“A Forgotten Place”
Katie Hauge
As a reflection of our trip, I wrote the following journal entry:
I was shocked, and ultimately pretty upset, about the condition in which the camps have been left by the country and people of Jáchymov. One side of the hill, where a camp used to be located, was converted into a ski hill and winter recreation center. At another location, a new house (complete with a new, shiny car, and neatly trimmed garden) was built a mere ten yards away from one of the only remaining physical structures left behind in the Jáchymov district. There was no sense of commemoration or remorse. – November 11th, 2018
*
My eyes were pulled from the window that day as Tomáš’s lanky figure made its way to the front of the bus.
“Okay class,” he said. Tomáš paused for everyone’s attention and adjusted his staple leather jacket. “We are now entering the Jáchymov district. We will be at our accommodation shortly. Dinner is at 7. Don’t be late – our guest will be eating with us.”
It was a Friday evening and our twenty-person class was spending the weekend with our Czech history professor in the hills of the Czech-German borderland. Jáchymov was a Czech spa-town about two hours from where we were studying in Prague. In the 19th century, radioactive ore was discovered near the town. Shortly after, a spa was opened, promising miraculous healing through the effects of radioactivity – it was years until scientists discovered the harmful effects of radiation exposure. After the second world war, Jáchymov became one of the Soviet Union’s biggest suppliers of fissile material for its nuclear weapons program. The miners of this radioactive material were forced laborers.
The Soviet’s sent anyone they perceived as a threat to communism to isolated labor camps, like the ones in Jáchymov, during their rule of Eastern Europe following the second world war. Anyone who had ties to disloyal anti-Communists could be imprisoned – doctors, students, government officials, scientists, artists. Uranium mining in forced labor camps continued in Jáchymov until 1964 before it was designated for “forbidden city.” Today, the city still bears the traces of its infamous past. Run-down spa hotels and deserted factories are scattered throughout small mining neighborhoods. The poor economic conditions were obvious from the peeling paint and broken windows on the houses we passed as our bus made its way through the town.
Our professor Tomáš was a specialist in political prisoners who survived the Soviet labor camps of the Jáchymov in the 1950s. He had quite the impressive resume for a man who hadn’t yet reached the age of 45 and who wore almost exclusively sunglasses, a leather jacket, and jeans. His non-profit commissioned informational signs to lead guests through the hillside ruins of the Jáchymov labor camps. He occasionally led tours, like the one he was taking us on. We had spent the last few class periods reading Tomáš’s interviews from survivors and his documentaries on political prisoners. And now we were going to see these camps for ourselves. Mirek Kopt, a survivor of the camp, would be joining us.
*
We settled into our rooms at a small chalet just below one of the campsites and made our way down to dinner. The attached restaurant was small. Two large tables spanned the width of the room, a cozy fireplace made its home at the back. Soon after we claimed our spots at one of the tables, Tomáš entered the room. An old man, perhaps 75, with large, sad eyes followed closely behind him. We all sat quietly as we watched them maneuver their way around the tables and settle in near the fire place.
Tomáš cleared his throat – he was serving as Mr. Kopt’s translator:
“He wants you to know from the beginning, his diagnosis. That is, cancer – a result of uranium exposure from the mines of Jáchymov. He has maybe a few more years to live. He is here to tell his story, as the district of Jáchymov and the country of the Czech Republic wish to bury his story. He hopes that history will not repeat itself, as the people of Jáchymov and the country of the Czech Republic are running away from this past. Tomorrow you will see what we mean”
As we came to learn over the next hour, Mr. Kopt was arrested for suspicion of treason and sent to the labor camps at Jáchymov. He detailed his experiences in the “Russian Bus”, a human-made block of prisoners tied together by steel chains so no one would run away as they trekked through the woods to the mines. He spent time underground in solitary confinement and almost died of one of the many diseases that ran rampant through the mines. He even let a camp doctor install a microchip in his tooth to transfer anti-communist information from one camp to another when he was moved. Mr. Kopt had an amazing ability to give an abundance of details about his life. So amazing that Tomáš had to ask an eager Mr. Kopt to slow down on many occasions.
*
The next morning, we began our journey through the hills to each of the camps in the Jáchymov district. It was one of those days where the sun never peeks out from the cloud covered sky. It never quite rained, but the air is moist, and clouds cling to the hilltops. Fitting, I guess, for a day to tour the sites of labor camps.
The path had led us winding through flattened trails along the hillside. At the beginning, the trees would sometimes part and we would glimpse the valley below. But as our hike went on, we went deeper into the woods. We walked quietly and quickly, chattering occasionally to pass the time. Eventually, we were close to the first site. The group had managed to stay pretty close together, and we soon gathered around Tomáš. Mr. Kopt, taking the journey by car, was waiting for us in the center of the clearing.
Site One was the remains of one of the Jáchymov labor camps. But what I saw was nothing. Just a clearing in the woods. I wasn’t sure quite what I was expecting. Maybe the forests had taken over most of the land, but I couldn’t see how a labor camp once stood in this clearing that wasn’t even the size of half a football field. We had visited the site of Auschwitz concentration camp a few weeks before. Well-maintained, heavily toured, the respect towards the tragedy that occurred was evident. But, here, only long grass remained. No structures, no paths. There was no sign that anything was ever here.
“Mr. Kopt, can you tell us what you remember from here?” Tomáš asked as the group approached him.
He murmured and turned around, Tomáš following close behind to translate. “In this corner was the guard tower.”
I followed his gaze. Nothing but a tree stood there now. He turned around again and walked a bit further into the clearing.
“Over here, was the residences – a series of wooden shacks. They weren’t well insulated, at night it was very cold.”
There was nothing special about this field Mr. Kopt was in, just grass and trees. There was nothing left behind to even reveal that something once stood here.
“Over here, barbed wire fences, I had two friends escape underneath them once. They didn’t get far before they were caught.” Mr. Kopt paused, Tomáš caught his breath. “It wasn’t easy to escape here, the woods were too big, no one had the strength to make it all of the way out before getting caught.”
It was hard to imagine the things that happened where we were standing. It was so plain, that I wouldn’t have even taken a second look as I passed through on my hike. Nothing remained.
*
We were having dinner, again with Mr. Kopt, to finish our somber weekend. I was the last one in. I entered the small dining room and took one of the last open chairs at the end of one of the two long tables. To my dismay, My friends had failed to secure me a place next to them. So, I plopped down next to some of my other classmates, some that I wasn’t as close too. Not an ideal situation to debrief after the heavy day we had.
Tomáš and Mr. Kopt entered a few moments later. I watched as Tomáš pointed at the single seat open next to me. Mr. Kopt came and sat down. Please, Tomáš come join us. I thought over and over again in hopes that he would read my mind. Mr. Kopt didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak a whiff of Czech. Maybe sick of translating, Tomáš abandoned his guest.
Mr. Kopt gave me a soft smile as he sat down. Not only was I sitting next to a piece of history, but I was sitting next to a man who lived a very hard life. There were so many things that I wanted to say to him. I’m sorry. Thank you. There were so many questions I had for him. How are you so positive? How do you spend your days now? But, we ate our dinner in silence as the sounds of my classmates laughter filled the room.
It was weird to not be able to communicate with the person that was eating next to me. Every now and again I shyly looked over at Mt. Kopt and smiled softly. He would smile back and nod. It was as if he understood what I was thinking, and knew I couldn’t communicate it to him. At least, that was what I was hoping.
As our meal came to a close, dinner plates were getting stacked and cleared by my classmates to ease the load of the restaurant staff. I looked over at Mr. Kopt again. I gestured towards his plate. He nodded reassuringly and smiled. I smiled back. If I couldn’t talk to Mr. Kopt, the least I could do was clear his plate.
***
