Dear friends,
Today we celebrate the anniversary of the approval of Declaration of Human Rights. This is the story of the person who has spent 6 years in jail for spreading the Declaration in the USSR. However, the story isn't yet finished

"Omsk butcher" case chronicles.

In 1995 the writer Vladimir Boroda, currently living in Czech Republic vlboroda@yandex.ru , published the "Novel From Behind Bars" about six years in prison for distributing  "Universal Declaration of Human Rights". 

2002-2003 the "Novel From Behind Bars"  is spread in the net

2009 the "Novel From Behind Bars" is published in the USA

November 29,  2009 I posted a message about the book in the Memorial blog.

January  2010 the "Novel From Behind Bars" is published in Russia
August  3 ,  2010 – Mikhail Yutsis. a reader of a net-version of the book, launched the name of the prisoners' killer from the third part of the book on the Internet and found him out as a deputy of Omsk city council, presenting the Communist party in the committee on local management, law and order
September 8, 2010 – Vladimir Boroda  recognized Tulenev's photo;  public investigation of the case started; letters to the journalists, human rights defenders, Omsk citizens, bloggers, Communist party  have been sent; topics on social nets started. 

September 13 , 2010 – memories of the former prisoner Nikolai Savchenko, Omsk church presbiter, baptist, who was sentenced for his religious believes, were found on the Internet; Savchenko confirms the prisoners' tortures. The book that witnesses the tortures: "Follow their faith".

September  14, 2010 – Fritz Morgen's post  "Omsk butcher" attracts bloggers' attention to the investigation.

September  14, 2010 – a relative of the prisoner who was tortured by Tulenev  takes part in the investigation

September 17,  2010 – Comment "Who stands behind the Boroda's mask" appears on the site of Omsk Communist party. The article claims that the "Novel From Behind Bars"" is written for the elections and is doubtful. Besides that, the Communist party confirms that Tulenev's job was not  "in white gloves".

September 26, 2010 - "Boroda stuck off", a new comment on Omsk Communist party site appears . In short: it's unknown who writes about Tulenev,  Boroda doesn't  exist, Boroda hasn't been in jail, information about Tulenev is spread from Omsk because of the Gosduma and president elections. One of the paragraphs cites Tulenev: "There's nobody to sue, I'm going to start a criminal case".

September 28, 2010 – Vladimir Boroda sends video where he claims that every word in "the "Novel From Behind Bars"" is true.

September 28, 2010 – the community  omskiy_palach  is organized, all the case materials were transferred there.

September 30, 2010 – the answer  from Zjuganov's email  came that the information about Tulenev was received.

September 30,  2010 – Ekaterinburg citizen Vyacheslav Bashkov (Movement against violence) asks Tulenev  about  "Novel From Behind Bars" and shares the audio on the net. Tulenev says that hå hasn't read the book but everything there is a lie.

October 3,  2010 – public letter to Zjuganov. By that time tons and tons of letters  to the deputies, political  parties, human rights defenders, journalists, Omsk citizens, bloggers had been sent. 

October 4, 2010 – Tulenev  threatens Vyacheslav Bashkov  in a phone call from his phone number +73812538656

October 5, 2010 – Tulenev files for a criminal case. He asks to find the source of the "calumny" .

October 6, 2010 – Another Omsk city council member, Vitaly Putincev, was fortunately contacted though Odnoklassniki.ru social net. He ignored the message about Tulenev's crimes..

October 8, 2010  --  the prosecutor's office sent Tulenev's request to the police.

October  11 – vice-governor Besshtanko A.V. took into account both our letters addressed to the on-line office of governor Mr. Polezhaev. The site claims the letters should be answered by 10.11.2010

October 13 – At the session of  Omsk city Council Yuri Tulenev proposed to organize a committee to legally explore negative articles on city authorities and their activity , published recently, and "to clear up the media". It seems that United Russia and Communist Party mutually pardon each other's sins to keep the status quo.

October 18 – Eugeny Medvedev from Ekaterinburg , Omsk butcher community member, who spoke to Tulenev during the hot line and left the letter to the governor in his on-line office, got a phone call at 10.31, number +79039278768 from Gaponenko Eugeny Georgievich, assistant to the Head of the Omsk city council, Alexander Vladimirovich Cimbalist. He wanted to know where to find a copy of the book and he spoke about his future arrival at Ekaterinburg the following week.

October 20  -- international on-line magazine zadvorky "Zarubezhnyje zadvorki " (Dusseldorf) published the "Novel From Behind Bars"  as an online book.

October  20   -- interview with Vladimir Boroda appeared on the Internet.
October  22 – Omsk  mayor won the case against TV company Antenna 7, which accused him of bribing the Communist Party.  Communist Party didn't propose its candidate at mayor elections and as a result got hold of the office building. Obviously this case explains also the city  authorities position in the Omsk butcher case. 

November 5  -- Vladimir Boroda writes in his blog that he gets questions about Tulenev.

November 7 – site hippy.ru  is attacked. Its main page showed t he youtube video about Tulenev, references to the book and forum.

November 8 – public investigator Eugeny Medvedev publishes the answer of the Head of Omsk City council: "Answering your letter ¹ 6794 dated  11.10.2010 I inform you that city council doesn't possess the materils about illegal activity of Tulenev Yuri Vassilevich, therefore there're no reasons to terminate his deputy rights.  Signed: S.E. Alekseev "

November 8  -- an article "Red Defender" published on the site of "A&F". The article tells the facts collected by our community.

November 9 – the group SKM-Omsk (Alexey Baykov) tries to  discharge Tulenev  on Vkontakte site in a group "Omsk is our city"
November 9  -- Putin refused to discuss with the Omsk mayor the subject  of the pression from media.

November 10  – Two new articles appeared on Omsk-inform site because of the A&F Article: "Who defends  Victor Shreider? " and  "Communists commented on the scandal with Tulenev".
November 12 – heads of Omsk media address  to Omsk mayor Victor Shreider a public letter, in which they ask questions that look more like a list of mayor crimes. Question number six is formulated as follows: " What is the connection between you, an active member of the United Russia party, and the leaders of Omsk communist party?"

November  13  -- In  ru-compromat  community a new post on policeman Karmezel , mayor Shreider and deputy  Tulenev appeared
November  16  Communist party site published new yet empty article "Who does deputy Tulenev hinder?"

November  16  - "Novaya Gazeta"  at the request of PEN-club entrusted Georgy Borodyansky with the investigation of the case.

November  18  --  an unknown person who presented himself as a detective came to the Head of Omsk Common  House V. A. Kozlov and requested a written explanatory note  on the fact that  Omsk Common  House supposedly  sent a letter about Tulenev's case.

Join the investigation! We can't resist the power of the butchers, but we can find the witnesses against their unhuman crimes and obtain the public censure of the murderer.

Here are the parts of the book about Tulenev. Translated into English by isya.

Maslyak, the officer on duty, took me to the Seal right away. I figured out the hammers will be for real, from the heart. But I could not have imagined what was coming...

First they beat me in the Master's office. Then the ensigns, at the officer on duty's, with clubs and their feet. Apparetnly that was not enough, so in the basement it started anew. I rolled on the floor and could not scream any more, I was too tired to even feel pain, I cannot tell what happened to me. It is likely that my brain got tired of processing constant pain signals and switched off, seeing no other way to get away from the stimulus.

I started falling into a totally black sky, and all that scum, the ensigns, the snitches, the regime officers, officers on duty, the keep-the-place-clean inmates, the good-for-nothing inmates, the Seal -- remained somewhere far far away, on the sinful earth filled up with violence and suffering. I was falling faster by the second, straight into the sky, the space, the stars...

As I hit the cold floor, I came to. All my body was aching, I felt like I was ground in a mill, a giant mill, there was no single cell of my body, my aching body, which was not screaming in pain. But my brain, but myself, I was numb to the pain, as if my senses dimmed, my perception dimmed... I inhaled with difficulty and spat blood, and looked around lifting myself a little on my shivering hands. A cell like any other, with two windows, but without a bed. There were no glass in the windows, and snow was swirling around the room. "They decided to freeze me to death" - thought I, and fell into somewhere once again. I came to because of a terrible cold (it seemed only a second passed), because of such a terrible, terrifying cold that even the pain subsided. I sprang to my feet and jumped onto the radiator with my chest. The cold metal burned me as a fire...

- You sluts! - I remembered hearing about this cell, ``The African one". Oh you fucking comedians, fags... I dashed to the door... When I got exhausted from knocking at the door, I've realized - they won't open. It means I will die...

The first evening I just waved my arms, did squats until I could not go on any more, and I still felt how I am growing colder and colder. My tortured, beaten, bloodied body was gradually giving up... Nothing helped! Not the pushups, not the mock boxing... The night brought with it new torture - I desperately wanted to sleep. But all around me were concrete and metal filled with icy cold, space cold, extraterrestrial cold.

I tried to sleep standing, leaning on the door or the radiator. The cold burned me, and I could not, despite the terrible urge to sleep. The eyes closed themselves, the brain was awake, and all that together was torture even worse than beatings.

Finally, not being able to fight myself anymore, feeling dissociated from myself, I breathed very deeply for several times, did that instinctively, uncontrollably. I held my breath, very deep, until the noise in my ears, stopping breathing completely. Absolutely stopping. A hot wave of a long-awaited warmth engulfed me, engulfed all my tired, beaten body, and I literally fell upon the icy concrete floor, with a chess pattern on it made with metal. Sighing once, I fell into the darkness...

I woke up after at most 20 minutes. Because of the terrifying cold piercing me right through, filling all me up. Having sprung to my feet, I dashed to the toilet bowl, I desperately wanted to pee, but a strong pain in my urethra... I wanted to pee, but I could not. Trying to escape from the cold, I just started to wave my hands as before, but my new, acquired instinct has manifested itself. I breathed deeply for several times, waited till the noise in my ears, felt the warm wave, and fell onto the concrete icy floor. In a jacket and pants made of thin cotton, washed to the point of making holes in it, calico underwear and rubber slippers on my bare feet, with rubber gluing itself to my feet because of the cold...
This is how I spent the first night, the most terrible night of my life. Several deep breaths, stopping to breathe, the long-awaited warmth, a fall onto the icy concrete floor, some sleep - similar to fainting, very deep, without any dreams or worries, then awakening because of the icy cold, piercing all of me. And then one more cycle.

I saw the daybreak feeling as if I slept well, and even feeling somewhat fresher. My body ached less, but frequent urinating was not nice, with aching urethra, with blood. Evidently they have damaged my bladder or kidneys during the beatings...

I heared the food hole clanging, it was my first sound in this cell. They gave me boiling water, real boiling water, and the ration of bread for the day. I suddenly recalled that yesterday they did not give me any food at all, but hunger was not there. I worried more about myself. Or, rather, my new abilities and feelings. "Maybe I will just cease to feel any cold. Like a pinguin" - I joked.

I am walking around in the cell, easily, like having a spring inside me. The snow is swirling; a cold, invigorating wind is bursting into the room. It pierces all of me, but I do not feel cold.

My body, my brain were engulfed again and again by enormous waves, now cold, now hot. It was unusual, the feeling was strange and unknown to me, but pleasant. I was bursting with excitement, it seemed to me that if I jump, I will fly. Every cell of my body was full of energy, having come out of who knows where; full of power, but not the physical power, of some strange, unusual one.

As I walked around in the cell, from time to time doing instinctively deep breaths and stopping to breathe, I did not notice the lunch time.

The food hole clanged, and I got a bowl of scalding water. The bowl was normal, an aluminium bowl chipped on the edges... I looked at the boled water, at the thin stretches of transparent steam, dissolving in the cold air of the cell, and poured the water into the toilet bowl. I did not need it... I did not feel cold! Only the face was feeling stretched, and my hands were greyish blue. The color of steel.

After the lunch, I started walking again. On top of the concrete floor, the Seal ordered to add metal plates, in squares roughly two feet by two feet. I now stepped onto the plates of the chess pattern, now skipping them, seeing through the walls the snowy, frozen earth, people crouched because of the cold, pine trees, fir trees, birches sleeping in the snow... Houses clinked because of the freezing cold, it seemed as if the air itself will break into billions little pieces if you hit it... The pieces will fly all around the universe, the galaxies, taking with them the Earth civilization, billions and billions miles away...

I saw through the walls the black shiny thoughts of Major Tyulenev, he designed ominous plans not only for correcting the inmates, no, he aimed for more, he could not stop thinking of the fame of Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin... Dictator Tyulenev! Statues, busts, portraits -- all the wall was covered with frost, laid out in a pattern, an enchanted forest... All over the country, portraits, busts, monuments, all officers have a moustache a la Tyulenev, and they are marching in formation, all the country -- into the cantine, the baths, the work, the social club... In the middle of the country, there is a monument touching the sky: Dictator Tyulenev, his feet wide apart, threatens the west with a club...

Some parts of the novel:
Novel From Behind Bars
by Vladimir Boroda
translated into English by Gwendolyn Albert
from a Czech translation by Vladimir Bystrov of the Russian original

Chapter Ten
I have court today.  Inside it's called getting hitched.  I sit where they tell me, dressed only in my underwear, and wait.   Citizen Judge, also in his underwear, scratches his tattooed paunch and gloriously proclaims:

"Now the members of the tribunal and those representing the prosecution and defense shall be named. The accused has the right to object to any of them with due justification.  Composition, of the tribunal: I am the Chairman, I was appointed by Soviet power, so you can't object to me, and two yes-men, or rather associate justices — Vanjka and Zhora.    The defense is the lawyer Semjon and the prosecutor is Humpback.    Accused:    what say you to those named?    Stop fidgeting, don't commit perjury - you can start with the dirt now, if you have any."

I object to them all and say why:  "Humpback yelled at me yesterday, I don't like the ugly mugs of the yes-men, and Semjon shoved me when we went for a walk — just casually, really, but who knows? It would be best to leave him out of this...."

I haven't gone nuts and it doesn't even seem crazy. My friends who know die law are trying me in the cell, and I am dancing around here voluntarily ~ even worse, I came to diem with this idea. Soon I will go before a real court and I already know the date:  September 21.   So I'm preparing, rehearsing, it's a game, which in contrast to other ridiculous, degrading games has a completely different point.   Besides the fact that it's fun for die others in the cell, big entertainment, the one who plays the accused gains an experience he couldn't otherwise have.   In a few years, after fll's been in court a few times, then he will also know the ropes.   But for now it's only a game, and it can only be played out sort of generally, not in particulars, because everyone here has had far too many rough experiences.

The trial continues:

"There's not going to be a transcript, assholes!"                                                                           

The Chairman of die tribunal begins the proceedings and calls on people to speak. The yes-men bray their agreement like donkeys. Not for nothing have these cons been nicknamed associate justices. The counsel for the prosecution babbles crudely and at the end brutally requests:         

Having taken this all into consideration, including the seriousness of the crime, and also in view of
tie fact of die threat the Professor's person represents to Soviet power, I request this court, the most humanitarian in all the world, to serve the strongest possible sentence — death by firing v squad!  It is proposed that the sentence be carried out with the accused standing on a bucket." 

And that bastard of a prosecutor giggles. The guys in die "courtroom," sitting on their bunks, yell in surprise and angrily protest that the prosecutor is a thief, just give him some cash and he'll rat you out, a total Berija -- also he's bald and wears glasses....

The Chairman gives the floor to the defense.  The lawyer hitches up his sliding boxers, scratches himself a while, swats at a fly and begins his speech:

"He's still young, the poor guy, let's have mercy on him. Citizen Judges, so help me, he's not yet lost to society, he can still be useful!  Punish him by depriving him of his liberty, that way he won't mess around with papers anymore and he won't touch a hair on the head of Soviet power.   Just give him that, the hoodlum!  But don't overdo it!  He feels remorse, look at him, he's practically in tears, just take a look --" and here the lawyer, who was inside a second time for corrupting minors, got carried away "--just look up there in the seventh row, fourth seat on the right, the mother of my client is crying, and wiping away her tears with her hankie, sitting next to her, is his little sister...."                                                                                             

"My brother, he's fourteen," I correct him, almost choking with laughter.

"Forgive me, that's some other girl, my words have upset her, but on the other side, there sits the brother, he's only fourteen, and he is attentively, with great hope, watching our humane court, the best in the world.    Do the judges really want to destroy the very best years of our little friend's life?   Must he revenge himself, like Voldya Uljanov?   No, no, Citizen Judges, I am not making direats.  Give my client half a year, or a year at most.  He will thank you and certainly give you a share later on.    Don't destroy youdi in bloom!    I rest my case!" finishes die defense, to the applause of the onlookers.

I get the last word.  The judge wipes away tears of laughter from his eyes with a dirty pillow case and waves his hand:                                         

"Professor!  You have the last word, whatever you wanna say ~ spit it out." I have to lick my suddenly dry lips.  I stand and begin in a hoarse voice:

"Citizen Judges!   Citizen Chairman of the Court! My friends and I really did print those papers, but please, take a look at them, there wasn't one word in them against Soviet power, so why have you immediately charged me with anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda? My friends and I were just explaining a declaration to the people, a declaration signed by Lenny, by Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev.  So what - he signed it and I have to go to jail?"

I can't keep a straight face and let loose:

"Were there any witnesses?   They asked me if we had some kind of center, if someone was directing us!   And I answered honestly, like they taught us in school:   the center is the Kremlin and our highest executive organ is Brezhnev!  He goes to die West and brings back suggestions from the imperialists hidden in his shoes, that —"

The judge interrupts me:

"Spick to the point.  You can have your say, but this is not a soapbox."

I sit down all confused.                                                                                                 

"That's all, Citizen Chairman, I am not guilty, I didn't wanna, I'm not gonna...."

The judge quietly confers with the yes-men, while I wait for their verdict, truly and sincerely nervous. That's one of the main rules of the game.  You can make stuff up and fool around, be a comedian, be stupid.   You can do anything.   But the verdict must be as close to the truth as possible.   That's why the judges are chosen from among the old hands, the experienced ones who know the law.    I was lucky, the Chairman of the Court was an experienced guy, who had had a rather long break in between jail terms ~ that's how he wound up in general confinement, even though he already had three hefty sentences behind him.  He really knew the law.

Finally the conference is over and the verdict is announced:

"All rise, here comes the Judge!  In the name of (you all know this part) the court has heard and taken into consideration both the prosecution, that asshole, and the lawyer for the defense, who couldn't tell the truth even if he tried, and die last words of the accused.  The court sentences the Professor to three years' deprivation of liberty in general confinement."

The just decision of the court is  rewarded with  thunderous applause.     Three isn't  being immediately set free, but it's also not a high sentence. Three is not much, three...

"You could sit out three on a bucket," jokes the Judge and slaps me on the back.

I an satisfied and I laugh. Your speech is like mead, Pasha.

The guys are still playing court, but I lie down on the bunk and stare at the ceiling, full of hope. Really - will I get three years or even less? That would be fine....

"Dinner!" bang the keys in the cell door.

"Wake up!" bang the keys in die cell door.    I wake up along with die rest of the country. Inspection, to see if anyone's gotten lost.    Time flows undetected, they've already given us breakfast....                                                                                                                     .
Breakfast also flows undetected ~ porridge and tea.   Like they write in die newspapers:   die breakfast took place in an atmosphere of friendship.

Today is Sunday, they're not going to take anyone anywhere. It's boring ~ but there's always fun to be had.

On Thursday they stuck an old guy into our cell, about 70.   Decrepit and shabby.   They locked him up for theft.  He was doing business on the side at die collective farm. We set our hearts on making fun of him.

"Hey Grandpa Century, today's Sunday, today we're going to do die bazaar. We'll give you some stuff so you can sell it and then buy for us what we write down." Thus Humpback started to toy with the old man.

The old guy has nothing against it, but he winces:
"And why me exactly?"

"Because you're old, the goons won't be afraid of you escaping on them."

"Aha, ok.  Fine, so get the stuff together...."

The cell muffles its laughter and various things are collected. The old man attentively looks everything over:

"What's this, darlin1, why are you giving me this crap, gimme something nice," and he points with his cigarette-yellowed fingers at the bunk or at a hanger.  The guys don't really want to, but they start to bring out more decent stuff.   Here's the thing:   the minute the old man steps out into the hallway, the goons on guard will douse him and the stuff with water from a firehose and immediately chase him back into the cell, so nobody really wants everything to get all wet - but ok, it'll dry out again, we're not going to spoil the joke, it's just some fun.

So everyone puts their stuff together, the old guy folds it up in a pallet sack and wants an itemized receipt. There's nothing to be done, everyone is choking with laughter, but they write up a receipt. At the other end of the table they compose a list of what all they need:

"Write down 40 or 60 packs of that cheap tobacco...."

"Sugar, don't forget sugar...."

"What if die old bastard buys a few cookies?"

The old bastard agrees with everything and wants them to write down a price for each item, to which he says:

"You won't sell it for more, boys, I know what I'm talking about ...."

The boys, a whole circle of whom are already giggling, nod:                                                .

"Exactly, old man, we can see right away that you know all about life!"

I want to give something, but I don't know what.   The old guy has folded the stuff into the sack, put on his coat and hat:

"So long for now, boys, you guys are a lot of fun, I've never seen anything like it."

And he makes for the cell door.   The boys are rolling with laughter, their legs won't even hold them up, they're laughing so much.

The old guy knocks on the cell door:

"Hey, sonny, sonny, today's die bazaar, I have to sell some stuff and then buy some other stuff! Let me out!"

The cell is giggling, the old guy is giggling, and the goon with the cellblock keys, who opens the door, is also giggling:

"Come on then, come on old man, if you want to go to die bazaar, we'll take you mere. True, today it's raining, but we can see you're not made out of sugar, you don't have to worry about dissolving."                                                                                                         

The cell door slams shut and the lock clicks.   The cell roars with laughter until die walls shake. Ok grandpa, you did good, they're going to make it rain for you now! Ha ha ha!

The old guy has already been gone ten minutes. A half an hour ~ no old man nowhere. No one is laughing in the cell any more and everyone is wondering what happened, where did he go? No sound of him, even.

Finally, after two hours, the cell door opens and a goon, swallowing his laughter, lets in an unknown, frail little guy. The little guy silently rolls up the old man's mattress and pillow and takes it out  to  the  hallway.     The  cell  door slams,  no  one  knows  what's going  on,   then  the communicating window opens and from far away, from the other end of the hallway, we hear the faint voice of our grandpa:

"Boys, boys, you are really jokers!  I just want to tell you all the bazaar didn't go down today,  but they gave me some bag full of holes or whatever, so I've lost almost all of your stuff. And when I came back, the cell block guard stuck me in with my friends, this is the sixth time I've been inside, I really don't know why they put me in with you before.   I'll send-you something later, you jokers, I've never seen anything like it! Ha ha ha!"
So: Grandpa Century! He got die whole cell, that's real fun...and an embarrassed silence replaces the thundering laughter: but how did he get us, that grandpa, that old motherfucker, we sent him to the bazaar, and he turns out to be a very naughty boy, who's been in jail probably since time immemorial, that old fart, that old motherfucker!

They laugh until their tummies hurt and they can laugh no longer.  They regretted losing the sack    from die pallet, and the clothes, they could have exchanged them during transport for tea, for vodka, for cigarettes... that old motherfucker!

In the evening when the buckets were being taking out the old man sent over a little tea.   In exchange for every thing... our grandpa, a real joker!

The next day brought me half-joy and half-sorrow.    I got an uncensored letter from Hanse-
Gestapo.   He wrote me that he was leaving with a transport and mat we would probably never
see each other again.   He also wrote that he made a present for me.   But what kind of gift, he didn't write.   And so I don't know.   They're taking him far away, to the North, to Siberia. Where, he doesn't know exactly.  Now he's just a tiling, and who would tell a thing where they are taking it? No one.   They bring it to the warehouse of some factory and it's all over.   And then you see where then brought you.  And then you are scared shitless where they brought you.  But that's all later.  Sit down, don't fidget.   

Farewell, Hanse-Gestapp, with your broken destiny and your crookedly spent life.  Farewell!

Site of our public investigation is here:
http://community.livejournal.com/omskiy_palach

Lubava Malysheva, publisher, editor at  hippy.ru,  public investigator, Bergen lubava@hippy.ru
Vyacheslav Bashkov, spokesman for the Inter-regional Human Rights Center, public investigator 1977ural@gmail.com
Lena Gruntova, translator  at hippy.ru, public investigator , Moscow, lenagruntova@yandex.ru