Patrick Desbois is a French priest with a special calling: he has dedicated himself to documenting the mass murders of Ukrainian Jews by the Nazis during World War II, committed in the days before the efficiency of gas chamber and oven had replaced the messier business of bullet and pit.
Father Desbois knows that, although most of these estimated million and a half deaths are undocumented, there were witnesses—villagers who watched and remembered. The very young among them are old now, but they are able to lead the inquisitive priest to the places where the unmarked graves lie, waiting.
The death camps have received far more publicity, but the Nazis managed to kill a huge number of Jews in Ukraine, where the bulk of Russian Jewry lived, an inheritance from a Polish past. This is where the famous Babi Yar pits were located, subject of Yevtushenko’s brave poem.
The Nazis were determined to leave no witnesses. But even at Babi Yar and many other scenes of execution and horror, a few people survived by sustaining nonfatal injuries, playing dead, and lying among the pile of bodies to crawl out later:
One of the most often-cited parts of Kuznetsov’s documentary novel [on Babi Yar] is the testimony of Dina Pronicheva, an actress of Kiev Puppet Theater. She was one of those ordered to march to the ravine, forced to undress, and then shot. Severely wounded, she played dead in a pile of corpses, and eventually managed to escape. She was one of the very few survivors of the massacre; she later related her horrifying story to Kuznetsov.
Desbois interviews the other surviving witnesses, those who were neither perpetrators nor victims, but onlookers. Of course, in a way, you might say they were victims, as well—young children or teenagers who were secret watchers of scenes of almost unimaginable horror, leaving them with dreadful memories for all these decades, and feeling somehow complicit in events over which they had no control.
And that is why so many of them greet Father Desbois with a sense of great relief. He is not there to judge, but to witness the witnesses, who have been silent far too long about their terrible burden:
“People talk as if these things happened yesterday, as if 60 years didn’t exist,” Father Desbois said. “Some ask, ”˜Why are you coming so late? We have been waiting for you.’”
You might ask why they’ve not spoken up sooner, if they wanted to so very much? I can only answer that shame is often the psychological experience of children in such situations, and silence is shame’s companion. A priest can help them transcend that feeling, opening mouths that lead to uncovering the location of graves and reclaiming a terrible past.