Stages are the popular name for the movement of prisoners between prisons and camps. It has been going on since pre-revolutionary times, when convicts were driven on foot to places of hard labor and exile, and the stages were the distances between prisons - fortified cities in which flows of convicts rested, gathered, and were distributed. Until recently, there was the concept of a “transit prison” - a prison that served exclusively for such accumulation and redistribution of convoys.
When the word “stage” is heard, the prisoner’s soul freezes, feeling vague anxiety. Stages are always the unknown, always new people, trials, when all your past, all your acquired authority disappears and you have to start from scratch to fight for your place in the sun, just like on the first day in prison. As a rule, it is at these stages that showdowns occur. When the conflict is not over and the prisoners are separated by prison walls, they say to each other “see you at the stage”, or “see you at the stage (the cell where everyone is collected before being sent)” and this sounds like a real threat. At the very least, she must be restrained so as not to lose her dignity as a prisoner.
They are usually transported from pre-trial detention centers to places where they serve their sentences, less often - those under investigation in the event of detention in one place, and the place where the crime was committed and, accordingly, the trial and investigation is in another. They also transport people between zones, most often for treatment, and take people under investigation for a psychiatric examination.
The journey can take a very long time - it may take two months to travel through Russia. And if you suddenly need to cross the border, for example, between Russia and Ukraine, it may take six months.
At the stages they are crowned thieves and lowered into. These are both deprivations and humiliations. During the stages, the lack of rights is acutely felt - it’s easy to get hit on the back with a club, or hit the kidneys with a butt, or be bitten by a dog. Each stage means at least two searches, during departure and arrival, the searches are always thorough, with stripping and breaking of things. This is always psychological pressure - moving under gunpoints, running - screams, blows, dogs.
But at the same time, during the stages you can see old friends, accomplices, find out last news, see the edge of the free world. And by the way - for some, new people mean fear and problems, for others - new acquaintances and impressions.
It’s not worth going to the stages with a large bag - again, it’s a convict, it’s difficult to move with a bag under the batons. In addition, the ideal of a tramp's life is a minimum of property, detachment from things, ease. Therefore, given the tightness of the compartment, which exacerbates this attitude, owners large bags They not only just don’t like them, but they also try in every possible way to cheat people into maintaining these very bags, and even openly sneer at them. At the stages near the convoy you can exchange some of your things for tea, cigarettes, or canned food. The masters even manage to brew chifir in the compartment - making a smokeless torch out of a sheet, shielding the fire from the guards with their bodies (or, which is easier, of course, by making an agreement with them). The drink prepared in this way, of course, has a special taste - a little buzz from breaking the rules, from a sip of freedom. They are periodically taken out to relieve themselves - according to the norm, it seems, every 4 hours, but in practice it happens anywhere - one person at a time, accompanied by a guard. It happens that you won’t be questioned - that’s what people are stocking up on plastic bottles. First, they drink the stored water from them, then pour it into them. And if someone suddenly has diarrhea, and this happens, then the circus begins - both laughter and sin. Therefore, knowing that it is time to go to prison, experienced prisoners almost stop eating a day before, and drinking in the morning.
If you also take into account that no one feeds you on the way either (they give you rations in the form of bread, sugar, maybe even some canned food, but all this is quite meager), then upon arrival at the new prison, it may take another whole day before you get into your cell - a total of two or three days of hunger.
During the stages, you can even spend time with a woman, having previously agreed through the compartment wall and received consent to a date with a prisoner who misses male affection, and then at night, having chatted with the escort sergeant, given him a couple of packs of cigarettes, spend half an hour in the vestibule near the toilet. This is of course exotic - there are too many “ifs...”, but it happens.
But this is not the worst thing about the stages. Those who are afraid of the stages are primarily those who feel some kind of shoals from past life, both free and prison. All the informers, all the lawbreakers, leaving the walls of prisons and zones, are left without their roofs, which were provided to them by the opera to one degree or another. Within the walls of the stage, where people are gathered before the stage, their fate is no longer interesting to anyone - they have done their job and have already been forgotten about. Now they are on par with the rest. As a rule, demand occurs here. They rarely kill - at least in our time, but to put it down is a no-brainer. Presentation - a couple of minutes for "debate" - and execution. The most gentle way is a slap, which resets the person’s status to zero. The more radical one is to head into the butt (in the asshole), if there is one, which immediately makes the person “finished”, “lowered”.
Therefore, those who are not confident in themselves are also afraid of stages - stages are, first of all, new people and very cramped circumstances, where conflict can arise over one centimeter of space.
Those convicted in criminal cases are subject to distribution to correctional institutions, according to the measure of responsibility applied to them.
Until the court verdict comes into force or the documents are being appealed, the convicted persons are kept in pre-trial detention center.
They cannot stay in the isolation ward all the time; it is always overcrowded. Therefore, from time to time, convicts are transported to prisons.
In criminal law, this process is called the transfer of convicts. How the transfer from the pre-trial detention center to the colony occurs, and what requirements employees of executive institutions must comply with, we will talk further.
Conveyance is the forced transportation of convicts in criminal cases to colonies, prisons, and camps. This stage involves the entire journey of the convicted person from leaving the pre-trial detention center to arriving at the colony.
On this path, the prisoner will experience many new experiences: from long journeys in stuffy, windowless compartments to futile attempts to transport all his property at once.
The decision to transfer a convicted person to a specific colony is made by the management of the pre-trial detention center.
But before this, the pre-trial detention center receives an order from the central department of the Federal Penitentiary Service in Moscow, which indicates which colonies and how many places there are for convicts.
Due to the fact that in many colonies they serve time only for certain types of crimes, the distribution of convicts by pre-trial detention center employees is not an easy task.
In a broad sense, a stage is the path of a convicted person from point A to point B. And this path is not always associated with departure to a colony.
There are other situations in which a convicted person must be transported:
One way or another, the penal system is always associated with various movements of convicts around the country. Our country is huge, which is why convicts sometimes travel for weeks or months.
How long the stage lasts is difficult to answer unequivocally. It all depends on the distance of the colony from the pre-trial detention center.
The exact time of transfer to the convict is not reported. Before departure, the cell is visited by an employee of the detention center, who calls the name and surname of the convicted person who must serve.
It is better to start preparing for the stage immediately after the verdict comes into force.
Sometimes convicts have to wait a long time for their turn at the prison. This is due to the fact that FSIN employees are trying to maximally staff the trains for sending convicts. No one will organize a stage for the sake of one criminal.
Before departure, a detailed search will be carried out in relation to the convict and his property.
Searches will, in principle, be carried out frequently, before and after each move in a stage. The journey is carried out in special “carriages”. Convicts are transported to the railway in special vehicles.
Typically, convicts are taken to a transit prison, from which they are distributed to colonies. Sometimes transportation is carried out without the use of a transit prison.
At their final destination, convicts are quarantined for two weeks.
After the convict arrives in the colony, the administration is obliged to notify his relatives within 10 days.
How to find out where a convicted person is after transfer if the administration has not sent a notification?
In fact, according to general rules after the entry of the sentence and before the convict is sent to prison, he is granted one short-term visit with a relative.
And before sending a criminal to a correctional facility, the administration of the pre-trial detention center must also notify one relative about where the convicted person is going.
But even if none of the relatives received information about the route of the stage, they can clarify this information with a lawyer.
Rules for escorting suspects and accused
Suspects, as a rule, are escorted until trial, and accused are escorted one by one. Convoying in both cases is the rules for accompanying convicts, aimed at maintaining public safety.
The escort procedure is strictly regulated. Violating the rules for escorting convicts can sometimes lead to serious consequences.
It’s worth at least remembering the episode with the shooting in a Moscow court, when the convoy dangerous criminals was carried out by a girl, and the number of escorts did not correspond to the number of convicts.
Convoying prisoners in 2020 is carried out by special departments of the internal affairs bodies. For this purpose, security and escort units are created.
Their tasks include:
- Assistance in the execution of punishment by delivering convicts to colonies, prisons, and isolation wards;
- Assisting in the administration of justice by delivering convicts to the courtroom;
- Protecting public safety from criminal;
- Protecting a criminal from an indignant public.
The composition of the convoy group is as follows:
- Chief of the convoy;
- Assistant Chief;
- Dog handler;
- Escorts.
The convoy can be regular or reinforced. The latter is used in cases where the protection of dangerous criminals is necessary.
In a normal escort, there are 2 guards for 1-2 criminals. With enhanced escorting, there are 3 escorts per 1 criminal.
Escorts always have main and alternate routes. The latter are needed in cases where there is a threat of escape or attack on the car.
Reception of convicts for escort is carried out one at a time in a room where only the convict and the guards are present.
The criminal is subjected to a mandatory search, prohibited items are confiscated from him. The guards are required to enter all information about the convicted person into a special journal.
The search during escort is carried out by one person for every 5 convicts. There is always radio communication with the escort vehicle.
The delivery of convicted or suspects to the courts must be agreed in advance with the prison staff. To do this, a request for the delivery of a particular person held in this institution is sent to the pre-trial detention center.
The request indicates the time and date when the court hearing will take place, the name of the judge considering his case, and is certified by a seal.
Without a properly formalized request for the delivery of a convicted person or suspect, escort will not be carried out.
In the morning, the convoy collects a group of convicts who need to be taken to the courts and transports them. Courts, as a rule, have special closed rooms, the entrance to which is set separately from the main one. It is there that the convicts are brought by a convoy vehicle.
The grounds for establishing a reinforced convoy are:
The convoy must be armed for security purposes. The convict is taken to the courtroom in handcuffs and taken to a cell. Once in the cell, handcuffs are removed through a special window, but not for all convicts.
At least one guard must always be present in court during the hearing.
As a rule, the guards change and take turns sitting on court hearing. Such convicts are always behind bars in the courtroom or in special glass boxes.
You can never know for sure that a convicted person or suspect is safe. There is always a risk of potential danger posed by the person being transported or escorted.
A stage is one of the stages of execution of a sentence, which consists of delivering the convicted person to the place where he will serve his assigned term. The transportation conditions are far from the best.
Convicts travel for weeks across the country in stuffy or cold carriages, without the opportunity to properly eat or wash themselves. This is one of the main tests that a convicted person must overcome at the stage of his correction.
T-
I loved to travel, and fate always favored me by providing such an opportunity. Even prison was no exception. There comes a dangerous moment in the life of every prisoner - the stage when you are transported from prison to a colony to serve a sentence imposed by the court. The prisons are generously scattered throughout the territory of our vast Motherland, and the jailers can give you a long tour of its vastness. The journey can last as long as desired, and the person simply disappears for a while. Neither the lawyer nor your relatives will know where you are or where they are taking you. I had already heard about how jailers mocked and beat prisoners, but I never applied it to myself. To my naive question: “Why are they beating?” my interlocutor, one of the experienced prisoners, responded with surprise, as if it were a matter of course: “No way!” He advised me to take a minimum of things on the road and not to eat or drink anything the day before the trip.
"Why?" — not understanding his instructions, I asked.
“So that you don’t want to go to the toilet! - my consultant answered. - They don’t take you to the toilet. Just in case, take a plastic bottle and bags with you. Take cigarettes, tea, dry goods - cookies, crackers, gingerbread, sweets.”
I will remember my instructor with gratitude.
In terms of closeness, in terms of the degree of lies and hypocrisy, the Russian Federal Penitentiary Service system has no equal
The monstrous story that was heard at that time about the murder of four prisoners during a prison camp in the city of Kopeisk did not at all give me optimism. I was scared. Official version The fact of the murder was that four prisoners, who allegedly behaved badly on the train, immediately attacked the staff upon arrival at the colony. Those same, defending themselves, rightfully beat them half to death and left them to die in the isolation cells. The jailers were only to blame for not providing the unfortunate people with timely medical care and let them die.
In terms of closedness, in terms of the degree of lies and hypocrisy, the Russian Federal Penitentiary Service system has no equal. It is surprising that the head of the prison system at that time, Yuri Kalinin, a professional jailer who worked his way up from an ordinary guard to the top official of the Federal Penitentiary Service, resigned after these events, successfully continued his career, becoming a senator, and later headed the personnel service of the Rosneft company, becoming its vice president.
In my mind, I had long since left the pre-trial detention center and was in the camp. I was pretty tired of being in the confined space of a prison, in cramped and stuffy cells, where I spent about three years. It was unclear where they would take me, but I drew a beautiful picture without a single cloud. “When I come to the colony,” I reasoned naively, “the police will honor my personal file, from which it is clear that I am an innocent person, and they will treat me accordingly, with understanding and sympathy. They will offer me a good job, in the library or at school. And I will live and live and serve my sentence.”
The stage itself scared me, and the prospect of changing the prison to a colony even made me happy. I made a whole list of things and products that I would need on the journey and for the first time in the colony. “No one knows how and how much they will carry, so we need to stock up,” I thought. At the kiosk I bought porridge and cigarettes. A trunk specially designated for these purposes grew before my eyes.
After a while I heard: “On Pe, with things...” “Am I really being sent to the stage so quickly?” - I thought. I packed my things, said goodbye to my cellmates, and we hugged. I was transferred to an empty cell. My things, brought from the warehouse, were already standing here: warm winter clothes, a jacket, boots. Several trunks have accumulated. I began to sort through things, separating what was needed from what was not. I collected the bags that I will take with me to the stage. After countless shifts and difficult decisions, I ended up with two trunks and a large sports bag. “A bag on my shoulder and a trunk in each hand,” I thought flippantly... I spent two more days in this cell alone, and only on the third I was told that I was being taken away.
“I’ll sit on the path,” I joked to myself. “I’ve sat down for eleven years now!”
“Na Bae ready?” - comes from behind the door.
“Ready, ready,” I shout in response.
The bolts rattle, the door swings open with a roar, I see unfamiliar faces of ordinary guards. “Now no one is interested in me, I am written off and used material,” I think with relief, leaving the walls of the prison without regret. How good it was for me here, I will understand very soon, barely having time to arrive at my destination - a maximum security colony in the village of Melekhovo Vladimir region. Upon signature, I am handed over to the escort, and we leave the prison building. A paddy wagon is already waiting in the prison yard.
“First the planer, and then everyone else,” the guards say among themselves. Strohach is me
I throw my bags into the paddy wagon and climb in myself. I go into the free compartment. Women are sitting behind the wall. Cheerful laughter comes from their cage. I start a conversation with them. Having learned my deadline, they sigh sympathetically. Sitting down on a bench in a cage, I try in vain to peer into the Moscow streets that I have already forgotten. It’s dark, you can hardly see anything, and the journey doesn’t take much time. Smelling the smell of the station and hearing the noise of the trains, I try to figure out which station I was brought to. Childhood memories came flooding back when, as a schoolboy, I traveled with my parents to Crimea by train every summer... I remember how fascinated I was by the landscapes rushing past, how I could not look away from the window for hours. Who would have thought then that such a journey awaited me...
We arrive at a remote deserted platform, almost right next to the carriage. I hear the guards talking, they are deciding who to unload first. “First the planer, and then everyone else,” the guards say among themselves. The planer is me. I grab things. I am handed over to another convoy. The eldest of them, with surprise, picks up my huge personal file and checks the data. I accurately state my articles and deadlines. It’s unlikely that anyone can go to a colony for eleven years instead of me! I struggle to drag my luggage onto the train. The bag clings to the doors and interferes with walking, the trunks are pulled down. Barely squeezing through the narrow corridor of the carriage, I reach the compartment. It's empty. An ordinary standard size coupe without a window. Instead of a door there is a grille. There is a small window in the corridor through which, if it is open, you can see the will. There are two benches at the bottom and two pairs of shelves at the top. There are only three tiers. Stolypin is what the prisoners call this carriage. After Stolypin's agrarian reform, cattle cars were used to transport peasants. Since then, little has changed, and we have not gone far in our development.
A guard enters the compartment.
"Where we go?" - I’m interested.
“Give over prohibited items,” instead of answering, he demands that things be prepared for inspection.
“I have nothing,” I say frankly. - I'm from the special forces. Pre-trial detention center 99/1. You can’t bring a needle into the cell there.”
According to the instructions, the convoy can open the windows only while the train is moving. Take him to the toilet - also only while driving. It's the end of July, the heat is incredible
The guard doesn't believe me and begins a search. He unwraps every bag, opens every box, so carefully packed in the pre-trial detention center. All things are looked through, all papers are leafed through. Everything is confused and mixed up. I have a hard time putting things back into my bags. The carriage is filled with passengers. I can hear a search going on in the next compartment as well. They bring me fellow travelers - one, two... I move my things. The third, fourth comes in. The compartments will be filled with bags and people. Fifth, sixth, seventh. People climb up and lay down on the top shelves. Below, on the lower shelves, five people fit tightly. The free space between the benches and under them is filled with trunks.
Eighteen people are crammed into the compartment! It's cramped, very stuffy. According to the instructions, the convoy can open the windows only while the train is moving. Take him to the toilet - also only while driving. It's the end of July, the heat is incredible.
In the compartment there are traditional conversations: who, where from, what he’s in prison for, for how long. I hear different stories, find common acquaintances with my fellow travelers, with whom I was sitting. We boarded the carriage around nine in the evening. The train will leave in the morning at about seven o'clock. The guard gives in to the prisoners' insistent demands and violates the instructions - he opens the window a little. In the distance I see the platform, people waiting for the train, summer residents with seedlings in their hands. “Senior,” someone yells in the next compartment. “Take me to the toilet, I’m dying!”
“It’s not allowed according to the instructions,” the warrant officer replies. “We’ll go and go.”
“I wish I could take that bastard who wrote the instructions here,” I think angrily, and then once again with a kind word I remember my mentor-consultant. For more than 24 hours I ate nothing and hardly drank anything. I can’t say that I felt good and comfortable, but at least I didn’t want to go anywhere. The excess fluid came out in profuse sweat, and I mostly sat silently, listened and endured more. Out of eighteen people, I was the only one who didn’t smoke.
Our carriage moves very slowly and makes numerous stops. He goes his own route, he is attached to one train, then to another. We are going to Vladimir, the journey to which takes almost a day. I was all sticky from sweat, soaked through with cigarette smoke, stupefied by the stench and empty talk, I was numb from sitting in one position for many hours. This is real torture that I will remember with horror. In the compartment I meet Andrei K., convicted of banditry and murder for nineteen years. I sat with his accomplice Dima. They are both masters of sports in boxing, worked in a private security company for a businessman and “resolved issues.” Having admitted guilt and testified against their leader, they received the minimum sentences for their situation.
We are approaching Vladimir. Once upon a time, even before YUKOS, I worked in an organization that had a branch in this city. The director of the branch invited me to visit, but I still didn’t go and didn’t go. “Well, here I am,” I think sadly.
We've arrived. Our carriage is unhooked from the train and driven onto the far platform.
The guard instructs the prisoners in a loud voice: “We go out one at a time, move on command, squat down, don’t raise your head, look only down, shoot without warning.” Everything is serious. The machine guns are real, the cartridges are live, the fuses are off. Amid the barking of dogs, I jump out of the train with my bags and squat down. We have to travel about five hundred meters along the railway tracks before we get to the paddy wagon. With my peripheral vision, I see people in the distance carefreely scurrying along the platform.
“First, first, answer me,” suddenly I hear a voice... from the toilet
“On command, let’s go, let’s start moving,” the guard yells. I can hardly carry my load and curse myself for packing so much food.
Bang! I feel like my heart is about to stop. This, unable to withstand the load, breaks the strap on the sports bag with the sound of a shot. It falls off my shoulder and stays behind. I keep moving. “To hell with this bag. I wish I could stay alive!” - I think frantically.
“On the spot! — the warden commands. “Come back, take the bag.” It doesn’t immediately dawn on me that he’s addressing me.
“Help him,” he says to another prisoner, who is holding a small purse.
We grab our things and go to the paddy wagon.
With difficulty, covered in sweat, I get to the paddy wagon, where I thank the savior who was carrying my bag. “We need to get rid of things urgently! - it dawns on me. “I won’t survive this a second time.” I’ll die of a broken heart!”
My savior Valera will turn out to be a notorious repeat offender. At thirty-five, this is his ninth conviction. He sat many times, but little by little. He is a thief, a pickpocket and a drug addict who suffers from epilepsy. Rogue, look for some. We will end up in the same zone with him. I will have to thank him for the bag many, many times until my patience runs out and I send him to hell.
The paddy wagon brings us to Vladimir transit prison No. 1 - “Kopeyka”, as the prisoners call it. An ancient brick building with beautiful massive vaults, built one hundred and eighty years ago, over the years of its existence it has absorbed all human vices, as well as pain, bitterness and suffering. I feel the ominous breath of prison. We are taken to the basement for assembly - into a cell where there are several benches, a bucket and a dirty washbasin. Smells moldy and damp. Exhausted, we sit down and wait for further events. Taking advantage of the pause, I begin to lighten my bags. I take out a bottle of water and a packet of cookies, which I share with my fellow sufferers.
“First, first, answer me,” suddenly I hear a voice... from the toilet. I shake my head, unable to figure out if I'm going crazy. The dalnyak, as it is called in prison, serves as an excellent means of communication. Cunning prisoners manage to pave roads by stretching ropes woven from threads, and transmit prison mail from cell to cell through sewers.
Then again the riot. The third one in the last 24 hours. They shook everything up, mixing the contents of the bags. We are searched one by one and transferred to another assembly. Soon all those who arrived again gather in one cell. We are ready for further actions that will not take long to arrive. They give us government-issued mattresses and linen and lead us all at once through some tricky corridors somewhere. Along the way, in the corridor, we meet guards with a huge shepherd dog, which, it seemed to me, looked at me with kind eyes and winked. We go up to the third floor and approach cell No. 39. The door opens, we go into the cell together, and I see a half-forgotten, but familiar, monstrous picture. Crowded room, smoke, stench, hanging laundry. The floor is covered with asphalt, on which countless cigarette butts lie. To the right of the entrance hangs a wretched curtain made of a dirty sheet, roughly separating the camera from the camera. Several prisoners are languishing in front of the curtain, waiting their turn. Nearby, literally under their feet, on a mattress on dirty floor man is sleeping. “Corner,” I understand.
A road report, or run-through, is drawn up, where the names of the new arrivals, article numbers, and which pre-trial detention centers they were in are indicated in detail.
What catches your eye is the tall, about five meters, ceiling of the cell, full of iron patches. This is how the administration welds holes in the ceiling - holsters, holes leading to the cells located above.
I immediately see where the thieves are located. The corner where a carpet made from an old blanket lies on the floor is fenced off with sheets. Undressed people, decorated with tattoos, enthusiastically play cards.
We walk in and sit down at the table and meet the person watching the camera. Chifir is brewed. A road report, or run-through, is drawn up, where the names of the new arrivals, article numbers, and which pre-trial detention centers they were in are indicated in detail. The run will go through all the cells of the prison, and if someone has a complaint against you, they may ask you to: fine you, beat you up, throw you out of your cell.
For the chifir, I take out chocolate and cigarettes from the trunk and generously treat the new cellmates. I put a block of Marlboro in the general box on the table. Men who have not smoked filter cigarettes for a long time pull themselves up to the table and quickly take them apart. I am pleased that I managed to get rid of unnecessary cigarettes and lighten my luggage. Men rejoice at every cigarette they smoke. Despite the monstrous amount of chifir I drank, fatigue overcomes me and I feel like I’m falling asleep. The caretaker gives me a personal bunk where I can rest as much as I like. Having reached it and barely closing my eyes, I fall asleep. Neither the sound of the TV nor the conversations of my cellmates bother me.
I wake up from tickling. I feel like someone is tickling my face. Numerous events come to mind last days, I remember where I am. A cockroach crawls across my face and I finally wake up. I feel like I'm hungry. I get up, wash my face, boil water and make myself some oatmeal porridge. My mind, strength and good mood. Valera appears, who was always nearby when I took something out of the trunk. I treat him to porridge and sweets, and give him cigarettes. Satisfied, he leaves for a while. Among the things mixed up and confused during the search, I try in vain to find a package with green tea, which I want to share with the intelligent-looking Muscovite Misha. He, seeing my fruitless attempts, tells me, smiling: “Nothing, don’t be upset! You’ll find it during the next search!”
I'm starting to get used to it and settle in. I find out that from this cell they deliver them to the zones twice a week. On Mondays they go to Vyazniki, on Wednesdays - to Melekhovo. The prisoners know everything. The strict regime in Vyazniki is milder than in Melekhovo, where prisoners have a hard time. From among those close to the beholder, a well-wisher appears, the Hare. He is from Vladimir and carefully offers me to solve the problem and facilitate my distribution to the zone in Vyazniki. Why do I just need to pay five thousand dollars to his friend from the Federal Penitentiary Service of the Vladimir Region. It’s clear to me that this is a scam, and I tell him that I absolutely don’t care where to go. I see in his hands mobile phone and I can’t resist asking him to let me call.
I know my business right away. Enclosed in a huge paper envelope with my photo and data is a dossier on me in three volumes.
The hare tells me about the common thing and asks me to take part in it as much as possible by putting money on the phone number. I agree. The phone is at my disposal. My participation, in general, will not bring the men either tea or cigarettes and will end in a banal orgy of drug addicts from the thieves. For the first time in my life I will see drug addicts who are stuck, that is, falling asleep on the move.
I haven’t held a phone in my hands for a long time and am making several calls to people whose voices I haven’t heard for a long time. After the conversation, I delete the dialed numbers from the phone’s memory. I call my wife and... forget to delete the number. This will cost her a lot of wasted nerves and money paid to a lawyer. Before I have time to leave the walls of this cell and go to the prison camp, an unknown person will call my wife. I think it was the Hare. In an excited voice, he will tell her that Volodya, that is, me, the trash, was put in a punishment cell, where they were beaten and tortured. “We urgently need money for ransom!” - he demanded.
They asked for relatively little, ten thousand rubles. I can imagine my wife's state when she heard this story! The lawyer had to make a lot of efforts to find me - safe and sound - in a maximum security colony in the village of Melekhovo and to reassure my loved ones.
Monday is coming. Today is the stage to Vyazniki. The warden reads out the list. My last name is not there. “So, I’ll go to Melekhovo on Wednesday,” I accept this news doomedly. The maximum security colony in the village of Melekhovo enjoys a bad reputation among prisoners. This is a red zone where they break prisoners, forcing them to give all kinds of subscriptions. While I can't understand what it's about we're talking about, and humbly await my fate.
Wednesday. Among others, I hear my name. There are twelve of us. Among them are Valera and Kostya, who hung around the thieves. We take our things and leave the cell. Trouble again. I open my noticeably lighter trunks and lay out my things for inspection. The warden reluctantly sorts through my belongings and, having crushed a few bags in his hands for visibility, allows me to put them back in my bag.
In the prison yard there is a paddy wagon waiting to take us to the train station. The car again drives close to the carriage, and we somehow get there. Another search awaits us in Stolypin. We hand over shaving supplies to the convoy, which will be given to us after arriving at the place. The train starts moving and we proceed to the city of Kovrov. Strictly one at a time, the guard takes each of us into a separate compartment, where he checks the contents of our bags. Kovrov is located a hundred kilometers from Vladimir, and the guards do not have time to search all the prisoners before we arrive at the station where a paddy wagon is waiting for us.
Personal files are transferred. I know my business right away. Enclosed in a huge paper envelope with my photograph and data is a dossier on me in three volumes. What is written there remains a mystery to me. I give my name, term, article and climb into the paddy wagon. It feels like the journey takes about forty minutes. You can hear the grinding of gates being opened and dogs barking. We entered the gateway. The colony opens its hard embrace to us.
I still don't realize where I ended up. We jump out of the car amid the barking of dogs and the screams of the guards. “Run, run,” I hear the heart-rending screams of the guards, “faster, faster.” You can't hesitate. I hear the sound of a rubber baton landing with a whistle on someone behind me, I hear the cry of this unfortunate person who allowed himself to hesitate only for a second. They make us squat, hugging our things. You can only look down. If you raise your head a little, you will be hit with a baton.
Not a single complaint will leave the colony if a lawyer or relatives do not come to you
Curiosity got the better of me. Looking to the side cost me several sharp and painful blows. But overall, we were lucky. Our stage was received gently. The stage that arrived before me was beaten thoroughly. The prisoners who arrived the following Wednesday after us also had a good time. There were no corpses, but while washing in the shower, I personally saw broken heads, bruises and bruises on the bodies of the convicts. Each stage is taken differently. Some people get hit less, some more. Some people are not beaten at all. It all depends on the mood of the jailers. They can overdo it and injure the convict, which happens regularly. Everyone will write it off as an accident: “I fell, tripped and hit my head.” Not a single complaint will leave the colony if a lawyer or relatives do not come to you.
“On command, we take our things, get up and run,” the warden commands.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a beautiful wooden church located just a few meters away from us. An inexperienced person may think that everything happens with the blessing of God.
We grab our bags and run into some courtyard. We put our trunks in a pile and line up. I'm standing third. A large man in camouflage with a major’s star on his shoulders and a broom in his hand categorically declares: “Now each of you needs to pick up a broom and make several sweeping movements.” Standing nearby, threateningly waving their batons, are his colleagues and several prisoners, who, as it turned out later, enjoy special trust from the administration and help to take the stage. I don't really want to pick up a broom. But this is a kind of ritual. Kostya is the first to break down and cheerfully begins his revenge. Valera comes next and makes several sluggish movements. A blow to the back with a baton causes him to speed up. It's my turn. Reluctantly, gritting my teeth, I pick up a broom and begin sweeping. “That’s enough,” I hear someone’s voice behind me. I stop and pass the broom to the next person.
No one from our company refuses revenge. Prisoners are well aware of methods of influence. If you refuse, they will beat you right here, in the courtyard, without any embarrassment from other prisoners. If you don’t take revenge after that, they’ll take you into an office and beat you some more. If you don’t break down, then they will bring the offended person to you and ask you to make a choice: become right now, after a certain procedure, just as offended and go to the cockpit, or still pick up a broom. Everyone chooses the latter. For the administration, the convict is not a person. Therefore, any attempts to defend their rights are perceived extremely negatively and painfully by the administration.
Several years ago, convicts coming from Melekhovo to transit prisons were not allowed into their cells by “decent” prisoners. With the words “You have no place among people,” the unfortunates were thrown out of their cells and forced to go to other huts, where the red ones were sitting - orderlies, caretakers and other dubious people.
“Come on, put your last name and sign, he will still read!” - the orderlies urge me on with dissatisfaction, in two voices
Depressed, we enter the building with our bags. This is the headquarters. We are led into a large room, where a grandiose bustle begins, more like a robbery. I see two hefty prisoners walking around the office in a businesslike manner with some papers. They approach each newly arrived prisoner and “ask” him to sign. Everyone signs without looking, without even knowing what they signed. While some warrant officer is rummaging through my things, this couple comes up to me and shoves a piece of paper and a pen into my hands. They are daily quarantines. The worst of the worst, the most notorious scoundrels and scoundrels. Press workers who are ready to do anything for certain benefits from the administration. One of them has a scar on his right cheek, running from his ear to his chin. “A fucking scar,” one experienced prisoner will tell me about him later, “so that everyone can see and be able to determine who he is by this mark.”
Peering at what is written, I try to grasp the meaning of this piece of paper.
“Come on, put your last name and sign, he will still read!” - the orderlies urged me with displeasure, in two voices. I see the words: “Subscription. “I, such and such, voluntarily renounce the criminal concepts and traditions of the thieves’ world, I undertake to comply with the regime and fulfill the requirements of the administration.”
“What nonsense!” - I am surprised and put my signature. The couple leaves contentedly.
I look with pity at my scattered things. Freemen, not of the established type, are confiscated. The warden stumbles over a bag of medicine and wants to take it away. I desperately resist and defend some of the medications. Each bag is thoroughly examined and checked, each notebook is leafed through. My luggage is reduced by one bag. The seized items are sent to a personal belongings warehouse. They shave my head and give me new uniforms. I put on a scary cap with a white stripe, a cotton suit, or a robe decorated with the same white stripes, and try on black boots with cardboard insoles. I look in the mirror and hardly recognize myself in my new guise. Now I am a full-fledged, that is, powerless, prisoner.
Began new stage of my life that needed to be experienced.
Experts said " Novaya Gazeta» about the legal side of the transfer issue, is it legal that relatives and lawyers still do not receive any information, and when should we expect official news, where is Ildar Dadin now?
Ildar Dadin, a civil activist serving time for participating in pickets, was sent to the “stage” exactly a month ago. During this time, neither the Federal Penitentiary Service of Russia nor the Segezha colony (from where Dadin was transported) agreed to talk about where he was being sent. To date, relatives do not know anything about his health and whereabouts. Human rights activists and lawyers have already seriously raised the issue of changes in Russian legislation, namely in the criminal executive code.
The day before, Russian President Vladimir Putin instructed the Prosecutor General to check the FSIN for interaction with members of the Public Monitoring Commission.
Pavel Chikov
human rights activist
— The secret of transporting prisoners to remote regions is, unfortunately, a common Russian practice. It has always existed, since Soviet times. For the first time in modern Russia we came across the same resonant story with the transfer of Mikhail Khodorkovsky under the first verdict. He also traveled for about a month to Krasnokamensk. If we look at the publications for 2005, we will also find a lot of hype due to the fact that he “wasn’t anywhere.” The same story happened in 2013, when Nadezhda Tolokonnikova “got lost.” She was transported from Mordovia to Krasnoyarsk for about a month.
Dadin does not go from point A to point B. He may have 10 stops along the way. The convict travels by train (this is about two days) from one pre-trial detention center to another. One or two weeks remain in each of them until the next stage is assembled, which will move on. And if the next colony of Dadin is remote, and the convoy rarely goes there, then the convoy can take from one and a half to two months.
Then, when he finally arrives at the colony, he is quarantined for several days, and the colony is required to send a notification to the family within 10 days of arrival. Moreover, she sends the letter by mail. And as you know, our mail takes at least a week. Thus, it turns out that news of Ildar Dadin’s whereabouts may come two or even three months later. And formally, this will be fully consistent with Russian legislation.
The practice of serving a sentence far from home is a violation of human rights. This has been recognized by the European Court of Human Rights. Why? Connections with the family are greatly weakened - it is difficult for relatives to visit the prisoner, because getting to this point is very expensive.
Everyone is now concerned about the question: why do relatives still not know where Dadin is? But what is violated by the fact that his relatives do not know about his whereabouts? They still can’t see him or send him a transfer while he’s at the stage. Yes, we don't know where he is, and that's why we worry. I understand that this is a complex issue. If they do something bad to him, it’s a crime, but there should be something else to cause dissatisfaction.
The very fact that a prisoner is serving his sentence far from home, thousands of kilometers away, is a violation. Specifically, this should be changed in legislation.
There are a lot of general regime colonies around Moscow. And why he should be sent to Siberia is completely incomprehensible. If this practice is declared illegal, then the need for lengthy stages will no longer be necessary.
Sergey Panchenko
— What needs to be done now with our legislation? First, it is necessary to introduce a requirement for mandatory notification of lawyers involved in the case. Not a relative when the convict has already been taken to the final destination. And a lawyer at the time of leaving the first colony. I believe that information about where the convicted person is sent does not pose a threat to his safety. The route of movement, of course, should not be disclosed. Because there are all sorts of situations - not only political prisoners sit in our prisons, but sometimes they also sit there, however, dangerous people. Secondly, at intermediate points of the stage, the prisoner should be allowed to use the telephone to inform both relatives and lawyers about his whereabouts, state of health, and possible complaints.
It is necessary to understand that
the period of the stage is a period of lawlessness. It can last for months. A person disappears, and it is impossible to predict where and how long he will “resurface.” During this period, the transported person is in a state of “thing”. He is absolutely powerless.
In a pre-trial detention center or colony, supervision is carried out theoretically and practically. But during the stage, complete uncertainty begins... A man disappears in a time hole. He will ride as much as the FSIN wants. We have no way to get it out of there.
Dmitry Agranovsky
— A month is, of course, a lot. But in my practice, for example, we were looking for Leonid Razvozzhaev for quite a long time. Although theoretically we had an idea: first he goes to Irkutsk, and then they seem to take him from there to Krasnoyarsk. In general, I don’t remember a rule in our legislation that would oblige one to notify relatives and lawyers about the whereabouts of a prisoner. This does not mean that it should not exist, but in reality it really does not exist.
Most importantly, from a reasonable point of view, it is not clear why not report? It's unlikely that they are hiding it on purpose. This is a high-profile case, it will still be found. If there are consequences of violence on him, it will definitely come up.
In our law enforcement system, everything is possible, but this is already beyond the scope. At this stage, prisoners are least subject to prosecutorial supervision, and therefore are exposed to all kinds of danger. Violence can also be committed by fellow inmates. The guards don't care, they just make sure there are no corpses, and they don't care what's inside these compartments.
Here it is necessary to look carefully at the law on the Federal Penitentiary Service. In order to: a) make this system more transparent, b) introduce more serious punishment for violation job responsibilities. If the system is transparent, we can control these violations. And if there is still a law regarding persons of the Federal Penitentiary Service, then they are also aware of what will happen to them for unlawful actions against prisoners. Many questions are immediately resolved.