On the social media site formerly known as Twitter, Krzysztof Szczawinski outlines the career of the man who was indispensable to Soviet dictator Josef Stalin, until he suddenly wasn’t … and got erased in his turn:
Yezhov – The Butcher.
His old boss once said he had never met a more ideal worker: “Give him a task and you don’t need to check on him – he’ll get it done. He has only one shortcoming: he doesn’t know when to stop.”
Nikolai Yezhov was a small man, barely five feet tall, a former factory worker with little schooling who rose through the Party as a diligent, obedient bureaucrat. He was exactly the man the system needed.
A small and vicious man – in power, he drank heavily and liked to go down to the prisons to watch interrogations – sometimes joining the beatings himself. When his wife had an affair with the novelist Mikhail Sholokhov, Yezhov had their hotel room bugged and listened to the recordings. He watched his own bedroom just as he watched over the whole country.
His philosophy fit in one sentence: better that ten innocent people suffer than one spy escape. English law had said the opposite for centuries: better that ten guilty men go free than one innocent suffer. That one reversal is the whole difference between a civilization and a terror.
In 1936, Stalin put him at the head of the NKVD. The old boss who had praised him was shot in the terror that followed.
The West calls it the Great Purge. Russians remember it as the Yezhovshchina – “the Yezhov times”. But it was not a frenzy. It was a plan.
An order of July 1937 gave every region a quota: so many to be shot – the “first category” – and so many to be sent to the camps – the “second category”. Local chiefs competed to fulfill the plan and asked Moscow to raise their limits. Moscow usually agreed.
Torture was authorized from the top. Then came the national operations – Germans, Latvians, Finns, and above all Poles. Order 00485, signed by Yezhov, hunted an organization that did not exist. The verdicts came in albums, a few lines per person. In Moscow, two signatures sealed them – Yezhov’s and the prosecutor Vyshinsky’s – hundreds of death sentences at a sitting.
The wives of the condemned went to the camps. Their children went to orphanages.
Propaganda posters showed him crushing a many-headed snake in a spiked glove. His name means “hedgehog”, and “hedgehog gloves” is the Russian idiom for an iron grip.
In two years, around seven hundred thousand people were shot.
Then the machine needed a culprit. In 1938, Beria arrived as his deputy, and by November Yezhov was out. In April 1939 he was arrested, tortured with the methods he had perfected, and made to confess to being a spy. At his secret trial, he asked that Stalin be told he would die with his name on his lips. He was shot in February 1940.
Then he was erased – from the photographs, from the records, from the story. The terror kept his name, Yezhovshchina, so that it would not carry the Master’s.
His adopted daughter was sent to an orphanage, like the children of his victims.
The machine is never satisfied. It always needs the next name on the list – and, when the time comes, the name of the man who made the lists.












