Once upon a time, there lived three sisters…
In my mind, the name of Lithuania was closely linked together with it’s two neighbors to the north long before the Baltic Chain stretched across the Baltic region in 1989. Lietuva, Latvija, Estija – I often heard these words mentioned together from the day I was born, since the year coincided with the beginning of what would later reveal itself to be the collapse of the Soviet Union (although, according to my parents, few dared to dream about it in 1985).
Then everything changed, and suddenly Lietuva, Latvija and Estija each had it’s own goals and it’s own ways how to achieve them. Instead of camaraderie there was now competition, but I still somehow thought of the other two countries as having similar problems, similar mindset and similar ways to deal with things. After all, didn’t the Baltic trio join the EU and NATO at the same time? What bothered me a little, though, was the fact that, despite all the sentiments I felt for our Baltic neighbors, there wasn’t a single Latvian or Estonian among my acquaintances, even though I had met numerous foreigners by my late teens. There was far too little interaction between the three nations, as far as I was concerned.
My chance came one rainy June afternoon, when, after seeing a presentation of the Baltic Film and Media School, I decided to apply. I was halfway through my BA and was unsatisfied with the quality of education offered by my university, which was still unable to get rid of the Soviet-style teaching methods and communication. The film school in Tallinn seemed to be just what I needed, with English as a teaching language and a chance to live and study among my Baltic neighbors.
Getting to know the neighbors
Needless to say, the differences between the country where I was born and spent the first twenty years of my life and the country I was now living in soon started to reveal themselves. In Tallinn, I had free wireless internet even at the airport and only one Estonian friend at the end of my first year of studies (she had spent six years in Western Europe before), while Latvians were much more eager to chat and much quicker to form relationships. When, in the morning after the Bronze Night in 2007, the class was buzzing with excitement, the Estonians kept silent. And last winter, when Lithuanian media were competing who would run the scariest headline about how deadly swine flu was, an Estonian nurse told me the media here tried to avoid the topic in order not to spread panic.
So by the beginning of 2010 I already knew that the Estonians indeed had a whole different approach to many things. But then they surprised me once more, this time – with the way they choose to deal with history.
A project for history, journalism and arts students from the three Baltic states was launched in January by a young Lithuanian journalist. The aim was to encourage young people to remember the painful experiences people from the Baltic region went through during WWII, especially the resistance and the deportations to Siberia, meet with the people who have gone through that, collect their memories, but most importantly – discuss the influence that the past has on the present and the future. For Lithuanians, this was nothing new – during the past five or so years, projects like this have been attracting more and more Lithuanian youth. For example, the organizers of Mission Siberia, a project that gives around 20 selected young people up to 29 years of age a chance to go on an expedition to Siberia and visit places to which Lithuanians were deported, receive several thousand applications each year. But in Estonia it’s a whole different story.

My grandfather, Juozas Dailidė, second from the left, in Lithuania before WWII
Being a participant of the history and arts project, I learned that, while met with enthusiasm in Lithuania and Latvia, it received very modest response from Estonian students. My friends in Tallinn told me that the topic of anti-communist resistance and the deportations to Siberia wasn’t discussed much in public lately, and they knew nothing about any projects dealing with these topics that would be aimed specifically at young people. This was such a clear contrast to the situation in Lithuania that I became curious about the reasons.

Juozas Dailidė, first row, second from the left, in the gulag in Magadan
The first thing that came to my mind was the delicate situation in which Estonians find themselves in regards to the local Russian-speaking community. This thought was reinforced by an Estonian course mate of mine who was convinced that time wasn’t right to talk about these things just yet. The wounds, he said, are still too fresh, and it’s wise to wait another 10-15 years. But other Estonians I talked to told me their nation just didn’t like to look back very much. According to Heiki Ahonen, director and founder of the Museum of Occupations of Estonia, whom I recently interviewed, the country is very concentrated on the future and not on the past. He is also convinced that, above all else, Estonian society today is driven by capitalist values, with all the good and bad consequences that follow.
No doubt that religion, too, has a role to play. Even though the importance of the Church is relatively low in the lives of Lithuanians today, 80 percent still claim to be Roman Catholic, and the importance of tradition is deeply rooted in the society. Much more so than in Estonia, where the dominant religion is Evangelical Lutheranism.
Neighbors in more than one way
I’m sure there are other reasons that I didn’t mention here, and it would require a lot of research to get to the bottom of this question. But for me, the most interesting thing of all was to discover yet another difference between the two small nations that happen to live close to each other and share not only the same coastline, but similar past experiences, too. I feel I’m one small step closer to knowing Estonians better, and knowing each other better is crucial for a good neighborhood.
As a child, I liked to listen to my grandparents’ stories of life in Siberia and the people they met there. According to my grandma, the gulag was “the tower of Babel”, with people from many different nations, speaking many different languages. And I remember asking her, again and again: did you meet any Latvians or Estonians there? And she had indeed met them, and I could listen to those stories over and over again: neighbors, meeting thousands of kilometers away and talking about their home which, from where they were, looked like the same small dot on the face of the Earth.