My name is Volodymyr Mykolaiovych Kolot.

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I came here, to Bykivnia, because I know that my grandfather — Kolot Kyrylo Davydovych — was executed in 1937. I had long heard he was buried somewhere around here. In May 2019, there was a memorial event for the victims of repression. After the official ceremony, I went to the memorial plaques — and I found him. His name is inscribed there: Kolot Kyrylo Davydovych, executed in 1937.

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My grandfather lived in the village of Khotske, Pereiaslav district. He worked at a collective farm, managing the hut where grain was treated before sowing. One year, the harvest was poor — and he was blamed, accused of doing something wrong, maybe poisoning the seed. I read a copy of the case file — there was testimony from the head of the collective farm, and that was enough for a death sentence. They put all the blame on him.

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He was 49 years old. He and my grandmother had six children — three sons and three daughters. After the arrest, she was left alone with the children — before the war. You can imagine how hard that was.

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I first came here in 2019, and today I came again. May 19 is the Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Stalinist Repression. I brought two carnations. Because as long as I live — I must remember.

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I know we come from a Cossack lineage. I once worked as an electrician in the archive on Solomianska Street, 24, and asked the deputy director at the time — Olena Viktorivna Polozova — to help with tracing my ancestry. She found the documents — and it turned out: on both my father’s and mother’s side — we are Cossacks. I still have that extract at home.

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My father was "the son of an enemy of the people". In 1939, he was drafted into the army, but as someone considered "unreliable" — not with a rifle, but with a shovel, to build an airfield. When the war broke out, they all dropped their shovels and went home. Later, he was drafted again — this time to the front. He fought, was wounded twice. His younger brother Hrysha also fought and was killed. Even though my grandfather was branded "an enemy of the people", the whole family fought — for the USSR, as they used to say, for Stalin.

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There was an underground resistance in our village. My father’s older sister, Aunt Varka, was a liaison. Another relative, Kolot Ivan, served in the police — but on assignment from the underground. When our village was being liberated, he died in battle. A street in Khotske is named after him. That’s what kind of “enemy of the people” he was.

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My grandchildren no longer listen to these stories. They have their own lives. But I come — as long as I can. Because memory is what remains. And it must remain.