Romania trip - last day 08/11/2011 0 Comments   We’re in the car again, driving through the darkness of the Romanian countryside. It’s late, maybe 10:30, 11:00. We pass through the small towns, Vrata, Salcia, Cujimir…we pass young people walking along the road in small groups. Vali is driving and has put in a CD of Roma music – he knows what makes us happy. It’s the end of another trip with Yahad. It’s been less than a week, but seems much longer. It’s not just the length of the days or the hours spent bouncing along the rutted dirt roads or even the emotional intensity of some of the stories we hear; maybe it’s the sheer weight of the history of people struggling, suffering, dying and surviving at a time of war. The deportation stories vary. Nomadic Roma driving their carts across the country, escorted village to village by police; sedentary Roma packed into rail cars that cross the country in two days, four days, two weeks… Some were provided with food and water; some were given nothing; they lived in small houses, stables or in holes dug into the open fields where they were deposited; they were guarded by Ukranians, Romanians or no one; their neighbors were charitable, brutal or non-existent; death claimed grandparents, siblings, everyone or no one from their families. Witness, third from left, in nomadic Roma family photo and today. Paper trail One theme constant to all stories, however, is the ubiquitous presence of paper documents: lists of families to be deported, lists for transporting people, notebooks with records of family members for purposes of apportioning food, post-deportation documents for making (often fruitless) reparation claims, documents attesting to membership in an association of deportees. A few of the Roma deported to Transnistria left early. They were retrieved by a Romanian soldier who came looking for them. He was their son. Or their husband, or brother or father. Under the “rules” of the Antonescu regime’s deportation policy, the families of Roma soldier’s were supposedly among those exempt from the deportation orders. Yet many were deported anyways. Historians report that Roma soldiers threatened mutiny upon hearing that, after their departure for the front, their families had been deported; many were granted leave and given papers by their commanders to go to Transnistria to rescue their families from the awful conditions in which they lived. Father Desbois: When the soldier arrived at the stables, was he wearing civilian clothes or did he wear a uniform? Witness: He wore his uniform. Father Desbois: What color was the uniform? Witness: It was green. Father Desbois: Did he come by himself or was their someone with him? Witness: There was a policeman with him. Father Desbois: Did it happen often or seldom that a soldier would arrive looking for someone? Witness: It didn’t happen very often. Sometimes, the soldier would arrive and his family was not there. But, if there was someone else there with the same last name, say a cousin or something, they might depart with the soldier. Father Desbois: What did the soldier do when he arrived? Witness: He had a signed piece of paper authorizing the release of his family. He had gotten the letter from the Romanian military commander in Odessa. Some soldiers’ families traveling home had been later stopped and sent back to Transnistria so he traveled with his family until they were back home in Romania. He kept the piece of paper with him all the time. It gets personal Tonight, we returned to Girly Mare, the hometown of our Roma guides where we were invited for a farewell dinner. Florin’s beautiful children darted about while he poured our glasses full of the locally brewed (very tasty, very potent) “house wine” and we toasted what has been, for Yahad, a productive trip. We have interviewed 15 survivors and added significantly to the body of knowledge that will be made available to researchers and academics regarding the Roma deportation. The connection to the difficult history we are investigating is, of course, more direct for our guides. At times, the connection turns personal. I finally asked Vali about the story Father Desbois had related to me at the beginning of the week. They had just returned from the Ukrainian village of Cavaluvka, in the former Transnistria, where they had conducted interviews with local residents, including some whose houses had been requisitioned by the Romanian authorities to house the Roma deportees. They had brought back with them two elderly deportation survivors, returning for the first time to the sites where they had been held 70 years before. One of the survivors had been deported from the village of Girly Mare and interned in the same house with members of Vali’s family. Her family had been one of several packed into a room adjacent to the room where 50 people, all related to Vali had lived. “How many of the 50 people survived?” she was asked. “None,” was the reply. Vali had known family members had died in Transnistria but his parents had never spoken to their children in detail about the family’s history. I asked Vali if he had talked this week with his father about what he had heard in Cavaluvka. “A bit,” he said. “He told me some more about what happened.” He paused. “When I get home, I’m going to go to talk with my mother.” A traditional “roulette” this week in Craiova. It likely belongs to some of the few remaining “caldarasi,” the itinerant metal workers once prevalent throughout the country.   Romania Day 4 - Sadness and joy 08/09/2011 0 Comments   We weren’t sure if Constantin had heard us so our guide, Paris, repeated the question. “Is there anything we can get for you?” The old man looked up from the stool where he was perched under a tree. “Yes,” he said. “Cigarettes. It makes me sad to remember all this. I want to smoke.” Sad stories, indeed. The ground upon which Yahad treads is sown with human misery, pain and suffering. It is an inevitable characteristic of the subject matter being investigated: the Holocaust, the forced deportation of the Roma, Nazis, 1941… As much as there is richness in the echoes of a vanished way of life – horse drawn carts circulating through villages as the Roma call out the wares they are selling or play music to draw spectators to their performance…. As much as there are glimpses of past joys and celebrations – faded photos of weddings and family gatherings… As much as there are the stories filled with warmth and comfort – the neighbor children who would come over to make jam together from freshly picked fruit… Inevitably, the stories, prompted by our questions, turn to sorrow and despair. The sadness of the stories of the Roma can be almost overwhelming. The words return of the Roma woman quoted in the Moment Magazine article, Invisible Roma: “When you are Roma there is always…this loneliness feeling.” And yet…there is also a vitality and sparkle that surfaces regularly among the people we meet and are spending time with this week. A warm smile and an offer to share with us, their guests, the evidently very little that they have. The quick asides that have everyone in stitches – at least those that speak Romani. And then, there's the music... As we drove through the village of Cosoveni Sunday evening on our way to an interview, we had to squeeze down an already narrow dirt road made almost impassable by the long line of cars parked along both sides. We could hear the “gypsy” music even as we entered the village and as we inched along past its source, we saw a huge wedding party, everyone on their feet, dancing, dancing…young and old, a whirl of vibrant colors and gleaming smiles. Miguel Maldonado for Yahad - In Unum We even see flashes of this infectious joy from our guides, although given the seriousness with which they approach their work, it is usually restrained. Like the glow of banked fires. The youngest, Paris, however, is altogether irrepressible. Minutes after somberly translating a lengthy interview, he is back behind the wheel, whipping us toward our next destination, music blaring, not so much driving as dancing.  Here’s what I mean: Tomorrow: final interview notes and end of the road      Romania Day 3 - On the banks of the River Bug 08/08/2011 0 Comments   We started slowly today as we ventured into new territory, in the village of Cerat, 40 kilometers from Craiova and outside Leonardo’s more urban sphere of influence – he’ll re-join us tomorrow. Once we got rolling, however, we heard three different stories, with the last one leading to a startling musical interlude. The first survivor had amazing recall of his family’s deportation to Transnistria. With his current family hanging on his every word, he provided a detailed account of how black bread rations were distributed by the police at each house in their settlement. The distribution was overseen by the Roma community’s “bulibasa,” who entered each house with his notebook that listed the number of family members in order to determine the apportionment. When the bulibasa was found to have been hoarding the bread of his fellow Roma and was shot by the police, a new bulibasa stepped forward to take his place -- notebook and all. The second survivor’s story of deportation and internment was similar to many others that we have heard. It was his return journey that was so remarkable, resembling an action movie. With the war front approaching, he departed on foot for Romania as part of a column of 300-400 Roma and Jews, who were captured by German soldiers and locked in a stable for the night. A German-speaking Roma overheard the soldiers talking about returning to execute everyone in the morning; two Roma climbed over a high wall and freed the prisoners. Those that survived to the end bribed their way across a bridge moments before allied war planes blew it up, endured a blizzard and dodged patrols, bombs and bullets. Did someone say “Spielberg?” Our third survivor was in the midst of recounting an all-too-familiar story: the deportation to a village in Transnistria near the Bug River; deprivation, famine and diseases; a death toll that required the constant burning of bodies in a huge pit behind the stable into which the Roma were crowded. There was so much burning that the young girls of the Roma settlement made up a song, which they sung constantly. Suddenly, she began to sing. We scrambled for our cameras. The words below are a rough approximation of the lyrics, translated from first into French, then into English. The good Lord burns all The good Lord burns all The whole country is burning Where Antonescu sent us To the banks of the Bug Where the flames do not stop Where our young people have all fallen Like the Jews and the aged and pregnant women We remember Constantly crying   Romania Day 2 - Metalwork and nomadic life 08/07/2011 0 Comments   Sunday morning. Market day. We headed off to a huge clothing market in Craiova’s Roma quarter and were soon walking amongst the vast expanse of stalls bustling with shoppers.   A few “background” photos and Vali, captain of our local Roma team, loaded us back into the vehicles to return to the village where we had stopped last night, Cosoveni. Vali and the other members of our local team, Constantin, Florin and Paris, have been introduced previously during our November trip. The one newcomer, Leonardo, who has been guiding our contacts with the local communities in and around Craiova, has proven very effective in introducing us to the community and securing interviews. Following a bumpy start yesterday, he has gotten quite good at crowd control, quieting noisy interlopers (mainly men) and calming those who arrive looking for trouble (all men). He’s even turned off his cell phone. This afternoon’s interviews included two survivors whose families were nomadic metalworkers, traveling from village to village, calling out to advertise their wares as they drove their wagons through the streets.   The family of one of our interviewees created an impromptu mini-museum in the field where we were conducting the interview, bringing out and assembling (but not operating) a copper still. Many of the deportation stories of the nomadic Roma reflect similar experiences: escorted to Transnistria by gendarmes who promised a better life, they were left in fields with nothing and lived the next three years in holes, stables or in small outbuildings next to collective farms. Food, distributed initially, became the overriding preoccupation after it quickly ran out. Death from starvation, disease and misery, beginning in the first months became rampant as the months ticked by. The constant search for food posed more immediate threats as well: the accounts are multiple of beatings and summary executions of those caught outside their authorized living areas as well as horrific punishments and gruesome deaths. Making it to the end of the war was no guarantee of survival. All witnesses describe the trail of bodies along the roads of those who died on the trek home to Romania and…and…children abandoned by families lacking the strength to carry them another step. The team sits stone-faced, betraying no emotion. Next question. As Gen noted in her reports from last week’s Ukraine trip, we who are not fluent in the local language hear the stories a step removed, as our guides translate the responses into French. It is they who hear the stories first and it is they who feel the full emotional impact of the words as they are initially spoken.   After listening to several interviews in the Roma language, certain recurring words start to stick in our consciousness. One of them underlines a long time fact of life of the Roma people’s existence: “Hai.” Sometimes, it comes in bunches as a story is recounted: “Hai. Hai, hai, hai, hai!,” accompanied by the gestures with which the words were initially uttered 70 years ago.  “Hai” means “go.” Among our group, it translates into “let’s get going.” Spoken as an order or in hostility, it repeats a message all too familiar to the Roma: “Leave. We don’t want you here.”   Romania Day 1 - The day the music died 08/06/2011 0 Comments   We started this morning in Craiova, a city of 300,000 in southern Romania that will serve as our base during this trip. Unlike last November, we are operating outside of our guides’ home territory and the trip will be something of a test of our ability to continue to gain access to deportation survivors within the Roma community. We drove into one of the Roma quarters of Craiova, a city in which the Roma are considered to be relatively well off, at least in comparison to other Roma communities in Romania. This appeared to be borne out by the size of many of the houses in the neighborhood – the roads, however, were much less well off… With the help of a local inhabitant, a friend of our guides, we quickly located four deportation survivors willing to be interviewed. Each recounted the story of their family’s experience, the hardships and sorrows.  For the most part, the interviews went smoothly, without significant disturbances although not without incident.  Our local contact has the look and mannerisms of a bouncer – on a rugby team, he would be a prop; in American football, a middle linebacker. His formidable appearance is only slightly softened in knowing that the large tattoo that runs down the length of his powerful-looking arm is the name of his son. Like many of those who join us, he starts by interjecting his own comments and clarifications during the witness interviews until we have stopped the camera twice to explain that his comments will make it hard for our transcribers back in Paris to understand the witness answers. From then on, he reverts to bouncer mode, taking on the mission of shushing each new spectator arriving to investigate what we are up to.  The fact that it is now the continuous ringing of his cell phone that is the source of the most interference appears to go unregistered. However, it was our last interview in a village 20 km from Craiova that brought a new meaning to the term, “background noise.” Starting at 7:30 p.m. contributed to the problem: it seemed that a good portion of the neighborhood decided to sit in on the interview, with many comings and goings – at one point, I counted 31 spectators, ranging from infant to fellow octogenarian, most of whom listened quietly but, then, it only takes one – and there was more than one audience member unable to resist participating.  We took names and made appointments to return tomorrow at more private venues. The musicians’ child Our longest interview of the day was with 74-year-old Didila, the child of musicians who traveled from town to town in a covered wagon, entertaining the residents with singing and instrumental music. Upon arriving, the small caravan of five or six wagons would circulate through the streets, the accordion’s wistful tunes summoning spectators to the performance. Didila was too young to participate but told us of watching his parents and older siblings entertain the gathered crowd. “The young men and women would dance to the music,” he said. After the performance, spectators would give the performers money or food. Like so many of the stories we hear, the enchanting image turns to sadness. Didila’s family was in a small village performing when the gendarmes arrived.  Considered nomads by the authorities, the family was deported, once again traveling village to village but under gendarme escort. There was no music. “They confiscated our instruments,” says Didila. The family would return to Romania from their internment three years later to start re-building their life. Left behind in a village cemetery in Transnistria: Didila’s mother.   The Holocaust and the Porrajmos 08/06/2011 0 Comments   William Mengebier: This is the first post for a new research trip to Romania that starts tomorrow.  The reports may be interspersed with continuing posts by Gen Blouin reporting on her trip with a research team to Ukraine over the past week. In Romania, Yahad will be continuing its research into the forced deportation of the Roma to the Transnistria region, following an initial trip last November.  We will again be guided by members of the local Roma community who will seek to connect us with survivors of the deportation willing to share their memories. Roma and Jews One of the recurring themes from the November interviews was the regular encounters between the deported Roma with Jews, whether in camps or on the road. In preparing for this trip, I came across a just-published article "Roma in the Holocaust" by the leading Jewish magazine, Moment, which begins: “What Jews call the Holocaust, the Roma (also known as gypsies) call Porrajmos, their “devouring.” An accompanying article, “Invisible Roma” includes the lyrics to the Roma hymn, Gelem, Gelem, performed in the video below by the Ghandi School Choir of Pecs, Hungary.    I went, I went on long roads I met happy Roma O Roma where do you come from, With tents on happy roads? O Roma, O brothers I once had a great family, The Black Legions murdered them Come with me Roma from all the world For the Roma roads have opened Now is the time, rise up Roma now, We will rise high if we act O Roma, O brothers

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