72 Olga Nikonova
which he was a part: from the removal of choice with regards to one’s
“distribution” to nuclear enterprises to the status of prisoners, who were
convicted political scientists working in the “sharashka.” 24 This is how the
“government voucher” was issued to Viktor Doshchenko, a graduate of
the First Leningrad Medical Institute named after academic I.P. Pavlov, an
honors student and a Stalin’s scholarship’s holder: “It seems that fate tested
the young doctor’s strength,” he recalled after his arrival at the plant. 25
The most extreme form of coercion was, of course, work in the nuclear
project as a prisoner. However, the strict secrecy of nuclear production led
to the emergence of closed spaces of camp style for “free citizens,” which
was characteristic not only for the USSR, but also for the nuclear industry in other countries. 26 Based on her memories and the memories of her
colleagues in the MSO No. 71, Gusʹkova observed: “Our future beautiful
city in 1948-1950 was blocked by wire, and prisoners worked behind it.
We made our way to work between these barriers or along narrow forest
paths.” 27 Indeed, forced labor was widely used in the construction of Plant
No. 817. By the beginning of 1948, the number of prisoners involved in the
construction of the plutonium plant was about 20,000 people. 28 The work
of the research laboratories involved prisoners with well-known names in
science, for example, N.V. Timofeev-Resovskii 29 (Laboratory “B”), who was
both prisoner and doctor among the enterprise. 30
The “camp” effect thus arose both in direct contact with prisoners and in
restricting individual rights and freedoms. “When I was sent to this system
in 1948, my parents thought I had been arrested because all my connections
had been severed and I could not go home,” explained Angelina Gusʹkova in
an interview with “Atomnaia ėnergiia” in 2005, expounding that “for two
years I saw nothing, no family, just barbed wire. I was only sent to Moscow
on business trips, but no meetings with my family. The first time they let me
go home for several hours was when I accompanied B.L. Vannikov and E.P.
Slavskii 31 … on their trip to the Urals. There was a detour around the base
along the Urals past Nizhnii Tagil, and they let me go home for a few hours.
For the first time in 1951, I met with my family.” 32 Baisogolov found himself
in a similar situation. In 1950, when he was appointed head of the Second
Therapy Department, it signified a decisive change of lifestyle: for three
years he could not meet his parents living in Tbilisi, as “the departure from
Chelyabinsk-40 […] to the ‘big land’ was very limited. They did not even
allow one to go on vacation, paying instead 150% of the allotted vacation
pay.” 33 In the early 2000s, Baisogolov recalled how he and his wife had their
passports confiscated at the “Dalʹniaia dacha,” where specialists who were
going to plant No. 817 lived for a short time. With regret, he wrote about
friendships and friends that had been lost because of deliberate restrictions on
contacts: “Taking into account the need to inform the plant’s security department about all my meetings in writing upon my return (this was the order of
the day), I tried to reduce them to people not related to the nuclear industry,
which he was a part: from the removal of choice with regards to one’s
“distribution” to nuclear enterprises to the status of prisoners, who were
convicted political scientists working in the “sharashka.” 24 This is how the
“government voucher” was issued to Viktor Doshchenko, a graduate of
the First Leningrad Medical Institute named after academic I.P. Pavlov, an
honors student and a Stalin’s scholarship’s holder: “It seems that fate tested
the young doctor’s strength,” he recalled after his arrival at the plant. 25
The most extreme form of coercion was, of course, work in the nuclear
project as a prisoner. However, the strict secrecy of nuclear production led
to the emergence of closed spaces of camp style for “free citizens,” which
was characteristic not only for the USSR, but also for the nuclear industry in other countries. 26 Based on her memories and the memories of her
colleagues in the MSO No. 71, Gusʹkova observed: “Our future beautiful
city in 1948-1950 was blocked by wire, and prisoners worked behind it.
We made our way to work between these barriers or along narrow forest
paths.” 27 Indeed, forced labor was widely used in the construction of Plant
No. 817. By the beginning of 1948, the number of prisoners involved in the
construction of the plutonium plant was about 20,000 people. 28 The work
of the research laboratories involved prisoners with well-known names in
science, for example, N.V. Timofeev-Resovskii 29 (Laboratory “B”), who was
both prisoner and doctor among the enterprise. 30
The “camp” effect thus arose both in direct contact with prisoners and in
restricting individual rights and freedoms. “When I was sent to this system
in 1948, my parents thought I had been arrested because all my connections
had been severed and I could not go home,” explained Angelina Gusʹkova in
an interview with “Atomnaia ėnergiia” in 2005, expounding that “for two
years I saw nothing, no family, just barbed wire. I was only sent to Moscow
on business trips, but no meetings with my family. The first time they let me
go home for several hours was when I accompanied B.L. Vannikov and E.P.
Slavskii 31 … on their trip to the Urals. There was a detour around the base
along the Urals past Nizhnii Tagil, and they let me go home for a few hours.
For the first time in 1951, I met with my family.” 32 Baisogolov found himself
in a similar situation. In 1950, when he was appointed head of the Second
Therapy Department, it signified a decisive change of lifestyle: for three
years he could not meet his parents living in Tbilisi, as “the departure from
Chelyabinsk-40 […] to the ‘big land’ was very limited. They did not even
allow one to go on vacation, paying instead 150% of the allotted vacation
pay.” 33 In the early 2000s, Baisogolov recalled how he and his wife had their
passports confiscated at the “Dalʹniaia dacha,” where specialists who were
going to plant No. 817 lived for a short time. With regret, he wrote about
friendships and friends that had been lost because of deliberate restrictions on
contacts: “Taking into account the need to inform the plant’s security department about all my meetings in writing upon my return (this was the order of
the day), I tried to reduce them to people not related to the nuclear industry,