Canadian Travels Around Belarusl: Grief of Khatyn

The First World War was ended by a peace treaty between the new Soviet government and the German Empire before the armistice was signed between the remaining combatants on November 11. But that only began a new fight. By the time the Second World War came to an end, the country had been ripped to pieces and millions were dead. Even today, there are constant reminders of the tall cost of war.

Instead of Nov. 11, the date of the Nazi surrender, May 9, is widely celebrated in Belarus and many other European countries. But it’s possible no other country in wartime Europe was quite as shattered as Belarus.

The German armies invaded Belarus with a commitment to eliminate not only the Jews (which made up nearly 10% of the pre-war population), but communists, academics and civilians. The country’s only defenders were the soviet army, already spread thin.

On March 22, 1943, Soviet partisans attacked a German convoy near the village of Khatyn, in rural Belarus. In response, the German army took out its wrath on the village.

Though it’s only fault was proximity to the ambush, the Germans marched on Khatyn. All the villagers were rounded up and moved into a large shed. The soldiers locked the doors and windows, then set it on fire. The soldiers shot anyone who tried to escape the inferno. All the villagers — 149 including 75 children — were killed.

All but one.

Josef Kaminsky, though brutally wounded, regained consciousness in time to hold his son for his last moments of life. He died in the arms of his father shortly after.

These stories were commonplace during the Nazi occupation. At least 5,295 Belarusian villages were destroyed by the Nazis. Most, and sometimes all, of their inhabitants were killed. During the occupation, more than 2.2 million Belarusians, including 90% of the Jewish population, were killed.

One of every four Belarusians died during World War II.

About an hour’s drive from Minsk, down a winding road off the main highway, is the Khatyn Memorial Complex. Its grounds are a testament to the very worst humanity is capable of inflicting, but also to courage and the commitment to never forget. It its entrance is a statue of Josef Kaminsky, holding his son during his last moments, the burns covering their skin immortalized.

The Khatyn Memorial Complex was created in the 1970s to honour the “victims of fascism” and remember all the villages burned and lives lost. The site doesn’t blame Nazis, though, because collaborators, including Russians, Ukrainians and Belarusians, all took part in the burnings. It was war, in all its horror.

The site contains earth from each of the villages destroyed. Chimneys were all that remained from the burned homes, and they have been left standing. At their top are bells that ring every thirty seconds, the rate at which Belarusians were killed throughout the Great Patriotic War.

In Canada, we most often remember those who didn’t return home and those who did with their scars, injuries, stories and nightmares. Rarely, if ever in the 20th and 21st century, have Canadian civilians and their towns been threatened buy the kind of war Europe suffered. For the survivors in Belarus, the ash beneath their feet is what’s left of their history and countrymen.

A visit to Khatyn was, for me, a reminder that no one wins in war. Whoever won this war meant little to the homeless, the childless, the orphans and ethnic groups who’d seen their numbers decimated.

I think of Josef Kaminsky and how alone he must have felt, not only at the loss of his entire village and son, but because no one could understand his grief and pain. I hope this Remembrance Day we can reflect on this and do our best to ensure no individual, group or country has to feel this pain again.

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