In 1983 Michel Heller published some documents on Jurij Åerebkov (1908-?), the ‘Russian Führer’ in Paris during World War II. [1] In doing so he wished to contribute to the historiography of the Russian emigration, which, according to Heller, had not yet been written. Now, nineteen years later, the history of the Russian Diaspora after the Russian Revolution has largely been covered, except, perhaps, for... World War II. Unlike the fate of such notorious military collaborators as Andrej Vlasov (who was not even an émigré stricto sensu) or Petr Krasnov, the behaviour of White Russians during the German occupation of Western Europe is generally passed over in silence. [2] In Belgium, as in France [3], Russian collaboration during World War II is a touchy subject, but unlike the émigrés in France, those in Belgium cannot hide behind the vastness or heterogeneity of the Russian community and proclaim their ignorance. On the contrary : the Russian Diaspora in Belgium numbered between 3,823 (1922) and about 8,000 people (1937) [4] and was largely concentrated in Brussels and the French-speaking part of the country. The post-war attitude of the Russians towards collaboration during the war is remarkably similar to that of their Belgian (French-speaking) neighbors, who generally ignore their own involvement and pretend that only the ‘others’ (i.e. the Flemish-speaking community of Belgium) are to blame. Being part of ‘French culture’ allegedly had prevented them from being lured by ‘German barbarism.’ This excuse, however, cannot be applied to the Russians in Belgium, who had retained a remarkable cultural homogeneity during the 1920’s and 1930’s. The Russian community in Belgium largely consisted of Russian military personnel, who had initially been drawn to the country by the possibility of continuing their studies. [5] They were in a sense bound to each other by both past and future and this would strengthen the sense of community, especially in the early 1930’s, when the economic crisis struck. Additionally, the leaders of the White Russian Armies, Generals Anton Denikin (1872-1947) and Petr Vrangel´ (1878-1928), had already been welcomed in the 1920’s by the Belgian military and industrialists with whom they shared good memories of collaboration before and during World War I. [6] This mutual sympathy, together with the alleged Belgian reluctance to recognize the Soviet Union, made Belgium the logical location for the headquarters of the ‘Russian All-Military Union’ (Russkoe Obšče-Voinskij Sojuz -- ROVS) after the abduction of General Jevgenij Miller (1876-1939) by the NKVD in Paris on 22 September 1937. In the ensuing turmoil the leaders of ROVS were expelled from France and some of them were to resume their activities in Belgium. General Aleksej Arhangel´skij (1872-1959), who lived and worked in Brussels, was appointed Miller’s successor. The Belgian authorities, fearing the reaction of the Soviets, were not too keen on this, but eventually permitted these tsarist officers to collaborate with Belgian anti-communist organizations with relations in high military, industrial and political circles. [7] As a result, Belgium became the only country in Western Europe that saw the number of its Russian immigrants increase by the end of the 1930’s.

In the early hours of 1 September 1944 machine gun shots were heard in the rue Defacqz, a side street of the prestigious avenue Louise in the Brussels community of Saint Gilles. At that moment, the shooting should not have drawn too much attention, because the city was on the verge of being liberated by the Allies, and the German troops were frantically preparing their withdrawal. Soon afterwards two bodies were discovered in front of house number 71, the headquarters of the ‘Comité d’Entr’aide russe en Belgique’ (Russische Selbsthilfsausschuß in Belgien/Russische Vertrauensstelle für Belgien), an organization installed by the Germans to control the Russian colony in the Kingdom of Belgium. The bodies were identified as those of Jurij Vojcehovskij, the director of the Vertrauensstelle and of Aleksej Litvinov, his body guard. A short obituary in the Berlin fascist weekly Novoe slovo of 17 September 1944 stated that Vojcehovskij had fallen ‘in the line of duty,’ but refrained from commenting on the circumstances of the murder, which would continue to remain unclear. According to several witnesses, Vojcehovskij was shot with his own machine gun by an unknown individual, dressed in the uniform of the Vlasov Army. [9] It was suggested that the assassin was either a member of the Russian Resistance in Belgium or someone sent by the Germans in order to get rid of their Russian collaborator. The (less informed) Paris weekly Russkie novosti, on the other hand, claimed that a “patriotic Cossack with a revolver” had shot him in his office. [10] Whatever the circumstances of Vojcehovskij’s death, it put an end to one of the most murky and unappetizing episodes in the history of the Russian emigration in Belgium.

It had all started almost 20 years earlier. In Warsaw at that time, two brothers were gradually trying to impose themselves as the leaders of the local Russian community. They belonged to a well-to-do family, and their father, an officer in the Russian Imperial Army, had died at the hands of the Bolsheviks. This event had apparently not only inspired his sons with a fierce hatred of communism, but it had also provided them with the necessary financial means to engage themselves fully in Russian social life in the Polish capital. Sergej (1902-1984), the elder of the two, proved to be most successful. He was already director of the Warsaw-based news agency ‘Russpress’ in the 1920’s and was slowly gaining some renown as an author of patriotic poetry. The career of the younger brother, Jurij, had been less promising. Born in Kalisz on 6 November 1905 and brought up in Kiev, in 1921 he fled to Warsaw, where he studied at the Polytechnic School, but without much success. By 1926 he had become the chairman of the ‘Union of Russian Youth’ (Ob´´edinenie Russkoj Molodeži) in Warsaw [12], but two years later, on 29 April 1928, he was forced to resign, apparently because he had diverted some Union funds to his own pockets. Five days later, on 4 May 1928, Jurij Vojcehovskij made an attempt on the life of Aleksej Lizarev, the Soviet commercial representative in Warsaw. Lizarev was only slightly wounded and at the ensuing trial, which took place on 28 December 1928, it became clear that Vojcehovskij had not acted out of political motives, but out of mere frustration with his forced resignation from the Union of Russian Youth. Moreover, by his deed Vojcehovskij had seriously undermined the hitherto good relationship between Russian émigrés and the Polish authorities and therefore could not count on much sympathy from his fellow-countrymen. Unlike Boris Koverda (1907-1987), a Russian who had killed the Soviet representative to Poland in 1927 and who had virtually been treated as a political offender, Vojcehovskij’s attempt was considered a purely criminal affair and the culprit was condemned to 10 years’ imprisonment.

5 years, 4 months and 10 days after his imprisonment, on 14 September 1933, Jurij Vojcehovskij was released from the Warsaw Mokotów prison. [14] He went to live in the ulica Belgijska and the name of this street may well have inspired his next step : in August 1934 he applied for a visa to Belgium and provided the Belgian Embassy in Warsaw with the necessary documents : a health certificate, proof of good conduct during the previous six months provided by the Polish police, and a letter of invitation from the Catholic University of Leuven. Both Robert Jourdain S.J. (1897-1952), the director of the ‘Foyer Universitaire Slave’ in Leuven, and Mihail Fedorov (1858-1949), the President of the ‘Central Committee for the Patronage of Russian Students Abroad’ (Central´nyj Komitet po obespečeniju vysšego obrazovanija russkomu junošestvu za granicej), wrote letters of recommendation which sufficiently assured the Belgian authorities of Vojcehovskij’s eligibility. A visa was duly issued.

During his studies in Leuven, Vojcehovskij had maintained a low profile, but he had never forgotten where his ambitions really lay : to become a leading figure of the Russian colony in Belgium, and, if possible, to impose upon it his personal political convictions. Opportunity struck when a leftist Popular Front government came to power in France (June 1936) and many Russian military leaders thought it wise to move their headquarters from Paris to Brussels. Among them was Captain Vasilij Orehov (1896-1990), the editor of Časovoj, who had supported the cause of the Spanish nationalists and their leader, General Franco, too openly. From October 1936, the unofficial organ of the ROVS was published in Belgium.

The Russian Christian Labour Movement was not so much a regular labour union, but the Russian branch of the ‘Entente Internationale Anticommuniste’ (EIA), a Geneva-based organization that wanted to coordinate the anti-communist efforts made in the different countries of Europe. [25] It had been founded in 1924 by Théodore Aubert (1878-1963) and Dr. Aleksandr Lodyženskij (?-1954) and was a front organization created by the French Intelligence Services. [26] In due course the EIA gained a lot of respectability and support, not least among Belgian anti-communists. If Jurij Lodyženskij, the brother of co-founder Aleksandr, is to be believed, “le ‘Centre Belge’ de l’EIA peut être cité parmi les mieux organisés et les plus actifs.” [27]

In the summer of 1938 Vojcehovskij laid the foundations of yet another organization meant to enhance his influence : the Union of Russian Journalists in Belgium. The initiators were Orehov, the editor of Časovoj, General Petr Šorin (1866-1940), the Belgian correspondent of the Paris daily Vozroždenie and Vojcehovskij, writing for the Berlin fascist weekly Novoe slovo. They held their first meeting on 30 July, when they announced that the Union would officially be established on 21 August. [33] Orehov, the most experienced of the three, became President, and Vojcehovskij, as Secretary-General, took up the daily management of the Union. The goals of the Union were clearly defined : it would defend the interests of Russian journalists in Belgium, make contact with similar organisations abroad and actively participate in public manifestations ; apart from that, it would also scrutinize the information on Russia, circulated in Belgium, and, last but not least, would observe a strict and uncompromising anti-communist position. [34] What this in fact meant became clear in October 1938, when the Union of Russian Journalists in Belgium launched a campaign against the Paris ‘left’ Russian daily, Poslednie novosti. [35] The official declaration of war, formally emanating from all the Russian patriotic organizations in Belgium, but in reality a product of Vojcehovskij’s and Orehov’s pens, left no doubt as to the reproaches being levelled against the leading journal of the Russian emigration :

The declaration against Poslednie novosti may already have hinted at a latent germanophilia among Russian émigrés, but it was not until April 1939 that the bomb burst. On 9 April 1939, the socialist daily Le Peuple published an article claiming that the parishioners of the Russian Orthodox Church in the rue de Livourne openly sympathised with the Nazis and that they would welcome a German invasion of Belgium. [38] One of the leading members of the colony, Emmanuel Fričero (1880-1959), himself a Catholic, obtained a correction in the paper’s issue of 13 April [39] and even the right-wing Le Pays réel doubted whether these “orthodoxes pro-Nazis” were really representative of the whole Russian colony in Belgium, [40] but harm had already been done. On 28 April, another right-wing journal, Rex, which had never hidden its sympathies for Germany, insisted that the Belgian government should not tolerate any political activities of foreigners, even if they were anti-communist Russians. [41]

The signing of the Molotov-von Ribbentrop pact on 23 August 1939, promptly followed by the outbreak of war on 1 September 1939, shattered the fragile balance of alliances and enmities taken for granted until that moment. The Russian military leaders in Belgium were definitely at a loss. On 2 September 1939 Gartman offered his services to the Belgian Government, [55] whereas less than a month later Arhangel´skij maintained that Russians should remain neutral and await their chance to fight the Bolsheviks. In the meantime they should convince the Belgians of the necessity to restore the old order in Russia. [56] An even greater shock was to follow on 29 November 1939, when the Soviet Union attacked Finland. This attack not only confirmed the treacherous character of the Bolshevik leaders, but also prompted the émigrés to act, especially as Finland was led by Marshall Karl Mannerheim (1867-1951), a former tsarist general. On 10 December 1939, during a ROVS party in Brussels, both Arhangel´skij and Gartman declared that it would be “a crime” to enlist in the Finnish army, for that country was defending its territory and not fighting communism. Therefore any comparison with the Spanish Civil War, when Russian exiles joined the ranks of General Franco’s army, was unjustified. [57] Six days later, however, Arhangel´skij telegraphed Mannerheim and formally proposed to send a Russian volunteer unit. His offer was politely rejected. [58] A similar proposal by Orehov was also declined. [59] In the early days of January 1940 a Russian emissary was sent to the German embassy to ask its opinion on the matter. The emissary, who explained to his German interlocutor that the Russians were actually only interested in fighting communism, was told that the Germans would consider sending troops to Finland as an “unfriendly act.” [60] As Arhangel´skij made it clear on 30 March 1940 in a secret memorandum to ROVS, the appropriate moment had not yet come. [61]

However, when Nazi Germany attacked Belgium on 10 May 1940 and the Sûreté Publique started making arrests, Vojcehovskij was not among them. Unlike his friend Dubenskij and many other suspects, who were put on a transport to France, Vojcehovskij stayed in Belgium, but kept a low profile. After the Belgian Army surrendered to the Germans on 28 May 1940 and the government fled to France and later to London, both Belgians and Russians had somehow to adapt to the new situation.

On 14 November 1940 the RSHA launched a plan to establish a Russian Committee both in Paris and Brussels. The idea derived from the Gestapo (branch IV of the RSHA) and was formally meant to organize the employment of Russians. In reality, however, it would serve as a means for the Sicherheitspolizei-Sicherheitsdienst (Sipo-SD) in Brussels and Paris to control the émigré colony. Once the Selbsthilfeausschuß, led by a “politically reliable Leiter, representing the German interests,” was fully in place, all other émigré organizations would have to cease their activities. [78]

On 22 June 1941 the Germans launched their Operation Barbarossa against the Soviet Union, putting an end to the unlikely alliance between the two rivals. The effects of the attack, however, were not limited to the territory of the Soviet Union, but coincided with a cleansing operation against potential opponents to the invasion. Operation ‘Sonnewende,’ carried out by the Sipo-SD, resulted in the arrest of some 317 suspects in Belgium, mainly communists (238), but also a handful of Soviet citizens (34) and a number of Russian émigrés (65). [100] Although it has now been established that the Sicherheitsdienst drew up its lists on the basis of its own files and partly on information received from the Belgian Police des Étrangers, [101] many Russian émigrés were convinced that Vojcehovskij had provided Tuttas with these names in order to settle his own personal accounts. [102] Especially the arrest of Arhangel´skij’s secretary, General Pavel Kusonskij (1880-1941), and his subsequent incarceration in the concentration camp of Breendonck, caused a major upheaval. On 29 July 1941, Arhangel´skij addressed General Alexander von Falkenhausen (1888-1951), the Militärbefehlshaber for Belgium and the North of France, with the request to release Kusonskij and some of his fellow-officers. [103] Unfortunately, Breendonck was the only prison in Belgium that did not fall under the control of the Militärverwaltung, but was under that of the Sipo-SD. By the time the military could intervene, Kusonskij had already died on 26 August 1941. [104]

Vojcehovskij’s actions, however, were not confined to inflicting damage on the Russian military or, for that matter, harassing personal enemies. As the juridical and social position of Russians in Belgium had changed after the German invasion of the Soviet Union, the Selbsthilfeausschuß became the official representative of the ‘Russian refugees’ (i.e. émigrés) to the Belgian and German authorities. To that effect, on 23 June 1941, General von Falkenhausen had addressed G. Romsée, the Secretary-General of the Interior, who in turn had sent a circular letter to the Belgian communities. [108] Although the Selbsthilfeausschuß -- now officially the ‘Comité d’Entr’aide russe,’ located at rue Defacqz 71 -- was only formally allowed to deliver ‘Volkstumbescheinigungen’ (certificates of nationality) to Russian refugees, [109] Vojcehovskij was determined to add some conditions of his own for receiving those certificates. He informed the Secretary-General of the Interior that he would not deliver any Volkstumbescheinigung to Russians with Soviet sympathies and to Jews. [110] Vojcehovskij put it even more bluntly to the local authorities : all refugees from Russia, whatever their ethnic or political background, were to register with the Comité d’Entr’aide ; the Comité would then decide who was to receive a Volkstumbescheinigung. [111] For the next years, Vojcehovskij’s assumed responsibilities would cause serious trouble...

Vojcehovskij, however, was more than an obedient executor of German commands or, for that matter, a vulgar opportunist obsessed with control over his fellow-countrymen. Above all, he was a Russian patriot, determined to free his native country from the Bolsheviks and convinced that this could only be achieved with the help of the Nazis. He therefore considered it his duty to propagate this idea among the Russian émigrés and, in the long run, among the Belgians.

Reconciliation between Vojcehovskij and the Russian military was not to take place. According to a report of the Military Prosecutor after the war, Vojcehovskij kept antagonizing the military as much as he could. The report claimed that Vojcehovskij had wanted to use the Russian naval flag (Andreevskij flag) of the ‘Union of Officers of the Russian Imperial Fleet’ (Union des Officiers de la Flotte Impériale Russe) for the meeting of 27 June 1943, but had met with a refusal and therefore had unleashed the Gestapo on the president of the Union, Captain Aleksandr Kovan´ko (1878-1949). According to the same source, early in 1944, Vojcehovskij caused great indignation among Russian émigrés (and thereby confirmed their judgement of this collaborator) by doubting their readiness to fight communism. During a meeting he was reported to have said :

Vojcehovskij’s profession of faith could not change the course of history. Less than a month after he wrote it, the leader of the ‘Russische Vertrauensstelle für Belgien’ was dead and his adoptive country was gradually being liberated from German occupation. What his fate would have been, if he had survived, is easy to imagine. For one, his murder proves that he was high on the list of wanted collaborators. Moreover, some 200 émigrés who were considered Vojcehovskij’s accomplices sooner or later faced prosecution. Šabašev, for instance, was apprehended on 23 October 1944 by local partisans, [172] while others, like Kotljarevskij, who had fled to Germany, were the subjects of wanted notices. [173] The Russian émigrés themselves, although strongly divided over what had happened during the German occupation, tended to back each other up, [174] laying all the blame on Vojcehovskij. The Belgian authorities, for their part, did not take notice of the rivalries within the Russian community and put all Russians who had dealings with the Germans into one box. Therefore, the report of the Military Prosecutor on Russian collaboration during the war, dated 30 January 1947, named not only Vojcehovskij and his collaborators, but also the leaders of ROVS, including Gartman and Arhangel´skij. [175] However, the number of convictions was actually very low and the sentences were generally far less severe than those given to Belgians, convicted for similar offences. This was partly due to the fact that the main culprits were either dead or had fled abroad (e.g. Šabašev). Moreover, the Russians could profit from a void in the Penal Code, which largely exempted foreigners from formal criminal prosecution. [176] Finally, the Russian émigrés took advantage of the emerging Cold War, especially after the Soviet Union demanded the extradition of the leaders of ROVS for war crimes in the summer of 1946. The so-called ‘Case of the Russian Generals,’ caused such an upheaval in the Belgian press, that the authorities had to release them and reject the Soviet demand. [177] Although the Sûreté de l’État claimed that the arrests had been made solely on the ground of the behaviour of the Russians émigrés during the war and had nothing whatsoever to do with Soviet pressure (quite the contrary), [178] this affair resulted in protection for the Russian community. The individuals and parties involved resumed their pre-war anti-communist activities, and the things that had happened during the war were passed over in silence.

The case of Jurij L´vovič Vojcehovskij proves that, contrary to Soviet claims, the Russian émigré community as a whole did not collaborate with Nazi Germany, and that German sympathies did not necessarily lead to political or military collaboration. There is no doubt, however, that the Russian fascination with Germany constituted a major condition for collaboration. Notwithstanding this favorable condition, only a small part of the Russian community in Belgium actually engaged in collaboration with Germany and then mainly because the opportunity arose. There were not more collaborators proportionally among Russian émigrés than among Belgian citizens, although the former may have had more reason to collaborate. As it turned out after the war the excuse of ‘fighting against communism’ was more acceptable for Russians, than it was for Belgians. No doubt, this may have helped Russians to reestablish themselves after the war and to resume their anti-communist activities.