mână şi am ajutat să coboare și când ne aflam sub coastă am auzit unul zicând , hai că uite-I şi mama cu lacrimile în ochi ne-a zis fugi mamă cel puţin să scapi tu şi eu atunci am rupt-o la fugă şi am nimerit la un izvor cu nişte bolovani şi nişte buturi de credeam că nu se mai termenă şi în urmă se auzeau focuri de armă şi strigând stai, sus mâinile şi când m-am văzut la gârlă şi trecut dincolo am zis în sinea mea că am scăpat şi am luat-o la pas că nu mai puteam deloc, abia am mai urcat până am dat de doctor şi acolo am stat puţin de m-am odihnit şi i-am spus că pe tata şi pe mama i-au prins mai mult ca sigur că erau numai acolo ţiganii de ei şi după ce am stat puţin am plecat mai departe.’’

           Am citit acest fragment de mai multe ori, la prima vedere pare că el contrazice o parte din vorbele lui Cornel Drăgoi. Stilul lui Tică Jubleanu, care spune parcă totul dintr-o suflare, torente de propoziţii şi loc prea puţin pentru sentimente, nu -l avantajează pe cititor. Dar poate că trebuie citit printre rânduri şi aşa am putea înţelege groaza celui care fuge de moarte pe munte în picioarele goale, groaza celui care vede cum se trage înspre el de la câţiva metri, dragostea filială când o ţine de mână, încercând s-o ducă cât mai departe şi apoi neputinţa şi spaima când mama nu mai poate, cedează şi ,,[…]cu lacrimile în ochi ne-a zis fugi mamă cel puţin să scapi tu […]. Iar Titu, care se afla înaintea lor, s-a întors şi şi-a înfruntat destinul alături de soţia sa…

       O tragedie care s-a repetat cu sute şi sute de partizani încolţiţi din ţara aceasta, o picătură în marea de amar şi suferinţă a istoriei rezistenţei armate din munţi.

     Tică nu a ştiut o vreme ce s-a întâmplat cu mama sa, a crezut că amândoi au fost prinşi şi s-a temut pentru ce urmau să păţească. Şi atitudinea lui de la final, de la Râpele cu Brazi, unde a luptat până la capăt, cred că are legătură şi cu soarta părinţilor săi. Tânărul erou nu le-a dat satisfacţia deplină să fie prinşi în viaţă toţi partizanii care îi păcăliseră atât timp de  9 ani de zile. S-a dus să se alăture mamei sale, ale cărei ultime cuvinte trebuie să-l fi bântuit, ca şi sentimentul cumplit că a abandonat-o şi n-a putut-o salva…

                                       Familia Jubleanu din Nucsoara

Afacerea ,,Foxtrot’’

     În octombrie 1917  a avut loc revoluţia bolşevică din Rusia care a şters pentru totdeauna faţa acestei ţări şi după ani, a influenţat enorm alte ţări între care şi România. Comuniştii ruşi au făcut pace separată cu Puterile Centrală pentru a se canaliza asupra duşmanului din interior. Până atunci peste 2 milioane de soldaţi ruşi îşi dăduseră viaţa pentru Rusia, dar ce a urmat a întrecut orice coşmar. În războiul civil ce s-a întins până în 1922, de fapt războiul unei acerbe lupte de clasă, şi-au pierdut viaţa circa 10 milioane de ruşi şi alte naţionalităţi din fostul Imperiu. Adică aproape 10% din populaţie! În acest an în ţară nu mai exista  vechea aristocraţie care condusese sute de ani, aceasta nu mai avea decât o pondere de 14% ! Cei mai mulţi aristocraţi fuseseră ucişi în timpul războiului civil, o parte reuşiseră să se refugieze din Occident. Supravieţuitorii vor trăi valuri teribile de represiune, această clasă socială trebuia să dispară cu totul, nu mai conta că vlăstarele lor se născuseră după căderea Imperiului. De obicei autorităţile nu aveau nevoie de vreun pretext pentru a-i nimici. Au existat însă şi scurte perioade de relaxare când V. I. Lenin era grav bolnav, iar urmaşii săi erau ocupaţi cu lupta de succesiune.

    Aşa că, de exemplu, în 1924, un bun pretext a fost socotit de autorităţi nici mai mult nici mai puţin decât ,,foxtrotul’’, un decadent dans importat din Occident, care nu putea decât să fie utilizat de decadenţii aristocraţi pentru a submina puterea Sovietelor ! Au fost arestaţi sute de tineri care încercau să uite de viaţă apăsătoare şi se întâlneau să-şi petreacă plăcut serile.

      Printre cei arestaţi s-a numărat şi fiica generalului Danilov, care şi-a transpus suferinţa în versuri ce ridiculizau gravitatea situaţiei sale:

,,Deşi ar putea fi o legendă, a fost un scandal pe Ostojenka,

vedeţi dumneavoastră.

Şi-un grup întreg, toţi mai puţin un puşti, în Ural

au fost deportaţi.

Au uitat de cadeţi şi de eseri, acum avem ,,foxtrotiști’’

Vreo dousprezece duzini, arestaţi de G-P-U… Şi de ce?

Nimeni nu ştie!

Iar noi, veseli şi fără griji, am pornit dansând spre

închisoare fără tărăboi.

Da, să recunoaştem cu inima grea, foxtrotiștii suntem noi!

Eram vreo două sute, de la 10 la 20 de ani, ce vârstă sinistră!

Iubeam şi râdeam, cântam şi dansam, era o nebunie!

Abia de ne ştiam unul pe altul, dar pe ei nu-i deranja.

Aici am venit cu toţii şi toţi cu aceeaşi acuzaţie!

O, foxtrot, foxtrot! Toată lumea ar trebui să te blesteme!

Căci eşti motivul detenţiei noastre! Pentru tine

am dansat într-o închisoare jilavă, bănuiţi de lucruri cumplite.

O foxtrot, foxtrot,  redută a forţelor oculte, fioroasă

reacţiune!

Eşti cuibul contrarev.  în Fed. Rusă Sovietică Socialistă

Eşti speranţa şi temelia sa!

Soarta noastră să fie o lecţie pentru toţi: de veţi fi, din

întâmplare, invitaţi la un foxtrot,

Aveţi grijă să spuneţi, ,,Pardon, dar nu dansez!’’

(din ,,Ultimele zile ale aristocraţiei ruse,  Douglas Smith)

Decadentul si periculosul dans occidental...

Poezia unui anonim de după gratii

              La începutul anului 2020 aş vrea să fac puţină dreptate unui om pe care l-am descoperit  în arhivele Securităţii şi despre care cred că nimeni nu a scris până acum. Probabil că nu mai trăieşte, fiind născut în 1924, nu ştiu nici măcar dacă a apucat zilele căderii comunismului. Căutând informaţii despre mişcarea de rezistenţă armată de la Nucşoara, am găsit poeziile sale confiscate de securişti şi copiate cu grijă, aşa cum un ucigaş îşi păstrează lucruri ale victimei   nevinovate drept trofeu.

              Aş vrea să îl aduc pe domnul Burtea Dumitru în lumină, să-l scot din anonimatul la care l-au silit ei, să fac un minim gest de justiţie.  El a fost agăţat într-un dosar al Nucşoarei parcă aşa în trecere, ca să i se mai dea o lovitură unuia care nu s- a săturat să vorbească contra lor, deşi o mai păţise odată. Da, căci Burtea Dumitru din Dragoslavele a fost arestat mai întâi pentru că a activat în 1948  într-o organizaţie subversivă – Partidul Naţional Ţărănesc. Era începutul represiunii comuniste şi a primit patru ani de închisoare. A venit acasă şi şi-a găsit slujbe glorioase, demne de un intelectual, cum ar fi: gaterist, dulgher, lăcătuş constructor, lăcătuş de întreţinere, educator –pedagog la Seminarul Teologic, mecanic. A continuat însă să viseze, să scrie poezii, să se întâlnească cu prietenii, cu care ,,s-a manifestat duşmănos la adresa regimului democrat’’. Aşa că nu a lipsit prea mult ca să intre din nou în vizorul Securităţii, care în 1959 îl chestiona despre legăturile sale, despre creaţiile sale. Şi nu e greu de înţeles în ce termeni îl ancheta căpitanul de Securitate Bădicuţ Tănase, dacă bietul poet amator îşi caracteriza astfel pasiunea:

          ,,Întrebare – De când ai început să scrii literatură şi de ce fel – gen?

          Răspuns – Am început să scriu în domeniul genului liric – versuri – în 1942 şi de atunci nu am mai publicat nimic până după 23 august 1944. În continuare am mai scris poezii după anul 1954 când m-am eliberat din închisoare. Până în anul 1947 am scris poezii pe numele meu real, iar după 1954 când m-am eliberat din închisoare, am scris sub pseudonimele de ,,Toma Burdu’’ şi ,,Al. Denamad’’.

             Mi-am atribuit aceste pseudonime pentru mai multe motive, între care şi acela că pe numele real nu mi s-ar fi publicat, însă nu ar fi influenţat prea mult această pentru că orice pseudonim aş fi folosit, trebuia să- mi indic adresa şi numele exact pe care să mi se trimită răspunsul.

-          Ce caracter au lucrările dumitale în general?

-          Lucrările mele în general au un caracter pesimist şi idealist. Ele nu numai că nu aduc un aport orânduirii actuale – societăţii în general, dar în multe din ele am manifestări împotriva regimului democrat-popular din R.P.R.’’

Dar iată o poezie ,,dușmănoasă’’ la adresa republicii populare, cred eu, un manifest literar al său:

                      Eu

        Dece mă-ntrebi străine cine sînt?

        Sălbatic sînt și-s tânăr. Nu-s un vreasc,

        Doar inima-mi miroase a pământ

        Când vremea mă striveşte ca un teasc.

        N-am fost vreodată trist şi nici solemn,

        Copil doar al nădejdilor în sbor

        Îmi fură strâmte criptele de lemn,

        Şi m-am desprins prin visuri călător.

        Ci visul când l-am prins cu două mîni

        Şi-am vrut să-l dărui omului, în spice,

       Mă alungară-n uliţi, ca pe cîni,

       Din porţi, în trupu-mi au izbit cu bice.

      În sufletu-mi, viorile s-au frânt,

      Şi-am stat ca plopu-ncremenit în ger,

     Bătut cu bici de trăznet şi de vânt,

     Hrănit cu ploi şi grindină din cer.

     Şi-n nopţi de veghe, vorbele mi-am strâns,

     Să-mi ticluiască viaţa, an de an.

    Sălbatic sînt şi pentru cât am plâns,

    Mi-am ars durerea-n vers, ca-n porţelan.

(Din lucrarea  în pregătire - ,,Rezistenţa armată anticomunistă de la Nucșoara (1949-1958)’’

Copiii de azi despre comunism

      Copiii percep altfel timpul decât noi adulţii. Pentru ei acum 30 de ani poate să însemne la fel de bine acum 130 de ani sau chiar şi mai mult. E ceva ce s-a întâmplat tare demult. Odată când aveam în jur de 35 de ani mă surprindeau văzând în privirea lor uimirea, n-o spuneau dar o înţelegeam – eu eram deja bătrân. Chiar dacă părinţii lor erau şi mai în vârstă. Acum oare ce să mai spun?

       Aşa că perioada comunistă le pare, la început, când prindem să discutăm despre ea, atât de îndepărtată ca oricare alta, că domnia lui Vlad Ţepeş bunăoară sau cea a primului război mondial. Nu este uşor să îi readuci în timpul istoriei recente – doar atunci au trăit bunicii lor în tinereţe, poate şi unii dintre părinţi.  Şi duci o muncă de lămurire apoi ca ei să lase telefonul sau laptopul deoparte pentru a cere informaţii alor lor, adică să discute cu martorii acelei istorii, să facă poate un mic interviu, să se joace de-a jurnalistul. Pare uşor, dar unii sunt mulţi mai comozi, prefera să acceseze prima pagină din Wikipedia şi să scrie ce au scris şi trăit alţii. Şi totuşi rudele lor sunt tot la un clik – distanţă, mai bine zis la un sărut-mâna sau bună – ziua distanţă. Şi de obicei foarte dornici să mai discute cu nepoţii, să mai povestească despre perioada tinereţii lor, viaţa în vremea lui Ceauşescu.

        După care ne întâlnim și discutăm, îşi prezintă descoperirile cu mirare şi uneori neîncredere, ne contrazicem şi sperăm să iasă ceva bun din toate acestea.

        Dacă i-aş întreba după o vreme care sunt primele cuvinte ce le vin în minte legate de comunism ei mi-ar răspunde: un lucru în care greu ne putem imagina în ziua de azi, trai mai simplu şi mult mai diferit decât cel din zilele noastre,  un fior – mi se pare că a fost o perioadă cumplită, un lucru bun deoarece oamenii aveau locuri de muncă stabile, Nicolae Ceauşescu, securism, raţie, miliţia, Elena Ceauşescu, partizanii, munca pentru stat, Canalul Dunăre – Marea Neagră, nu aveai voie să te uiţi la televizor după ora 10, frică, frig, durere,  oamenii nu aveau drepturi, vremuri grele pe care oamenii erau nevoiţi să le suporte, securitate şi partizani, comunism ca lipsă de libertate, tiranul cel mai mare – Ceauşescu, dureri pe care oamenii le aveau pe acea vreme deoarece nu erau liberi, sărăcie, duritate, Ceauşescu şi dictatură …

        Acestea ar fi cuvintele cu care ei ar zugrăvi rapid o epocă, nu alta decât cea numită atunci epoca de aur! Aurul îşi pierde strălucirea şi lasă realitatea crudă la îndemână curiozităţii copiilor, a judecăţii lor care se face din două, din trei surse şi îi obligă să confrunte rezultate diferite, chiar opuse uneori.

        Dacă i-aş întreba cum le-ar fi plăcut să trăiască în perioada comunistă, răspunsurile ar fi aproape exclusiv pe aceeaşi linie – nu, de fapt un NU ! Pentru că viaţa era grea, oamenii nu erau liberi să facă nimic, oamenii erau chinuiţi în acel timp şi sunt norocos că m-am născut în perioada aceasta, nu aveai dreptul la mâncare mai bună, la apă caldă şi căldură iarna, cozile erau interminabile la zahăr, ulei, pâine etc, deoarece puteam fi luată la închisoare, n-aş fi vrut să mă chinuiesc să trăiesc suportând frigul şi cozile, ar fi fost foarte greu pentru mine căci ne puneau să facem practică agricolă, nu îmi plăcea fiindcă de Crăciun când tăiai un animal domestic trebuia să împărţi pe jumătate cu statul, regimul era foarte strict şi copiii trebuiau să muncească în folosul ţării, elevii purtau uniforme, oamenii nu puteau ieşi din ţară, treceam prin frig, foamete, atunci totul pare mai dificil şi în ziua de azi poţi fi mai liber şi poţi să faci ce îţi doreşti…

        Dar nu chiar totul era negru, oamenii erau mai bogaţi sufleteşte, chiar dacă financiar nu. Chiar dacă nu aveau bani, maşini, averi, chiar dacă aşteptau mult la coadă pentru a-şi cumpăra mâncare, chiar dacă nu aveau condiţii, ei, oamenii erau mai bogaţi sufleteşte, aveau înţelegere, armonie, pace, credinţă, oameni cu frica lui Dumnezeu. Poate atunci erau mai miloşi, mi-ar fi plăcut să trăiesc pe vremea aceea, deoarece oamenii erau mult mai naturali decât acum, nu erau atât de falşi şi de lacomi, ca cei din ziua de azi. Altcineva ar spune că în primul rând i-ar fi plăcut fiindcă orice om avea un loc de muncă stabil şi primea salariul cuvenit, i-ar fi plăcut fiindcă la şcoală copiii aveau respect pentru profesorii lor în orice moment.

          Dacă i-aş întreba, în cazul în care ar fi trăit totuşi în acea vreme, ce le-ar fi lipsit mai mult, răspunsurile ar fi destul de previzibile în prima instanţă: telefonul, căldura, apa caldă, tehnologia de azi care nu era aşa de avansată atunci,  calculatorul, instagram, youtube,  muzica, prietenii, televizorul, bicicleta, mâncarea ce nu o puteam cumpăra decât pe cartelă,  hainele mai de calitate, diversitatea alimentelor …

        Dar pentru că nu tot ţine de confortul fizic şi de distracţie, alţi copii cu siguranţă că mi-ar răspunde: libertatea de astăzi, care pentru mine e cea mai preţioasă, libertatea de a călători oriunde în lume, puterea de a-ţi exprima liber opinia, puterea de a mă exprima liber, bucuria, fericirea…

                                            (Sursa: Podul.ro)

        Cu voia dumneavoastre, ultima este fericirea, care de fapt cuprinde totul – dreptul la a fi fericit pe care o societate totalitară, o societate comunistă i-l rezervă cetăţenilor săi în viitor. Veţi fi fericiţi, dar mai încolo, până atunci, cu sacrificii uriaşe, trebuie, e datoria vostra, să pregătiţi fericirea generaţiei ce va veni.

        Dar fiindcă a existat un 1989, momentul acesta a făcut cu putinţă ca  generaţia viitorului să aibe șansa de a-și căuta singură fericirea,  nu înregimentat, ci individ cu individ, de fapt om cu om. Fericirea la a cărei bază stă  libertatea. Iar acest lucru m-a dus cu gândul la ieşirea lui Florin Constantin Pavlovici din închisoare în 1964 şi gândurile lui acolo, pe peronul gării de unde lua trenul spre casă:  ,,Nu-mi venea să cred că îmi era atâta frică de libertate’’…

Who is Elisabeta Rizea from Nucşoara?

                   The symbol of the anti-communist resistance in Romania.

                 She was born on June 28, 1912 in the village Domneşti, Muscel and passed away on October 6, 2003 in Nucşoara.

                 A model for Romanians, a model of dignity, courage and resistance to injustice.

                     A brave woman from Nucsoara, a courageous peasant, who faced Security for years, both in her village and in detention.

                    Granddaughter of the peasant leader Gheorghe Şuta in Domneşti, assassinated by the Communists near the 1946 elections.

[“This is why I did what I did, mam! I'm in front of the icon and God help me if I lie ... They killed my uncle. They shot him when the Communists came. He was cousin of my father, their parents were brothers. They couldn’t expand communist party because of him, that’s why they shot him.”]

                 Active participant in the armed resistance movement in the Făgăraş mountains, the southern part, known as Haiducii Muscelului (The Muscels Outlaws) from Nucşoara or Partizanii Libertatii (The Freedom Partisans).

                  A fervent supporter of the anti-communist partisans, both she and her husband Gheorghe, her daughters and other relatives who had suffered from this involvement.

[“Three of my brothers took the oath, Naie, Ghita and Luca. But they are gone, only Luca is still alive… Luca ran away from the village, but he did not ran long, afterwards he surrendered. He was hiding out at his sister-in-law's, at home in his mother’s attic of the stable, wherever he could. And then he surrendered. He didn't stay in the mountains. And after they arrested him and he came home, when he arrived home, because he did not have a phone to announce that he was coming, they brought him from Brasov to Pitesti and from Pitesti he came by himself and, mam, what happened, his wife couldn’t take itanymore, they kissed and she fell down on him dead. She died. […] From our family many people went to prison, let me tell you: my brothers Naie and Luca, brother-in-law Vlădescu, Petre Vlădescu, married to my sister Elena Vlădescu, my daughter Laurenția, me, my husband Gheorghe, my other daughter Lenuța’s husband Vasile, Belu as we call him, Belescu, and Belu’s father, Ghica Belescu, Lenuța’s father-in -law. What can you say?! And I don’t speak anymore about the others, how many were taken away from their houses in their sleep, in the night, from their beds, for questionings.”]

                   Devoted to the leader of the partisans, Toma Arnăuţoiu from Nucşoara, friend and confidant of his parents, Iancu and Laurentia Arnăuţoiu.

[The first person she met when she was coming from the prison in 1956, right when getting off the bus that was going from Piteşti to Domneşti, was the priest Constantinescu - “He greeted me, sending me << compliments from the boys >> and telling they are healthy. '' Questioned later, after two years, when she was arrested again, Elizabeth boldly declared that “I stated that I am determined to continue my activity with them at any risk and that I will procure money and food, which I really did.”]

                    Political prisoner, arrested several times, sentenced to prison in 1950 for 6 years and in 1958 for 25 years of forced labor.

                    A strong woman, who did not give in to the tortures she was subjected to, she did not give in to the temptations and promises of the Communist Security, kept her integrity in prison.

[“When Cârnu beat me the worst, he took me into a room of Militia. He brought a table. It had a big hook in the middle there. And Cârnu pulled a chair near the table, tied my hands behind the back of the chair, with a rope, he then raised the chair up to another chair and climbed the chairs together on the table and tied my tail up there in the hook. And there was a chain and he put the chain here after the rope, as it was tied to my hands. And I was scared (...) and I sat and screamed and said, 'Sir, shoot me, cut my head, take off my eyes, cut my tongue, I don't know about them, don't ask me, I do not know!". When he got me all the way up, he let go ofmy tail, untied my hair, and left only my hands. I still didn't sell them ... And then he took me down, untied my hands, there was a kettle of water on the stove there and he dipped a sack in the water, squeezed it, took my skirt offand after he put the sack like that on me. And hetookthat rubber thingin his right hand, like that, with a rope, and he mademe all just thickstripes as big as my hand. Ten days I stayed in the hospital only on the forehead and knees "]

         The first voice of a woman from the anti-communist resistance heard after the revolution, thanks to the participation in the program of Mrs. Lucia Hossu-Longin, Memorialul Durerii (Pain Memorial).

         Devoted to democratic ideas understood simply and soundly as respecting the right to property, the non-interference of the state in private life, the freedom of unrestrained opinion.

        Convinced monarchist, faithful to His Majesty King Mihai whom she met in Nucşoara in the years of the World War and then after the fall of the communist regime on several occasions, first in 1992 at Curtea de Argeş.

["I love him to death like I love my eyes. I want him to be the king of Romania, to always be in the country ”]

[,, I was visiting the monastery Curtea de Argeş, the place where my ancestors are sleeping. While I was inside thechurch I saw an old woman in a wheelchair. She wanted to kiss my hand, I didn't know who she was. I had, of course, heard about Elizabeta Rizea, but I didn't know her face. I immediately asked Ticu Dumitrescu, who was next to me, who this person was ... He told me that she was Elisabeta Rizea. When I found out who she was, I felt, I do not know how to tell you, maybe not very bad, but in any case it hit me very hard. I wanted then to speak more to Elizabeta Rizea, but she had have already left. In this situation, when I returned to Versoix, I immediately wrote her a letter explaining what had happened and I made a promise to her that, when I will return to Romania, I will go see her at home. (...) I notified her in writing before I went to her home. Nucşoara village is a small mountain village (...) and, unfortunately, a lot of people gathered in her yard, knowing that I come, some even tried to make a political capital out of this visit (...) they tried to take advantage of this visit, and I did not liked this at all. When I entered the courtyard, I saw a large number of people, but I could see nowhere Elisabeta Rizea, whomI had actually came to. Eventually I found her behind a group of people, but, being in the wheelchair, she couldn't be seenin the crowd, I could hardly see her head. I asked the crowd to step aside, so I could at least say hello to her ... Then the people lift her up with the wheelchair and put her at the table. The authorities insisted that I sit no more, no less than at the head of the table. The authorities continued to insist, but I said no, I said I did not come to see them, but to see Elizabeta Rizea. '']

        It is the woman from Romania who most impressed Regina Ana, according to her own statement.

       She is the person who has been visited in Nucşoara by numerous politicians, journalists, members of the government. But also by His Majesty King Mihai, by CorneliuCoposu, by the President of Romania at that time, Emil Constantinescu. She told everyone to escape the country of communism, of the consequences of deep-rooted communism in institutions and people. Her testamentary words impress us even today, as if more than ever: "Three days if I live more, I want to know that the world has been cleared!"

       Elisabeta Rizea asked and gained in 1997, thanks to the help given by the Minister of Public Works Nicolae Noica, to pave the road in Nucşoara from the intersection with the village of Slatina to the Church and City Hall.

       Elisabeta Rizea lived in a divided Nucşoara, with few friends and many enemies, she was admired and hated, but she put the small mountain village, Nucşoara, on the Romanian memory map. And she did a little justice with the help of her memory!

        FOR ALL THIS, ELIZABETH RIZEA MUST HAVE A MEMORIAL HOUSE IN NUCŞOARA. THE ROAD TO THE HEAVEN ( CER) IS GIVING YOUR WELFARE. PLEASE BE WITH US. ENTER ON http://casaelisabetarizea.ro/ AND YOU WILL FIND ALL THE INFORMATION RELATED TO THE PROJECT. THANK YOU !

(Traducerea - Andrei Tudorean)

Ana Simion - a different Elisabeta Rizea (fragments)

Monday, 21 March, 2011

I am the remaining metal
        Of worlds turned into ash by crimes
        I am the forever healthy echo
        From worlds, from worlds that are gone.

       Toma Arnăuţoiu


      Ana Simion was born in 1920 in the village of Slatina, in the commune of Nucșoara, in a family of peasants, with hardworking parents who always worked their land assiduously. Apparently a simple girl who, like so many others before her, was going to fulfill the known destiny of life in the countryside - working the plot of land and raising animals in the summer, domestic activities such as weaving and knitting in the winter and, in the ancestral order of things - early marriage and raising children, then grandchildren... A life that fits the typical Romanian rural pattern, with nothing different in its main aspects compared to the lives of parents, grandparents or great-grandparents. But what could Ana or any other inhabitant of Nucșoara want more than to get caught up in thispattern and live as did so many others before them at these foothills? During her childhood years, there were events taking place in the East that would change not only her destiny, but also the destiny of the inhabitants of Nucșoara and of all Romanians. The idea of the new world, based on class struggle, was being kneaded in the Bolshevik mixer, the export of the proletarian revolution was considered and put into theories, abandoned and brought back to the forefront of Stalin's great goals.

In the hospital, in Domnești, with Dr. Floarea, in February 2010

     I met Ana Simion on a February day, in the hospital in Domnești, when she was 90 years old. A bronchial asthma brings her every month to a hospital room where she is cared for by her favorite doctor - Mrs. Floarea. Of course, she doesn't want to talk to just anyone, especially now that she is ill, but the influence of the same admirable doctor brings me in the immediate vicinity of history. This gentle little woman is living history to me. She is quietly sitting on the bed and looking at me, neither too curious nor too intrigued, as she has seen plenty of things in her life and is now resignedly waiting to be "investigated" yet again by someone else. From the very beginning, she tells me that many people came to see her and asked her all kinds of questions, some important people from Bucharest, others from around here. She puts me on guard with a brief account of an "important person" who, as they arrived at her home, no sooner had they said "hello" than they started with questions, just as they used to do during investigations back in the day! She would have kicked them out of the house, but they seemed 'well-read' and ... she was ashamed to do it. In my heart I was a little relieved, as I had greeted, I had introduced myself, I had explained the reason of my visit and that I was not in a hurry, and I do not even dare to ask for straightforward answers to my questionnaire. Having met these minimum requirements, I am therefore clumsily preparing to operate the recording device after asking her for permission to use it. The scene is ready, the main performer is patiently waiting to hear the gong, and the audience... Yes, it's expected to have an audience as well, right? Four ladies, patients and inhabitants of the same village, as I would later realize, are visibly looking forward to finding out or to listening again to Ana Simion's story. Out of habit or maybe because they didn't want to just sit and watch time go by, two of them keep crocheting. As I was focused on the subject, I didn't notice the ladies' initially distributive attention, who were listening so carefully, that any artist would have wanted them among their audience, and at the same time the hooks were performing their duty, weaving small things for the grandchildren. I would then realize that they were absorbing every word, they were sighing, as if they were suffering together with Ana, and they reacted, at times, with a whispered aversion, like an ancient Greek choir, as the tormented youth of the old lady was revealed to them in such tragic and painful detail.

Young Ana Simion

       Since I intend to be a thorough researcher (at least I promised that to myself), I start the interview with the well-established questions that are part of the Civic Academy Foundation's standard questionnaire for investigating oral history. It didn't take much experience to realize that this work tool could only be used partially, because memories come in waves and fail to respect the structure of the questionnaire, as well as the chronological structure. Besides, because I'm familiar with the subject, I intend to try to have a discussion. The first questions determine short answers, related to identification data, parents, school, marriage. As I expected, she was looking in her past, at her childhood and her family, with nostalgia and great love. Her parents were hardworking people, who minded their own business and who raised her to become a worthy woman and to settle down at the right time. 'I will be thankful to them even from beyond the grave', Ana tells me. Something in her voice reveals regret for not having pursued further education. She got an education from the person who set the village benchmark of intellectuality and morality, the primary school teacher Ion Arnăuțoiu, Toma and Petre's father. She and Toma used to be classmates, the latter being a very good student, of course... She has words of appreciation for her first teacher - 'he was a brilliant teacher, but I was also afraid of him, we shuddered' whenever he entered the classroom. His role did not end when walked out the school gate, but it continued, in another way - 'We would sometimes go to their house, we didn't have a doctor back then and we would ask them, he was smart, Arnăuțoiu was also like a doctor, he was a well-read man in our commune, not like the rest of us!'
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
        As in so many other cases, Ana Simion's fall was the result of betrayal. Judas was walking through the gardens of Nucșoara in plain sight. One day, as she was out in the fields, one of Chirca's boys, the one nicknamed the Deserter, was waving his arms to her, and she went toward him, scared, believing that something serious had perhaps happened to one of her parents. But when she got next to him, she was grabbed by some secret police officers and beaten with a pole in order to tell them where she had been hiding a fugitive, a certain Gheorghe Mămăligă. Indeed, he had been hiding in the hay attic, not at her house, but at her sister's, and she could not admit to anything, as she didn't want to bring Marinica into the hands of these butchers. Her testimony about that first contact with the secret police officers is staggering - 'They tortured me to tell them, but I didn't say anything. They took me into the woods, close by, beat me with a pole... to make me say where that Gheorghe Mămăligă was, because he had shot Chirca. How could I have said anything, if I had told them about someone, that someone would have told them about everyone else and they would have killed everyone because of me. I was better off dying by myself and not saying anything! But I wasn't as guilty as these people tortured me, no...' They took her to the headquarters of the secret police, probably to Câmpulung, where the ordeal continued - 'I was tortured beyond belief, I was lying on the table, and they beat me with rubber poles, the kind these cops have; there were four guys, two would be eating and the other two would be coming to beat me, they just wouldn't stop beating me, my hips are now broken, doctors can't give me injections. [...] God helped me, if I didn't tell on anyone. They promised me money, a job, because they had beaten me until I fell on the cement and they took me to a doctor.' They were probably scared they had exaggerated with the beating without learning anything and took her to a civilian physician to whom they lied about finding her lying on the street. But the detainee, "from the floor, numb", powerlessly whispered to the physician that she was under investigation, which triggered a reaction of indignation on his part - 'You pigs, you jerks, what did you do to her!" And to their argument that she said nothing of what she had done against the state, the doctor boldly replied, 'Well, it's a good thing she didn't, that would have destroyed the people she would have told on too. Congratulations!', and after that he gave her some pills that made her feel a bit better. The investigation went on, as she was then brought not to a cell, because there was no more room, but to the toilets! The investigators had information that she had hidden a partisan. 'So, they would say that the runaway was at my place, God, how they tortured me for that man, “where is Gheorghe, where is Gheorghe?"' And then how was I to tell them that he was in my sister's attic, she had three children. They would fire their guns from there and from there in the yard, but they didn't care the children could have died, they were the masters. And I didn't tell them! I told them 'I don't know' and 'I don't know' and so on! But they were certain, he had told them, he had told them and handed me over to them. Yes!' 'I was badly hurt, my back is killing me from all the rubber poles that I was beaten with as I was lying on that table. Four guys! Two would go and eat, the beating wouldn't stop. I myself wonder how I still exist. And I don't know, I don't know, I didn't tell them one word, they couldn’t make me! What do you mean you don't know? We've been told this and that. These were murderers, they were paid to beat people, I would have rather went to dig holes, I would have made holes so deep that I could have buried those guys in them, but I couldn't have beaten people and taken money and brought that money home and raised my children with torture money. They wouldn't just slap you once or twice, to interrogate you, no, they would kill you!’
         After almost two weeks during which there was no progress in the investigation and Ana did not give them any information, they changed the investigation procedure. The four torturers disappeared and their place was taken by a colonel, 'from Bucharest, a tall man' who appeared at around 12 o'clock one night, and  invited her to take a seat and expressed sympathy for the condition of the detainee, as 'her skin was all black with bruises, there was nowhere to stick a needle'. He took two pills out of his pocket and offered her one to feel a bit better. But Ana realized that there was something wrong with the pill and that it could make her admit to  something: 'I was no fool'. So she held the pill under the tongue and waited for the right moment to throw it away, but the colonel was, 'keeping a close eye on me as I am doing now with you'. Finally, she spit it out and told him she couldn't swallow it because she hadn't had anything to eat or drink in two weeks. The investigator then took out a pile of money and put it on the table, promising, at the same time, that he would get her a job in Bucharest, but she couldn't be budged from her initial statements that she didn't know nothing and she wasn't guilty of anything. 'I don't need the money, I stay here if you catch them, if he saw me after them, because I knew he wouldn't tell on me. When you catch them!' She was released and asked to report as soon as she learned anything about the partisans. Once she got home, her every step was being watched - 'well, secret police officers were constantly watching us from our garden, they even put some neighbors to watch us, some dumb neighbor, but he bloody died!' She must have failed to observe the instructions, as after a while she was again arrested and put under investigation at Câmpulung Muscel. Detention conditions are inhumane - the cellar was dark and there was water in it, I myself wonder how I still exist, the water was up to the knees and it was pitch-black, either you held your eyes open or... and a lock as if I had killed all the people in our village. I was alone in the cellar and still hadn't eaten anything'. The policeman taking her to the inquiry room and back to the cell was originally from Nucşoara and he would always say to her: 'Tell them, they know you know, tell them and end this, they will kill you!'. In the tortured woman's mind sprung the idea that it was the investigators themselves who had assigned him to convince her. But she stayed strong until the end, two hard weeks at the end of which she was released and accompanied to her sister who was living in the city. Ana couldn't be budged because 'I have stated from the start that I would die by myself, now tell me, if we had been all connected, when I would hear you... how would my soul have felt?' They would have given me a great reward, they would have given me everything, as I knew them and I could have told on everyone, but what would I have done with the money? I go to the Lord only with my soul!' 

                                                  Ana Simion during her first arrest, in 1950

         Her faith and belief that what she was doing was right and the Christian thing to do gave her strength throughout this entire period. She also has a strong opinion that sooner or later, God will repay everyone, depending on the good or the evil they have done. She sees now that Ion Chirca, the one who betrayed her, 'has been bedridden for years, but think of how long he made me suffer for him'. Ana is serene and expects that implacable divine justice to take place. She has seen plenty of things during her long life and she believes that, in a way, God has given her these years to watch how the wicked receive their reward. She briefly and significantly characterizes those who brutalized her as 'low-lives, how can they beat people and take money for it, couldn't they find another job?'. Among those, there are Captain Enache, captain Cârnu and a certain Ploscaru. "I mean I, a woman, have suffered, they broke my hips and my head, Captain Cârnu threw me against the stove and as I ricocheted back to him he slapped me, which occurred about 30 times; I myself wonder how I still exist, I'm as thin as a rake, but the Lord watched over me when I suffered and when they tortured us there!'. As in the case of Elisabeta Rizea, the investigators were unable to get her to talk. 'I'd rather suffer than tell on someone and know they're beating another person for me, that's what I thought. You tell on another person, that other person tells on another and I'm here and I hear them torturing them, those I told on! I die, only I die, no big deal, the soul gets out, what else can it do? Well, about 2-3 times they took me, the first one in the commune, there was nobody else taken to say who else knows and where those persons might be!' [...], I cried so much in that cell that I think blood came out of my eyes, when I saw myself alone in the cell for so many days, I wasn't given a mattress or anything, so I laid down on the iron, naked, on the iron bed like that, someone would come and give me food, sometimes I took it, other times I didn't. But to hell with them, they tortured us for nothing. But in my heart, I'm pleased that no one took a slap for me, with all their money and their job, may I live well and may they go to hell! Couldn't they find another job, other than beating and... killing people?'
       After escaping these two weeks of terror in Câmpulung, she was taken to her sister, who lived right in the city, and she stayed there for a while because her recovery was very difficult, given the ordeal she went through. 'We were tortured by these people just like Christ, they wouldn't have tortured us like that even if we had killed the entire country!'


( Oana Dinu, traducător, linkedin.com/in/oana-dinu)

                                         ( Ana Simion' s house in 2014)