The arrival to the correctional labour camp proved to be the climax of humiliation. First of all they forced us to strip to the buff and pushed into plank cubicles without roofs. The stars sparkled over heads, dried up excrement was under bare feet. The cut view of the cubicle was one square metre. There were three of four persons, men and women, trembling, naked and frightened in each of them. Then they opened those dogs' cubicles one after another, took naked people and drove them through the yard into a kind of the camp dressing room, a special building where they did the paperwork and hustled our belongings. The aim of the search was to leave rags for us and take good clothes including sweaters, mittens, socks, scarves, waistcoats and good footwear for themselves. Ten muggers blatantly robbed miserable, more than half dead people.
The correctional camp should make us better. Labour ennobles, but what about a camp? It's not a gaol, is it? What's going on?