Polish researchers capture their Ukrainian neighbors’ war stories: ‘They are all important’

Lyubov Prokopovych (60) almost pushes her pen through the paper as she writes down what she has experienced. Concentrated, her reading glasses slightly lowered, she writes for an hour about the events in her hometown Mariupol. And about what happened to her until the moment she sits here, at a table in the largest refugee center in Europe, just south-west of the Polish capital Warsaw. Sometimes she takes a short break and holds her 80-year-old mother’s hand.

On the table is a form with 46 questions, prepared by the Pilecki Institute in Warsaw. The research institute normally focuses on collecting and archiving Polish eyewitness accounts of the totalitarian regimes that occupied the country in the 20th century; Nazism and Communism. In March, the employees set up a special center named after Raphael Lemkin (see box at the bottom of this article) to collect testimonials from Ukraine. ‘History repeats itself’, says press officer Barbara Konarska gloomily.

The collected stories should capture the history of the Russian invasion as it still takes place. The institute also wants to maintain attention for the war by publicizing the reports from the war zone. There is also cooperation with the Public Prosecution Service (OM) in Poland, which collects evidence for war crimes. These efforts are part of the international support that the Public Prosecution Service in Kyiv is receiving in its own investigation into war crimes on Ukrainian soil. Since this spring, the Pilecki Institute has collected hundreds of testimonials in several places in Poland.

Within an hour, a dozen people gather at the tables with researchers and volunteers, between the showers and the reception of the refugee center. Later on, chairs have to be added. A few meters away, the long rows of war refugees’ sunbeds begin. There are about four thousand people here. The witnesses write or speak, with volunteers writing down their stories and asking questions. “Every story is important,” says institute employee Andrzej Zawistowski, who assists refugees in testifying. ‘Every great history is made up of small stories.’

Previously, he worked at the Warsaw Uprising Museum, dedicated to the 1944 uprising in which the Nazis destroyed the city and killed approximately 200,000 Polish civilians. “I spoke to witnesses sixty years after the events. Now you speak to them after three months. We have a unique opportunity to capture this now.’ This is completely voluntary, Zawistowski emphasizes, they do not put pressure on witnesses. ‘You have to realize that you are asking people to relive a traumatic experience.’ This involves caution and empathy.

bomb shelter

Lyubov Prokopovych is burning with desire to share her story, even after she has already committed it to paper. She mentions her address in Mariupol, near the Azov stable factory, one of the most hard-fought parts of the city. There is nothing left of her street. Prokopovych, a petite woman in cheerful floral trousers, shows photos of her home: an ashen block in the blackened frame of what was once a building.

When the shelling started in late February, she fled with her mother (80) and son (33) to the basement of a nearby school, packed with people in hiding. ‘We were in the cellar for twenty days. There was hardly any water or food. We ate canned dog food: three people shared one can.’ Outside, the artillery continued to strike. “That cellar would be our grave, I was sure of that.”

Prokopovych and her family left the cellar, after which they fell into the hands of the Russian army. They were deported to Russia via a filtration camp, she says, every detail still sharp in her mind: the time they left the cellar (5:45 pm), the uniforms and appearance of the soldiers, the route to the east (via Taganrog to a hamlet in Penza Oblast), the number of rail cars (eleven), the number of hours her son spent interrogating at the border (five). “He still hasn’t told me all about that.” In Russia, authorities wanted Prokopovych to surrender her Ukrainian passport. “Why would you want to go back?” they asked me.

Evidence

‘In totalitarian states, perpetrators are usually anonymous,’ says project leader Jakub Kiersikowski, once back at the institute. “But these testimonies are not: they have a name, a place, a description of what happened. This makes it harder for offenders to hide.’ The testimonials are kept in a safe place, both physically and digitally: Russian cyber attacks on the institute are regular. Written testimonies, such as those of Prokopovych, are digitized and translated.

Some reports go directly to the Polish Public Prosecutor’s Office, which is part of a special Joint Investigation Team (JIT) investigating war crimes in Ukraine. The JIT was founded in early March by Ukraine, Lithuania and Poland. The International Criminal Court (ICC) joined in April, followed a month later by Latvia, Estonia and Slovakia. Each of these agencies conducts its own investigations and gathers evidence. According to experts, when countries work too much on their own, ‘over-documentation’ arises. If witnesses are heard more than once, it can be unnecessarily traumatizing. And also inefficient.

To prevent this, there is intensive consultation between the countries in question and prosecutors have access to the evidence and information of their colleagues across the border, said Ton van Lierop, spokesperson for Eurojust, the European Agency for Legal Cooperation. National prosecutors decide who to question them, Eurojust supports the exchange of information to avoid duplication of work. For example, if a Ukrainian witness has been heard in Poland and then decides to continue traveling to Vilnius, the Lithuanian Public Prosecutor’s Office can check whether this person has testified before and what he said.

The main challenge is the amount of testimonials now that they are being collected on a large scale. Van Lierop: ‘A very large amount of evidence is coming, it is important to maintain an overview.’ Eurojust has hired additional people. In Poland, witnesses are still called upon to report via leaflets and targeted SMS campaigns. The Public Prosecution Service is assisted in this by NGOs and the border guard. They have collected more than 1,200 testimonials to date.

Lawsuits

Witnesses from the Pilecki Institute who provide evidence for war crimes are being approached again by the Public Prosecution Service, prosecutor Ryszard Rafalski said on the phone. “We have to go through a formal legal process.” The Public Prosecution Service offers psychological support, cooperation is on a voluntary basis. Rafalski does not want to give more details, because it is an ongoing investigation.

The material that the institute collects can thus end up in lawsuits. But that is a long-term thing, says project leader Kiersikowski. “This is happening now, so we need to record this now. We also speak to people who move west from Poland and do not return, or who may have died by the time a lawsuit begins.’

The work of the Pilecki Institute is not limited to Poland: there are also employees in Ukraine who collect material on the spot. Kiersikowski shows videos on his laptop. A woman tells of her husband’s execution by Russian soldiers, a young girl shows a place where the bodies of executed civilians have been burned. Incidentally, the institute is not only concerned with evidence of crimes, but also with daily reality in a war zone.

Prokopovych eventually managed to escape with her family from the complex where she was staying and, with the help of acquaintances, obtained train tickets to Saint Petersburg. ‘From there we went to Estonia. And now we’re here.’ The desire to share her story is further fueled by what she reads on Russian news sites. “The Russians deny everything, they say they are coming to free us. But they burn our houses and kill our children.’ She doesn’t know if there will ever be justice. “But I want you to hear my story.”