There is a prison in Cheboksary that was built even before Peter the First
Information for those who sit at home: the investigative detention center in Cheboksary is 357 years old, but its doors as always are open wide to new clients. No, not in this way, it would be more correct to say: the doors of the oldest prison in Russia are, as always, securely bolted shut. Here are many centuries of law and order, and no one can remember a case where anyone escaped. And so, let memoirs titled 'Spring Flights' be written by a gardener, while Sergey Kiselev, chief of establishment IZ-21/1, has other cares.
The cares of the jail chief we will examine a little later, but for now, a few words about Russia's achievements in this area. The Great Soviet Encyclopedia in an article titled 'Prison' reports that all sorts of jails and torture chambers have existed since ancient times, but as far as civilized prisons are concerned: "The first prisons appeared in Europe in the 16th century. In Holland in 1595 the first prison or Zuchthaus was constructed for imprisoning men".Well-well! It seems that we still have yet to play football with the Dutch, but as far as prisons go they did not lose. Here is an extract from information sent us by the headquarters of the federal penitentiary service for the Chubash republic: "The first reference to the Cheboksary prison is in the second half of the 16th century. The archepiscope of Kazan and Sviyazhski Guri was travelling to Kazan on July 23-24, 1555, and stopped in Cheboksary on orders of Tsar Ivan the Terrible, and in the presence of the Cheboksarian governor and townspeople, he blessed the place and sprinkled with holy water the future borders of the future citadel. Within the citadel later were built the governor's court with a cottage, treasury, and prison..."
Of course, a prison! How can one get along without one? And when the prison burned down, they enthuastically built another in Cheboksary. They built the Vvedenskiy cathedral nearby, but the prison was a higher priority, and constructed three years earlier, in 1648. And so they stand today, one opposite the other, the two oldest buildings in the city, and both put to use as best they can be. The cathedral has been active all these centuries without pause (even during communism), and the prison has not had a vacation, either. It was re-named a few times. From 1842 it became the Cheboksary house of arrest, while in 1871 it became the Cheboksary prison castle. In 1888 it received the status of county prison, while once - in 1912 - it was named Cheboksary territorial house of arrest. Well, as they say, peace onto your house (of arrest).
The prison in Cheboksary knew kolodniki (convicts in stocks) and uzniki (prisoners in cells), on whose foreheads were glued the label 'kat' (katorzhnik, convict) and 'vor' (thief). Human rights activists now bother the prison chief with demands about prisoner's rights, but back then he would have instantly chopped off the activist's head. And no worse for Stenka Razin, whose comrades in arms so disturbed the Volga region and then sat out their last days inside these 82 cm (32 inch) thick walls.
The prison walls have held up very well. It's understandable, a lot has been rebuilt over three and a half centuries, but ten of the 39 cells are the same. If someone during Tsar Aleksey Mikhaylovich's day received a sentence of life in prison, and if he enjoyed good health he could to this very day be sitting in this very same chamber behind this very same grate.
The institution's status has increased a bit through the centuries. In 1888, prison chief Korlovitskiy was but a podporuchik (second lieutenant), while today prison boss Kiselev is a lieutenant colonel.
It is a bit early to write Sergey Vladimirovich's memoirs, or official letters for that matter. Kiselev is more worried about overcrowding. With a legal limit of 212 prisoners, there are usually 380, and at times 410. Such congestion, the jail chief believes, creates nervousness and possibly lead to disorder. He writes letters which begin: "Honored judges!" He calculates that a third of the citizens who are placed in protective detention are by law not required to sit behind bars. Kiselev guesses that the judges in many cases are pressured by investigators. Of course, it is more convenient for the investigators, when the ones under investigation need not be summoned all the time - there he is right there, already in custody.
The standard area - four square meters per prisoner - is reliably maintained only in one cell. In the penitentiary museum there is one convincing corner, in it there is a cell with an iron door, and visitors can see through the window a mannequin sitting on his bunk. This idol is afforded a bit of space and comfort: he does not have to stand in line to sit on the parasha (chamber pot) in the corner. And it is not just any sergeant who looks after him, but a retired colonel, museum director Galina Zinina. The mannequin is in jail, it is true, for no reason, but such has been known to happen in Russia from time to time.
Of course, the Russian tsars could have worried more about the future and built for their descendants something a bit more roomy, but how could they have known that the next jail in Cheboksary would not be built until the time of Putin - and that one, perhaps, if he goes for a third term!
Within the framework of a federal program titled 'construction and renovation of jails and prisons', in a suburb of Cheboksary several years ago the foundation was laid for a new jail for 600 prisoners. If it is constructed, then the pre-Peter prison, perhaps, will be given to the tour guides, but this part was not covered in the budget.
Let us note that in Chuvash there is a second jail, located in the city of Tsivil'sk. There it is as crowded as a trolley bus - built for 325, but holding 500-600 people. In comparison with Cheboksary, the Tsivil'sk jail is brand new - built during the reign of Aleksander the First in 1809.
In contrast to the church, the prison is not separate from the state, and, it would seem, must clearly reflect that which happens in society. In our country there is always some shooting going on, and the bandits and killers must crowd themselves into prisons. Corruption and bribery blossum in the land, and the prisons must swarm with officials. In our land criminals are protected, and with encouranging periodicity crooked policemen are jailed... But, who has seen any of them there?
The Cheboksary jail, as a rule, is full of drug addicts and hunters of mobile telephones. And with drunks who threw at their mother-in-laws cold irons (cold, since the electricity for these alcoholics was turned off for nonpayment long ago). In the last few years the masses of simple people in jail shared their space with the chief of the Chubash highway patrol (for machinations involving foreign cars), the mayor of the small town of Alatyr (for taking a 50,000-rubel bribe), as well as a representative of the local parliament (for printed slander addressed to the republic's president). There was even the owner of some shops. And that was about it. But are the workers in the jail owed anything? If the hero Zhvanetskiy once said: 'What we guard, that we have', then here it is all opposite: what we have, is what we guard.
Boris BRONSHTEYN, our correspondent, Cheboksary
