Men had safe hiding places, women had to guard their belongings. Nobody asked uncomfortable questions

Minority experiences are often not included in official history. In north-eastern Poland, there was also little mention of the local Belarusian-Orthodox community: Bieżeństvo, post-war displacements and crimes, and especially interreligious and ethnic tensions. Aneta Prymaka-Oniszk breaks this silence. He travels around Podlasie villages, talks to residents and historians, reads archival documents, and confronts the acquired knowledge with myths about Polish-Belarusian relations. Thanks to the courtesy of Wydawnictwo Czarne, we publish fragments from her latest book “Stones must have flown. The erased past of Podlasie”.

Olga Chomczyk, my grandmother, was born in 1908. Everyone called her Ola. She was always surprised when the name Aleksandra was abbreviated like that in my generation. In those days, Aleksandra was Shura. Ola was created from Olga. At least in Surażkowo, where she came from.

Surażkowo is a small settlement in the Knyszyńska Forest: a dozen or so houses on the bank of the Sokołda River. If you know the local shortcuts, it’s seven kilometers to walk to Supraśl. The list of parishioners who went to annual confession, prepared in 1912, listed fifty-five inhabitants, excluding only the youngest children who had not yet received this sacrament. Before World War I, all inhabitants of the settlement were Orthodox. Aunt Luda, with her passion for detail, recalled that in the 1930s there were thirteen farms there. As a result of marriages, Catholics appeared in two or three houses.

Each family had its own nickname

Many Chomczyks lived in Surażkowo, so each family had its own nickname. Those from whom Grandma Ola came were called Mahnats (Magnates); everyone here spoke Belarusian. […] But life was not pleasant for Mahnatau. Jan Chomczyk, the father of the family, died in 1912, before Ola could remember him properly. The mother, Aleksandra, from the Trochimowicz family from Cieliczanka near Supraśl, was left alone with seven children.

Press materials Czarne Publishing House

The oldest, Józef, born in 1895, was already seventeen years old, while the youngest, Aleksander, had not yet outgrown diapers. Among them were: Nicholas (1898), Płaton (1900), Włodzimierz (1901), Maria (1904) and the penultimate Olga, my grandmother. There were two or three other children, but they died immediately after birth or in the first years of life. […]

In the summer of 1915, the inhabitants of Surażkowo did not set out for the race. Yes, they were also afraid of the approaching front, but they hoped that the settlement hidden somewhere in the middle of the forest would be able to survive the worst. The men took the horses and cattle and hid in the forest. Only women and children remained at home.

At first, Aunt Luda didn’t understand the surprise with which I reacted to her words. How did the men run away, leaving the women to the mercy of the unknown, which aroused such fear that millions of people abandoned their villages? – Yes, they could take the men to war or kill them – she explained, as if the women were in no danger. As if during previous wars there were no rapes and violence even against little girls.

I heard many similar stories while collecting materials about the treadmill and the next world war. Men hid in safe places, women stayed at home to guard their belongings. This was repeated for generations and no one asked the uncomfortable questions about how it related to common myths about the weakness and fear of women and the care provided over them by men.

They were considered second-class citizens by the state

Fortunately, the passing front did not cause any major damage in Surażkowo – at least there was no mention of it. The women survived, the men returned from their forest hideouts, and a relatively normal life began. People did not lose their homes, farms, families or health like those who went on a journey. They entered the post-war reality in an incomparably better situation than their neighbors from other towns returning from Russia. But the rule of the Second Polish Republic did not leave good memories here. And it’s not just about the widespread poverty in the area, which my family has probably never experienced. As Orthodox Belarusians, they were considered second-class citizens by the state.

Their previous temples were closed or even taken away, their everyday language was ridiculed in the office, their affairs were refused, and they were reluctant to even take up the position of a cleaner or a guard in the office. The issue of injured dignity appears in almost all conversations with local people born in the late 1920s and early 1930s. I also remembered it from what my grandmother Ola and her generation told her, although I didn’t pay that much attention to it when I was a child.

Back then, I had a rather idyllic vision of Surażkowo. There was youth, joy and energy in her. During the day, work in the field, without sparing yourself. Harvest with a sickle, bright sun, dust of harvested grain. As the sun went down, the reapers returned, singing of course. They reached the village and the young people immediately flew to Sokołda, just outside the Chomczykowo farmyard. All that could be heard was the splash of bodies jumping into the water and the joyful squeals of bathing girls in white linen shirts and boys in handmade trousers. Then – as grandma said – there was milking the cows and cooking dinner, and when the older ones went to bed, the young ones went out to the benches in front of the house and started talking, singing, flirting, and sometimes dancing. A neighbor had an accordion, another had a violin – and the orchestra was ready, they danced on the grass or even on the road. There were a lot of young people here, so on autumn and winter evenings they gathered at someone’s place, often at the Chomczyk family’s, because they had a large house and a spacious room. They chipped wax onto the floor so that their legs could move better when dancing, and they had fun until the morning. Ola barely had time to put her head to the pillow when her mother was already waking her up for the rituals.

I found echoes of this Suraż energy in the pre-war press. In 1938, “Dziennik Białostocki” reported: “The village of Surażkowo near Supraśl, with only 12 farms, built a school, providing material, cash and labor for this purpose. Children from other villages will also use the school. Mr. Z. Piekarewicz was appointed head of the school. At the end of last year, a Polish Red Cross club was organized in Surażkowo. On January 14 this year, an amateur performance and a party for this organization took place in the new school building. Currently, a fund is being collected for the purchase of a radio apparatus. There is also a project to build a People’s House.

It must have appeared to her as Arcadia

Grandma was no longer in Surażkowo, but the description of local activities matches her memories. She often recited fragments of the roles she played in the theater, rather in Polish; definitely something from Fredro. They sold tickets to performances to have money to buy costumes for subsequent performances. In the “club” – that’s what grandma called it – they played games with the musician, and also set up a shop selling drinks and cakes to pay the musician. Later, when in the distant Łososno Ola was left alone with her three children, and at night groups of armed men were banging on the doors and windows of their house, youth must have seemed like an arcade to her. She idealized her in the stories she passed on to her children and grandchildren. It fired up my imagination. I was waiting for him to take me to this Surażko paradise, just like my oldest sister and uncle Sławek’s son, but it never happened. Years later, I had to find it myself.