ΒΒC 11 February 2014: Meeting Florian Cormos, Romanian Communist
jailer
Decades-old crimes from Romania's communist past are
still haunting the country as surviving victims demand justice. The BBC's Nick
Thorpe interviewed a former police officer blamed for prisoners' deaths, who is
now being investigated by prosecutors.
Florian Cormos sits up painfully from his bed to talk
to me. A month before his 87th birthday, he is not in good health. Four or five
different medicines are assembled on a tray on the table, beside some wilting
snowdrops. His only daughter, Evgenia, cares for him in their small flat in a
quiet provincial town - Oradea in northern Romania. Today, however, is different. Mr Cormos stands
accused of crimes against humanity. The Institute for the Investigation of
Communist Crimes (IICCMER), a government agency, has handed his file to the
chief prosecutor, with the recommendation that he face charges for his role as
commander of a prison camp for mainly political detainees. More specifically, he is accused of
responsibility for the deaths of 115 people at the Columbia camp, in Cernavoda,
between December 1952 and March 1953. Mr
Cormos knows of only 12 deaths during his time in charge. He laughs bitterly
when I challenge him to explain how more than 100 people could have died on his
watch. His voice, and his denials, get
stronger as the interview proceeds.
"Where do you think I was, Auschwitz?" - and
he throws a wad of papers across the table, in disgust.
Class enemies
In 1949, Romania's new Communist leaders took the
decision, at the instigation of the Soviet Union, whose troops occupied the
country, to build a 70km- (43 mile-) canal from the Danube at Cernavoda to the
Black Sea, cutting more than 200km off the shipping route for goods on the
Danube. Up to 100,000 prisoners, around
80% of them Romania's newly dispossessed middle class, arrested for either
opposing Communism or failing to support it, were sent to eight camps along the
planned route. Equipped with only shovels and wheelbarrows, they started
digging. By 1952, by Mr Cormos's own admission, they were dying - from
overwork, malnutrition, disease and lack of medicine. The accusations against
him concern in particular the punishment cell in the middle of the Columbia
camp.
"He sent detainees for 20 to 30 days of isolation
in this cell. There they received just 100g (3.5oz) of bread and a mug of tea
per day. Most were in leg irons," says Andrei Muraru, head of the IICCMER.
He lists names, and the conditions the men were in
when they came out of the cell. Eight were in a coma. One man's feet fell off
when his shoes were removed. Several men's legs had gone black with gangrene.
One of the guards allegedly poured water into the
cell, turning the floor into solid ice.
The bodies of the dead were piled on a horse-drawn
cart and taken to the town cemetery, on the hill overlooking the camp, where
they were dumped in pits.
Mr Cormos does not deny the existence of such a
punishment cell.
"They had them in all the camps," he says.
But he insists that as a 25-year-old officer drafted there from police school, he
was placed in an impossible position by his superiors.
"There were 2,500 to 3,000 prisoners in Columbia.
They were very weak and sick after three years digging the canal."
He also claims that he disobeyed an order from the
then Romanian Interior Minister, Pavel Stefan, to "cure the sick with
work".
That sentence meant - Mr Cormos says - "to let
them die as quickly as possible".
Other Communist leaders of that era spoke proudly of
the Danube-Black Sea Canal as "the grave of the Romanian
bourgeoisie".
De-Stalinisation
"As commander of a camp, you could choose the
degree of cruelty. There was no written instruction. Commanders… did what they
wanted with the prisoners," says Mr Muraru.
A peculiarity of the investigation of Mr Cormos is
that he has already served four years in prison, for his role at the camp.
In March 1953 Stalin died in the Soviet Union, and a
thaw set in immediately throughout the Communist bloc of countries in eastern
Europe.
Mr Cormos was put on trial and found guilty of
"terror", and sent to another notorious Romanian prison, in Jilava.
"It was a show trial. But the colonel who
appointed me to the job spoke out in my defence: 'If Cormos is arrested, all
the prison officers along the whole canal should be arrested'."
In 1957 he was released and pardoned, and given a new
job as deputy head of the prison in Cluj.
The IICCMER was set up in Romania in 2006.
Last year it announced that it had drawn up a list of
35 former prison camp commanders and deputy commanders who are still alive -
aged 81-99.
There are some 53,000 people still alive who suffered
either imprisonment, deportation or other serious punishments in the Communist
era.
They receive on average 100 euros (£83; $137) a month
from the Romanian state as compensation.
Two ex-commanders were charged last year with
genocide: Alexander Visinescu, who headed the prison in Ramnicu Serat, and Ioan
Ficior, ex-commander of the notorious Periprava prison camp in the Danube
delta. Both pleaded not guilty.
In Mr Cormos' case, the prosecutor is expected to
decide within a month whether to lay charges.
"I will not live long enough to appear in
court," Mr Cormos told me as I left his room.
A suddenly very lonely old man, resting his head in
his hands.
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου