"Chronicle of Terror": Odessa Under Fire, 1920

With this publication, Intentcontinues its series of reviews dedicated to contemporary Ukrainian publications. The reviewsfor Intent as part of this project are written by Maria Galina—a Ukrainian writer, poet, and literary critic, and winner of several literary awards. This time, we’ll be discussing Oleksandr Shyshko’s monograph *The Activities of the Odesa Provincial Extraordinary Commission in 1920: A Chronicle of Terror” (Odesa: Astroprint, 2026)—a documentary chronicle of the year when execution lists, rather than the law, prevailed in Odesa.

Kataev’s biography—given the system of persecution of “hostile elements” and the web of lies spun by the Soviet authorities—is tumultuous and rather murky; but according to one account, he joined Hetman Skoropadsky’s armed forces at one point, and then, in 1918, when the hetman fell, he joined the Volunteer Army. For young Odessans of that time, this was not exactly a typical biography, but it was not unique either. It was precisely this experience that shaped the writer, who chose a unique—yet still a form of resistance—against Soviet rule, primarily an aesthetic one. “Movism”—a literary movement coined by Kataev—was a challenge to the then-dominant Socialist Realism, but the author avoided controversial topics until a certain point. That is, until 1979, when Odessa native Valentin Kataev wrote a novella with the working title “The Angel of Death.” It was published in 1980 in the magazine *Novy Mir* under the title “*Werther* Has Already Been Written,” as they say, thanks to Suslov’s patronage, and caused quite a scandal. This was because it was one of the first references to the Red Terror in Odessa in censored Soviet literature. In 1999, “A Real Commentary on V. Kataev’s novella *Werther Has Already Been Written* by Odessa local historian, bibliophile, and researcher Sergei Zenonovich Lushchik (1925–2015), and in 2026, the publishing house “Astroprint” — a substantial monograph by Oleksandr Shyshko, *The Activities of the Odessa Provincial Extraordinary Commission in 1920: A Chronicle of Terror*, the presentation of which at the M. Hrushevsky Library we are all eagerly awaiting. The name Valentin Kataev appears six times in the index: pp. 7, 12, 34, 47, 116, 127. 

It must be said right away that the author’s work is impressive, for we are presented not only with a chronological account of the material but also with an extensive bibliography and an alphabetical list of victims of terror, complete with source citations.

List of victims of terror from Oleksandr Shyshko’s monograph. PHOTO: Maria Galina

In fact, the preface already describes the horrific impact that the activities of the Odessa Provincial Extraordinary Commission (OGNK) had on the city and its residents in 1920. The endless search for enemies—both real and imagined—the suppression of “counterrevolutionary” uprisings, the terror against residents, and the crackdown on “speculators,” the replacement of the law with “decrees,” searches, roundups, and denunciations—all of this created an atmosphere of terror and uncertainty. I would add that the media of the time played a significant role in spreading terror, for it was there that the OGNK’s orders were published, along with announcements regarding the mandatory registration of certain population groups and, most importantly, execution lists. It was precisely such a list that played a fateful role in the family of the protagonist of Kataev’s novella—exactly the kind of miracle described by the author of the monograph(and miracles did happen)— happened to Kataev himself—who had participated in a “counterrevolutionary uprising”—and his brother (who was completely uninvolved but was arrested nonetheless), as well as to the novel’s protagonist.

Real-life accounts of the OGNK’s activities were published during the brief period of the change in power in 1919, but then there was almost nothing for a long time. Both Kataev’s novella and Lushchik’s analysis of it were published before the archives of the Extraordinary Commissions were made public. That is precisely why the works written after the 2015 adoption of the Law “On Access to the Archives of the Repressive Bodies of the Communist Totalitarian Regime of 1917–1991” are of considerable significance. Perhaps this will serve as an antidote to nostalgia for the “good old days,” for this is only a fraction of the terror unleashed by the regime, particularly against Ukrainians.

Who, then, was executed in 1920? (Denikin’s forces, I remind you, arrived for a short period and then left, and this provided additional pretexts for the crackdown on the local population.) Everything that follows is in quotation marks—so-called currency speculators, bribe-takers, bandits (i.e., criminal elements), speculators, monarchists, agitators against Soviet power, White Guard collaborators, Petliurists, and so on.

There were even some truly bizarre accusations: for example, Georgy Akula was executed simultaneously as both a “counterintelligence agent and an extortionist.”

Were there real grounds in some cases? Here I would say that in this instance, that’s not how it works. Were there speculators? Of course, because in hard times, someone is always selling something. Were there murders and banditry? Of course there were. Unfortunately, they’re always present, and back then the government was unstable, constantly changing, and the law didn’t apply. Pogroms—yes. A shameful chapter, but they happened. Was there resistance to the Bolsheviks and their terror? Of course, there were brave people. Were there many of them? Actually, I don’t know—there are always fewer brave people than those who try to go with the flow. But according to the lists provided here, far more people were convicted and executed than there were actual participants in the resistance. Because that’s what’s called terror. Terror is when, instead of the law, there are execution lists, the arbitrariness of random perpetrators, contempt for life, and a callous habit of bloodshed.

Some cases were fabricated by the Chekists, such as the case of the “Polish Military Organization,” which led to the execution of nearly 100 Poles, most of whom were shot in August 1920, including high school students aged 15–16.

Let’s look at the charges against those executed—the appendix, which is in fact an execution list covering only March through December 1920 and consists of 1,551 people, has no “charges” column, whereas the lists that follow—those of people sentenced to concentration camps—do include such a column. And it must be said that this list is an order of magnitude smaller. Which is a typical sign of terror.

To identify the individual. Offered a bribe. Buying/selling counterfeit money. Counterrevolution. Betraying Comrade Kangun’s family to the volunteers (remember the name of the hill?). Evading the linen tax. Serving with the Whites. A crime committed in an official capacity during the period 1902–1914 (what is this? I believe it was based on a denunciation, nothing else). Banditry and bribery at the same time. Banditry and moonshining at the same time. Drunkenness. Banditry and a harmful element to Soviet power (remember Froim Grach?). Served in the police; was a detective. Journalist; published counterrevolutionary articles in Odessa during the White Guard era. Countess. No specific occupation. Forgery of documents to avoid mobilization. Co-owner of a soap factory. A non-working element. Concealment of soap from official records. Concealment of 500 bottles of wine.

In reality, this is a chronicle of life that has turned into a chronicle of death.

A pitiful, clumsy, sometimes terrifying life—but life nonetheless. A life that is always the target of hatred in any form of terror. We are now witnessing how a terrorist state is destroying our lives—diverse, flourishing, sometimes tragic, but always life. So this monograph is perhaps especially useful right now.

And one more thing—this is a purely scholarly work, with no fiction, no embellishment for the sake of beauty, where fiction and speculation are mixed with facts. And that is precisely what makes it a valuable resource for anyone who cares about Odessa—historians, tour guides, journalists. And, of course, writers. Although, well, Kataev has already been here. Babel has already been here. Paustovsky has already been here. But that’s part of the terrible truth (Paustovsky deserves a separate discussion). Our history is horrific, bloody, and motley… But it’s ours.

Марія Галіна