Пискаревское меморальное кладбище

Yesterday, Wednesday, we went on a bus tour of the city again, ending at Piskarevskoye memorial cemetary. The subject matter was, for lack of a better word, grim. Wednesday, the 21^st of June, was the anniversary of the beginning of WW2 in Russia. No single country during the war suffered more losses or tragedies, a fact that is severely overlooked in American history. So, for your pleasure (and horror), I’m going to tell you a bit about the siege of Leningrad.

A memorial statue

Hitler planned to invade St. Petersburg, then called Leningrad, and have a victory party in one of the more beautiful hotels. The people of Leningrad decided that shit was not going to fly with them, and it certainly did not. Legend says that priests took icons and walked around the city three times, ensuring the Germans wouldn’t cross the city limits. That proved to be true.

For 900 days, roughly two and a half years, the city was completely cut off by German soldiers. A very small amount of residents were evacuated, but most people remained to help protect the city. If there was one thing the Soviets had, it was patriotism. Extremem patriotism. When the city made an ordinance to allow people to chop down trees in the city for firewood, not one tree was felled. Talk about dedication.

During the siege, one of the harshest winters in the last century plagued the city. No food could get into the city. The daily bread rations were, at their smallest, roughly the size of a matchbox. Thousands of people died daily. The worst day saw ten thousand deaths, from cold, bombings, and starvation. Ten. Freaking. Thousand. Can you imagine ten thousand people, half the student population of WSU, dropping dead within twenty four hours? I can’t either.

30 percent of all the buildings in the city were destroyed. Because of that, St. Petersburg isn’t as old as you might think. Luckily, special precautions were taken to protect some of the more historic buildings, such as Peter and Paul fortress (the giant golden spire), The Church of Spilled Blood (the one that looks like Candyland), and the Hermitage.

It is relatively impossible to find a family in the city who didn’t lose a parent or grandparent during that time. Half a million people died. Half a bloody million. Most are now buried in Piskarevskoye. When we reached the cemetary, a hush fell over the group. Joking and laughing moments before, our faces became somber and our hearts broke. Each communal grave, holding thousands of bodies, was a large flat mound, and there were countless. Fresh flowers littered the courtyard in honor of the anniversary. The gravestones were bedecked with flowers and bread, so the dead may have something to eat when they had nothing in life. It was a site I will never forget, and a feeling I never want to experience again. I was sick to my stomach trying to imagine such a senseless tragedy.

The communal graves, one row of them.

American history has nothing in comparison. The Great Depression, Pearl Harbor…nothing compares. The fact that the people willingly went through that hell in order to protect their beloved city makes it all the more awe-inspiring. The Russian soul is truly complex and sad, though they have much to be proud of. If you ever have the chance, this cemetary is a place I think you should see in your life.