Monday 23 December 2024
I knew from the beginning that I would dedicate my Katyn book to the Polish military and police officers, border agents, and other leading Poles whom the Soviet NKVD murdered during the Katyn Massacres. However, back in July 2007 I didn’t even think doing so would be so complicated for me. And I didn’t think so either in July 2024. And to be clear, I am making it complicated—no one else is.
On the Dedication Page of my revised Summer 2024 draft, I wrote: “Dedicated to the known and unknown victims of The Katyn Massacres.”
“What is the problem,” you, Reader, might ask? You might also say, “he’s acknowledging that there are still many more Poles whom the NKVD killed that the scholars and investigators don’t know about or can’t verify. Gorbachev, Yeltsin, and Putin haven’t released ALL the files on the Katyn Massacres. Makes sense to say ‘unknown.’ He’s being compassionate. During the first few weeks of World War II, the Soviets did capture and detain at least 250,000 Polish military, police, border patrol, and other members of the Polish state, illegally imprisoning them in camps throughout the Soviet Union. Some historians claim that the number may be as high as almost half a million Poles. Moreover, the rumors that the Soviets drowned Polish officers in the Artic Ocean aren’t necessarily hearsay. We just don’t know exactly how many Poles the Russians killed.” Yes, all true but I am bothered by something else.
During the Fall 2024 semester of my war class, I expanded my teaching focus on the Srebrenica Massacre (11 July-22 July 1995) from one lesson to two lessons. On the first day, I taught about the breakup of Yugoslavia and the war(s) that plagued the region in the1990s. I also discussed the legal and political history of war crimes. We also read Zbigniew Brzezinski, “After Srebrenica.” For the second class, I assigned three testimonies (Ahmo Hasić; Hasan Sejfo Hasanović; and Hajra Ćatić) from Voices from Srebrenica: Survivor Narratives of the Bosnian Genocide. We discussed these three testimonies; however, I was conflicted over how to call the individuals who wrote them.
You, Reader, may again question me: “What’s the problem? What’s he talking about? You might even ask: “Where is all this going?”
The problems, for me, were the words: “survivor” and “victim.”
Depending on the artist, work, or theme, I typically begin my class discussions by considering the etymology of certain words. Before teaching my Srebrenica Genocide unit, I took for granted the terms, “survivor” and “victim.” Before the Fall 2024 semester, I never bothered to look up the definition or etymology for either term. I used those words in my previous lectures, never questioning whether they are indeed precise terms to describe those individuals who have lived through and died due to wars, war crimes, and other devastating experiences.
What else, besides “survivor” or “victim,” would you call a person who was held against their will, being attacked, harmed, tortured, raped, or killed by an aggressor? While creating a slide presentation on the three Srebrenica Genocide testimonies, I looked up the meanings of the words “survivor” and “victim,” and what I found unsettled me, even angering me.
The etymology of “survivor” is: “anything left or living after the death of another or others.” Not dead. Not killed. The last one left. And by being the last one left—being the only one alive—this “survivor”—did they resist, fighting off the killer? Apparently, they held off enough not to succumb. Did they sustain injuries? How serious? Or did the criminal grow tired or bored, giving up trying to kill them, never getting to the “survivor” and finishing them off?
For me, the definition of survivor,” as stated above, has no agency. The survivor was acted upon, preyed upon by the assailant. For me, “survivor” seems insulting. They did something more than just “not die.” I want to focus on that aspect. They resisted. They fought back. They escaped. Nonetheless, the uncomfortable part of this discussion is: when the criminal physically overpowers the person they’re attacking. How should we proceed in this discussion when the aggressor beats them to near death? The “not dead,” the “not killed,” the “last one left” now becomes even more tasteless and depressing.
Synonyms for the word “survive” are: exist; thrive; live; endure; withstand; continue; persist; prosper; make it (through).
To “make it through” should seem to feel right; alas, I don’t think it does. How did they “make it through”? To the intensive care unit? What is the implication of “making it through”? Dictionary makers describe this expression as: “to complete without significant stress or harm.” How traumatizing must the stress or harm not be for the person who was attacked and lived—and how should I say it now, the person who didn’t die? —did they “stick it out”? How close to death when trying to “make it through” must one be? How close to the point of losing consciousness? How physically and mentally intact must one be to “make it through”? Are they paralyzed? maimed? disabled? To what extent? For how long? What of the psychological trauma? At that point, do you remember what had happened to yourself, your friends and family, your town?
“Thrive” means to develop well. “I hope you are thriving” is a common greeting in email and text correspondences; however, hoping someone is “thriving,” when they have experienced a terrible, tragic ordeal feels now wrong. Because they “made it through” after rape, torture, attempted murder, we should choose our words more carefully, and certainly not use “thrive” in our well-intended but poorly executed conversations.
To “endure” means to “suffer patiently.” Does that definition mean to be quiet, not to complain about the agony, pain, or decimation you have experienced? Francisco Goya’s plate 18– “Bury them and keep quiet,” from his Disasters of War mocks and criticizes this exact point. Goya has taught me well to debunk platitudes about war.
To “withstand” means to “remain undamaged or unaffected.” Undamaged? Unaffected? Groan… dictionary writers seem to be heartless. How is one a “survivor” without some kind of “damage” being afflicted upon you, without some kind of “damage” now shaping you? Temporary or permanent damage? What kind of “damage” are we talking about? How does one remain unaffected by that damage?
The etymology of “victim” is: from the Latin victima, meaning “sacrificial animal; person or animal killed as a sacrifice, a word of uncertain origin.” Word historians also say of “victim”: “Sense of ‘person who is hurt, tortured, or killed by another’ is recorded from 1650s; meaning ‘person oppressed by some power or situation, person ruined or greatly injured or made to suffer in the pursuit of an object, or for the gratification of a passion or infatuation, or from disease or disaster’ is from 1718.”
And if you consider the root words for “sacrifice,” matters become even more troubling: to make holy— “holy” means “showing a devotion to God and to a life of virtue.” What happened to “thou shall not kill”? How is a tortured, mutilated, and dead individual or the individual’s family who now live without their loved one “made holy” by the murderer sacrificing them?
Synonyms for “victim” are: fatality; martyr; sacrifice; causality; loss; loser; underdog; prey.
A “martyr” volunteers themselves to die for a cause or conviction. I only know of one person who willingly volunteered himself to get arrested by the Nazis to end up in Auschwitz: Polish Army officer and Underground member, Witold Pilecki. In 1940, his mission—his self-appointed mission—was to gather intelligence about the atrocities being perpetrated by the SS in the newly opened concentration camp. There was no guarantee he would “survive.” He remained in Auschwitz for over two years! His escape was incredible. His example is exceptional. Later, post-war Polish communists arrested him for collaborating with the Nazis—a false, hateful lie—then finding him guilty of this Orwellian crime, executed him. Yes, he was a martyr, a double martyr; however, I don’t think other individuals would view themselves as “volunteers” or “martyrs” after being raped, tortured… and those who have been massacred by war criminals wouldn’t necessarily be viewed as “scapegoats.” Again, this synonym for the word “victim” becomes crass, sickening, and demoralizing.
How dare the language makers even suggest the next word as an alternative for “victim”? “Loser” … really? Language often fails us, but to call someone who has experienced ghastly, monstrous acts of Evil … to CALL THEM losers is beyond morally reprehensible. “Underdog” … what does a competitor with slim chances of winning a game have to do with losing one’s life? losing one’s humanity? with being violated, abused…?
“Casualty”: harmed, lost, or destroyed; is this alternative better? Etymologists trace the origins of “causality” to mean: “chance, accident; incidental charge.” Sometimes, people die, for example, in war, accidentally; however, what of the premeditated, coordinated murders of millions? Were their homicides mishaps? The planned, organized, and coordinated war crimes, like the Katyn Massacres, weren’t impulsive, coincidental mistakes perpetrated by overly excited or bored NKVD guards and their superiors. Do we fault the language for being out of date or out of touch, or do we reprimand the poets, philosophers, lawmakers… ourselves for being ineloquent or careless?
During that Srebrenica testimonies class, I couldn’t resist the urge to utter the phrase: “You’re a survivor” in such a horrid, Hollywood accented way, mimicking television actors pretending (and failing) to be empathetic police officers and A.D.A.s (assistant district attorneys) while cheering up hospitalized innocents who have been assaulted. The exaggerated and condescending tone of these law enforcement officers saying: “you’re a survivor” alludes to what is lacking, or simply what was never there in the word “survivor.” And what precisely is missing that is not there in the word “survivor”?
I struggled during this point of class discussion. My intuition told me I was onto something illuminating; however, I couldn’t verbalize what my gut was telling me. To be honest, the emotions and thoughts that were flooding me… I couldn’t make sense of them. I paused, staring at the students to see whether any of them would raise their hands. No one did.
I knew that I wasn’t raising trivial objections about those two words, “survivor” and “victim;” I also knew I wasn’t quibbling over minutiae. At the heart of my desperation while searching for the eloquence and precision needed to dispense with the clumsy and unsympathetic words “survivor” and “victim” was dignity. “If there’s only one lesson that you’ll take away from my class is this: stop the dehumanization,” I heard my voice being echoed in my mind, recalling the first day’s lecture of the war class. I felt that “survivor” and “victim” dehumanized individuals. What was now being said in my mind, now I spoke aloud to the students: “Is there something better than survivor? “victim? Can we do better? The words survivor and victim are clumsy, awkward, and unkind. We must do better.”
I wasn’t surprised by the students’ silence. In that voiceless and bewildered moment, I couldn’t answer that question either. How exactly should we describe the people who suffered during but didn’t die after the Srebrenica Genocide? or any other awful event?
The “special victims” of “Special Victims Unit” connotes and reinforces further separation, marginalization, isolation, and otherness. There are “victims,” and then there is you, Special Victim … even more different, being relegated to a more powerless, (ironically) unimportant, and contemptuous status. How dehumanizing! How unjust! How crude!
Although I want to embrace the expression, “to live through this,” this saying seems not quite right. Again, if we go to the dictionary, finding the entry for “to live through,” we get: “to survive a troubling time.” Is this definition an example of circular logic, which I began to point out to my students? In other words, “to live through this” is “to survive.” To survive means to live through this, and to survive means … to survive. Pointless and exasperating!
Another intellectual dilemma I was now wrestling with was: “What does to live after a traumatizing event, like a war crime, feel and look like? How should we describe it?” Are there differences, as some philosophers insist upon, between “to live” and “to exist”? To live implies enjoyment, love, fulfillment…. To exist infers simply breathing, walking, eating, sleeping, defecating…. Does mourning over the loss of loved ones demonstrate “living” or “existing”? Does becoming a hermit who isolates to protect themselves from the dangers of the world “living” or “existing”?
“To live through this” feels like a compromise, one that I seem to lose much in the exasperation and despondency of not having something better, the disappointment and (self-) indignation of not coming up with something better.
At that critical moment in the lecture—and of course, there were only minutes left in the allotted time—I became disillusioned. My mind wandered. I started thinking of my Dedication Page for my Katyn manuscript. I remembered I used the word, “victims.” After my lesson on “survivor,” “victim,” and the Srebrenica Genocide, how could I respectfully honor the memories of all those Poles who were affected—note my cop-out word, “affected”—by the Soviet NKVD war criminals, and not insult them, dehumanize them by calling them “victims”?
The men and the one known woman who were executed by Soviet security services and dumped in pits in numerous Katyn Massacres death pits, and their wives and children who were arrested by the Soviet NKVD and (some dying during forced transports to eastern Soviet Union) and forced to inhabit (note the growing hesitation to use “live”) parts of Siberia, Kazakhstan, and elsewhere… they WEREN’T losers or martyrs or sacrifices or leftovers or vagrants or whatever else our dictionary and thesaurus makers offer as synonyms.
During my commute home, I thought about my Dedication Page. Did I need to start all over? How?
Those who died during the Katyn Massacres are… the dead. A harsh but true reality.
Those who didn’t die because the Soviet NKVD spared them for one reason or another… who are they? The fortunate, lucky ones? No. (Again, as I have mentioned in previous blogs, I don’t believe in “luck.”) On the surface, they were “survivors” because they didn’t die, they were the only ones left. There must be a better way to describe them, one that returns their dignity. Am I stuck with that word, “survivor”?
I look to Herman Melville, recalling “Epilogue” of Moby-Dick. Melville uses the following words: “survive,” “chanced,” “Fates,” “ordained,” and “orphan” to describe Ishamel, the only crewmember not to be killed by Moby Dick or sharks or sea-hawks, not to drown and die. I didn’t find the inspiration or solution to solve my dilemma in Melville’s masterpiece because he and I were writing about two different topics. Ultimately, I think Melville would tell me: “Keep looking, Son.”
I reflected upon how I ended my lecture on the Srebrenica Genocide. In my maddening drive to find some alternative to the existential debate I imposed upon my students, I now recall the following scene. With a minute left in the class, I addressed my students: “Perhaps instead of relying on a mere word to capture EVERYTHING, we should try to use full sentences, no matter how long or graceless they might become, to describe who they are and what they experienced.” Class dismissed.
I taught that class on “survivor” and “victim” on Thursday 03 October 2024. Until now I hadn’t thought again about this literary and scholarly dilemma. I hoped with time I would resolve this problem, both for my future war class students and for my Dedication Page. Using “victims” doesn’t feel right; using “victims” isn’t right. While drafting this blog, I reflected upon the phrasing of that dedication: “Dedicated to the known and unknown victims of The Katyn Massacres.” After deleting the word “victim,” I stared at the open space between the words “unknown” and “of.” How to fill that abyss?
I heeded my own advice to the students. I started placing particular words in that emptiness I had created, instilling precision, respect, and humanity; I hope I did.
My Katyn memoir is a long book, which I took a long time to write, and therefore, my revised Dedication can be a long one, too.
The following revised Dedication is a work in progress, but I think it’s an improvement:
To the Known and Unknown murdered Poles shot by the Soviet NKVD, the perpetrators of the Katyn Massacres.
To the 395 Polish Prisoners of War whom the Soviet NKVD did not murder but spared during the Katyn Massacres. Unnecessary was your guilt, shame, and self-hatred.
To the Known and Unknown Wives and Children touched by the Katyn Massacres. To the Wives and Children who died because you were the wives and children of the Katyn Massacres Dead. To the Wives and Children who lived somehow and thwarted Stalin who wanted you dead; you didn’t capitulate. To the Wives and Children who believed in hopeless hopes that your husbands, fathers, and sons would return to you.
You all are not forgotten by me.
I have misgivings with “touched by” in the first dedication line to the wives and children. Using the verb phrase “touched by” seems like cheating. It’s related to “affected by,” another evasion because it doesn’t take a stand; I don’t call the Katyn families’ deaths and difficult lives what they were: ones marked by losses of life and sadness. The word “touched” has the connotation of warmth, love. If I substitute “touched by” with “experienced,” that alternative seems as ambiguous and confusing as the former.
While typing that last sentence above, I considered adding another phrase: “who unwillingly became part of the jaded, scandalous, infamous….” And then I stopped. Too many unnecessary details, I surmised. I was being showy. I was being pedantic. I was being self-righteous. I wanted so badly to condemn the Soviets for their war crimes that I lost sight of my dedication to the Katyn wives and children. I was being political to an excessive degree. I allowed my own outrage over the post-World War II political landscape to distract me.
I wanted the phrase: “who unwillingly became part of the jaded, scandalous, infamous….” to express my empathy for the Katyn wives and children. I wanted to convey that instead of sympathy and a demand for justice for the Katyn dead and their families, the world largely chose not only to ignore the atrocities but even to mock the Poles. The word “Katyn” itself was a crime during Soviet times, even in communist Poland. Even though the United States House of Representatives in 1951 launched the United States House Select Committee to Conduct an Investigation of the Facts, Evidence, and Circumstances of the Katyn Forest Massacre (also known as the Madden Committee), too often Western democratic politicians shied away from denouncing the Soviets.
In those words: “jaded, scandalous, and infamous,” I hoped to be foreshadowing the following question: Was the West too embarrassed that they had kowtowed to Josef Stalin during and after World War II? The Katyn Massacres are an example of Cold War realpolitik gone morally wrong; moreover, I wanted to allude to the growing cynicism now associated with the Katyn Massacres.
I realized now by adding those elaborate and unnecessary details describing the post-Katyn Massacres world with words like: “jaded, scandalous, and infamous,” I was trying to write a mini chapter in the Dedication, a part of the book that should have been succinct. I was losing my focus on the Katyn wives and children. In my attempt to be thorough, I instead became fastidious. I was overwriting.
Nonetheless, I do like the phrase, “who became part of” for some reason. Becoming part of what exactly? A tragedy? a deception? a curse? a humiliation? Being sold-out by Poland’s World War II allies was tragic. Being turned into non-persons by post-war Soviet and Polish communist authorities (and even by an all too accommodating West) was disgraceful. These were the experiences their husbands and fathers had gone through as prisoners of war; however, I think, the wives and children’s circumstances were worse in other ways. I needed to acknowledge the wives and children’s sufferings somehow. Write what you mean, write what you feel, says my inner voice right now, adding, why don’t you add what you just wrote above into the Dedication?
Yes, I will. I am now revising again the Dedication Page.