War, Revolution, and Governance: The Baltic Countries in the Twentieth Century 9781618116215

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War, Revolution, and Governance The Baltic Countries in the Twentieth Century

Studies in Russian and Slavic Literatures, Cultures, and History Series Editor LAZAR FLEISHMAN (Stanford University)

War, Revolution, and Governance The Baltic Countries in the Twentieth Century Edited by

Lazar Fleishman and Amir Weiner

Boston 2018

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: the bibliographic record for this titles is available from the Library of Congress. ©Academic Studies Press, 2018 ISBN 978-1-61811-620-8 (hardback) ISBN 978-1-61811-621-5 (electronic) Book design by Kryon Publishing Services (P) Ltd. www.kryonpublishing.com Cover design by Ivan Grave Published by Academic Studies Press 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

Table of Contents

Introduction vii Lazar Fleishman, Amir Weiner  rom Self-Defense to Revolution: Lithuanian Paramilitary Groups in F 1918 and 1919 Tomas Balkelis

1

The Latvian War of Independence 1918–1920 and the United States Ēriks Jēkabsons

17

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia: Representations and Reality Ineta Lipša

30

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis’s Authoritarian Regime: May 15, 1934 – June 17, 1940 Aivars Stranga

56

The Rise of the Radical Right, the Demise of Democracy, and the Advent of Authoritarianism in Interwar Estonia Andres Kasekamp

76

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938: a Fateful Year for the Baltic States Magnus Ilmjärv

101

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940 Artūras Svarauskas

140

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Latvia, Nazi German Occupation, and the Western Allies, 1941–1945 Uldis Neiburgs

154

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition: An Outline of the Post-1989 Mnemohistory of Estonian “Freedom Fighters” Ene Kõresaar

165

Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West Kristina Burinskaitė

194

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953 Tōnu Tannberg

207

Doubly Marginalized People: The Hidden Stories of Estonian Society (1940–1960) Aigi Rahi-Tamm

239

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura (1940–1990) Daina Bleiere

266

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia: Second Secretary of the Central Committee, Nikolai Belukha, 1963–1978 Saulius Grybkauskas

293

Index

304

Introduction

T

he Baltic region in the twentieth century endured virtually everything. This turbulent century did not spare the small territory and its population, which was visited by practically every calamity the modern era had to offer. At the westward edge of the Russian Empire, the region was subjected to the harsh Russification drive of the late imperial era. With its diverse religions and nationalities, as well as being the geographic buffer between the Empire and the German Reich, it was also the crucible of key battles during World War I, with mass refugee crises following. In the interwar period, the rise of the independent Baltic States precipitated a myriad of political experiments and constant maneuvering in an attempt to preserve a fragile and ultimately short-lived ­sovereignty. World War II ushered in a period of unprecedented extremes, including waves of brutal occupations, deportations, the Holocaust, the subjection of the ­territory to the Communist experiment, and ultimately, the decimation of state ­sovereignty over the next four decades. The almost unavoidable outcome of this course of events has been to focus on the region through the lens of the large powers that sought to dominate and shape it. The rather limited number of foreign scholars with a command of Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian fortified this orientation in writing the ­history of the region. The present volume seeks to shift the attention to the local point of view by presenting the writing of Baltic scholars. By no means a comprehensive exposé, the essays nevertheless explore key junctures in the ­history of the three Baltic countries as viewed “from within,” both then and now. While there is no common thread or “party line” running through the essays—one could hardly expect this from a diverse post-communist g­ eneration of scholars—there are certain commonalities they all share. First is the deep and varied base of sources upon which the authors build their a­ rguments. Whether from the Communist Party, state or KGB archives, Western archives, data extracted from the archives of the interwar independent states, or i­nterviews

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Introduction

with and memoirs by former communist officials, one must keep in mind that, barely three decades ago, most of these sources were not available to ­researchers. Second, a number of the articles included challenge dominant narratives, be they communist or present-day nationally oriented. The topics examined range from a focus on the role of indigenous politics and society in advancing volatile and authoritarian political culture during the period of interwar independence, misguided foreign policy, and ambivalent attitudes toward locals returning from exile; as well as the disenfranchisement of women on the one hand, to the indigenization of power by none other than the Soviet security service on the other. Still others—notably the essay dealing with the Soviet handling of war criminals—reflect the current debates surrounding the region’s dark past and the tendency, by some, to look for mitigating factors. This stands in sharp contrast to another essay, which problematizes the emerging dominant narrative of anti-Soviet resistance at the expense of less appealing features. If anything, taken together, the diverse research, themes, and concepts explored in this volume ­display the normalization of scholarship in the post-communist academic ­communities of the independent Baltic States. Tomas Balkelis’s and Ēriks Jēkabsons’s essays offer a glimpse into the different attempts to shape the immediate postwar landscape: the first examines the paramilitary forces that mobilized the population under various ­ideologies and state-building efforts, the second, the American relief m ­ ission, which sought to alleviate suffering and simultaneously tame radicalism. Ineta Lipša, Aivars Stranga, and Andres Kasekamp all examine the dynamics of authoritarian movements and regimes that dominated the three states over the course of the twentieth century, as well as the distinct evolution of Baltic authoritarianism from the perspectives of political culture, institutions, and gender policies. Magnus Ilmjärv and Arturas Svarauskas trace the ­interactions between domestic developments and the geopolitical arena as the Baltic States desperately sought to make sense of the rapidly deteriorating conditions on the eve of World War II. Uldis Neiburgs rounds out the discussion with an examination of the Western powers’ take on Nazi occupation during the Second World War. Ene Kõresaar and Krisitina Burinskaitė analyze the long shadow cast by the War, exploring conflicting memories regarding official and unofficial commemorations of wartime collaboration and resistance, as well as the KGB’s drive to shape the legacy of the Holocaust. Tõnu Tannberg draws attention to the reforms introduced by Lavrentii Beria in the Baltic ­republics, a key moment in the transition from the Stalin era and one that highlighted the flexibility and lasting power of the Soviet system. Aigi Rahi-Tamm,

Introduction

Daina Bleiere, and Saulius Grybkauskas engage the ways society and local authorities confronted the dilemmas of Gulag returnees, gender (in)equality, and the presence of the Kremlin plenipotentiaries, respectively. The essays included in this volume were presented at an international conference hosted by Stanford University and the Hoover Institution Library & Archive on October 8–10, 2014. The editors extend special thanks to Brian Tich for his invaluable assistance in editing the essays. The organizers would also like to thank the Office of the Provost, the School of the Humanities and Sciences, the Office of the Dean, Stanford Global Studies Division, The Europe Center, Stanford University Libraries, the Division of Literatures, Cultures, & Languages, the Department of Slavic Languages and Literatures, the Department of History, Taube Center for Jewish Studies, the Center for Russian, East European and Eurasian Studies, and the Stanford Humanities Center for their generous support of this conference and volume. Lazar Fleishman Amir Weiner

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From Self-Defense to Revolution: Lithuanian Paramilitary Groups in 1918 and 1919 Tomas Balkelis Vilnius University

INTRODUCTION

A

fter the Great War, a new burst of military activity swept across the ­western  borderlands of  the former Russian Empire, in a wave of  ­bloodshed unseen since the early days of the war.1 As part of this wider conflict, between 1918 and 1920 the territory of  what is now Lithuania was flooded with armed groups of different stripes and political interests. The primary conflict was between Lithuanian nationalists and Bolsheviks, each offering transformative state-building projects. However, they were also joined by Poles, Russian counter-revolutionaries, and German volunteers, who fought the Bolsheviks; and, on occasion, the Lithuanians.2 All of these troops bore little resemblance to the imperial armies that had battled against each other just a few months earlier. Initially, they were poorly equipped paramilitary formations with loose command structures, A shorter version of this paper has been previously published in Acta Historica Universitatis Klaipedensis, vol. 28 (2014): 43–56.  1 For a recent overview of this conflict see, R. Gerwarth, J. Horn, eds., War in Peace: Paramilitary Violence in Europe after the Great War (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2012).   2 One of the best overviews of the conflict in the Baltics remains G. von Rauch, The Baltic States: The Years of Independence, 1917–1940 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1974).

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led by c­ harismatic and opportunist commanders. They depended, to v­ arying degrees, on their ability to be fed by the local population, using force when they refused to cooperate. It is no wonder that this many-sided power ­struggle produced an array of violent responses in the shape of various defensive and ­revolutionary groups, as well as home guards and peasant partisans (both nationalist and communist). Some of the groups tried to protect their local communities against these troops, taking advantage of the shifting military fortunes by j­ oining one warring side or another. My aim here is to provide an overview of a few key Lithuanian paramilitary groups that emerged as a result of the collapse of the German occupying regime, the Bolshevik advance, and the ensuing power struggle in Lithuania throughout 1918 and 1919. The focus is on grassroots groups that displayed a high degree of operational freedom and which, at least temporarily, acted independently of the Lithuanian government and the Bolshevik regime. I will explore their ­origins, motivation to fight, and their role in state- and nation-building. My argument is that these paramilitary formations played a significant role in mobilizing the local population in this many-sided power contest for political control of Lithuania. In effect, they contributed to the m ­ ilitarization 3 of civilian life. From this perspective, they can be studied as part of the same phenomenon irrespective of their political and ideological backgrounds. ­ Over the course of time, these groups were eliminated by the regular armies or simply disintegrated. But some of them (particularly those on the winning side) were incorporated into the new state and military structures that were forged in the midst of the war. Some became vehicles of civil activism, patriotic education, or nationalist or revolutionary indoctrination. Thus, starting from the early ­interwar years, paramilitarism became an inseparable part of the political culture of independent Lithuania and of the wider European region.4 The broader question investigated here is: what are the connections between the violence of the Great War and the postwar conflict? My second point is that this paramilitarism is closely linked to the legacy of the Great War, in particular to the demobilization and displacement of populations. The massive demobilization of the imperial Russian and German armies in 1918 led to the rapid remobilization of large numbers of war veterans into these new paramilitary formations. When they returned in large ­numbers  3 By “militarization,” I primarily mean the process by which a  society  organizes itself for ­military conflict and violence, when the military needs of belligerents overtake civil law.   4 For a recent overview of the region in the middle of this conflict, see A. V. Prusin, The Lands Between: Conflict in the East European Borderlands, 1870–1992 (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2010).

From Self-Defense to Revolution

to their transformed homelands as refugees, new political orders actively sought their allegiance. Not all veterans were willing to continue fighting, but many threw in their lot with these newly emerging paramilitary groups. They did so for a variety of reasons: patriotism, revolutionary passion, the hatred of revolution, new military careers, land, social and political status, unemployment, poverty, and others. In my view, exploring the origins and social roles of these paramilitaries may help us to understand long-term processes of ­“ brutalization” and the difficult transition from war to peace.5 My third point is that the violence perpetrated by these paramilitary groups was substantially different from the violence seen during the Great War. It was less dramatic and less destructive in terms of numbers of casualties. However, it was more ideologically motivated and multi-directional. A lot of this violence occurred within local communities. One feature of the period was that post-First World War paramilitaries did not shy away from the use of terror against the civilian population.6 Violence against civilians was ­perpetrated by both sides (nationalists and communists), and, therefore, requires closer investigation as a distinct phenomenon, one that possessed its own logic and dynamics. Thus, one of my intentions here is to show the interplay between paramilitarism and terror that occurred in Lithuania during 1918 and 1919.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT The paramilitary groups to be discussed here did not operate in a total ­political vacuum produced by the collapse of imperial state structures in the region. In fact, they had to work in conjunction, to share power or compete with a number of new political regimes that have emerged in Lithuania as a result of Germany’s capitulation on November 11, 1918. A brief overview of these regimes and their views on the paramilitary groups may provide a better grasp on the changing dynamics of war and redistribution of power in the region. Even after its capitulation in early November 1918, Germany remained the most dominant power in Lithuania until mid-1919. The demobilization   5 On the “brutalization thesis,” see G. I. Mosse, Fallen Soldiers: Reshaping the Memory of the World Wars (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1990). A similar argument was put ­forward by A. Lyttleton, “Fascism and Violence in Post-War Italy: Political Strategy and Social Conflict,” in: Social Protest, Violence and Terror in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Europe, ed. W. J. Mommsen and G. Hirschfeld (London: Macmillan, 1982), 262–263.   6 By “terror,” I mean violent acts perpetrated for a variety of political, ideological, or ethnic­ reasons, which are intended to create fear (terror) and deliberately target non-combatant civilians.

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of the Kaiser’s army in the east led to the moral collapse and withdrawal of the German troops from most of Belarus and large parts of Lithuania, areas that swiftly became occupied by the Red Army. The German ranks were split between the revolutionized soldiers (Spartakists) and those who pledged their loyalty to non-Bolshevik Soviet soldiers (Soldatenraten). Finally, in mid-­ January 1919, under the pressure from the Allies and the government in Berlin, the German High Command decided to halt the withdrawal of troops and to defend the Grodno–Alytus–Kėdainiai–Telšiai front. This was achieved by the mobilization and deployment of about 4,000 German volunteers who replaced the demoralized regular troops in Lithuania.7 This decision ensured the survival of the Lithuanian government of Mykolas Šleževičius. It rapidly mobilized its own native troops starting from December 29, 1918.8 Although the government had to abandon Vilnius to the Bolsheviks on January 2, 1919 and settled in Kaunas, by early February the Lithuanian troops joined the German volunteers in the military action and helped to stop the further Bolshevik advance. Between January and September 1919, the whole country was the battleground, on the one hand, between Lithuanians and Germans working as military allies and, on the other hand, the Red Army. The second and less visible front ran between revolutionary and nationalist paramilitary groups dotting the countryside. Naturally, the Lithuanian government and Germans supported those paramilitaries that fought the Reds. Meanwhile, beginning in late June 1919, Lithuanian state employees were mobilized into the paramilitary Lithuanian Riflemen Union (Lietuvos šaulių sąjunga), which gradually developed into the key paramilitary auxiliary of the regular Lithuanian Army.9 The šauliai tried to integrate all local anti-­Bolshevik paramilitary bands under its wing and actively participated in the fighting. On the other side, the arrival of the Red Army led to the creation of the Lithuanian Socialist Republic led by a Lithuanian Communist Vincas Mickevičius-Kapsukas on December 16, 1918. Its key governmental p­ ositions were filled by Lithuanian Communists recruited in Soviet Russia. The new state entity was established under the directives of Lenin and Stalin.10   7 Kpt. Jakštas, “Saksų savanorių dalys Lietuvoje 1919 metais,” Karo archyvas 6 (1935): 186. This source is a shortened version of O. Schroeder, Die Sächsischen Freiwilligen Truppen in Litauen 1919 (Dresden: Verlag Wilhelm und Bertha v. Baensch Stiftung, 1933).  8 “Pašaukimas savanorių į krašto apsaugą,” Laikinosios vyriausybės žinios, December 29, 1918.   9 V. Jokubauskas, J. Vaičenonis, V. Vareikis, and H. Vitkus, eds., Valia priešintis: paramilitarizmas ir Lietuvos karinio saugumo problemos (Klaipėda: Druka, 2015), 59. 10 A. Deruga, “Przyczynek do genezy Litewskiej Republiki Radzieckiej i dziejów wojny domowej na przełomie lat 1918–1919,” in Z dziejów stosunków polsko-radzieckich, vol. 9 (Warszawa: Książka i Wiedza, 1972), 213–219.

From Self-Defense to Revolution

It attempted to impose its rule with the bayonets of the Red Army, while at the same time trying to highjack the local revolutionary activism. This implied not only the defeat of Germans and the Kaunas government, but also taking over all non-Bolshevik Soviets and paramilitaries in Vilnius and other ­provincial towns. Overall, the Kapsukas government supported various Red partisan bands that emerged in the countryside, even if they claimed that they did not endorse the Bolshevik regime. The other significant military force was the German-Russian troops of General Pavel Bermondt-Avalov that arrived to north-western Lithuania in late summer 1919. Due to their brutal treatment of local population, they were targeted by numerous Lithuanian partisan bands and the šauliai. BermondtAvalov tried to topple both the Latvian and Lithuanian governments but was defeated by their forces in October and November 1919. The BermodtAvalov’s adventure led to the complete collapse of the German campaign in the Baltics, the interference of the Allies, and the hasty withdrawal of all German troops from Latvia and Lithuania.11 The final major political and military player in the region, particularly in eastern Lithuania, was Poland. It claimed the Vilnius region as part of the new Polish state. The Polish paramilitary troops of self-defense (Samoobrona) unsuccessfully tried to defend Vilnius against the Red Army in early January 1919. However, the offensive of the Polish Army in April 1919 led to its ­capture of Vilnius and the collapse of the Bolshevik regime in Lithuania and Belarus. However, it also sparked a war with Lithuania. The low point in PolishLithuanian relations occurred on August 28 and 29, 1919, when the Polish ­government attempted an anti-government putsch in Kaunas with the help of the Polish paramilitary organization POW (Polska Organizacja Wojskowa). This event, together with the contest over Vilnius and the Suwalki area, led to the Polish-Lithuanian War, which smoldered until as late as November 29, 1920.12 Unsurprisingly, in addition to regular troops, both sides actively employed their paramilitaries in order to try to claim, mobilize, and terrorize the population of the Polish-Lithuanian borderland. This paramilitary violence continued even after the end of the fighting between regular troops, and subsided only in May 1923.13 11 For an account of the Bermondt-Avalov’s episode see G. von Rauch, The Baltic States: The Years of Independence, 1917–1940 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1974), 68–69. 12 V. Lesčius, Lietuvos kariuomenė nepriklausomybės  kovose, 1918–1920 (Vilnius: Generolo Jono Žemaičio Lietuvos karo akademija, 2004), 403. 13 V. Jokubauskas, J. Vaičenonis, V. Vareikis, and H. Vitkus, Valia priešintis, 77.

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Overall, it is critical to understand the complex relationship between the paramilitary groups and the emerging state structures in the region. All paramilitaries may be divided between those that were fully sanctioned by p­ olitical regimes (the šauliai, Samoobrona, the POW, German volunteers) and those that were only nominally associated with them (Plechavičius’s band, Red detachment of žemaičiai [the Žemaičių pulkas], the “republic” of Perloja, and others). Their relationships with state players were highly dynamic and depended on a range of factors, including the military fortunes and ability (or inability) of state players to enforce their monopoly of violence. In the same vein, the violence performed by paramilitaries can be differentiated into state sanctioned and non-­sanctioned violence. This raises further questions about its scope and character.

FEATURES These paramilitary groups are commonly described in Lithuanian historiography as “partisans.”14 Those who were on the right-leaning side of the p­ olitical spectrum are usually associated with the military activities of šauliai.15 However, they frequently included paramilitaries that had their own largely defensive but also patriotic agendas. For a historian, they are the most difficult group to explore, since they formed in the countryside within local communities and left few official records, and also since their activities were mainly recorded in a small number of memoirs.16 It is an open question as to what extent these groups had clear-cut ideological motives, although they were certainly inspired by them. There is little doubt, though, that their incentive to fight was created primarily by the political and social activism that had been unleashed by the collapse of all forms of government in the region. 14 P. Čepėnas, Naujųjų laikų Lietuvos istorija, vol. 2 (Chicago, 1986); V. Vareikis, “Lietuvos šaulių sąjunga Lietuvos ir Lenkijos konflikto metu, 1920–1923,” in: Šauliškumas, tautiškumas ir Lietuvos nepriklausomybė, ed. A. Liekis (Vilnius: Lietuvos mokslas, 1993), 51–69; P. Gudelis, Joniškėlio apskrities partizanų atsiminimai (Chicago: Pont. Univ. Gregoriana, 1983); J. Matusas, Lietuvos šaulių sąjunga (Vilnius: Lietuvos Šaulių sąjungos Centro valdyba, 1992); K. Ališauskas, Kovos dėl Lietuvos nepriklausomybės 1918–1920, vol. 1 (Chicago: Lietuvių veteranų sąjunga “Ramovė”, 1972), 257. 15 Matusas, Lietuvos šaulių sąjunga, 25–30; A. Jurevičiūtė, A. Veilentienė, “Šauliai nepriklausomybės kovose,” Lietuvos istorijos studijos 6 (1998): 62–71. 16 J. Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant (Kaunas: “Vairo” Bendrovė, 1928); P. Gudelis, Joniškėlio apskrities; V. Steponaitis, “Bermontininkai Lietuvoje,” Mūsų žinynas 1 (1921): 76–98; 2 (1921): 50–74; P. Ruseckas, ed., Savanorių žygiai, vol. 2 (Vilnius: Leidykla Muzika, 1991); Karo archyvas 10–12 (1938–1940).

From Self-Defense to Revolution

Most of these bands emerged in peripheral regions of Lithuania: in the highly contested northwest (Skuodas, Seda, Mažeikiai, Kuršėnai, Telšiai, Šauliai), the northeast (Panevėžys, Joniškėlis, Pasvalys, Joniškis), and in the southeast, which was disputed by Lithuania and Poland (Perloja, Valkininkai, Alytus, Širvintos, Giedraičiai). Most of these groups were claimed by the Lithuanian government. Over the course of time, they were gradually incorporated into military units of šauliai, civil militias, or the army. However, during the initial period of the wars of independence (late 1918 to early 1919), some of them showed a reluctance to commit themselves to the Lithuanian ­government, šauliai, or any other side. This feature has been barely examined in current historiography. There was also a tendency among them to flirt with the powers that ­managed to dominate their localities at specific points in time. These formations were able to retain their operational freedom only so as long as their stronger and more numerous competitors did not claim a monopoly on power in their localities. The emergence of these paramilitary groups testifies to the slow and uneven process of state- and nation-building in early interwar Lithuania, plagued by the initial weakness of state institutions. However, it also points to the high degree of local civil activism and militarism that emerged in these years. It is almost impossible to give a precise number of these paramilitary formations. According to one estimate, there were about thirty armed nationalist “partisan groups” in northern Lithuania in the autumn of 1919.17 Matusas claims that in the Joniškėlis area alone there were about seventeen.18 While the peak of the activities of nationalist groups happened in autumn, the Red groups were most active in January and February of 1919. Armed Red groups emerged in Mažeikiai, Seda, Kuršėnai, Panevėžys, Kupiškis, Rokiškis, Švenčionys, Joniškėlis, Šiauliai, Joniškis, Kretinga and other areas.19 The size of their membership ranged from small units, such as in Seda (with eleven fighters), to larger ones in Kuršėnai (forty), Kupiškis (sixty) and Šiauliai (one thousand). Their lifespan was usually short: from a few weeks to several months. Only a few of these paramilitary formations were able to act independently. I will focus here in detail only on five of the most prolific (three ­nationalist and two revolutionary) groups that initially exercised some autonomy and 17 Lesčius, Lietuvos kariuomenė nepriklausomybės kovose, 1918–1920, 230. 18 Matusas, Lietuvos šaulių sąjunga, 21. 19 Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais (Vilnius: Mintis, 1967), 421, 605.

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were able to control certain localities for substantial periods of time: 1) the nationalist troops of Povilas Plechavičius in the area around Seda, Skuodas and Mažeikiai (northwest Lithuania); 2) the nationalist formations of Joniškėlis (Joniškėlio partizanai in the northeast); 3) the group for the defense of the town of Perloja (southeast), 4) the Red detachment of žemaičiai (Žemaičių pulkas), and 5) the Red group of the Military Revolutionary Committee of Žemaitija (Žemaitijos karinis revoliucinis komitetas) in Seda and Kuršėnai (northwest). All of them shared a number of features. They were largely made up of ethnic Lithuanians from the areas in which they operated. Only Žemaičių pulkas included some non-Lithuanians, Russian prisoners of war and Old Believers, but its core was formed of local workers and peasants.20 The group in Perloja, a tiny town with a population of about seven hundred, included mostly local males who had known each other for a long time. The Joniškėlis and ­Seda-Kuršėnai groups were also formed on a local basis, with their core being made up of local men. All five groups were organized and led by veterans of the Great War. The core of the Perloja group was made up of several veterans who returned from the Russian Army in the middle of 1918. In September, they were assembled by the NCO Jonas Česnulevičius to defend the town from marauders, and from requisitions and robberies carried out by splinter groups from the German Army.21 Similarly, in early February, the Seda group came to life, when the two Plechavičius brothers, former officers in the Russian Army, and a friend, another war veteran and former prisoner of war, decided to form an armed unit to defend their community against marauding gangs and local Bolsheviks.22 The Joniškėlis group was established by a local regional council (apskrities komitetas) on 5 December 1918, and at its peak included about 20 ex-NCOs.23 Although the council was authorized to act on behalf of the Lithuanian government, in reality, it operated independently, and maintained only weak links with Kaunas until the beginning of May 1919.24 Its primary aim was to take control 20 Lesčius, Lietuvos kariuomenė nepriklausomybės kovose, 1918–1920, 70; F. Žemaitis, “Lietuviškojo tarybinio pulko formavimas Šiauliuose 1918–1919 metais,” in Revoliucinis judėjimas Lietuvoje, ed. R. Šarmaitis (Vilnius: Valstybinė politinės ir mokslinės literatūros leidykla, 1957), 225. 21 P. Česnulevičiūtė, Kovojanti Perloja (Varėna: Merkio kraštas, 1998), 17. 22 Memoirs of Povilas Plechavičius, in P. Jurgėla, Gen. Povilas Plechavičius (Brooklyn, NY: Spaudé-Pranciškonu spaustuvè, 1978), 11. 23 Gudelis, Joniškėlio apskrities, 131; Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 101. 24 Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 91.

From Self-Defense to Revolution

of the region from the hands of demobilized German units. The group did so quite successfully, before the arrival of the Bolsheviks in mid-January 1919.25 The Žemaičių pulkas was established in Šiauliai in early January 1919, as a result of a local anti-German rebellion. It was led by an ex-Russian army NCO, Feliksas Žemaitis-Baltušis, who was sent by the Kapsukas government.26 In a matter of weeks, it grew to become one of the largest Red paramilitary formations in Lithuania (about 1,000 strong), thanks to the resentment the local population felt towards the German occupying regime.27 The numerical strength of the unit does not reflect the fact that only half of it was properly armed and ready to participate in military operations.28 The most able part of this group was also made up of World War I veterans.29 By late February, the group had been incorporated into the Red Army, and soon suffered a crushing military defeat at the hands of German volunteers near Luokė.30 Lowering morale among its soldiers led to its rapid disintegration, as many changed sides by joining pro-Lithuanian government formations.31 The group of the Military Revolutionary Committee of Žemaitija was founded in Seda on January 1, 1919, when Red activists from the towns of Seda, Židikai and Kuršėnai joined forces, totaling about three hundred.32 They were led by Domas Budinas, who returned from Russia and was active in 1905 and 1917 revolutions. The military operations of the group were supervised by the former NCO Stasys Čečkauskas.33 The group operated until late January, when it was incorporated into the Red Army and suffered a military defeat near Šiauliai.34 All of these formations had charismatic leaders who acted as local ­warlords, and enjoyed some support of the local population (Antanas Stapulionis, Petras 25 Gudelis, Joniškėlio apskrities, 136. 26 Žemaitis-Baltušis continued his career as a Red Army commander in the Russian Civil War. He participated in the suppression of the Antonov rebellion. See V. Lesčius, Lietuvos kariuomenė nepriklausomybės kovose, 1918–1920, 70; Komunistas 4 (1919): 2. 27 Gudelis, Bolševikų valdžios atsiradimas Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais jų pačių dokumentų šviesoje (London: Nida Press, 1972), 60–64; Šarmaitis, ed., Revoliucinis judėjimas Lietuvoje, 261, 265. 28 Gudelis, Bolševikų valdžios atsiradimas, 63–64; Šarmaitis, ed., Revoliucinis judėjimas Lietuvoje, 228. 29 Šarmaitis, ed., Revoliucinis judėjimas Lietuvoje, 228. 30 Ibid., 228. 31 Gen. S. Nastopkos 1920 m. liepos 16 d. dienos telefonograma Nr. 666 II divizijos vadui. Lietuvos centrinis valstybės archyvas [Lithuanian Central State Archives], f. 929, ap. 3, b. 218, l. 1. 32 Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais, 426. 33 D. Budinas, Vėtros žemaičiuose (Vilnius: Valstybinė grožinės literatūros leidykla, 1959), 128. 34 Gudelis, Bolševikų valdžios atsiradimas, 62.

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Gudelis, Jonas Česnulevičius, Jonas Leonavičius), or were feared for their ruthlessness, bravery, and their military or revolutionary experience (Povilas Plechavičius, Feliksas Baltušis-Žemaitis, Domas Budinas).35 These paramilitary entrepreneurs, who were usually veterans of the Great War, operated with few restraints and controlled local economic resources.

TERROR It is no wonder that some of their activities, especially the use of terror, led to complaints being submitted to official bodies. Thus, an official envoy (Rapolas Skipitis) was sent from Kaunas in the autumn of 1919 to investigate rumors that Plechavičius’ group was involved in a number of summary executions of civilians suspected of criminal and Bolshevik activities.36 Plechavičius himself never denied the accusations, justifying his “cleansing of the whole local area,” as he wrote in his memoir, as part of the struggle for independent Lithuania.37 According to an official complaint submitted to the government, between early January and April 20, 1919, his band executed without any trial about one hundred people in northwestern Lithuania. The victims included not only Communist activists and people suspected of Bolshevik sympathies, but also their female relatives: sisters and mothers. The report claimed that ­“sometimes their corpses were left lying in town squares for one or two weeks.”38 His accomplices also publicly whipped people including women, striking such fear that “people stopped going to towns.”39 The victims also included his maid, who was sentenced by a military court for spying for the Bolsheviks and shot in public in Seda.40 According to one memoir, Plechavičius’ group was also involved in the executions of seven peasants from the village of Kaukolikai near Skuodas.41 Despite all of this, the envoy concluded that Plechavičius “serves the Lithuanian nation sincerely.”42 35 For “warlordism” during the Russian Civil War, see J. Sanborn, “The Genesis of Russian Warlordism: Violence and Governance during the First World War and the Civil War,” Contemporary European History 19:3 (August 2010): 195–213. 36 Jurgėla, Gen. Povilas Plechavičius, 225. 37 Ibid., 12. 38 Citation needed here for quote; CMOS cite 39 Ministrų kabineto reikalų vedėjo Pajaujio persiųsta kopija Krašto Apsaugos ir Vidaus Reikalų ministeriams, Illegible date, LCVA F. 923, A. 1, B. 29, l. 232, 233, 234. 40 Ibid., 224, 225–232; Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais, 644–645. 41 V. Jurgaitienė, Nebuvo kada drobelių austi: atsiminimai (Vilnius: Valstybinė grožinės literatūros leidykla, 1963), 52. 42 Jurgėla, Gen. Povilas Plechavičius, 231.

From Self-Defense to Revolution

Although the terror in Lithuania in 1918 and 1919 was quite limited in comparison with the massive terror campaigns that swept through Latvia, Estonia, Finland and Russia, local paramilitaries did not shy away from its occasional use. The Lithuanian government legalized the use of terror with the Special Laws on State Security (Ypatingi valstybės apsaugos įstatai), passed on February 7, 1919. Article 14 authorized the use of capital ­punishment for various activities against the state, including political agitation, the disruption of communications, spying, the illegal possession of arms, and armed resistance.43 For example, the Joniškėlis council formed a military court that ­sentenced to death and executed a local Bolshevik leader.44 In the span of three days (February 18–20, 1919), local Lithuanian units executed 16 Bolshevik supporters in the Kėdainiai area alone.45 According to one estimate, the total number of victims of the White terror in Lithuania may have reached about three ­hundred.46 Not only were armed paramilitary bands involved in the k­ illings, some Lithuanian army units also took part in the campaign of terror. In June 1919, in the region of Rokiškis, a military court of the Second Infantry Detachment of Vincas Grigaliūnas-Glovackis sentenced to death and executed 130 ­people.47 His terrorist activities produced serious tensions between him and the left-wing Šleževičius government, which tried to contain the atrocities after receiving numerous complaints about the executions. In early May 1919, the government attempted to remove and charge Grigaliūnas-Glovackis for his excessive violence but his detachment rebelled and freed him from a prison in Kaunas. Only after the interference of Smetona, the government agreed to drop the case against him. The whole conflict could have led to a deeper clash between the military and the government.48 There is also some evidence that the First Infantry Detachment also executed more than a hundred people accused of Bolshevik activities.49 So far, little research has been done on the reasons for the killings, but the main cause that prompted the anti-Bolshevik terror seems to be the i­nability to combat communist agitation and activism by other means.50 Terror was 43 Ypatingi valstybės apsaugos įstatai [Special Laws on State Security], Laikinosios vyriausybės žinios [Bulletin of the Provisional Government] 4 (03.05.1919): 1. 44 Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 77. 45 Komunistas, 35 (03.14.1919): 3. 46 Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais, 644–645. 47 P. Vitkauskas, Lietuvos Tarybų Socialistinė Respublika 1918–1919 (Vilnius: Mokslas, 1988), 216. 48 Lietuvos Ministrų kabineto 1919. 05. 06–07 d. posėdžių protokolai, LCVA F. 923, A. 1, B. 24, l. 85–88. 49 Vitkauskas, Lietuvos Tarybų Socialistinė Respublika 1918–1919, 216. 50 Č. Laurinavičius, “On Political Terror during the Soviet Expansion into Lithuania, 1918–1919,” Journal of Baltic Studies 46:1, special issue: War, Revolution and Terror in the Baltic States and Finland after the Great War (2015): 73.

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also used in order to intimidate and punish locals who were unwilling to ­cooperate, or were perceived as elements that needed to be purged from local communities. The Lithuanian troops also became involved in several incidents against the Jewish population, though their anti-Semitic track record was quite modest in comparison with the Polish legionaries that staged a bloody pogrom in Vilnius from April 19 to 21, 1919, killing sixty-five Jews.51 The largest of these occurred on July 10, 1919, in Ukmergė, when a local unit of twenty-five to thirty Lithuanian soldiers attacked a Zionist meeting, killing one and injuring several others. Some of the Jews were beaten and robbed. An official investigation concluded that the attack was staged by some soldiers who had decided that the Jews “criticized the Lithuanian government” and “prepared a rebellion against it.” The officer who gave a command to shoot was arrested and his case was passed to the army’s court.52 Anti-Semitic violence also took place during the battle between the Lithuanian-German and Bolshevik forces in Panevėžys in early May 1919. The German and Lithuanian soldiers attacked residents of a house, from which a shot was fired at them, allegedly. Yet, the attack also led to the looting of s­ everal Jewish shops.53 The troops also robbed Jewish shops in Kaišiadorys on Sabbath.54 However, the Lithuanian government strongly disapproved of the anti-Semitic excesses by the army and in most cases conducted their ­investigations.55 It seems the fact that many Jewish soldiers served in the army, that Jewish youth joined the Lithuanian šauliai units and a significant part of the Jewish population supported the case of independent Lithuania significantly moderated anti-Semitism of the army and the public.56

51 On the pogrom see, P. Różański, “Wilno, 19–21 kwietnia 1919 roku,” Kwartalnik Historii Żydów 1 (2006): 13–34. 52 Dokumentas Nr. 3. Kaltinamasis aktas apie buv. Ukmergės Komendantūros kuopos viršilą A. Vilavičių, in Vladas Sirutavičius, Darius Staliūnas, eds., Kai ksenofobija virsta prievarta: Lietuvos ir žydų santykių dinamika XIX a.–XX a. pirmojoje pusėje (Vilnius: Lietuvos istorijos institutas, 2005), 246–248. 53 A. Schochat, “The Beginnings of Anti-Semitism in Independent Lithuania,” Yad Vashem Studies on the European Jewish Catastrophe and Resistance 2 ( Jerusalem: Yad Vashem, 1958): 8–9. 54 A. Gaigalaitė, Lietuva Paryžiuje 1919 metais (Kaunas: Šviesa, 1999), 111–112. 55 Komisijos Panevėžio įvykiams ištirti 1919.06.15 d. pranešimas, LCVA F. 923, A. 1, B. 1350, l. 13–21. 56 Trimitas 131 (1923): 125.

From Self-Defense to Revolution

On the other side, the Bolsheviks also used terror against their political opponents. In Panevėžys, they brutally executed a local teacher for his involvement with anti-Bolshevik partisans.57 In mid-February, they shot three people in Telšiai.58 In the summer of 1919, they executed four members of the Polish Military Organisation in Daugavpils.59 On April 26, 1919, the Kapsukas ­government officially authorized a Red terror campaign, largely as a response to the White terror and the complete failure of the Bolshevik advance into Lithuania.60 A local Bolshevik committee declared its own “Red proletarian terror” in Ukmergė.61 There is no information regarding how many victims were slain during the Red terror. However, their numbers were smaller than during the White campaign, a pattern that repeated itself in the other Baltic States and in Finland.62 In Lithuania, the Bolsheviks seemed to prefer taking hostages to straightforward executions, since it helped them to put pressure on their ­opponents, and also exchange them for their captured comrades. Between April and July 1919, there was a series of hostage exchanges between the Kapsukas and the Lithuanian ­governments.63

SELF-GOVERNMENT As has been mentioned, all five paramilitary formations initially operated independently of the national and Bolshevik governments in Lithuania. As a result, they were also involved in self-government. They provided security, dispensed justice, controlled local economic resources, and sometimes even the morals of their local communities. Since, for the first few months of 1919, this ­process took place without any significant central control, numerous semi-­autonomous territories emerged all over peripheral areas of Lithuania. One of the leaders of the Joniškėlis group, Jonas Navakas, writes in his memoir: “In 1918, the whole of Lithuania was divided into ‘republics,’ similar to the one

57 See Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 99. 58 Lietuva 35 (02.20.1919): 4. 59 Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais, 626. 60 Decree of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania and Belarus of 26 April 1919. Lietuvos ypatingasis archyvas [LYA, Lithuanian Special Archives], f. 77, ap. 2, b. 5, l. 121. 61 Komunistas 46 (4.11.1919): 2. 62 For a comparative view of terror campaigns in the Baltic states and Finland see Journal of Baltic Studies, special issue: War, Revolution and Terror in the Baltic States and Finland after the Great War 46:1 (2015). 63 Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais, 627.

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that we had in Joniškėlis.”64 The Joniškėlis council built a network of parish councils and defense militias in local villages and towns. These military units were made up of about 1,500 armed men in early spring in 1919.65 They disbanded the remnants of the Žemaičių pulkas and cooperated actively with the Lithuanian Army in a series of battles against the Red Army in the Panevėžys area. Eventually, on May 14, 1919, they were incorporated into the Lithuanian Army as the Separate Partisan Battalion.66 But the most famous case of paramilitary self-government occurred in Perloja, where the locals held power from late 1918 to early May 1919, by resisting all warring sides except the Bolsheviks. On November 13, 1918, the townspeople elected a government independently of the Kaunas ­government, and organized a defensive group of about fifty armed men.67 During its short but eventful life, the Perloja “republic” regulated trade, guarded forest resources, paid salaries to its employees, provided support to the poor, and passed various community laws (for example, a law mandating the observance of all Catholic feast days). The community also dispensed justice, by setting up a local court not only for the town but also for a dozen of the neighboring villages. The court dealt with both criminal and civil cases, including property d­ isputes, land issues, defamation and even extra-marital affairs.68 The Lithuanian government ­disarmed the Perloja group by force after it attacked its advancing military unit on May 2, 1919. Several of the most active members were arrested and jailed in Kaunas.69 Meanwhile, Perloja was incorporated into the administrative unit of Alytus. The shifting fortunes in the military struggle between the nationalists and the Bolsheviks did not necessarily trigger the demise of the local paramilitary groups. Sometimes, as in Perloja and Joniškėlis, they were able to operate even under the Bolshevik rule. The Perloja parish committee simply changed its name to revkom (revoliutsionnyi komitet) after the arrival of the Reds. One of 64 In his memoir, he mentions some other “republics,” including Red ones in Šiauliai and Biržai. See Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 41–42. 65 Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 103. 66 Gudelis, Joniškėlio apskrities, 181. 67 The Lithuanian government issued a call for the establishment of local municipal councils on the same day. The activists of Perloja learned about this later. See Česnulevičiūtė, Kovojanti Perloja, 16–17. 68 In one case, by the decision of a court, a court envoy used a gun to threaten a married man who had an extra-marital affair. See [P.] Akiras-Biržys, Lietuvos miestai ir miesteliai: Alytaus apskritis, vol. 1 (Kaunas: Bačiūnas, 1931), 538. 69 Akiras-Biržys, Lietuvos miestai ir miesteliai, 541.

From Self-Defense to Revolution

its members later wrote: “The Bolsheviks did not hinder us, they left us our arms, and did not influence our self-government.”70 In Joniškėlis, many former ­members of the group switched sides by joining a local Bolshevik militia and revkoms.71 In this way, they were able to retain their influence, and to pursue their political agendas. As the boundaries between the warring sides were initially quite blurred, these self-defense organizations were able to operate ­without major disruptions. The Military Revolutionary Committee of Žemaitija, led by Budinas, attracted some criticism from the Kapsukas government for its independence. When on January 27, 1919 it issued a manifesto calling for the Communist takeover of the whole of Žemaitija, it was publicly reproached by the Bolshevik government in Vilnius for completely ignoring the manifesto of the Communist Party of Lithuania, which had earlier proclaimed Soviet rule in Lithuania.72 Meanwhile, the Committee was pressured not only by the Kapsukas ­government, but also by armed cells of Socialist Revolutionaries that had formed in Kretinga, Plungė and Salantai.73 The latter saw the Bolsheviks as rivals in the struggle for power in Lithuania. Tension also emerged between Baltušis-Žemaitis, the commander of the Žemaičių pulkas, and the leadership of the 2nd Latvian Division of the Red Army. After its arrival in Šiauliai in late February, the Red Army took away an armored train that belonged to the Žemaičių pulkas. It also tried to appropriate its best horses and a personal car of Baltušis-Žemaitis. The latter refused to acquiesce, which led to the involvement of Leon Trotsky himself in the dispute. Unhappy about the attitude of the Red Army, Baltušis-Žemaitis later admitted that after the arrival of Red Latvians, his unit suddenly lost the local ­community’s support. His hopes that the Lithuanians could establish their own Red rule in the country were dashed.74

70 Česnulevičiūtė, Kovojanti Perloja, 35. 71 Navakas, Lietuvai besikeliant, 47; Gudelis, Joniškėlio apskrities, 150. 72 The manifesto of the Committee is published in Lietuvos TSR istorijos šaltiniai, vol. 3, ed. J. Žiugžda (Vilnius: Valstybiné politinés ir mokslinés literaturos leidykla, 1958), 137. For its criticism see Komunistas 30 (1919): 2. 73 Vaitkevičius, Socialistinė revoliucija Lietuvoje 1918–1919 metais, 431. 74 In a note from November, 10, 1919 from Feliksas Baltušis-Žemaitis, the leader of the Žemaičių pulkas, to Rapolas Rasikas, a member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania and Belorussia, about the organization of the regiment and the unsuccessful struggle against Lithuanian and German volunteers (in Russian). LYA, f. 77, ap. 2, b. 56, l. 7–8.

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CONCLUSION This article has looked at one of the most notable features of the period in question, the proliferation of different paramilitary groups. Lithuania was a typical zone of this paramilitary culture that emerged in the wake of the Great War. It included a broad range of parties: Lithuanian militias, home guards (šauliai), German Freikorps, Polish paramilitaries, and revolutionary and nationalist bands. Most of them were formed by or were led by World War I veterans who wanted to continue fighting, for a variety of patriotic, ideological or simply pragmatic reasons. Their presence in these formations testifies to the close link between the demobilization of imperial troops and the remobilization ­following the war. In this context, demobilization is best understood as a political and cultural rather than a purely military and economic process, because it provided for a possibility to refuse a demobilization.75 The paramilitary formations that emerged in Lithuania during 1918 and 1919 were not simply products of the collapse (or weakness) of all forms of government in the region but also an expression of the feverish civil activism and militarism that exploded as a result of the nationalist and Bolshevik ­revolutions. The return of hundreds of thousands of war refugees and demobilized soldiers fueled this activism in local communities that were already adversely effected by the massive displacement of the population and by German occupation. As restless veterans were eagerly joined by a generation of young males, they were driven by the desire to cleanse their local communities of undesirable elements—whether class, ethnic, or foreign enemies. The paramilitaries actively mobilized local people and were vigorously involved in the processes of forming a community, as well as in nation- and state-building, which was expressed in their political agitation, the redistribution of local economic resources, providing security, and dispensing justice, in addition to the use of terror when their goals could not be achieved by other means. The paramilitary formations controlled certain peripheral regions for considerable periods of time. They had to rely on the military experience of their leaders as well as on their ability to adapt to different political orders that demanded their loyalty. The state, however, tolerated them only for as long as its own survival required the mobilization of all economic and human resources for the war. 75 It also included a possible refusal to be remobilized. I borrowed the concept of “demobilization as a cultural phenomenon” from War in Peace: Paramilitary Violence, 4.

The Latvian War of Independence 1918–1920 and the United States Ēriks Jēkabsons University of Latvia, Riga

T

he Baltic region from 1918 until 1920 stands out among all regions of the interwar Versailles-Riga system.1 Nowadays, the region is perceived as a single, undifferentiated whole with a shared history. Back then, however, it was marked by both similarities and differences. During this period, it was ­impossible to separate military history from that of the political, social, economic, and other spheres. In reality, the Baltic countries, despite having much in common, are, ­historically speaking, quite distinct. One fact that demonstrates significant differences between the five states of the Baltic Sea region is that the period of fighting for their independence goes by a different name in each of these states: in Finland it is called the Civil War and the War with Soviet Russia; in Estonia, the Liberation War; in Lithuania, Freedom Struggles; in Poland, Fighting for Borders and the War with Soviet Russia. Processes and events in Latvia from 1918 to 1920 are called the War of Independence, War of Liberation, and so on. For objective reasons, there is no unified conception of this period. Between 1918 and 1920, Latvia was not only the geographic center of the region but also its military and political center. This was apparent as early as 1915, when the German-Russian front line stabilized across Latvian territory.   1 The Versailles Peace Treaty did not end warfare in Central and Eastern Europe. There, the war ended only in 1921, when the Riga Peace Treaty was concluded between Poland and Soviet Russia.

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Of all the Baltic States, Latvia was affected most by World War I. The front crossed its territory for several years, thus causing more loss of life and destruction of industrial and social infrastructure than anywhere else in the region, in addition to the massive movement of refugees and evacuees. This was the main reason why proclamation of the Latvian state did not take place until November 1918, while Lithuania, occupied by German forces since 1915, ­proclaimed its independence on February 16, 1918. Estonia, which was almost unaffected by active warfare, proclaimed its independence on February 24, 1918, before the entrance of German troops. Of the three Baltic States, Latvia had the most difficult situation. Before the provisional government proclaimed the Republic of Latvia on November 18, 1918, a difficult, two-year-long military and political fight had been necessary to liberate the territory from hostile armies and secure de facto international recognition. Latvian territory witnessed the clash of interests from all sides, within and without, including those of the Republic of Latvia; Soviet Russia and the Latvian Bolsheviks; Baltic Germans and Germany; anti-Bolshevik Russia; new and renewed neighbor states such as Estonia, Lithuania, Poland, Finland, and to a lesser extent even the Belarussian People’s Republic and the Ukrainian People’s Republic; and, finally, the Western Great powers, or Allies. There were three Latvian governments in the territory of Latvia during this period (National, Soviet, and pro-German), plus the civil administration of Pavel Bermondt’s White Russian troops and, in some ­territories, the administration of Estonian, Polish, and Lithuanian authorities. The situation was particularly complicated in Latvia because of the important and influential Baltic German minority in the country. Former political, economical, and social elite were, following the period from 1914 to 1918, legally rendered ethnic minorities. During the War of Independence, many Baltic Germans did not want to accept the new order and even fought against the new national state of Latvia, in which Latvians became dominant but Germans lost their former leading position. At the same time, the i­ mportance of  Baltic German military units in fighting against Bolsheviks during the War of Independence was huge and many Baltic Germans accepted the new situation and Latvian state itself. During the War of Independence, the Latvian government and armed forces faced military and political problems similar to those in other central and eastern European countries: devastation, changes in all spheres of life, and the forced involvement in military processes from all swaths of society, including women and children. Already devastated during World War I, many nations had to wage wars for their own national independence against internal and external enemies. And in the case of Latvia, the number of such enemies was

The Latvian War of Independence 1918-1920

c­ onsiderable. Until June 1919, the fighting in the territory of Latvia displayed features of a civil war, with its numerous victims and characteristic cruelty. Latvia also conducted a war against Soviet Russia and the German-Russian, so-called West Russian Army of Pavel Bermondt. The victory of National Latvia in the War of Independence was achieved because of a favorable military and political situation, as well as the support for Latvian statehood that gradually grew among its people. From the spring of 1919, the military and political missions of Great Britain, France, and the United States were actively involved in regulating the Latvian situation after the German coup d’état against Latvia’s provisional ­government in the spring of 1919 and the victory of the Estonian army and its Latvian Brigade in the battle of Cēsis/Wenden in early summer.2 Official interests of the United States in the Baltic region were determined by the guidelines of the State Department for the situation in Europe and Russia, guidelines made in the context of Russia’s civil war.3 This is the main reason why the United States, unlike Great Britain and France, recognized the independence of the Baltic States rather late, only in 1922. The attitudes of these allied countries were all different, and the position of the United States was especially peculiar. The United States, on the one hand, was not ready yet to recognize the independence of the Baltic States from Russia, though, on the other hand, it provided the greatest humanitarian aid to the populations of these countries. Within this situation, several US missions were active in Latvia: the mission of the US Delegation at the Paris Peace Conference, plus the missions of the State Department, the American Relief Administration (ARA), the American Red Cross, and the Young Men’s Christian Association. American motives and activities in Latvia were multifaceted and complicated. These will be outlined here in general, with a view of them across different periods. The aim of this article is to depict the activities of the US ARA mission, American Red Cross Mission, and the American political-military mission to Latvia during the period of the Latvian War of Independence. Practically no information related to this period has been preserved in the archives of Latvia. The bulk of the sources relevant to the ARA and Red Cross Mission’s a­ctivities during the period under discussion are housed in the Hoover Institution Archives.  2 See Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Cēsis, Battle of,” 1914–1918 Online. International Encyclopedia of the First World War (2014), http://encyclopedia.1914–1918-online.net/home.   3 See D. S. Foglesong, America’s Secret War against Bolshevism (Chapel Hill and London: The University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 231–271.

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April–August, 1919 (the first period of the war). During this period, the provisional government of Latvia worked in Liepaja. It implemented a policy oriented towards the Great Powers of the Entente, striving to ensure the ­support of Great Britain, France, and the United States. The support of the United States was as crucial to the government and society of Latvia as it was to other countries weakened by the World War and subsequent conflicts. This first phase of the war was the most difficult, since the government could carry out only limited activities in Liepaja and its surroundings, as the rest of the territory was governed by the Soviet regime. Meanwhile, on the front in Kurland (Kurzeme), the Latvian battalion (later brigade) in the ranks of the Landeswehr—subordinated politically to the provisional government, together with the German units—fought against Bolshevik troops. At the same time, in Northern Latvia the Latvian brigade operated under the command of the Estonian army. On May 22 German and Latvian forces liberated Riga but afterwards the Landeswehr and German Iron Division moved to territory in Livland (Vidzeme) occupied by Estonians. In a crucial June battle, Estonian and Latvian troops defeated the Germans, who were forced to retreat first to Riga and then to Zemgale. This happened in ­accordance with the armistice that was signed under the pressure of the Allies. Afterwards, the provisional government of Kārlis Ulmanis returned first to Liepaja and then to Riga and started forming state institutions and a unified Latvian army. The first contacts between the Peace Conference delegations of Latvia and the United States developed at the beginning of 1919 in Paris. Latvians considered the acquisition of political and humanitarian relief from Americans as one of their main objectives. In the spring of 1919, missions from Great Britain and the United States were opened in Liepaja. At the beginning of April, a ­mission led by Warwick Greene traveled from Paris to Liepaja, sent by the peace delegation of the United States. From the beginning this mission, together with British and later with French missions, was involved in solving the difficult situation that existed in Latvia. In addition, the American mission showed comparatively more sympathy to German power as a crucial factor for the fight against Bolshevism in the Baltics. Greene and his deputy, Dowley, often played an important role in solving this conflict; for example, during the battles near Cēsis and during the process of signing the armistice; in July, Dowley was even a civil governor of Riga for several days. Still, the mission was skeptical toward the possibility of the long-term existence of a Latvian state and, by expressing ­sympathies for Baltic German nobility, sometimes found itself in contradiction

The Latvian War of Independence 1918-1920

even with British and French representatives. Greene’s rather conservative beliefs, in combination with the Americans’ negative outlook on the collapse of the Great Powers, were taken by Latvian politicians as a manifestation of disfavor against the provisional government and the independence of Latvia. At the same time, Greene was critically disposed towards Germany in general and towards the political endeavors of Germany in Latvia in particular. Greene did not remain a passive observer of the situation, but tried to attain the establishment of a strong anti-Bolshevik coalition government. His actions were prompted by an understanding that this would be the best solution in the given situation. Due to adverse circumstances, such a ­coalition was accomplished only partially, and only in the second half of the period of mission activity in Latvia, that is, in the summer of 1919, just after the defeat of German forces near Cēsis.4 In April, first in Liepaja and afterwards in Riga, the American Relief Administration (ARA) started its Program of General Relief by distributing food to hungry people. Since the early years of World War I, US aid organizations had been rendering humanitarian aid in war-torn European countries, and in February 1919 the ARA was established in Paris under the guidance of Herbert Hoover. The main task of the organization was the donation of food supplies, thus securing the US market after the war and preventing the humanitarian disaster that endangered many countries, particularly in central and eastern Europe. Hoover himself saw one of the tasks of his organization as the need to stop the looming threat that Bolshevism might spread from Soviet Russia to Europe, by rendering its own humanitarian aid. From April 1919 the ARA started its activities in the Baltic States, initially establishing itself in Liepāja and from there operating in Tallinn, Kaunas, and Riga after the city’s capture. (On May 22, German forces took the city and until early July it remained under German occupying power, despite the fact that the First Latvian Independence Brigade was part of the Landeswehr and the so-called pro-German government of Andrievs Niedra worked there.)   4 See the materials in the National Archives and Record Administration’s collection: General Records of the American Commission to Negotiate Peace, 1918–1931; See also: Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Vorvika Grīna vadītās Amerikas Savienoto Valstu misijas darbība Latvijā 1919. gada aprīlī – maijā: Liepājas posms,” Latvijas Vēstures Institūta Žurnāls 2 (2012): 36–61, http://www.lvi.lv/lv/LVIZ_2012_files/2numurs/E_Jekabsons_Vorvika_Grina_vaditas_ LVIZ_2012_2.pdf. The same in German: “Die Tätigkeit der amerikanischen Mission in Lettland unter der Leitung von Warwick Greene: Liepāja, April bis Mai 1919,” Forschungen zur Baltischen Geschichte 9 (2014): 152–176.

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Members of the ARA and the mission led by Greene were the first Americans who came to Riga as representatives of the United States and got engaged in relief activities, saving the inhabitants of the city from starvation. As early as the end of May, the New York press noted the arrival of a telegram from Riga addressed to the US delegation in Paris, sending news of the arrival of American food relief with shipments of flour. The aid rendered by the ARA to the Riga residents in this troublesome situation was of paramount importance. It was a decisive contribution to the fight against hunger and disease following the devastating months of the Bolsheviks’ rule, especially as the aid came during the period in which the city was not yet under the jurisdiction of the Latvian provisional government and its authorities. Americans witnessed the complicated sanitary and food situation as well as the military and political situation at a time when Germany, local Germans, the Andrievs Niedra government, and Ulmanis’s Latvian provisional government all tried to strengthen their power in the region liberated from the Bolsheviks. The American impact on the situation in Riga was crucial. Remarkable, in fact, in the light of the official position of the United States on the issue of independence for the Baltic States (cautious and hesitant), and the ARA’s objective to prevent starvation while rendering aid to all groups of the Latvian ­population regardless of nationality and origin, even paying particular attention to the principle that all groups should receive food and aid equally. The ARA mission continued its activities in Latvia and in Riga up to mid-August 1919. Along with Warwick Greene’s political mission, the staff of the relief mission in Riga also became involved in resolving political issues. The latter could not be avoided, in the first place because of the very difficult relationship between the Baltic Germans and Latvians, and also because of an American tendency to equate Latvian Social Democrats with communists. The Americans found the animosity between the Baltic Germans and Latvians incomprehensible, and when qualified Baltic German officials were replaced by less qualified Latvian personnel, the Americans saw this as a blatant show of bias from the Latvian Social Democrats. The municipal authorities submitted to American demands that officials of Baltic German background be allowed to keep their posts. The ARA mission strove to maintain a neutral, pragmatic position towards domestic political developments in Latvia. Shortly after food aid began, the ARA’s Children Relief Program was also launched in Latvia. During the tragic days of June, the leadership of the mission attempted to regulate the political situation, to some extent ­exceeding its mandate.

The Latvian War of Independence 1918-1920

In August, the Program of General Relief was closed, and the ARA c­ ompletely switched to the Children Relief Program. At this point most of the mission was recalled, and several of the staff left behind became involved in the aid program of the American Relief Administration’s European Children’s Fund, operating under different principles. After a half-year interruption in the second half of 1920, these activities continued in the Baltic countries up to the summer of 1922.5 August–December, 1919. In Latvia this was the period of preparation for fighting and battles with Bermondt’s German-Russian troops—the so-called Western Russia Volunteer Army.6 Latvian authorities tried to strengthen their army. The Bermondt aggression began in October, and fighting continued through November. Battles with heavy losses on both sides took place in Riga, Liepaja, and other places. In November the Latvian army, with support from British and French naval artillery, achieved an important victory in Riga. Afterwards Bermondt’s forces slowly retreated from Latvian territory. In December the provisional government and army started to prepare for the ­liberation of Latvia’s eastern territory (Latgale) from the Red Army. Besides the fighting with Bermondt, the biggest battle of this period in the entire Baltic region took place in the vicinity of Daugavpils during August and September 1919. The battle is little remembered now, because it involved the “wrong” Latvians and Estonians (Soviet Estonian and Soviet Latvian units of the Red Army) fighting against attacking Poles and Lithuanians (Polish Army and Lithuanian Army units). At the end of this battle, even French tanks with French soldiers from the Polish Army’s First Tank regiment were involved. Overall about five hundred to seven hundred soldiers were lost on both sides.7  5 See the materials in the Hoover Institution Archives collection: American Relief Administration, European Unit, and others.   6 In the summer of 1919 German forces in Southern Latvia united with Russian units from former POW camps in Germany under Colonel Pawel Bermondt, and from there did not want to evacuate to Germany. This army planned to take part in the restoration of monarchies in Russia and Germany; because of this, the army also intended to annihilate the independence of Latvia.   7 See Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Polijas armijas kaujas ar Sarkano armiju Ilūkstes apriņķī 1919. gada septembrī,” in Latvijas Kara muzeja gadagrāmata (Rīga: Latvijas kara muzejs, 2000), 46–58; Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Lietuvas karaspēks Ilūkstes apriņķī 1919.–1920. gadā,” in Latvijas Zinātņu Akadēmijas Vēstis. A daļa. Sociālās un humanitārās zinātnes 59:2 (2005): 49–64 (the same in Lithuanian: “Lietuvos kariuomene Ilūkstés apskrytyje 1919–1920 metais,” in Karo archyˇemaı  `čìo Lietuvos karo akademija, 2006), 41–66, http:// vas. XXI (Vilnius: Generolo Jono Z  vddb.library.lt/fedora/get/LT-eLABa-0001:J.04~2006~ISSN_1392–6489.V_21.PG_4166/DS.002.0.01.ARTIC).

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In addition, Danish, Finnish (in the Estonian Army), and even Chinese units (Red Army) took part in the fighting in Latvia in 1919 and 1920. During this period, the presence of Americans was particularly visible. In almost every liberated city and town in Latvia, especially in the largest ­population centers, the ARA mission started Children Relief activities under the leadership of Dr. Thomas Orbison. An extensive network of kitchens for children was created. Orbison’s popularity was very high. His work continued during battles against Bermondt’s troops. Orbison was even injured during the battles in Riga, when the ARA mission building was hit by an artillery shell.8 In the autumn of 1919, a mission of the American Red Cross led by Edward Ryan began operating in Latvia. During the battles, it gave help to civilians and soldiers of both sides on the front lines and in hospitals. American officers took part personally in the evacuation of wounded soldiers. They repeatedly came under direct artillery fire while supplying soldiers of the Latvian army and others with underwear and medicine. Ryan several times achieved a temporary ceasefire, during which it was possible to provide food for people in the war zone. Like Orbison of the ARA mission, Ryan also travelled to places newly liberated by the Latvian army.9 Before battles with Bermondt’s troops began, a cargo ship from France arrived in Riga full of US military equipment to be sold to the Latvian government. These articles were used to supply the Latvian Army. In November, the US State Department Commissioner John Gade and military observer Worthington Thomas Hollyday arrived.10   8 See also: Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Amerikas palīdzības administrācijas darbības sākums Latvijā,” Tēvijas Sargs 7 (2010): 30–31, 36, http://doc.mod.gov.lv/lv/ts/2010/7/   9 See the materials in the Hoover Archives collection: American National Red Cross and others. See also: Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Amerikas Savienoto Valstu Sarkanā Krusta darbība Latvijā 1919.–1922. gadā,” Latvijas Vēstures Institūta žurnāls 1 (2010): 37–70, http:// www.lvi.lv/lv/LVIZ_2010_files/1numurs/E_Jekabsons_ASV_Sarkana_LVIZ_2010_1. pdf; Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Amerikas Sarkanais Krusts Daugavpilī 1920. gadā: darbības pirmais posms,” in Daugavpils Universitātes Humanitārās fakultātes XXIV starptautisko zinātnisko lasījumu materiāli. Vēsture. XVIII. Vēsture: Avoti un cilvēki. Proceedings of the 24th International Scientific Readings of the Faculty of Humanities. History XVIII (Daugavpils: Daugavpils Universitātes apgāds “Saule,” 2015), 115–122. 10 See the materials in the National Archives and Record Administration’s collections: Records of the Department of State Relating to Internal Affairs of Latvia, 1910–1944; Records of the Department of State Relating to Internal Affairs of Russia and Soviet Union, 1910–1929; Correspondence and Record cards of the Military Intelligence division relating to general, political, economic, and military conditions in Poland and the Baltic States; Department of State, US Legation in Latvia; Records of Foreign Service Posts, Diplomatic Posts, Latvia, and others.

The Latvian War of Independence 1918-1920

January–August, 1920. The Latvian Army, in cooperation with the Army of Poland, liberated the eastern part of the country, Latgale, from the Red Army, and afterwards authorities began their work on the disastrous ­humanitarian situation in the region. A secret truce with Soviet Russia was concluded at the beginning of February, but restricted warfare with Russia continued until August 11, when the peace treaty was signed and the Latvian War of Independence was over. During this entire period, the Commission of the US State Department and American military observers continued active work in Latvia. Some, ­moreover, actually filled official diplomatic and military functions, also in active cooperation with the government of Latvia. Areas of cooperation included the political, military, and economic spheres. It should be noted that one American soldier, John Stehlin, officially joined the Army of Latvia as a Lieutenant Colonel in the Aviation unit (from March 1920 until February 1921). Stehlin also tried to find financial support in the United States for the development of Latvian military aviation.11 At the same time, the Children’s Relief mission of the ARA and the American Red Cross mission continued and expanded their activities in all ­territories of Latvia, particularly in devastated Latgale. The Americans supplied almost thirty percent of Latvian children with food, and provided virtually all medical institutions, including those in the military, with medicine, equipment, supplies, and linens. In the meantime, it became apparent that Orbison’s involvement in the political life of Latvia was found undesirable from the point of view of the ARA mission and its higher authorities: Orbison rather openly supported Ulmanis and had public disputes with representatives of the official ­opposition, the Latvian Worker’s Social Democratic party. Because of this, the ARA Administration in London decided to intervene and reprimanded Orbison.12 In the summer of 1920, one more American mission became active in Latvia. The Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA) had opened several clubs in Latvian army garrisons, thus providing soldiers with entertainment in the form of newspapers, sports, books, and so on. The focus was on men 11 See Ēriks Jēkabsons, “Amerikānis Džozefs Stēlins Latvijas armijā Neatkarības kara laikā,” Tēvijas Sargs 6 (2010): 30–31, http://doc.mod.gov.lv/lv/ts/2010/6. 12 See Hoover Institution Archives. T. Orbison’s Collection, box 1 (Diary of Thomas J. Orbison. Written while on duty with American Relief Administration, p. 60); “Kapitana Orbisona vēstule,” Jaunākās Ziņas, March 19, 1920; “Obrashchenie kap. Orbisona k glasnosti,” Segodnia, March 19, 1920; “T. Rudzīša paskaidrojums,” Jaunākās Ziņas, March 24, 1920; “Raz’iasnenie po povodu pis’ma kapitana Orbisona,” Segodnia, March 25, 1920.

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who had fought on the front lines in Latgale against the Red Army. The YMCA also introduced several new team games to Latvia that later became very popular, including basketball and volleyball.13

CONSEQUENCES OF AMERICAN INVOLVEMENT The Latvian War for Independence was one of the most important and decisive stages in Latvian history of the first half of the twentieth century. The conflicts played a crucial role in all aspects of life, radically changing the previously ­existing territorial, demographic, political, and social order. This period marked a decisive turn and had a tremendous impact on demographics and the fate of its inhabitants (there are now fewer people in Latvia than there were in 1914, which is a very unusual phenomenon for Europe). Unlike in Western Europe, where hostilities ceased in November 1918, the process in Latvia was practically an inseparable continuum between the Russian Civil War and the Latvian War of Independence; a comparatively short time later, World War II brought with it the loss of independence. All these processes are tied closely together in the fates of Latvia’s inhabitants. The story of Pēteris Lapainis provides one highly illustrative example: A Latvian boy, born in 1897 to a peasant family in the Ungurmuiža civil parish, Lapainis dreamed about finishing agricultural school and becoming a farmer. However, during the war he was forced to join a Latvian riflemen unit of the Russian Army. For courage in battle against the Germans near Riga, he was awarded the highest medal of the tsarist army that could be given to the lower ranks, the Cross of Saint George. In 1918, together with many others, he ended up in Russia in a “Red” Latvian riflemen unit and guarded Lenin’s government at the Kremlin. On guard duty outside Lenin’s office, he was told by the Soviet leader that the Latvians were doing the right thing in defending his government, which was the only one that wished to give Latvians their freedom. Later, for bravery in battle against the white Don Cossacks in Southern Russia, he received the highest award of the Red Army, the Battle Order of the Red Flag. At the end of 1918, together with other riflemen, Lapainis returned to Latvia believing that the moment had finally come when the “Germans would be 13 See Latvijas Nacionālā arhīva Latvijas Valsts vēstures arhīvs, 2490. Fonds ( Jaunekļu Kristīgā Savienība); “Amerikas Savienoto Valstu Jaunekļu kristīgās savienības (YMCA; Young Men’s Christian Association) un Jaunavu kristīgās savienības (YWCA; Young Women’s Christian Association) darbība Latvijā 1920.–1922. gadā,” in Latvijas Arhīvi, 4 (2009): 31–62, http:// www.arhivi.lv/sitedata/ZURNALS/2009.Nr.4.pdf

The Latvian War of Independence 1918-1920

thrown out.” On the way home they sang “God bless Latvia” (which has been the national anthem of Latvia since 1918). Believing they would be fighting the Germans, they were surprised to find themselves matched up against barefoot boys who swore at them in the Estonian language. The Soviet Latvian army collapsed, and along with many others Lapainis joined the Latvian Army. For bravery in battle against the Red Army in Latgale he received Latvia’s highest military decoration, the Order of Lāčplēsis. This was followed by twenty years of service as an officer in the Latvian Army, during which Lapainis eventually reached the rank of captain. After the occupation of the country in 1940 he was again included in the ranks of the Red Army but then demobilized at the beginning of 1941. During the Nazi occupation, in 1943, he was imprisoned and then conscripted into the so-called Latvian Legion of German troops; for bravery in battle against the Red Army in Kurzeme (Courland), he was awarded the German Iron Cross. Pēteris Lapainis was far from the only one to experience so many dizzying shifts in affiliation during a single lifetime.14 Beginning in the spring of 1919, all of the following were at work in Latvia: the political and military mission of the US Peace delegation, which in the autumn of 1919 was replaced by the Commission of the State Department and War Department, itself actually a diplomatic and military commission; the mission of the American Relief Administration, active after the autumn under the auspices of the European Children’s Fund of the American Relief Administration; the mission of the American Red Cross; and, from the summer of 1920, the mission of the Young Men’s Christian Association. Besides these, the Young Woman’s Christian Association was active after 1921, there was a smaller mission of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, and the American Lutheran and Baptist churches also sponsored some activities. While political support from the United States during the War of Independence was not as strong as from the British and the French, American humanitarian support was incomparably greater. Because the US Commission could not recognize the independence of Latvia—until 1922 the State Department considered the Baltic countries a part of Russia—many American mission members thought at the beginning that they had arrived in a province of Russia.15 Gradually, however, they changed their views and became ­favorably 14 Ainārs Meiers, “Gadījuma karakalps. ‘…mazākā ļaunuma pusē,’” Lauku Dzīve, 5–8 (1990); Latvijas Valsts vēstures arhīvs, 5601.f., 1. apr., 3532.l. 15 Hoover Institution Archives (thereafter – HIA), Minard Hamilton’s collection, box 1 (Diary. Latvia, 6, 10, May 27, 1919).

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disposed toward Latvia and the Latvian people. As a result, the dissonance between the State Department’s official position and the opinion held by the American mission heads, particularly Orbison and Ryan, became obvious.16 Americans saw their activities in the Baltic states as an exotic, if somewhat risky, adventure. This is quite clearly visible in the newspaper Bulletin of the Red Cross, which was printed in Riga in 1920 and 1921. The Bulletin is a unique source not only in the history of the Baltic states but also in American history. In 1921 in New York the head of the mission, Edward Ryan, was rebuked because the newspaper was seemingly “too frivolous,” and because of the lighthearted tone of some of its articles.17 Of course, the living conditions of Americans in Baltic countries differed from those of the local people. Special food rations were delivered for Americans (including luxuries such as pineapples, and so on).18 They found some local conditions annoying, including the many passport controls at the borders, the bureaucracy, and the bribe system inherited from Russia; missions even included a special allotment in their budget for this need.19 The deep historical hatred between Latvians and Baltic Germans was met by Americans with incomprehension and even shock. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of their work, Americans characterized Latvian and Estonian politicians, including prime minister of Latvia Kārlis Ulmanis, as “sloppily dressed p­ easants,” rather incompetent in administrative matters,20 and they were sympathetic toward the noble Baltic German families who suffered in a political and economic sense.21 The Americans were appalled by the incredible poverty and devastation surrounding them, but this was one of the reasons that they gradually changed their opinion about the independence of the Baltic states, a change of heart characteristic of many members of all the American 16 See “Senators Čendlers,” in: Jaunākās Ziņas, February 19, 1921. 17 The full run of this unique newspaper can be found in the Hoover Institute Archives, American National Red Cross, box 176, file 15. 18 See HIA, American Relief Administration, European Unit, box 332, file 8 (Supplies for Libau, August 21, 1919). 19 HIA, American Relief Administration, European Unit, box 463, file12 (Baltic Port Operations; Total Arrivals at Riga. From August 28th, 1921 to July 15th, 1922); box 464, file 8 (Lee Morse. Memorandum to Captain Miller, Handling facilities available in Riga for bulk grain, December 20, 1921). 20 HIA, Diary of Ch. Leach, November 2, 1919. 21 See, for example, the memoirs of the first U.S. Commissioner in Baltic countries: John Gade. All My Born Days (New York, 1942), 165–168, 169–170, 178–179.

The Latvian War of Independence 1918-1920

missions. Several of them violated the prohibition against r­ elationships with locals, and a few of them married local women and were then d­ ismissed from the missions. Orbison, head of the Children’s Fund mission, also married a Latvian.22 It should be noted that there was a lack of proper cooperation between the different American missions in Latvia; this was because the missions were organized by non-governmental organizations, and the heads of the missions sometimes had poor relationships with each other. For example, Ryan wrote that Orbison was “the worst kind of American officer that had been sent to Europe.”23 Beginning in 1919, Latvian ports were visited regularly by US warships and cargo ships, the streets of Riga and Liepaja were full of American sailors, and Latvian shopkeepers were learning English words and phrases. Quite likely, this period saw the highest ever number of Americans and the level of their activities in Latvia, Estonia, and to a lesser extent Lithuania. From the point of view of political and humanitarian support, American activities in Latvia during these years were extraordinarily important for the stability of the young Latvian state. From 1918, when the US government considered the possibility of an independent Republic of Latvia for the first time, till the summer of 1922, when the decision was taken to acknowledge Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania de jure, the attitude of the US government can be characterized as one of uncertainty regarding the situation in Russia, along with a desire to keep any future Russian state from intervening in the affairs of other countries. At the same time, government officials in the United States were concerned with precluding the growing political influence of Soviet Russia, as well as with maintaining contacts with other super powers of the Entente who were interested in a change of government in Soviet Russia. United States leaders believed that it was possible to stop the further expansion of Bolshevism in a war-destroyed and weakened Europe by helping to prevent famine, poverty, and disease among the inhabitants of the countries that had suffered the heaviest losses.

22 HIA, American National Red Cross, box 176, file 15 (“Red Cross Men Marry in Latvia”, The Red Cross Bulletin, August 25, 1920; “Another One Lost,” The Red Cross Bulletin, January 10, 1921); “Miris Dr. Thomass Orbisons–Latvijas bērnu ‘Amerikas onkulis,’” Jaunākās Ziņas, May 5, 1938. 23 HIA, American National Red Cross, box 207, file 2 (E. Ryan to K. Emerson, August 17, 1920).

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Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia: Representations and Reality Ineta Lipša University of Latvia, Institute of Latvian History, Riga

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ation building as the national project of intellectuals has been studied in detail in Latvian historiography, with a particular focus on the period from the beginning of the Latvian national movement in the middle of the nineteenth century until the events of the Revolution of 1905. Both the Latvian national movement and its activists, that is, the nation builders, have been analyzed in the context of the Riga Latvian Society (established in 1868) and Latvian press (the first newspaper in Latvian was published in 1822). As a result, institutions and print media—the creators and reflectors of the public discourse—have been the primary objects of research. Comparatively less attention has been paid to the activities of Latvian nationalist intellectuals as a particular social group in the Latvian state during the interwar period of the twentieth century, while nation building within the context of gender issues in interwar Latvia has not been studied at all. In the middle of the nineteenth century, the leaders of the Latvian National Awakening spoke on behalf of their entire population; in their understanding, however, the population and the emerging nation was comprised only of men. Despite limited rights, women were striving to take an active part both in the nation-building process and in discussions concerning

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

the role that r­ epresentatives of their gender ought to have in nation building.1 According to the prominent Young Latvian Krišjānis Barons, who is famous as the father of the daina (a type of Latvian folk song), in the mid-nineteenth century “the Latvian nation as such did not exist; there were only peasants or the lowest non-German social class that served German masters.”2 The formation of the Latvian nation was the project of the Young Latvians, implemented by about fifty Latvian nationalist intellectuals in the period from the 1840s to the 1860s.3 After World War I and the proclamation of the Latvian state on November 18, 1918, both genders gained political equality. In the period of the 1920s and 1930s, at least thirty-nine intellectuals (women among them) were involved in the nation-building project. Thus, in this case we cannot speak about “the people” or even the so-called intelligentsia, but rather about a few dozen individuals in each generation. In the second half of the 1930s, most of these were writers. An interesting turn can be observed during the period of the authoritarian regime (1934–1940), when at least thirteen authors u­ ndertook the project of masculinizing the nation (integrating into an image of the nation qualities that were perceived as masculine). They singled out perceived ­problems Latvians had as a nation (such as feminine tearfulness), identified its causes (wrong perceptions of history, tearful literature) and ­consequences (problematic relationships with the institution of the state), and offered a way of resolving the problem (the creation of the so-called masculinity cult).4 The aforementioned issues occasionally appeared in periodicals during the period of parliamentary democracy; however, they were tackled in detail only during the authoritarian regime. This article is divided into five sections dealing with representations of masculinity in the authoritarian regime and in parliamentary democracy, as well as representations of femininity in the parliamentary democracy and its   1 Linda Kusiņa, Sieviešu jautājums un sievietes tēls latviešu rakstniecībā, 1870–1920. Promocijas darbs (Rīga: Latvijas Universitāte, 2013), 16.   2 Vita Zelče, Latviešu avīžniecība. Laikraksti savā laikmetā un sabiedrībā, 1822–1865 (Riga: Zinātne, 2009), 61.   3 Ieva Zake, Nineteenth-Century Nationalism and Twentieth-Century Anti Democratic Ideals. The Case of Latvia, 1840s to 1980s (Lewiston, Queenston, Lampeter: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2008), 31, 52.   4 Ineta Lipša, “Latvieši. Vīrietības ‘projekts,’” Rīgas Laiks, 4 (2010): 52–58; Ineta Lipša, “Vīrietības aspekts Kārļa Ulmaņa autoritārajā ideoloģijā (1934–1940),” in Vēsture: avoti un cilvēki. Humanitārās fakultātes XX starptautisko zinātnisko lasījumu materiāli, ed. Irēna Saleniece (Daugavpils: Saule, 2011), 167–172.

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political practice (understanding masculinity and femininity as social practices that have been cultivated in social action and therefore may vary depending on gender relations at a specific time and in a specific social environment).5 The final section clarifies how gender representations in the rhetoric of the authoritarian regime gendered its political practices.

REPRESENTATIONS OF MASCULINITY IN THE AUTHORITARIAN REGIME In articles written by the ideologists of the authoritarian regime, Latvians were portrayed as a people guided by feelings and intuition, as lyricists with their heads in the clouds, characterized by excessive enthusiasm, unmanly tearfulness, tearful feminine psychology, tearful flabbiness, feeble sentimentality, idle dreaminess, passive sighing, and helpless sadness.6 Characteristics such as inactivity, helplessness, passivity, tenderness, sentimentality, and tearfulness were defined as “women’s traits” in those texts.7 They were regarded as a weakness of the so-called national character caused by alien influences, and seen as something to get rid of. These verbal hints, which portrayed the behavior of Latvians as deplorable, were exaggerations that might have been intended to provoke readers to dissociate themselves from such behavior and act in the opposite manner. Though these hints should not be perceived literally, the trend was nevertheless gendered; the publications were addressed to men, and discredited femininity. The authors of these texts attributed their judgments about literary characters directly to the Latvian national character, ignoring, for instance, the critical remarks of  Miķelis Valters regarding the desire “to classify the most vivid characters of our Latvian people into two major types—the masculine and  feminine ones.”8 Due to the writers’ dominance, it was in literature that ­tearfulness   5 Raewyn W. Connel and James W. Messerschmidt, “Hegemonic Masculinity. Rethinking the Concept,” Gender & Society 19, no. 6 (2005), 836.  6 Nacionālists, “Vēstules no Rīgas. 3,” Kurzemes Vārds, December 3, 1924.; Jānis Lapiņš, “Latvieša raksturojums,” Sējējs 8 (1936): 889; “Nacionālā nelaime,” Sējējs 9 (1938): 899; Juris Vidiņš, “Drusku par sentimentalitāti,” Kurzemes Vārds, September 19, 1934; Jēkabs Līgotnis, “Varonības dzejnieks (Aleksandrs Grīns),” Sējējs 2 (1939): 133; Jēkabs Līgotnis, “Nost ar mīkstčaulību,” Rīts, October 6, 1935; Jēkabs Līgotnis, “Sentimentalitātes vietā pašdarbība”, Rīts, February 6, 1936; Jūlijs Auškāps, “15. maija Latvija. Idejiskais saturs,” Sējējs 5 (1939): 461; Jēkabs Līgotnis, “Latvieša tikumiskie atspaidi,” Jaunākās Ziņas, February 28, 1939.  7 “Vīra gars,” Sējējs 6 (1937): 563.   8 Miķelis Valters, “Latvju cilvēka problēmas,” Daugava 7 (1936): 626–27.

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was noticed most of all, even though it could also be found in the culture of singing. In the newspaper Kurzemes Vārds (The Word of Kurzeme), a certain countryman described the concert devoted to the Song Celebration of 1923 in the Esplanāde square. After singing the national anthem three times, the singers performed the folksong “Kas tie tādi, kas dziedāja” (Who were those singing?), which had been performed at the first Song Celebration in 1873.9 The newspaper correspondent wrote that he had almost been moved to tears, but, hearing the words “all of them are orphans that have to obey severe masters,” he was indescribably happy that instead of the awful “are” he could now say “were.” In the fall of 1935, the writer Līgotņu Jēkabs stated that since Latvians were naturally romantics, their undesirable character traits were caused by tearful literature and a wrong understanding of history.10 He claimed that passive sighing and helpless grieving were unacceptable and alien to the spirit of the Latvian people and were rooted in Christianity or another foreign influence,11 and that “the psyche of Latvians as servants oppressed by history and saturated with subservience [is] due to the influence of Brethren parishes.”12 The poet Fridrihs Gulbis agreed that tales about humble souls were introduced into Latvian literature by writers affected by foreign cultures and teachings adapted to the morals of the ruling class in the 1890s and at the beginning of the twentieth century.13 He also claimed that they had not left deep traces in the people’s psyche. After the coup of May 15, 1934, it was proclaimed that, fortunately, all influence of that kind “had been dispersed.”14 Ideologists of the authoritarian regime stated that the past, which had been “full of suffering,” did not determine Latvians’ present life, since they had managed to avoid “loving suffering.”15 In 1841, Latvian humbleness was noticed by the traveler Johann Georg Kohl when listening to the Latvian language. It seemed to him that Latvians look at the world in a diminished form and use diminutive forms of words that already refer to something small; for instance, Latvian beggars do not ask for some bread, but rather for a tiny little bit of bread.16 Latvians themselves noticed something similar in the spring of 1940. At the end of 1939, the ­authoritarian Anonymous, “Laucinieka piedzīvojumi Rīgā,” Kurzemes Vārds, August 15, 1923. Līgotnis, “Nost ar mīkstčaulību.” Līgotnis, “Latvieša tikumiskie atspaidi.” Līgotnis, “Varonības dzejnieks (Aleksandrs Grīns),” 132–33. Fridrihs Gulbis, “Heroiska dzīve,” Sējējs 9 (1939): 986–87. Gulbis, “Heroiska dzīve.” Vasilijs Sinaiskis, V. Metjūss, V. Šteplers, Igors Činnovs, “Latvietis pie spoguļa,” Daugava 4 (1936): 331. 16 Zelče, Latviešu avīžniecība, 61.   9 10 11 12 13 14 15

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government had passed a law on changing family names. With regard to the law’s application, the press explained that the use of diminutives in family names could be regarded as “a striking phenomenon of our nation.” Therefore, those willing to change their family names were asked to choose new names without the diminutive suffixes -iņš and -ītis (such as Salmiņš, Little Straw, or Rudzītis, Little Rye). “Family names like these are very widespread, and this is an indicator of sentimentality, kind-heartedness, and childishness. Latvians also use this mode of expression in situations that actually require strictness and resoluteness: the beast that has killed their sheep is called a “wolfee,” and equally affectionate forms of address are used to refer to other destructive things. Family names like Ozoliņš (Little Oak), Avotiņš (Little Spring), and Akmentiņš (Little Stone) actually imply inferiority and compliant warm-heartedness. Certainly, family names will not change the national character, but due to their frequent use in everyday communication, they still have a certain educational role.”17 According to Līgotņu Jēkabs, the second cause of Latvian tearfulness was the misperception of history. The ideologists of the authoritarian regime called the idea of the seven-hundred-year-long darkness of slavery18 a mere tale,19 or an invention of the Germans,20 and began refuting it soon after the coup. They emphasized that “working on the land brought a lot of joy to Latvians, which would not have been possible for a nation of slaves.”21 The minister Jūlijs Auškāps pointed out that “not so long ago some people were still ashamed of the fact that Latvians were called the peasant people,” but “now we are proud that we are farmers or at least feel close to the land.”22 On the first anniversary of the coup, in a ceremony where Kārlis Ulmanis was presented with the ring of the legendary Semigallian king Nameisis that had supposedly been “found” in an archeological excavation, Ulmanis was addressed as king of the farmers.23 17 E. Dardedzis, “Kādas liecības jādod jaunajiem uzvārdiem,” Rīts, March 31, 1940. 18 This idea relates to the history of Latvia. The “700 years of German oppression” myth in Latvian nationalist historiography started with the narrative of traditional national Latvian histories that describe the arrival of German merchants (followed by knights and priests), around the beginning of the thirteenth century, as uninvited and unwelcome. The arrival of German knights and priests was presented as the beginning of German hegemony over Latvia. From the nineteenth century onward, Latvian nationalists struggled against the local power of Baltic Germans and vilified the German conquest. On the creation of the “700 years of German oppression” myth see Aldis Purs, Baltic Facades. Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania since 1945 (London, 2012), 25–31. 19 Jūlijs Auškāps, “Latviešu nākotnes ceļi,” Sējējs 1(1936): 13. 20 Č., “Vaj latvieši bijuši verdzībā 700 gadus?,” Zemgales Balss, July 1, 1934. 21 Auškāps, “Latviešu nākotnes ceļi.” 22 Auškāps, “Latviešu nākotnes ceļi.” 23 “Nameja gredzens atradies,” Rīts, May 15, 1935.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

Beyond that, beginning with the school year 1935–36, agriculture was a compulsory subject not only in the countryside, but also in the city (beginning with the third grade of primary school) “so that our children could acquire a love for the land.”24 The fate of ethnic Latvians to be farmers, which was once the cause for a sense of inferiority assiduously cultivated by Baltic Germans, was now reinterpreted as the source of Latvian pride.25 As in other authoritarian European states, the ideology of the authoritarian regime paid particular attention to men.26 Kārlis Ulmanis was interpreted as “a real family man, strict and fair,” which stimulated the dominance of ­masculine spirit in the state ideology.27 One communication channel for ideas of virility was via the abstracts published in the press summarizing speeches given by government ministers and the lectures of leading scientists. For example, in his speeches of 1937, Ulmanis sounded an appeal to observe the highest commandment “to live, to fight, and to win in masculinity” in the name of the everlasting continuance of Latvia.28 It was proclaimed that “the new Latvian consciousness is that of the winner, the consciousness of the ruler, the consciousness of the people crowned by glory and success.”29 In 1937 and 1938, in the leading articles of the magazine Sējējs (The Sower), the magazine’s ­ideologist appealed to Latvians to find their masculine spirit, since “God does not love spineless, tearful, and womanish nations living in a dream world; they are married to strong nations to give them manhood”; moreover, “only ­masculine nations are sovereign.”30 These slogans were not explained; they were purely emotional appeals meant to bring the people into agreement with their message. The formation of this image of the ideal man was intentionally promoted by the state authorities, indicating what kind of images they wanted to ­popularize in Latvian literature (this can be inferred from the regulations of the competition for the prizes of the Culture Foundation of 1935).31 First and foremost, they put forth the image of a young aspiring Latvian man who had succeeded in obtaining an education all by himself and had reached his aim P. V., “Mēs esam zemkopju tauta,” Zemgales Balss, August 2, 1935. “Lauki ir mūsu dzīves sākums, tās spēks un stiprums,” Zemgales Balss, December 18, 1934. “Vīra tikums,” Zemgales Balss, June 17, 1936. Voldemārs Saulietis, “Latviešu valsts vara,” Zemgales Balss, May 8, 1936; “Dr. K. Ulmanis ir īsts ģimenes tēvs – stingrs un taisnīgs,” Zemgales Balss, March 25, 1936. 28 “Vīrestībā dzīvot, cīnīties un uzvarēt. Valsts prezidenta Kārļa Ulmaņa runa,” Kurzemes Vārds, November 20, 1937. 29 “Jaunā latvieša apziņa,” Kurzemes Vārds, April 2, 1938. 30 “Vīra gars,” Sējējs 6 (1937): 564. 31 Ansis Gulbis, “Liels pienākums,” Rīts, September 13, 1935. 24 25 26 27

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of becoming a scientist with a PhD degree. The second archetypal man was a Latvian farmer whose home had been destroyed during the war, who had fled to Russia as a refugee with all his family and then returned to his motherland, who had recultivated his land crisscrossed by trenches and now, as an elderly man, was leaving the renewed farm to his children. A woman did not appear at all in these fictional plotlines. During the parliamentary democracy, paying tribute to the victims and veterans of World War I and the Latvian War of Independence was an act of individual self-initiative, while the ideologists of the authoritarian regime included the terminology of the hero cult in their rhetoric.32 In the fall of 1934, the rebirth of the hero cult was declared in the press.33 The following year, the philosopher Jūlijs Students stated that “the Latvian nation belongs among the hero nations,” because “if Latvians had not been heroes, they would not have survived in the incredibly hard conditions of their historical development and would not eventually have become winners.”34 In the late 1930s, the name of Latvian epic hero Lāčplēsis (Bear-slayer) and the phrase “the old war eagles” (referring to soldiers who had fought in the Lativan War of Independence) were used as common names without putting them in quotation marks, which conveyed the belief that the heroes still lived and died alongside contemporary people. In 1939, it was even stated in a news report that “tomorrow will be held the funeral of Lāčplēsis, drowned in a pond in Grobiņa.”35 Beginning in 1936, government-sponsored commentators appealed to the use of original literature as the communication channel for the cult of v­ irility and the idea of masculinity, stating that it was the duty of literature to create the cult of heroes. According to them, “without its own heroes and its own hero cult the nation is doomed to disappear among other nations, to vanish without leaving even a trace of memory about itself. […] The riflemen and the struggles for the liberation of Latvia were the signs of the resurrection of the heroic Latvian warrior spirit, the emergence of our national knighthood. The Latvian nation proved that it could provide thousands of men capable of performing immortal heroic deeds comparable to those of ancient heroes. The purpose of literature is to represent the glory of both present-day and ancient heroes 32 “Tautā atdzimst varoņu kults. Ikšķilē zemes klēpī guldīti 45 varoņu trūdi,” Rīts, October 29, 1934. 33 “Tautā atdzimst varoņu kults.” 34 Jūlijs Students, „Latviešu raksturs,” Aizsargs 12 (1935): 791. 35 “Šodien apbedī Grobiņas dīķī noslīkušo lāčplēsi,” Kurzemes Vārds, August 24, 1939; “Prezidenta ziedojums Lāčplēšiem un kara invalīdiem,” Kurzemes Vārds, December 17, 1938.

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and tell future generations about their deeds, thus creating the hero cult and serving it.”36 Famous works of Latvian writers were criticized as inadequate to the spirit of epoch, and instead praise was given to works that brightly expressed the virility that, for example, supposedly pictured the war as a ­phenomenon of history, without terror or admiration. The ideologically driven tactics of the authoritarian regime to educate Latvians according to norms of masculinity indicate that it was not called into question that masculinity/femininity is determined by social circumstances. The situation was exaggerated in order to mobilize masses around the idea of the authoritarian state. In the press, the favoritism toward masculinity could be observed in so-called ideological articles, which created the impression that the opposite trend had dominated before the coup in the period of parliamentary democracy. An analysis of the sources, however, shows that this assumption does not correspond to actual reality.

REPRESENTATIONS OF MASCULINITY IN THE PERIOD OF PARLIAMENTARY DEMOCRACY The militarization of society during the war continued to affect Latvian ­politics in the early 1920s. This gave rise to militant views with regard to what constituted a “real citizen” and “civic participation,” which put men in a privileged position to claim that statehood had been gained by soldiers as a result of military actions. In the new Latvian state, participation in the war, especially in the Latvian War of Independence, was regarded as the sign of a “real man.” During the battles for Latvia’s independence, visits to the trenches acquired a symbolic meaning. They were done both by Kārlis Ulmanis, the first Prime Minister of the Provisional Government, and by Foreign Minister Zigfrīds Anna Meierovics. Student fraternities offered their own versions of nurturing masculinity in the form of duels, drinking alcohol, and other rituals. These notions were further bolstered by Latvia’s mandatory military service for all men. Consequently, the state policy maintained and strengthened the gender divide emphasizing masculine norms.37 Man as a symbol of various social and political groups was a key image in Latvian political posters of the interwar period, thus confirming the role of ­masculinity in political processes. The parties used the symbol of a brawl 36 “Varoņu kulta radīšana,” Zemgales Balss, March 7, 1936. 37 Ineta Lipša, Seksualitāte un sociālā kontrole Latvijā, 1914–1939 (Riga: Zinātne, 2014), 139.

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in their posters, linking it with the concepts of power and dominance, and ­violence was regarded as a positive phenomenon in this case. Through advertising, the parties “not only turned against their competitors with kicks, sticks, and axes, but also tried to humiliate their opponents by depicting them as helpless and weak.”38 The Latvian Social Democratic Workers’ Party and some n­ ationalistic, extreme right-wing parties and organizations presented themselves in this way. By depicting shirtless men they emphasized force, dominance, and might. In the period of parliamentary democracy, this kind of poster was used mainly by left-wing parties, but the authoritarian regime also used them for the purposes of propaganda. Masculine symbolism emphasized the political s­ ignificance of the party or the regime. In the militarized political culture, casting doubt on the courage of ­opponents and calling them cowards was a particularly effective technique of attack. Election campaigns were accompanied by various displays of violence such as brawls. Immediately following the war, even political ­assassinations became part of the political culture. In 1920, the social democrat Kārlis Kurzemnieks was killed before the elections of the Constituent Assembly and the ­perpetrator was never found. In the same year, there was an assassination attempt on Kārlis Ulmanis. Cultural association between militarism, masculinity, and citizenship shaped the idea of what a “real” man was. Bellicosity was an important mode of masculine self-expression. The ideology of the authoritarian regime paid ­particular attention to the consolidation of this self-expression both in Latvia and in other authoritarian European states. Prior to World War I, humanistic socialists had presented themselves as the adversaries of militaristic warriors, but pacifism and internationalism were perceived by the public as feminine traits stemming from the desire to protect life. Pacifism was associated with cowardice; therefore, by supporting the establishment of the paramilitary organization WSG (Workers’ Sports and Guard), the Latvian Social Democratic Workers’ Party affirmed its fighting spirit as the party of the revolutionaries of 1905. At the end of 1924, WSG launched a rapid militarization project, which envisaged establishing military sections in all its branches. In interwar Latvia, ideas of pacifism were not supported either by left-wing or right-wing parties. The need for pacifism in Latvian political life was publicly discussed by the writer Jānis Akuraters after the first open clash between socialists and 38 Ginta Brūmane-Gromula, Politiskais plakāts kā Latvijas vēstures avots, 1920.-1940. gads. Promocijas darbs (Rīga, 2013), 92.

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n­ ationalists in Riga on May 1, 1923, when the activists of the Latvian National Club and Social Democrats pelted each other with stones in the Esplanāde square and then continued fighting and shooting elsewhere in the city. Nevertheless, Akuraters did not succeed in removing bellicosity and force from the practice of hegemonic masculinity, and they remained strong markers of masculine self-identification. Still, the verbal abuse of pacifists as “false” men relented, in the press at least, until the early 1930s. The first event that provoked it again was related to literary representations of masculinity. In 1931, the newspaper Brīvā Zeme (The Free Land) condemned the novel All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque due to its praise of pacifism, calling pacifists the extollers of (womanish) cowardice; the paper was infuriated that the film version of the novel was allowed to be shown in Latvia. These passions, provoked by art, were accompanied by the split of Latvian intellectuals over the rhetoric of the “true/untrue” man. The split occurred in the Trade Union of Latvian Writers and Journalists, which broke into opposing factions of leftists and nationalists over a contentious vote at its annual meeting on 19 April 1931.39 Those who left the Union (radical nationalists) formed a new organization, the Latvian Press Society, thus demonstrating that each side of the political divide had supporters among both writers and journalists. Edvarts Virza, a nationalist who had left the Trade Union to join the Press Society, pointed out that the liberalism of the Trade Union was hypocrisy that disguised its lenient attitude toward leftist views. He accused the liberal (democratic) nationalists lead by Akuraters of lacking bellicosity and condemned their tolerance as a feminine trait, since it was supposedly based on a dogma of “non-resistance to evil by force.” The intellectuals and politicians who distanced themselves from biliousness were called womanish characters, their spirit described as feminine, and their rhetoric compared to kitchen ­utensils. They were stigmatized as “untrue men” who did not correspond to the model of hegemonic masculinity recognized by the ruling circles and who did not ­subjugate others but could be subjugated themselves. Pacifism and ­non-­resistance were considered qualities unworthy of a man, thus promoting the idea of the naturalness of aggressive masculinity. Due to the impact of the war, clashes and brawls became typical elements not only within Latvian political culture, but also in everyday life, where men reacted to controversial situations with physical violence. Demonstrations of 39 Ineta Lipša, “Latviešu intelektuāļi nacionālisti un Latvijas valsts dibināšanas mīta veidošana (1918–1934),” in Valstiskums Latvijā un Latvijas valsts–izcīnītā un zaudētā, ed. Tālavs Jundzis, Guntis Zemītis, vol. 2 of Latvieši un Latvija, ed. Jānis Stradiņš (Rīga: Latvijas Zinātņu akadēmija, 2013), 333–335.

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force were also recognized as essential masculine practices by social groups that were outside the circle of political power. These tended to demonstrate their masculinity in brawls caused not by political differences but rather by the desire to attract women’s attention. Thus, the masculine element also ­dominated everyday life in the period of parliamentary democracy.40 It could be asked why Voldemārs Reiznieks, a proponent of a­ uthoritarian ideology whose texts were sponsored by the Department of Propaganda in the Ministry of Public Affairs, explained that only the historical period after the coup was “under the sign of manhood.” In his analysis, masculinity gained a determinative role in the social field only after authoritarian principles were ingrained in public life.41 As an indication of masculinity’s dominance, abortion was once again criminalized, giving men the right to control the size of the family and nation by controlling the birth rate. Beginning with the late 1920s, socially active women demanded the ­abolition of state control over women’s bodies.42 The legalization of abortion was perceived in the public domain of the parliamentary democracy not so much as an issue concerning the emancipation of sexuality, but rather as the protection of women’s health and the prevention of family poverty. Finally, in 1933 the majority of deputies of the Fourth Saeima (which consisted of ninety-nine men and one woman) expanded the opportunities for carrying out legal abortions, allowing women to have abortions in cases of difficult social circumstances. In the period of 1933–1935, Latvia became the first state in the Western world where abortions were permitted in such cases. (The Soviet Union, where this was the norm from 1920 to 1936, was the first state in the world.) In the spring of 1935, the authoritarian government rescinded this abortion policy, thus using penal law as an instrument of social control over women and families in general; besides, this meant the re-masculinization of the aforementioned norm.

REPRESENTATIONS OF FEMININITY IN THE PARLIAMENTARY DEMOCRACY Voldemārs Reiznieks’s statement on the ascendancy of masculinity after the authoritarian coup can also be interpreted as a hint that, prior to the coup, that is, 40 Ineta Lipša, Seksualitāte un sociālā kontrole Latvijā, 1914–1939, 150–160. 41 Voldemārs Reiznieks, “Vīrietības kulta vajadzība,” Rīts, May 1, 1936. 42 Ineta Lipša, “‘Over-Latvianization in the Heaven’. Attitude towards Contraception and Abortions in Latvia, 1918–1940,” in Baltic Eugenics. Bio-Politics, Race and Nation in interwar Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, 1918–1940, ed. Björn M. Felder, Paul J. Weindling (Amsterdam/New York, NY: Rodopi, 2013), 169–201.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

before May 15, 1934, femininity had dominated the public discourse. Leaders of public opinion continued to view women in close association with the nation, just as they had before World War I. First of all, women were ­considered the symbolic and biological reproducers of the nation.43 Secondly, women were ­perceived as a tool of cultural nationalism. The femininity/masculinity of the nation can be seen most vividly in ­cartoons. The Latvian nation state was usually portrayed in cartoons as a young woman; only the artist Rihards Zariņš showed her in relationships with others in his drawings.44 It was as if Lāčplēsis had wandered away from her after the establishment of the state, since Latvia was usually depicted alone, but still wearing Lāčplēsis’s sword and shield. Where had the national symbol of ­masculinity gone? He could not have fallen in the Latvian War of Independence, since in May 1923 Latvia announced to the deputies of the Saeima that she “had given birth to the son Nationalism whose father was Lāčplēsis.”45 (See Figure 1.) The cartoonist had called the son of Latvia and Lāčplēsis the illegitimate “child of a bear” whom Lāčplēsis did not take part in raising. In the interwar period, the extension of the responsibilities of motherhood to social activity in general was the central political mechanism by which women engaged and were engaged in the political system.46 Within this context, Latvia as a single mother performed her responsibilities perfectly—her son Nationalism was growing fast, but lived in secrecy so that later he could undertake the task of the ­political cleansing of the state (see Figure 2). In the mid-1920s, Latvia and her son Nationalism were proudly sailing on a ship with the bust of Kārlis Ulmanis, Head of the Latvian Farmers’ Union, at the front; nevertheless, the hope that Ulmanis could compensate for the lack of masculinity in the family of Latvia did not come true (see Figure 3). In 1928, Latvia was sadly speculating on what she could have achieved during all those years if “that nationalist had not been mentally ­impotent.”47 (See Figure 4). Thus, not only after the coup of May 15, 43 Jyoti Puri. Encountering Nationalism (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2004), 114–117. 44 From 1921 to 1931 seven caricatures drawn by Zarins were published in the journal Svari [Scales]. (Svari, 20 (1923): first cover; Svari, 1 (1924): first cover; Svari, 14 (1924): first cover; Svari, 1 (1925): first cover; Svari, 39 (1925): first cover; Svari, 51 (1925): first cover; Svari, 46 (1928): first cover.) 45 Svari, 20 (1923): first cover. 46 Ineta Lipša, “Sievietes tēla veidošana Kārļa Ulmaņa autoritārajā režīmā (1934–1940): ideoloģija un īstenība,” in Sieviete Latvijas vēsturē, ed. Kaspars Zellis (Rīga: LU Akadémiskais apgåds, 2007), 92. 47 Svari, 46 (1928): first cover.

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but also during the period of the parliamentary system, democracy was interpreted as feminine and the squabbles and fights of the parties were interpreted as womanish behavior. The epic poem about the hero Lāčplēsis was taught in schools, but his image was used in the public domain beginning only in the late 1920s. Moreover, it could first be seen in an advertisement for the cigarette brand Lia Mara. Riding on horseback past a fire-spitting dragon, Lāčplēsis looked just like the Russian folk hero Ilya Muromets.48 However, with the 1930 film “Lāčplēsis,” directed by Aleksandrs Rusteiķis, he returned as the symbol of the strength of the Latvian people in their strugge against the Dark Knight, symbol of the German nobility.49 The idea of the film was epic; it was a glorification of Latvian political history and was intended to show the road of the Latvian people toward their own state starting in mythical antiquity, through the revolution of 1905, World War I, and the Latvian War of Independence (1918–1920), the emotional load of which was manifested by the popular designation Freedom Fights.50 Advertisements for the film mentioned both “the dark and horrible seven-hundred-year-long night of slavery” under the subjugation of the German nobility and the folksongs representing the Latvian people as orphans, which had been “imprinted in the depths of the heart.”51 However, there was also resistance against the symbolic use of women in the public domain. In May 1934, a reader of the newspaper Jaunō Straume (The New Current) demanded that a more progressive idea than the image of a woman be used as the basic concept for the monument dedicated to the liberation of Latgale. He claimed that “our worshipping the cult of womanhood has become a disease.”52 A woman was depicted on bank notes, tombstones, and liberation monuments, in logos and even insignificant vignettes, but it was not clear why she had been raised to such an honorable position. The reader particularly disliked the idea that a woman’s image could be used in the Latgale Liberation Monument. He explained his dislike in the following way: “We all know that in Latgale the intellectual status of a woman is much lower than that of a man. […] The woman has only one virtue in Latgale— the maternal instinct; in all other aspects, she does not deserve admiration. The religious fanaticism of women, their hindering of national development 48 49 50 51 52

Kurzemes Vārds, August 4, 1929. Al., “Lāčplēsis,” Kurzemes Vārds, March 19, 1930. Inga Pērkone. Kino Latvijā, 1920–1940 (Rīga: Zinātne, 2008), 191. Al., “Lāčplēsis.” Vārduotuojs, “Atbreivuošonys pīmineklī—progresivu ideju!,” Jaunō Straume, May 4, 1934.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

with numerical predominance and blind servitude to the caste of clergymen are definitely unacceptable.” He expressed his longing for a different image by raising the question: “Can’t there really be found a single streak of masculinity in the Latvian national character?” In view of this context, it might be assumed that during the period of parliamentary democracy women had a significant impact on public processes. Actually, the reality was quite different.

FEMININITY IN THE POLITICAL PRACTICE OF PARLIAMENTARY DEMOCRACY As a result of social transformations caused by World War I, women gained essential rights; they became political and social subjects, which engendered changes in their position not only in the labor market but also in legal regulation. Despite this, they did not manage to actually use their new right to be elected to parliament. In 1920, six women were elected as members of the Constitutional Assembly but not a single woman succeeded in becoming a deputy of the First Saeima (1922), Second Saeima (1925), or Third Saeima (1928).53 Only one woman was elected to the Fourth Saeima (1931). Even Berta Pīpiņa, the single woman deputy to be elected in 1931, gained her seat by the actions of other members of her party. Gustavs Zemgals, head of the Democratic Center Party, and the elected candidate General Eduards Kalniņš decided that the General would relinquish his mandate in favor of Pīpiņa so that a woman would become a member of the parliament. A woman becoming a parliamentarian was a new experience for all the deputies, especially those of the Democratic Center Faction, which had to make particular decisions in accordance with the traditional view that women have closer relations with morality than men. As a member of parliament, Berta Pīpiņa vividly demonstrated the presupposed difference between women and men. The Local Government Committee allowed her to withhold support for a project submitted by a member of her own faction, Finance Minister Gustavs Zemgals, that would grant permission to open liquor stores in border areas without the consent of the local governments, since “the Democratic Center has given a free hand to its deputy as far as anti-alcoholic measures and women’s issues are concerned.”54 Generally, the passive social and political image of women remained unchanged in Europe after World War I despite the appeals of various emancipation movements to stop excluding women from public life. The gendered 53 Ineta Lipša, “Frauen in den Parlamentswahlen der Republik Lettland, 1920–1934,” Forschungen zur Baltischen Geschichte 2 (2007), 127–148. 54 Lipša, Seksualitāte un sociālā kontrole Latvijā, 1914–1939, 228.

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attitude was also obvious in the highest levels of public administration. In 1920, after having made a significant contribution to the international recognition of the independent Latvian state, women were dismissed from the diplomatic service. In April 1925, amid discussions that Milda Salnā could become the first woman minister in Latvia, heading the Ministry of Public Welfare in the potential coalition government lead by her party, the Social Democrats Mensheviks, the newspaper of the Latvian Farmers’ Union commented disdainfully that there had come strange time when ministers were selected in boudoirs.55 Generally, even the people who wanted women to play a significant social role did not change their attitudes regarding the nature of women. The world economic crisis exacerbated the demand to restrict women’s right to work in particular sectors of public administration, a demand already expressed in the early 1920s by demobilized soldiers. In 1930, the Council of the Central Union of Demobilized Soldiers passed a resolution calling for the dismissal of all women working in the Ministry of Defense, as well as those female employees in other ministries whose husbands earned more than two hundred lats per month. On the basis of reducing unemployment, the same organization submitted a proposal to the government in 1931 to dismiss from work the wives of the highest-ranking civil servants and to hire “the participants of freedom fights” instead. The debates concerning this proposal, whose aim was to squeeze women out of jobs in public administration, continued to raise objections for two years as it reached the stage of draft legislation.56 Trying to protect women’s right to work, women leaders used arguments against the draft law that fit in well with existing gender relationships and were understandable to their contemporaries. They admitted that women would like to be just wives and mothers, but argued that this was no longer possible, since families could not live on husbands’ salaries alone; moreover, many women did not have husbands any more or were not married yet, but they still had to provide for their children and parents. In this campaign, the right of married women to work was linked with the nation’s need to promote the institution of marriage. This was a strong argument because the public attitude towards cohabitation was explicitly negative.57 Different versions of the draft law were 55 Ibid., 226. 56 Ineta Lipša, “Der Verein der akademisch ausgebildetten Frauen Lettlands (1928–1940): Geschichte und Einfluss,” in Die Korporationen als prägende gesellschaftliche Organisationen im Baltikum, ed. Jans-Dieter Handrack (Lüneburg: Carl-Schirren-Gesellschaft e.V., 2010), 263–268. 57 Andrejs Plakans, Ineta Lipša, “Stigmatized cohabitation in the Latvian region of the eastern Baltic littoral: nineteenth and twentieth centuries,” The History of the Family. An International

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

discussed by the Parliament Committee of Social Legislation both in 1931 and 1932; in 1933, it was discussed twice but then rejected due to the protests of women’s rights organizations (the Latvian Association of Academically Educated Women, the Association of Sororities and Sorority Alumnae of the University of Latvia, the Convention of the Female Students’ Presidiums of the University of Latvia, and the Latvian Council of Women’s Organizations). The right of married women to do clerical work was not restricted. Women’s organizations managed to prevent any restrictions on their right to work from referring to the need to protect the family institution. This would imply that the family, and women as nurturing mothers, were higher priorities for the population than women’s rights and women themselves as economically independent individuals. The success was relative. In the summer of 1932, married women demanded the right to be registered at the state employment agency as unemployed, since it turned out that only those married women whose husbands were unemployed could be registered. In addition, when the state reduced payment for community work performed by the unemployed, women demanded that the reduction be the same for both genders. Although the state formally guaranteed equality, attempts to prevent women from entering the labor market were a fact. In the early 1930s, some influential women started portraying working women who were not employed in agriculture or industry as unfit to be good mothers. After the coup, not only public opinion but also state power put forth motherhood as the only representation of a “real woman.” The idea that the only role for women was in the family was accepted at the level of “common sense”; therefore, this view could be maintained among a significant number of women. Under its influence, the representatives of the Latvian First Women’s Club considered not only mothers with illegitimate children but also divorced wives whose marriage had disintegrated as morally corrupt women. Unmarried women were regarded as failures. It was difficult to change attitudes toward women’s chastity due to court practice, in which the term “virgin” was still used. Up to the year 1928, a man involved in sexual intercourse with a woman to whom he was not married was subject to civil liability. He was obliged to marry the woman or pay her dowry, irrespective of whether the relationship resulted in pregnancy; this ­­responsibility was comparable to payment of damages for the loss of virginity. Quaterly, October 8, 2014, accessed July 26, 2015, doi: 10.1080/1081602X.2014.963640. Accesable: http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/1081602X.2014.963640#. VFn3lWd9_yU.

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Virginity or sexual abstinence was thus the legal equivalent of a woman’s value. The aim of these legal norms was to emphasize and maintain a belief in the close link between a woman’s “moral being” and her chastity. According to this view, a woman who had lost her chastity was regarded as “fallen,” and she could never regain her honor because such was the natural order. Culture embodied a concept of  “nature’s intent” for women in social institutions and the aforementioned legal norms. Until the year 1928, women who were not married, as well as the mothers of illegitimate children, did not have right to demand support from their child’s father. This law was changed only in 1928, when every mother was granted the rights provided by the Law on Social Support irrespective of her virginity or the conditions of sexual behavior with the father of her extramarital child. Thus, both the right granted to women to receive compensation for the loss of virginity and the duty imposed on men to pay it were revoked. Even after 1928, the term “virgin” was still used in civil law, and affected people’s views. The laws stated that a seduced fiancée or a woman seduced after a promise of marriage could sue to be recognized as the divorced wife of her fiancé or seducer and receive material compensation. However, the seduced woman lost her right to pursue the claim “if she had had similar illicit affairs with other men or if the defendant had been a minor at the time of their sexual intercourse, but she had been much older than him.” The aforementioned legal norms were revoked only on January 1, 1938 when the new civil law became effective.

THE RHETORIC OF THE AUTHORITARIAN REGIME AND POLITICAL PRACTICES CONCERNING GENDER ISSUES After May 15, some commentators called women’s rights to work and higher education into question again and demanded that laws similar to those in Italy and Germany be applied to women, which would push working women out of the workforce and back to the family.58 This demand was based on the assertion that the children of working women lacked displays of maternal affection. Besides, the birthrate was believed to be shrinking due to the number of women 58 Gisela Bock, “Nazi, Gender Policies and Women’s History,” in Toward a Cultural Identity in the Twentieth Century, ed. Francoise Thebaud. Vol. 5 of A History of Women in The West, ed. Philippe Ariès, Georges Duby (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1994), 149–176; Victoria de Grazia, “How Mussolini Ruled Italian Women,” in Toward a Cultural Identity in the Twentieth Century, 120–148.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

working and studying at institutions of higher education. Supposedly, the issue could be resolved by getting women to focus on performing their biological functions.59 Since educated women were believed to shun marriage, the purpose of which was creating children,60 the authors of these assertions concluded that education killed the reproductive drives of the people and prevented them from starting a family.61 Further arguments were made against higher education for women, including: 1) the educational level of a woman had to be lower than that of her husband so as not to deprive him of his sense of superiority; 2) a woman had to be affable and easy to get along with, but educated women were prone to arguing; 3) a women’s beauty was the most reliable evidence of her health, but it vanished with too much study;62 4) women needed the knowledge of housekeeping and raising children, which institutions of higher education did not provide; 5) a woman had to protect the family hearth, but educated women were eager to work outside the home; 6) educated women were not modest in their material needs; 7) many educated women lost their virginity before marriage. These views were refuted by the Union of Sorority Alumnae of the University of Latvia and by the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights. They fought against the attempts to confine women to home life that appealed to the authority of the Leader and ancestral virtues.63 They agreed that women had to overcome their cowardice and courageously perform their biological life mission to be mothers,64 but still indicated that “a woman cannot be just the one who bears children.”65 These discussions did not touch upon the role of fatherhood in a man’s life, as it was considered to be a self-evident truth that for men, marriage 59 Voldemārs Reiznieks, “Sievietes uzdevums atjaunotā Latvijā,” Zeltene 10 (1935): 3. 60 Leonīds Breikšs, “Mūsu ģimene (sabrukums un augšāmcelšanās),” in vol. 3 of Leonīds Breikšs. Dzīve un darbi, comp. Ilgonis Bērsons, Mārtiņš Bisters (Riga: Valters un Rapa, 2002, first published in 1935), 277. 61 Jānis Lapiņš, Sapņi un īstenība. Ceļā uz Latvijas valsti (Rīga: Valters un Rapa, 1938), 291; Jānis Alberts Jansons, “Tukšo ilgu lāsts. Pārdomas par tautas dzīvo spēku,” Brīvā Zeme, July 23, 1938. 62 Breikšs, “Mūsu ģimene,” 249. 63 Berta Pīpiņa, “Sievietes vērtēšana,” Latviete 4 (1939): 108; Anna Rūmane, “Pārdomas latvju neatkarības 20 gadu svētkos,” Latviete 3 (1938): 60. 64 Milda Palēviča, “Sievietes gara līdzdalības nepieciešamība tautas dzīvē un kultūrā,” Latviete 1 (1939): 7. 65 Elija Kliene, “Sieviete jaunās dzīves krustceļos,” Latviete 5/6 (1934): 79; Milda Maldupe, “Mūsu tautas nākotne—sievietes rokās,” Zeltene 6 (1935): 3; Anna Rūmane, “Pārdomas latvju neatkarības 20 gadu svētkos,” 60.

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meant becoming the head of a family and a father. This was the masculine norm, and there were attempts to secure it by convincing single men to get married in order to become fathers. At the beginning of 1940, Riga’s municipal administration even submitted a proposal to the city government not to employ divorced men in the municipal services of Riga. The authoritarian regime used psychologically-based, intimidating rhetoric to advance norms of masculinity. As early as 1936, the readers of the newspaper Rīts (Morning) were informed that in hiring managers for agricultural schools a preference would be given to married men. In the autumn of 1938, Rīts stated that unmarried candidates (in this context referring to unmarried men) over the age of 30 would not be hired for work in state institutions. During the period of authoritarian rule, commentators created a discourse on the significance of masculinity in the development and existence of the nation, which competed with the discourse of femininity. In 1937, the writer Jānis Lapiņš urged men who perceived the family as a burden to become as brave as Lāčplēsis and to bear their cross in an honorable way. The significance of fatherhood and its responsibilities as an important characteristic of masculinity was demonstrated by means of criminal law only during the period of authoritarianism, through the collection of alimony payments. In accordance with amendments to the Law on Social Support that became effective on August 7, 1937, the Administrative Committee on Social Support was formed at the Ministry of Popular Welfare. The committee had the right to sentence a payer to forced labor in cases when the collection of alimony was not possible, and those who tried to escape this punishment or did not do the work properly could be imprisoned in workhouses.66 This kind of punishment could be imposed for a period of up to two years. In the parliamentary elections of 1931, the demand to adopt this law had already been made by the Democratic Center Party, but it was the parliamentarian Berta Pīpiņa who submitted the draft law to the Fourth Saeima. Using these radical means, the authorities wanted to make people who had forgotten their duties perform them voluntarily, emphasizing the fact that the workhouse prison was a punishment for “pernicious moral passivity and shunning inherent human virtues—a disciplinary educational means so that the irresponsible providers would experience hardships similar to those they had caused to their families.” In 1939, the headline of an article published in Rīts read: “Half of indecent fathers return to their families,” while the magazine 66 Lipša, Seksualitāte un sociālā kontrole Latvijā, 1914–1939, 170.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

Vecais Sikspārnis (Old Bat) published a cartoon depicting a father dressed in a prison uniform scutching flax in his prison cell. On the wall was a picture of a heart pierced by an arrow with the signature “Anna” and a child depicted beside it, while the caption under the cartoon said that “the captured philanderer” was now forced to scutch flax, and all that “is owing to you, dear ladies, to you.”67 In the period of parliamentary democracy, public opinion had only appealed to the honor of contemporary Latvians, but the mass media of the authoritarian regime propagated masculine norms and the authorities imposed them. The extent to which each political regime was successful depended on how hegemonic norms and practices were perceived by the majority of the male population. Verbally, the representatives of the authoritarian government supported the position of women. In August 1934, the newspaper Brīvā Zeme (The Free Land) admitted that women had rights to work and education, and that wives’ work at home had to be respected.68 The family woman was the basis of the state policy.69 In 1937, addressing the Congress of the Latvian Council of Women’s Organizations and the Central Society of Latvian Countrywomen, Minister of Agriculture Jānis Birznieks stressed that the Leader looked at women with respect, but “if men occasionally speak ironically of women and their lives, it means that they have a superficial attitude to these issues.”70 In 1939, addressing a meeting of eight boards of the Union of Latvian Women’s Organizations, the Minister of Public Affairs emphasized that while a certain commentators had recently written that women’s expulsion from state institutions or social organizations, or at least the restriction of their right to work there, would benefit the national economy and the family, this could only be regarded as the personal opinion of that commentator. There was no reason at all to believe that the article could have been initiated by the government as an indicator of the forthcoming restrictions on women’s rights. Compared to other countries, Ulmanis’s authoritarian regime was characterized by conservative ideology with a liberal edge as far as women’s issues were concerned. This might have been due to the actual reality in the country, since Latvia could not afford a ban on public employment for married women whose husbands were employed, as

67 Lipša, Seksualitāte un sociālā kontrole Latvijā, 1914–1939, 171. 68 Ausma Roga, “Mūsu sievietes nākotnes uzdevumi,” Brīvā Zeme, August 16, 20, 21, 1934. 69 Kārlis Ulmanis, “Tēva un mātes pienākums ģimenē,” Latviete 1 (1938): 1; “Ministra A. Bērziņa runa sievietēm,” Latviete 2 (1939): 39–45. 70 “Latviešu sieviešu kongress,” Latviete 5 (1937): 33.

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was the case in Germany,71 even if that ban was not enforced.72 With regard to the percentage of working women in the late 1920s, Latvia occupied the first position among European states: 56.3% of women had paid jobs, compared to 35.6% in Germany. In comparison, 42.3% of all women worked in France, in Finland 37.1%, in England 25.5%, in Denmark 24%, in Norway 21.9%, in Holland 18.3%, in the United States 16.5%, and in Canada 11.5%. In terms of the percentage of working men (68.5%), Latvia held the third position in Europe. With regard to the percentage of the population participating in the workforce (both men and women), Latvia held the first position in Europe. In Latvia, 60.9% of the population was economically active, while in France the economically active percentage of the population was 55.9%, in Germany 51.3%, and in Italy 47.6%. It is important to point out the reason for this ­activity. According to Marģers Skujenieks, head of the State Statistical Bureau, “The very high percentage of working people in Latvia is the consequence of disaster and poverty. Undoubtedly, a lot of parents who are now forced to send their children to do hard work would not do so if the circumstances were not so difficult. Likewise, husbands would not make their wives work, and children would not do so to their elderly parents, who would enjoy a peaceful rest from their life’s work in normal conditions.”73 It is important to bear in mind that there was only a semblance of concordance between the statements of the authoritarian government’s representatives and the demands made by active women. Rhetoric and actual political practice differed. The tactics of persuasion and exchanging mutual compliments dominated in words, but in real life the political regime imposed its opinion. In 1935, the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights was not admitted to the International Union for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights (The Open Door Society). The reason for this was that Latvian society could not write a clause in its statute guaranteeing that a woman, married 71 Ingeborg Weber-Kellermann, “The German Family between Private Life and Politics,” in Riddles of Identity in Modern Times, vol. 5: A History of Private Life, ed. Antoine Prost, Gérard Vincent (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1991), 520. 72 Gisela Bock, “Antinatalism, Maternity and Paternity in National Socialist Racism,” in Theories of Modernity and Postmodernity, ed. Bryan S. Turner (London: Sage, 1990), 241; Gisela Bock, “Nazi, Gender Policies and Women’s History,” in Toward a Cultural Identity in the Twentieth Century, 158. 73 Marģers Skujenieks, Latvija starp Eiropas valstīm (Rīga: Valsts Statistikas Parvalde, 1929), 58, 59.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

or unmarried, is free to decide whether to accept or reject paid work. According to Latvian civil law, she could do so only with the consent of her husband.74 The new civil law code, the development of which had been promoted constantly by women’s organizations since the convention of the Constitutional Assembly and elaborated by experts since 1920, was adopted by the Cabinet of Ministers on January 28, 1937; it came into effect on January 1, 1938. However, the civil law code did not meet the expectation of socially active women that the principle of equality would be applied to the rights and obligations of spouses. The ideology of the regime exerted pressure on working women. On February 6, 1939, the leading article in Rīts ran with the headline “Madams are recommended to return to the family.”75 The significance of the recommendation is indicated by the fact that the issue raised in the headline did not correspond to the theme of the lengthy article, which was a report on a speech given by the finance minister on rationalizing the administration of public institutions and companies. In the fall of 1938, Rīts had already informed its readers that the number of women employed in public sector institutions and private companies would not be allowed to exceed ten percent of the total number of employees. By paying a so-called family allowance to men, the state tried to achieve a situation in which women would not participate in the labor force but be actively engaged in housekeeping. During the period of parliamentary democracy, only civil servants and soldiers involved in mandatory military service were entitled to this allowance. In November 1931, during the period of economic crisis, the Faction of Latvian Farmers’ Union submitted a proposal to cancel it (which would affect 18,000 families of civil servants), since wives’ allowances no longer existed anywhere else in the world except Hungary, Bulgaria, and Austria (in some European countries it had been introduced in the second half of the nineteenth century).76 The parliament rejected the proposal to cancel the allowance. In 1937, the authoritarian regime even expanded the range of those entitled to the family allowance to include agricultural workers employed for at

74 The National Archives of Latvia, the State Historical Archives of Latvia, the minutes of the meetings of the board of the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights (Open Door Society), 2411. fonds, 1. apraksts, 1. lieta, p. 10, 13, the minutes of the board on October 17, 1935, and on December 11, 1935. 75 “Kundzēm ieteic atgriezties ģimenē,” Rīts, February 6, 1939. 76 Lieteke van Vucht Tijssen, “Women between Modernity and Postmodernity,” in Theories of Modernity and Postmodernity, 150.

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least a year and, in 1940, those employed for half a year. Thus, by ­supplementing men’s earnings with family payments, women were encouraged to stay at home. In 1935, the authoritarian government initiated the first changes in the system of education. Brīvā Zeme announced that only men would be enrolled in the Riga Teachers’ Institute in the fall.77 Beginning with the school year 1937– 38, the Ministry of Education started a major school reform in order to implement separate education for boys and girls in gymnasia and business schools. The need for these steps was justified by specific objectives: to train boys for the duties of protecting their homeland and girls for the role of mothers in future families. The Latvian Teachers’ Union insisted that women’s education should not be focused only on training to be good wives and ideal mothers, as it was not possible to return to the past of thirty or forty years ago and guarantee a husband and family life to each young woman. Nevertheless, the regime strived to emphasize the different place of each gender and their different roles in the state; therefore, on August 1, 1937, the curriculum of women’s gymnasia was changed, and in a number of gymnasia where single-gender education had not previously existed, education was provided separately for boys and girls. Appeals made by the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights and the Latvian Teachers’ Union not to change the curriculum of girls’ gymnasia were not supported by the Ministry of Education.78 Nevertheless, the change did not prevent graduates from entering institutions of higher education; however, in accordance with an order from Minister of Education Augusts Tentelis, girls were no longer admitted to technical colleges starting from 1937.79 In order to protest against the political practices of the authoritarian regime with regard to gender issues or “the cultivation of one-sided masculine spirit in our cultural life and the disrespectful attitude to women’s work,” the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights wrote a memorandum to State President Kārlis Ulmanis in 1939, signed by seven women’s organizations (thirty in total were invited to sign).80 In the board meeting, Milda Paleviča, the 77 Lipša, “Sievietes tēla veidošana Kārļa Ulmaņa autoritārajā režīmā (1934–1940),” 94–95. 78 The National Archives of Latvia, the State Historical Archives of Latvia, the minutes of the meetings of the board of the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights (Open Door Society), 2411. fonds, 1. apraksts, 1. lieta, p. 37, 38, the minutes of the board on April 21, 1937, and on May 26, 1937. 79 “Tehnikumos meitenes neuzņems,” Rīts, October 15, 1937. 80 The National Archives of Latvia, the State Historical Archives of Latvia, the minutes of the meetings of the board of the Latvian Society for the Protection of Women’s Labor Rights (Open Door Society), 2411. fonds, 1. apraksts, 1. lieta, p. 60, 62, the minutes of the board on March 22, 1939, and on May 24, 1939.

Nation Building and Gender Issues in Interwar Latvia

leader of the Society, informed the participants that the president had received the memorandum favorably and explained that if women had complaints with regard to the gender imbalance in public committees, this state of affairs was the fault of civil servants. After the president’s response, activists from social organizations were immediately appointed to various committees to rectify the situation.

CONCLUSIONS It would be an exaggeration to say that the achievement of statehood became a means of restoring Latvian men’s masculinity (colonized/feminized during the Russian Empire), and that in the interwar years the subordination of women to men was ideologically legitimized. It would equally be an exaggeration to say that, as is sometimes argued in Latvian historiography, women and men were given equality in the Republic of Latvia, since both genders had been given the right to vote as part of the civil liberties brought by the Russian revolution of 1917. Such a generalization gives an impression of gender-neutral attitudes in the interwar period, yet Latvian state politics was not gender neutral, either during the parliamentary democracy or under the authoritarian regime. The article was written in the framework of the project of basic and performance funding of the University of Latvia “Letonika, Diaspora and Intercultural Communication,” subproject Nr. ZD2015/AZ85.

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Figure 1  Illustration on the first cover of Svari, No. 20, 1923, by Richards Zarinš.

Figure 2  Illustration on the first cover of Svari, No. 14, 1924, by Richards Zarinš.

Figure 3  Illustration on the first cover of Svari, No. 51, 1925, by Richards Zarinš.

Figure 4  Illustration on the first cover of Svari, No. 46, 1928, by Richards Zarinš.

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis’s Authoritarian Regime: May 15, 1934–June 17, 1940 Aivars Stranga University of Latvia, Riga

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his paper examines the political system of Karlis Ulmanis’s authoritarian regime and its ideology. Although Ulmanis himself underlined that his regime on its own merits was revolutionary, in fact it was in most aspects an ordinary authoritarian, even autocratic regime, in which all power was concentrated in the hands of one person – Ulmanis himself. He was the head of the government, which, in turn, usurped the rights of the parliament; he was also the president and supreme commander of the armed forces. In the field of ­ideology, the cult of the leader (vadonis) dominated.

1. THE POLITICAL SYSTEM Ulmanis’s regime did not want to be merely an ordinary, conservative ­authoritarian dictatorship but claimed to be “a national revolution.” “[T]he current government is a revolutionary government, a revolutionary leadership in the broadest sense of the term,” Ulmanis declared at a meeting of the Cabinet of Ministers on 15 May 1935,1 and in practice this meant a ­dictatorship with  1 State Historical Archives of Latvia (hereinafter SHAL), fund (hereinafter f.) 1307, ­description (hereinafter d.) 1, file 304, sheet (hereinafter s.) 148.

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

f­eatures of fascistic mass-mobilization and manipulation. During the entire time the regime existed, Ulmanis and the members of his government, not to mention the ideologists and propagandists of the regime, compared it with fascistic and even totalitarian regimes. Ulmanis several times publicly expressed his high evaluation of Italy’s fascism and of Mussolini personally, calling on the people of  Latvia to learn from Italy; the Latvian press at that time also published many articles about the structure of the fascist Italian state.2 In his speech at a meeting of Mazpulki (a youth organization) on April 26, 1935, he laid a special emphasis on the authoritarianism of Italy and on the psychological plane of ­fascism: he described fascism as an excited emotional state of enthusiasm that is a prerequisite for the mobilization of the masses.3 He wanted to see something   2 See, for example, an extensive article about the corporative system in Italy—A. Bulāns, “Kamdēļ itāliem vajadziga korporatīva valsts,” Latvijas Kareivis, September 21, 1934. The author of the article drew a portentous conclusion: “fascism, although probably not possible to be implemented universally, at least deserves the attention of those countries that face similar problems”. See also “Fašistu Liela Padome,” Briva Zeme, March 10, 1937.  3 Pirmais gads. 1934. 15. V–1935. 15 V. [The First Year. 1934. 15. V–1935. 15 V] (Riga: Leta, 1935), 247–248. The speech was very well received in Rome: a few days later Ulmanis received the Ambassador of Italy, Dr. Mameli, who “on personal request from the Prime Minister of Italy [Mussolini] … conveyed Mussolini’s satisfaction with and gratitude for the Latvian Prime Minister’s views about the aspirations of the Italian people that he had very lucidly and with great understanding voiced at the meeting of Mazpulki youth organization” (“Mussolini’s Thanks to the Prime Minister,” Rīts, 7 May 1935). At the very same time “the week of Italy” took place in Latvia, during which Italian journalist Vittorio Foschini, who resided in Latvia permanently and wrote for the Italian press, remarked that the week’s events “demonstrated that between Mussolini’s Italians and Ulmanis’s Latvians there existed deep affinity and friendship”; poet G. D’Annuncio in his turn sent his greetings “to the new Latvians who marched towards a new life” (“Latvieši iet pretim jaunai dzīvei,” Rīts, 13 April 1935). Very portentously the newspaper of the Army of Latvia, Latvijas Kareivis, published a large and positive review of Foschini’s publication in the Italian press about Latvia; Foschini was quoted word-for-word: “about Ulmanis one can truly say that he had made a ‘fascist breaking point’ in Latvial… Although the word ‘fascism’ had not been mentioned in Latvia, although it had not taken shape externally, it does not mean anything, because the coup of May 15 was a fascist one and the spirit that guides Latvian patriots is fascist in its essence” (“Atjaunotas Latvijas labvēlīgais novērtējums Italijā,” Latvijas Kareivis, 13 February 1935). In a couple of weeks, on 15 May 1935, the rallies celebrating the anniversary of the coup d’état again gave Italy a reason to enjoy a feeling of congeniality with Latvia. Mussolini started to get an impression that in Latvia, too, genuine fascism prevailed. On May 17, Ulmanis received another message of congratulation: “It is with a lively feeling of affinity that I join the Latvian people in the celebration of the anniversary of the new regime established by Your Excellency” (Rīts, 18 May 1935). Very soon, in June, journalist Dr. L. Cabalsar visited Latvia and was received by Ulmanis himself; Cabalsar praised Ulmanis as a leader of Latvia and advertised the Italian fascism that according to him was good for any country (“Musolini uzticības persona Rīgā,” Rīts, 13 June 1935). In late October 1935,

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similar happening in Latvia, too. At times, the regime’s propaganda went so far as to compare itself not only to Mussolini but even to Hitler.4 On a visit to Latvia in June 1937, the Swedish Minister of Foreign Affairs Rickard Sandler inquired about the type of governing regime in Latvia. Latvia’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Vilhelms Munters, tried in his answer to dispel Sandler’s impression that “doctrinal fascism” governed Latvia. Munters described Ulmanis’s regime as being not doctrinal fascism but rather pro-fascist authoritarianism—a Latvian type of fascism.5 In turn, on April 3, 1938 during a speech in the Chamber of Labor, Munters gave something like a typological definition of authoritarian regimes, Ulmanis’s regime included: according to him, they belonged to “one-party or party-less regimes, called also totalitarian or authoritarian.”6 In 1939, when the fifth anniversary of the regime was celebrated, both fascism and totalitarianism were inseparable from the regime’s self-definition: at times the regime was deemed as deserving the name of a fascist state.7 Occasionally its claim was even more megalomaniacal: the well-known statistician Janis Bokalders, who also served as an ideologist of the regime, described Latvia as “a politically united and totalitarian state”8 (emphasis mine). at an event in Riga commemorating the 14th anniversary of Mussolini’s “march on Rome,” the outstanding Latvian writer E. Virza delivered a speech about the march (“Galvas pilsēta,” Latvijas Kareivis, 27 October 1935). Virza was the first only a few days after the coup of May 15 to launch the cult of Ulmanis as a leader. The regime of May 15 in Latvia would emulate some features of fascism but would never be able to become its exact copy (and no other admirer of the pioneer—Mussolini— would be able to achieve it either). The glorification of Italy continued as clearly, even atypically, evident in Ulmanis’s New Year message to the people of Latvia on 5 January 1938: the message is entirely based on references to Italy rather than to his own speeches or examples from Latvia (“There were other sowers and other reapers: Mazzini, Garibaldi, Cavour, Mussolini … And the Italian people are united and strong in their unity,”—Rīts, 5 January 1938); see also Ulmanis’s message “Duty – the Supreme Law” from February of the same year, Sējējs 2 (1938): 114. The Latvian Minister of War, General Jānis Balodis, described in his memoirs a meeting of the Cabinet of Ministers, during which Ulmanis had laid out in detail his idea of the one-leader principle: “He quoted numerous statements from Mussolini that had been published in the European press” ( Jānis Balodis, Atmiņu burtnīcas 1918.– 1929. gads, ed. Andris Caune (Riga: Latvijas Vēstures Institūta Apgāds, 2015), 242).   4 See, for example, A. Alnis, “No parlamentarisma uz autoritaru vadonibas valsti,” Sējējs 8 (1939): 806.   5 A. Stranga, LSDSP un 1934. gada 15. maija valsts apversums (Riga: Poligrāfists, 1998), 196–197.  6 Ceturtais gads (Rīga: Leta, 1938), 367.   7 Alnis, “No parlamentarisma uz autoritaru vadonibas valsti,” 806.   8 J. Bokalders, “Saimnieciska ideoloģija,” Ekonomists 10 (1939): 700. One of Ulmanis’s closest confreres, Andrejs Bērziņš (see note 19), wrote in December 1939: “the totalitarian methods will increasingly take hold in this country, too, and under the difficult war conditions

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

The regime that came to power in the coup of May 15, 1934 tried to borrow some features from dictatorships of various kinds, but this did not make it a fascist dictatorship, and even less so a totalitarian one, given that a totalitarian dictatorship did not fully exist even under Mussolini in Italy. To be sure, after May 15 political repressions were launched on an unprecedented scale; in the summer of 1934 at least 1,080 persons were arrested, and because there was not enough room for all of them in state prisons, a concentration camp was opened in Liepaja9—a shameful page in Latvian history that u­ shered in the regime of May 15. Nevertheless, the majority of those arrested were released by 1935, and in subsequent years political repressions were moderate, not to mention the fact that they never turned bloody (though one must also remember that thousands of people lost their jobs for political reasons, such as the 3,982 people who by the end of 1934 had been dismissed from the local authorities).10 In this sense the regime was not totalitarian at all, and at the time of USSR aggression against Latvia in June 1940, the country held only 253 political prisoners (fourteen others had been imprisoned for spying for the USSR), a small number not only compared to totalitarian or fascist regimes, but also compared to several ordinary authoritarian or military dictatorships in Europe. Still, under the regime of May 15 the scale of state control over public life increased; this was enforced not only by the political police, but also by the multi-headed Aizsargi organization, a voluntary para-military organization aimed at enforcing public order. Every week Aizsargi commanders of various ranks had to report on the public mood to Alfrēds Bērziņš, Deputy Minister of we will not manage without them. But in fact this issue is not foreign to us” (“Mūsu stāvoklis,” Rīts, 21 December 1939). What is interesting here is not the emphasis on the need for totalitarian methods in the administration of the economy (as when a new economic crisis had broken out in Latvia along with World War II), but rather the observation that such methods were not foreign to Latvia. One must add, however, that even the most prominent Latvian lawyers of that time, such as K. Dišlers and H. Albats, used either authoritarianism and totalitarianism or authoritarianism, corporatism, and totalitarianism in an unambiguous combination. See, for example, Albats’s statement about the “authoritarian and totalitarian state” (H. Albats, “Ieverojamie momenti neitralitātes tiesību izveidošanas gaitā,” Tiešlietu Ministrijas Vēstnesis 3 (1 May 1940): 447; “Valsts iekartas veidošanas autoritara virzienā,” Rīts, 4 March 1937). Magistrate R. Vilums wrote in his turn: “At the foundation of the idea of a totalitarian state… there lies the unity of the people that should be placed above an individual” (Tiešlietu Ministrijas Vēstnesis 4 ( July 1, 1939): 203). He supported this idea, and it is another example of how the term “totalitarianism” started to spread in Latvia, too.  9 V. Ščerbinskis, “Liepajas koncentracijas nometne un tas režims. 1934. gada maijs–1935. gada marts,” Latvijas Arhīivi 1–2 (2009): 84. 10 Valters Ščerbinskis, “Pašvaldību amatpersonu atlaišanas un ieceļšanas pēc 1934. gada 15. maija apvērsuma,” Latvijas Arhīvi 2 (2007): 61.

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the Interior and later Minister of Public Affairs.11 The Minister of  War General Jānis Balodis noted in his memoirs that there were informers who reported directly to Ulmanis about the situation in the state; according to him Riga was divided into “five to seven districts, each covered by no less than three informers. These persons had a top secret mission—to gather information about the public mood and people’s views about the President.”12 While these practices did not represent a complete totalitarian control, the degree of control was higher than in other authoritarian regimes; it seems clearly to have been higher than in Estonia, Lithuania, and Poland. The most striking manifestation of features adopted from fascism and German National Socialism was to be found in the cult of Ulmanis as a leader (vadonis), accompanied by elements from the new liturgies of the two regimes—the mass rallies, parades, and celebrations meant to create a picture of the development of a new, “national Latvia” and to give a dynamic character to Ulmanis’s authoritarianism. Another set of features borrowed from Austria13 as well as from Italy—the establishment of chambers—also fell short of genuine fascism. As early as April 3, 1926 Mussolini had stressed: “Italy is a state which controls everything that there is in nature: politics, economics, morals [a claim towards totalitarianism—A. S.]. Italy is the corporate state.”14 The corporate spirit was embodied by the chambers, which was directed against liberalism in the economy and based on fascism’s ideological claim that it would eradicate “the plague” of class controversy and class struggle—democracy and liberalism. In 1938 the chambers were integrated into a puppet council selected by and obedient to the government: the Council of Fascist Units and Corporations. But the system of chambers, which, as Mussolini declared, embodied the ­dictatorship of the state over the classes, was only one of the many fascist claims to a revolution; the capitalist economy, although put under increased control by the state, was not eliminated. A significant feature of Italy was Mussolini’s 11 I. Butulis, Sveiki, aizsargi! (Riga: Jumava, 2011), 73. 12 Balodis, Atmiņu burtnicas. 1918–1939. gads, 249. 13 In the notes he wrote after being deported to the USSR in the autumn of 1940, Ulmanis admitted: “Closest of all I followed the changes and the way they were implemented in Vienna,” Kārlis Ulmanis trimdā un cietumā. Dokumenti un materiāli (Riga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 1994), 293; see also positive evaluations in the Latvian press, for example, “Austrija—korporativa valsts,” Rīts, November 2, 1934. 14 S. W. Halperin. Musolini and Italian Fascism (Princeton, NJ: Van Nostrand, 1964), 56; see also I. Feldmanis, “Autoritārisma vilni Eiropā pēc 1. pasaules kara,” Apvērsums. 1934. gada 15. maija notikumi avotos un petījumos, ed. Valters Ščerbinskis, Ēriks Jēkabsons (Riga: Latvijas arhīvistu biedrība, 2012), 81, 85.

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

belief that the system of chambers could fully function only when subjugated to control by the fascist party.15 In Latvia the system of chambers had its own specific features. Firstly, Ulmanis, with the help of the chambers, pursued greater totalitarian control over the public than seen in Italy or Austria. In addition to the four economic chambers, two chambers were created to bring together “mental workers” of various kinds: representatives of the free professions, technical intellectuals, and representatives of other fields that could not be fitted into the four economic chambers. These were the Chamber of Literature and Arts and the Chamber of Professions (which incorporated even dentists and veterinarians—they, too, could not be left uncontrolled).16 None of the six chambers had any power: not a single institution was tolerated in Latvia that could even to a ­minimal extent lessen Ulmanis’s absolute power, which, as it was declared, “must not be limited by any institution.”17 The chambers were merely advisory bodies.18 Only the Chairman of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry, Andrejs Bērziņš, exercised actual and considerable influence in the nation’s economic life, but this was not because he was the head of a chamber, but rather because he was Ulmanis’s old and intimate confrere and confidant.19 While the initial four chambers claimed to overcome controversies and introduce harmony in the economy, what kind of “class controversies” were there to overcome for those such as painters or actors, who found themselves under the auspices of the Chamber of Literature and Arts? Ulmanis’s one-person regime, even with the help of the police and Aizsargi, could not control everything, especially in the fields of culture and art. Control was thus delegated to the chambers, 15 Ulmanis carefully studied the system of chambers in Italy, especially after the first session of the fascist corporative chamber, which was to replace the parliament, in March 1939. When reading J. Acerbo’s project of the house of chambers, Ulmanis underlined several places in the text, for example, the statement that “All the people is encompassed and disciplined by the fascist party.” See Ulmanis’s notes, SHAL (State History Archives of Latvia), f. 5969, d. 1, file 281, s. 141–145, 437. 16 “2 kameras un kulturas padome gara darbiniekiem,” Rīts, March 6, 1938. 17 Alnis, “No parlamentarisma uz autoritaru vadonibas valsti,” 807. 18 Even consultations were allowed only on purely non-political issues; for example, the Presidium of the Chamber of Agriculture in its session on 4 January 1938 “adopted an agenda for the exploration and improvement of the quality of bacon” (Rīts, January 5, 1938). 19 In early 1935 the Credit Bank of Latvia was founded; it had the right to nationalize any private company in Latvia, and its decisions were not subject to court appeal. The Bank was chaired by Andrejs Bērziņš, whom the UK Embassy in Riga described as “the dictator’s [Ulmanis’s] confidant, financial advisor and close friend. His influence in financial policy is enormous,”—E. Dunsdorfs, Kārla Ulmaņa dzīve (Stockholm: Daugava, 1978), 406.

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and every resident of Latvia was supposed eventually to become part of one of the professional organizations integrated into the system of six chambers. Each profession was allowed to have only one association—a requirement that made the respective profession easy to control—plus an eventual affiliate at the ­provincial level.20 Secondly, as in Italy and Austria, in Latvia the chambers were presented as an alternative to a democratic parliament; however, here the development of the system of chambers was slow and remained unfinished at the time of the Soviet annexation in June 1940. Yet it was no secret that in 1938 at the latest, the chambers were to become the central element of Ulmanis’s new Latvian constitution. Another novelty was the merging of the former four chambers into the National Council of the Economy and of the latter two into the National Council of Culture. (Allow us to reiterate that Latvia had borrowed considerably from Austria, where four councils had been created in 1934).21 In May 1939 both councils together had 111 members. Ulmanis ordered them to convene a general meeting, which took place on May 12, 1939 with one hundred members present and was declared to be the first demonstration of “the new people’s representation.” (In 1936 the Latvian press had written that according to Mussolini, “the parliament should be replaced by a chamber of fascists and corporations that at the beginning could take the form of a general meeting of twenty-two corporations.”)22 The general meeting did not pass any decisions, nor did it have the right to do so. Alfrēds Bērziņš gives an accurate description in his memoirs of the chambers’ general meetings: “The speakers vied with each other in attesting their loyalty to the government and president, without suggesting any innovations or proposing considerable amendments in the ­discussed projects.”23 In short—only obsequious talking. It was a show that was not supposed to eclipse the main actor, Ulmanis, who was welcomed with 20 For example, in the field of fine arts only one organization was allowed: The Latvian Society of Fine Arts. See Ilze Konstante, “Mākslinieku biedrības Latvijā (1934–1940). Jaunākie Latvijas Valsts vēstures arhīva materiālu pētijumi,” Māksla un politiskie konteksti (Rīga: Neputns, 2006), 105–108; the same referred also to music: by 1940 only one society had remained under the Chamber of Writings and Art—The Musical Society, which, pursuant to the regime’s centralization policy, had approximately 600 members. See Mūzika Okupācijā. Latvijas mūzikas dzīve un jaunrade. 1940–1945, ed. Arnolda Klotiņš (Riga: Latvijas Universitāte Literatūras, folkloras un mākslas institūts, 2011). 21 “Austrijas Satvērsme,” Jaunais Zemgalietis, May 3, 1934; “Austrija stajusies speka jauna Satversme,” Rīts, November 2, 1934. 22 J. Bokalderis, “B. Musolini runa korporaciju padomē,” Ekonomists 7 (April 15, 1936): 254. 23 Alfrēds Bērziņš, Nepublicētās atmiņas. Laiks, kas negaist (Riga: Lauku avīze, 2015), 139.

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

f­ anfares. He did not address the general meeting, in order not to overshadow the significance of a much more important speech to be delivered at the National Theatre on May 15, the fifth anniversary of the coup. In that speech he pointed out that the chambers and their councils, along with the general meeting of the councils that had just taken place, were the real constitutional reform: “As we continue down this road, we get closer and closer to a more direct participation of the people’s deputies in the work of the state.”24 However, he also made it clear that “this road” still required much more walking, contrary to what he had said on January 11, 1938: “I wish and hope that this moment comes soon.” Even a year later, in the spring of 1940, “the written constitution” (as Ulmanis called it) was not yet ready. On April 7, 1940 Ulmanis announced that some kind of merging of the two state councils was on the agenda: attempts were to be made “to make them organized in one joint summit.” But even if “a joint summit” of the chambers were organized, that, too, would only serve to “clear the way for a more perfect new political system.”25 On May 15 of the same year, as the sixth anniversary of the regime was celebrated, it was remarked by the press that Ulmanis’s speech on April 7 “had announced the prelude of the completion of the new constitution’s creation.”26 It was, a­ pparently, only “the beginning of the end.” The third feature that differentiated Latvia from Italy was the absence of control by a fascist party over the chambers in Latvia. No authentic mass ­fascist party was established after May 15, 1934. It was an essential difference: although in the rhetoric of  his leader’s cult Ulmanis tried to model his dictatorship after Italy’s example, it did not become an authentic fascist d­ ictatorship. On February 5, 1936 the Italian ambassador to Latvia stated that “Latvia’s ­government is no longer a fascist government, but a degenerate police state.”27 In 1939, however, Ulmanis planned to found a new party, which would not have considerably changed the autocratic nature of his regime but would have given the regime a more mass-scale character and provided Ulmanis with a new tool for m ­ obilization of and control over the public. Until 1939 the regime did not 24 25 26 27

“Mēs esam strādājuši rītdienai un nākotnei,” Latvijas Kareivis, May 17, 1939. “Darbs ir avots spēkam un augšanai,” Latvijas Kareivis, April 9, 1940. “Mēs stāvam uz cieša un stingra pamatā,” Latvijas Kareivis, May 15, 1940. E. Andersons, Latvijas vēsture. 1920.–1940. Ārpolitika (Stockholm: Daugava, 1982), 630. When Mameli departed from Latvia in September 1936, Ulmanis granted him a farewell audience. Although Mameli said that he “as an Italian was deeply moved for the second time in his life to witness national rebirth. The first time I saw it in my homeland,” it was significant that his words no longer contained the enthusiasm about the May 15 regime that he had felt in 1935 (“Sutnis dr. Mameli atvadās,” Rīts, September 3, 1936).

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have its own institutional structure or system: the regime was built on Ulmanis’s cult of personality, but Ulmanis in turn consolidated his power through police control and the loyalty of the army and civil servants. The large Aizsargi ­organization performed some of the functions of a party but was itself under the strict control of the Ministry of the Interior and later also of the Ministry of Public Affairs. Ulmanis never made public his intention to form—from above and in an artificial way—a single party regime. In May 1939 he still had doubts about the necessity of such a party. On the fifth anniversary of the regime, May 15, the party system was again completely rejected in public: the Minister of the Interior Hermanis Apsitis emphasized that Latvia had “a strong, non-party ­government.”28 In all authoritarian states in Europe, neighboring Lithuania and Estonia included, there were parties created or supported by the dictators, but in Latvia the official view about such parties was still negative. Ulmanis’ speech at the National Opera House on May 15 could have been an ­opportunity to announce his new plan to the public, but his doubts about it had not yet been overcome, so instead Ulmanis declared that the state would not return “to the discarded order and customs of the times of the old parties.”29 Ulmanis had no wish to return to the system of “the old parties,” that is, to parliamentary ­democracy. “A comprehensive political organization. . . in the shape of a c­ entralized political party,” as Ulmanis himself called it, was decided on instead.30 As Alfrēds Bērziņš wrote in exile in 1963, Ulmanis “envisaged establishing a strong party of the state that would have encompassed both the countryside and the city. In Ulmanis’ vision it was to be a party headed by himself.”31 The idea implied not only a centralized political party formed from above, but also a youth organization under its auspices. The party was to be named the Party of People’s Unity; a white hawk on a green field was chosen as its symbol, and each member was supposed to wear the Namejs’s ring (an ­ethnic-style 28 29 30 31

Tieslietu Ministrijas Mēnešraksts 4 (1939), 868. Latvijas Kareivis, May 17, 1939. Kārlis Ulmanis trimdā un cietumā. Dokumenti un materiāli, 323. Alfrēds Bērziņš, Labie gadi. Pirms un pēc 15. maija (s. l., 1963), 245; however, in the memoirs that were not intended for publication during his lifetime and saw the light of day only in 2015, Berzins wrote: “According to the statements that Ulmanis made at that time, the core of the party was to consist of farmers, workers, and Aizsargi members. The army was not mentioned in this context, as the army had to stay outside of party politics. A picture of Namejs’s ring within a wreath of ears, which we had begun to use as a decorative element for the President’s rostrum, was planned to be the state party’s symbol” (Bērziņš, Nepublicētās atmiņas. Laiks, kas negaist, 139). What is significant here is the way Berzins refers to the would-be party—the state party.

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

ring named after a semi-fictitious chief of the Semigallian tribe).32 The party would indeed have been a mass organization, but it would not have turned into a real mass fascist party. The grand scale of its membership, too, was to be imposed from above: as Alfrēds Bērziņš noted, “the Aizsargi ­organization with its large membership was to be integrated into the work of the new Party of People’s Unity.”33 Aizsargi was to form the base of the Party, and the Party’s youth organization was to develop in the same way: by including in it the Mazpulki, founded by Ulmanis in 1929, and by making it the only youth organization in the country. On January 8, 1938, when addressing the Mazpulki in Riga, Ulmanis declared that in that year “the work of uniting the youth” must be completed “and the youth must be given a single leadership.”34 The task of installing “a single leadership” was reiterated at the end of the year but remained unfulfilled.35 Ulmanis did not have time to establish the party; the autumn of 1939 came with completely unexpected developments. Even if the party had been founded, the regime would have only externally acquired the face of a pro-totalitarian, mobilizing regime. In practice it would have still remained Ulmanis’s monocracy, adorned with an organization created by the leader himself and fully subjugated to him, though that organization would probably have increased his ability to control society. On June 30, 1939 the Law on Municipalities was adopted. Until the coup of May 15, municipalities had been a natural and integral part of the democratic system. The structure of municipal administration had been as follows: 1. The town or city council acted as the municipal parliament, which was elected in free elections; before 1931, a term in office lasted three years, then four ­following 1931; 2. A municipal board acted as the council’s executive body and municipal government; 3. The municipal board was headed by the mayor of the respective town or city—the municipal “prime minister”; 4. The financial matters of the council were under the control of an i­ nspection ­committee.36 After the May 15 coup municipal councils were, like the Saeima 32 See A. Bērziņš’ memoirs in Latvija Amerikā, November 23, 1966; the picture of the hawk was used already in November 1938 during the celebrations of the 29th anniversary of Latvia’s independence, when “The Leader’s Badge” was made. (D. Hanovs, V. Tēraudkalns. Laiks, telpa, vadonis: autoritārisma kultūra Latvijā. 1934–1940 [Riga: Zinātne, 2012], 225). 33 Quoted from Butulis, Sveiki, aizsargi!, 75. 34 “Vienotu vadību jaunātnei,” Rīts, January 9, 1938. 35 In November 1938 the regime’s official newspaper, Sējējs, wrote that all other youth organizations, with the exception of Mazpulki, “will not be tolerated much longer” (A. Baumanis, “Tautas vadonis Kārlis Ulmanis,” Sējējs 11 [1938]: 1128). 36 Rīga sociālisma laikmetā, 1917–1975 (Riga: Zinatne, 1980), 66.

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(national p­arliament), dismissed, and persons loyal to the regime were appointed as municipal heads. The law adopted in 1939 divided municipal administration into four parts: 1. The town or city’s elder (in Riga called the grand-elder), who was the chief official in the municipality (the change of title from “head” to “elder” came from a wish to standardize the titles of municipal leaders, who in rural areas were called “elders”); 2. The Municipal Board; 3. The City or Town Council;37 4. The Inspection Committee. All municipal personnel were appointed by the Minister of the Interior, and no elections were to take place. Minister Kornelijs Veidnieks offered the following comment about this system: “The authoritarian principle, which consistently takes expression in the new municipal system, requires personal responsibility of each official. Therefore the law stipulates that all municipal officials shall be appointed by the supreme leader of municipal life, the Minister of the Interior.”38 While the elder, the board, and the inspection commission was appointed by the Minister of the Interior for terms of six years, the members of the city and town councils had terms of only three years, because the candidates for these positions could be nominated by the chambers, which in turn had three-year terms in office. Although the introduction of the council and councilors was advertised as a large step towards the people’s participation in the work of municipalities, the councilors’ rights were very limited. In fact, they could only “ask questions of the officials of the municipal board and receive explanations from them”39 or “assist the municipal administration with advice and recommendations.”40 As with the chambers, it was underlined by the press that “President [Ulmanis] will know when the time has come to have more direct citizens’ participation in the selection of representatives for municipal councils.”41 Five years after the 37 Members of the city/town were called the councilors, because it seems that there was a wish to underline the institution’s Latvian-ness in its name, in contrast to the earlier “German” council. Another possible reason for the name change was a wish to erase all memories of the councils of the democratic period. To a certain extent, councilor was a decorative honorary position and the councilors did not receive any salaries. 38 Kornēlijs Veitmanis, “Pilsētu pašvaldību reforma,” Pašvaldības darbs 7 ( July 1, 1939): 163. 39 “Nozvērinati Rīgas padomnieki,” Rīts, December 9, 1939. The Council of Riga City held its first session on 8 December 1939. The councillors gave their oaths to the Minister of the Interior, Kornelijs Veitmanis (who a little later made his surname “more Latvian” by replacing the “German” Veitmanis with the “Latvian” Veidnieks) and sent to Ulmanis “assurances of their highest esteem, obedience, and unfaltering loyalty.” (Rīts, December 10, 1939). As we see, in the “swearing in” ritual the main emphasis was on obedience and loyalty to Ulmanis, whom Veitmanis in this context called “the Creator of the Great May 15.” 40 “Kā saimnieko Rīga,” Rīts, December 5, 1939. 41 “Nozvērinati Rīgas padomnieki.”

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

coup, that time had not yet come. The reform of rural administration would have followed the same principle, were it adopted before the state of Latvia perished in 1940. The main reason for the delay of the reform was the new and dramatic problems facing Latvia when World War II broke out.42 In 1939 another idea occurred to Ulmanis: on July 21 the Cabinet of Ministers approved his proposal “to create the position of a regional ­chairperson, one for each of the country’s four regions.”43 The motivation behind this idea was unclear, though the introduction of a new administrative structure—regions and regional chairpersons—probably testified to a wish to subject the country to even firmer control, starting at the level of regional centers. This intention, however, could have hidden a threat to Ulmanis’s monocracy: regional chairpersons could become regional leaders. As with the foundation of the party, Ulmanis did not manage to implement this plan by June of 1940. At the time that the state perished, the regime looked no different than it had in 1934: it was still Ulmanis’s one-person, authoritarian, autocratic dictatorship. His was probably the most authoritarian and yet the simplest regime of its kind in all of Europe, because unlike in other anti-democratic regimes, no parliament of any kind existed in Latvia, not even a decorative one.44

2. THE IDEOLOGY OF THE REGIME OF MAY 15 In 1939, when the fifth anniversary of the authoritarian regime was celebrated triumphantly, Minister of Education Jūlijs Auškāps had become the regime’s main ideologist. He formulated three fundamental principles of the regime’s ideology: unity, one leader for the nation, and an ethnically Latvian Latvia.45 The definition of unity had been formulated, under considerable influence from Italian fascism, as the subjugation of one’s individual interests to those of the state and the elimination of any controversy. However, the core essence of the “definition” lay in its pro-totalitarian trend, in centralization: unity could be achieved only through following a pre-set plan, so everything in Latvia had to 42 See the explanation by Minister of the Interior Veitmanis on 1 January 1940 (Pašvaldību Darbs 1 ( January 1, 1940): 1). 43 SHAL, f. 1313, d. 1, file 140, s. 169. 44 Lawyer A. Alnis emphasised that Ulmanis’s regime was superior to the National Socialist regime in Germany, because Latvia lacked Germany’s formal parliament, the Reichstag, and Ulmanis’s power was not limited—even in a purely decorative way—by anything: it was indivisible and unlimited (Alnis, “No parlamentarisma uz autoritaru vadonibas valsti,” 807). 45 Jūlijs Auškāps, “15. maija idejiskais saturs,” Sējējs 5 (1939): 460–462.

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be organized and arranged according to plan.46 All spheres of life in Latvia had to be subordinated to the interests of the state. The most perfect ­incarnation of unity was, in turn, the principle of one leader for the nation. As God’s chosen prophet, the leader ensured unity and instilled it with spiritual content.

Figure 1 The statue of the president in the Chamber of Agriculture of Latvia. The sculptor Briedis with his wife, the sculptor Kalnin  , a, have completed the model for the sculpture of President Ka  ¯ rlis Ulmanis. The sculpture will be placed in the Chamber of Agriculture. -ka  -s Zin  Work on Ulmanis’s sculpture.—Jauna  , as, June 3, 1939.

46 Enthusiasm for plans was an inherent feature of the regime and in Auskaps’s statements sometimes even took a comical form; for example, in September 1937 when Ulmanis’s 60th birthday was celebrated, he declared that Ulmanis’s becoming the Leader was “the will of Fate, the result of a sequence of events and conditions deliberately planned and arranged by the Supreme Power. . .” ( J. Auškāps, “Gadījums vai likteņa griba,” Rīts, September 4, 1937).

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

In order to achieve the goal of an ethnically Latvian Latvia, one not only had to define what was almost impossible to define—what Latvian-ness meant – but also, and even more importantly, to identify an appropriate niche in the regime’s ideology for this constructed Latvian-ness. Auškāps started by ­defining the Latvian character: features such as anarchy, nihilism, idleness, dreaminess, fatalism, bravado, noisiness, and susceptibility to influences from abroad were declared to be foreign to Latvians. The ideological code of Ulmanis, the builder of May 15, had a clear goal: the inculcation of obedience to the leader. The whole meaning of “Latvian-ness” lay in the context of working towards this main goal. It was unambiguously pointed out why a Latvian must not be poetic: “poetic persons become accustomed to discipline only with ­difficulty, they always admire absolute freedom.”47 Not only Latvian-ness, but even nationalism—irrespective of the degree of importance attributed to it—was not valued per se in the regime’s ideology if it was not linked to the core political and ideological principle of one leader for the nation.48 Next in importance was the principle of the united people, which even in the first months of the regime was clearly subordinated to the principle of one leader, and thereby subordinated “to a master plan elaborated by the leader and carried out under the leadership of the leader of the people, Dr. K. Ulmanis.”49 Ulmanis himself spoke about the relations between nationalism and the principle of one leader. On February 11, 1938, speaking at an event celebrating the seventieth anniversary of the Latvian Society of Riga, he stressed: “After May 15, 1934 we should have placed a greater emphasis on unity and unanimity, because nationalism no longer required particular arguments but rather a correct perception…”50 This statement allows for two main conclusions: firstly, that for the regime of May 15 the main aspect of its ideology was unanimity (that is, the one-leader principle), and secondly, that in the context of nationalism unanimity had to be understood correctly. From this follows a simple conclusion: not just any nationalist or any kind of nationalism would suit the regime. Those who did not recognize the priority of the one-leader principle were liable to find themselves in prison, as many radical nationalists 47 “Nacionāla nelaime,” Sējējs 9 (1938): 898. 48 Vita Zelče, Professor of the University of Latvia, has with good reason emphasized: “The principle of one leader was one of the most important aspects of ideology. . . The principle of one leader delegated to K. Ulmanis the rights of a dictator and made his decisions—and only his decisions—legitimate, correct, and indisputable” (Vita Zelče, “Bēgšana no brīvības. Kārla Ulmaņa režīma ideoloģija un rituāli,” Agora 6 [Riga, 2007]: 331). 49 V. Sauliets, “Lauki un pilsēta,” Rīts, October 28, 1934. 50 “Tautas goda apziņas spēks,” Rīts, February 12, 1938.

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from the radical organization Pērkonkrusts [Thundercross] learned from their own experience. All the principles of the regime’s ideology worked only in the context of the one-leader principle and were subordinated to it: the leader, as Auškāps emphasized, “arranges and shapes life from one starting point into one direction.”51 Even theological arguments were produced to substantiate the one-leader principle, the main one being not so much the suggestion of Ulmanis’s “divine origin” (“God is always awake […] He sent a Leader to our people, too, at the time they needed him most”),52 but rather the statement that “the strength of the people lies in their obedience to the one whom God has entrusted to lead the nation.”53 The key word here is obedience. Many diverse tools were used to consolidate the ideology of one leader and Latvian-ness. One of these, megalomaniacal construction plans, is ­typical of almost any dictatorship: on January 26, 1939 at the opening session of the Chamber of Professions, Ulmanis declared that the regime of May 15 had “earned the name of the age of construction.”54 In this regard, Ulmanis could be called the Builder-Leader. Of all places, Riga was the most subjected to “Latvianizing.” Authoritarian construction there resulted in many completed buildings alongside a host of construction plans that were never implemented, a category which also concerns existing buildings that, luckily, were not demolished to make room for “the new things.” Relatively few buildings were in fact demolished, only forty-two residential buildings and twenty-eight business facilities in the old part of Riga. The list of new facilities that were constructed is also relatively short: the previously small Dome Square in Riga was expanded to an impressive size, renamed the May 15 Square and used for mass rallies and the national rites of the new regime as well as for Ulmanis’s speeches, which were delivered from the b­ alcony of the Credit Bank.55 The so-called Latvian architecture was incarnated in the heavy Court Palace and the building of the Ministry of Finance; the department store of the Army and the War Museum were also constructed at this time (the latter two buildings present rather ­successful architectural cases). The construction plans that were not implemented were even more breathtaking, starting from the statement made in October 1934 that the buildings between Valdemara and Raina boulevards were to be pulled 51 52 53 54 55

Auškāps, “Gadījums vai likteņa griba,” 460–462. Arnolds Liepiņš, “Autoritāra valsts reliģiskā skatijumā,” Latvijas Kareivis, May 14, 1939. Hanovs, Tēraudkalns, Laiks, telpa, vadonis: autoritārisma kultūra Latvijā, 270. Latvijas Kareivis, January 27, 1939. Jānis Lejnieks, Rīga, kuras nav (Riga: Zinātne, 1998), 95–98.

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

down and replaced by “a huge municipal house of Riga city.”56 (All projects ­contained words like “huge,” “grandiose,” “monumental.”) Although the relocation plans for Riga City’s administration were later shifted to another site, the proposal to demolish the historical buildings on the two boulevards was consistently pursued. In May 1936 it was declared that the building of the Great Guild Hall was “of little architectural and historical importance” and should be replaced by a congress house with the capacity for five thousand visitors.57 Other radical and even barbaric projects involving the re-building of Old Riga followed, including the construction of a bureau of the administration of Riga City on the bank of the Daugava River, a building of the Postal Savings Bank, a monument to Kārlis Ulmanis (on the former 13th of January street), and probably also a monumental sculpture titled “Our Hero” by Kārlis Zāle that featured a horse saddled up not by a military leader but rather by a farmer and plowman (echoing references to Ulmanis as a farmer of his land, a father to his country,58 and a plowman. All of these projects were outmatched by the plans for Victory Square, which envisaged a construction program more extensive than that of the 1936 Olympic stadium in Berlin. One of the landmarks of the square was the sixty-meter-high Victory Tower, the lower part of which was planned as a sanctuary to commemorate the leaders of the nation.59 Ulmanis himself probably would have wished to be laid to rest there. None of these plans, however, were carried out before the occupation of Latvia in June 1940. The most negative impact on Riga’s architecture would have come from plans made by two prominent architects, Pāvils Dreimanis, the chairman of the National Construction Commttee of Riga City, and Pauls Kundziņš. Their plans were begun in 1936 and later merged as the “Proposal for the Layout of Administrative Buildings in the Center of Riga,” which proposed demolishing 56 “Rīgas pilsētas milzu nams,” Rīts, October 24, 1934. The design of the “huge house” was elaborated by architect Aleksandrs Klinklāvs, but it was not his best design (definitely not compared to his outstanding designs implemented in hospitals in Riga and a sanatorium in Tervete). As was typical for the architecture of the May 15 regime, the most valuable aspect of the design was the height of the building—60 meters. To make space for it, the building of Riga Gymnasium No. 3 in Valdemāra street was to be pulled down. See “Monumentālais pilsētas nams,” Rīts, August 28, 1935. Later even this design was thought to be insufficiently monumental. 57 “Kongresa nams bij. Lielās Ģildes vietā,” Rīts, May 26, 1936. 58 “. . . we call Karlis Ulmanis not only the leader of our nation and the Leader of the state, but also the Father of our country.” (A. Goba. “Tē ir zeme un šis zemes Tēvs,” Latvijas Kareivis, December 17, 1939). 59 Lejnieks, Rīga, kuras nav, 122.

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the bulk of  the buildings on Raiņa Boulevard to make space for a row of massive and bleak governmental buildings60 (see the picture below), razing the existing buildings in Škuņu Street between Zirgu, Amatu, and Laipu streets, including the most prominent works by Christoph Haberland, as well as constructing a pantheon on Bastēja Hill. Plans on such a massive scale almost certainly had deep political support.61 Luckily, of the thirty-three planned buildings only the Ministry of Finance and the War Museum were completed, though it seems that the hopes of building a gigantic Postal Savings Bank on 13th January Street, a project close to Ulmanis’s heart, survived the longest.62

Figure 2 “Nakotnes Rīga [The Riga of the Future],” Rīts, May 26, 1936, 7.

60 See P. Dreimanis’ design (“Nākotnes Rīga,” Rīts, May 26, 1936). The illustration makes it obvious that the planners wanted to demolish not only the splendid former private houses in Raina Boulevard, which currently house the Embassies of Germany and France, but also the historical building of the University of Latvia (former Polytechnic Institute). Even the Opera House was to be pulled down and replaced by a new, more monumental one (“Nākotnes Rīga,” Brīva Zeme, May 25, 1936). 61 Rihards Pētersons, “Politiskie konteksti pieminekļu valdes darbībā (1923–1940)” in Māksla un politiskie konteksti, 103–104. 62 The Savings Bank was planned to have a 140-meter-high tower, which was deliberately intended to exceed in height the tower of the “German” St. Peter’s Church (otherwise it would make no sense for a financial institution to have such a tall tower). “... the architectural shape [of the Savings Bank] was very similar to that of the spire-crowned high-rises of Stalin’s time. Thus a complete transformation of the Old City was planned—both in terms of planning and the silhouette.”–Jānis Krastiņš, Latvijas republikas būvmāksla (Riga: Zinātne, 1992), p. 49–50. Even as late as 16 October 1939, when the new economic crisis that had broken out at the beginning of World War II was hitting Latvia harder every day, the Cabinet of Ministers insisted on building the ideologically important tower: “[The Cabinet] decides to build the Postal Savings Bank with a tower to contribute to the alteration of the face of capital Riga and make it more suitable for the present time and age in the state of Latvia.” (SHAL, f. 1313, d. 1, file 140, s. 258).

The Political System and Ideology of Karlis Ulmanis

An important tool for the ideological and political consolidation of the regime was various kinds of political rites,63 especially the many different state-sponsored festivities. In the words of Deniss Hanovs and Valdis Teraudkalns, “Latvian society of the authoritarian period can with good reason be described as a society of never-ending festivities.”64 The main national days of the Republic of Latvia, most importantly November 11 and 18, ­continued to be celebrated while new national festivities were added to the list, among which May 15 was especially important as the day of the coup d’état, later named the Day of National Unity. National festivities were celebrated on a grand scale to leave a maximum impact on the participants. To gain public support, new festivities and spectacles for the people were introduced (such as the performance of “The Song of Rebirth” staged in 1934 as the first celebration for the people following the coup; and April 11, 1936, when Ulmanis became President; as well as Ulmanis’ sixtieth birthday celebration the following year). To strengthen the ties between the Leader and “the united people,” unity campaigns were carried out, during which Ulmanis travelled around the country giving instructions on various subjects, making generous donations, and even handing out sweetmeats to children. “During the [President’s] ritual trips people identified themselves with [Ulmanis’s personal] power, [with following] its instructions and fulfilling its wishes as well as with being recognized by it. Freedom was superfluous here. What mattered was faith. Throughout the country and in each civil parish, people publicly affirmed their readiness to live and work in compliance with the Leader’s instructions.”65 The most popular of Ulmanis’ campaigns, and the only one with practical and lasting value, was the “Friendly Appeal,” which was established on Ulmanis’ name day on 28 January 1935. Ulmanis appealed to the people to donate books,66 works of art, musical instruments, radio sets, and other useful items to their schools. By 1938, historian Arveds Švābe did not hesitate to declare that “the President’s name day had become one of the most important days of the year.”67 An important issue in the policy and ideology of the authoritarian regime was the attitude towards the ethnic minorities that constituted one fourth of 63 64 65 66

Zelče, “Bēgšana no brīvības,” 334. Hanovs, Tēraudkalns, Laiks, telpa, vadonis: autoritārisma kultūra Latvijā, 21. Zelče, “Bēgšana no brīvības,” 347. One must not forget, though, that 1,270,374 volumes deemed by the regime as unsuitable for the people were withdrawn from public libraries; even some classics of Latvian literature were thought to be unsuitable for schools (Dunsdorfs, Kārla Ulmaņa dzīve, 371 – 372). 67 Arveds Švābe, “Divdesmit astotais janvāris,” Rīts, January 28, 1938.

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Latvia’s population. On the one hand, as Alfrēds Bērziņš repeatedly underlined, the regime tried to combine two ideas: “The sun of Latvia shines on everybody” (thus also on non-Latvians) and “ethnically Latvian Latvia.” However, as historian Ilgvars Butulis has noted, it was not easy to combine them; often a very active nationalism on the part of ethnic Latvians dominated and “the regime’s leading ideologists clearly welcomed inequality in the rights of ethnic minorities and acknowledged this attitude as adequate.”68 On the whole the attitude of the regime’s ideology towards ethnic minorities was inconsistent and contradictory, and although radically nationalistic ideas were voiced (especially with regard to the Baltic Germans69), not infrequently moderate and tolerant views were also expressed.70 However, some of these views 68 I. Butulis, “Dai 1934. gada 15. maija apvērsuma aspekti Ulmaņa autoritarajā ideologijā,” Apvērsums. 1934. gada 15. maija notikumi avotos un petījumos, 93. 69 The very active ethnic nationalism of the authoritarian regime made it difficult for ethnic minorities to grow in loyalty to the state of Latvia. It especially refers to the Baltic Germans, for whom the very foundation of the state of Latvia entailed a r­ adical change in their status, turning them from a privileged group into a minority. While a part of them gradually resigned themselves to their new status, already in 1932 under the influence of Nazism in Germany the most radical ­section of the Baltic Germans established an underground local German organization Bewegung. After the coup of May 15, 1934, the Baltic Germans were particularly offended by the new official position with regard to the history of Latvia: the role of the Baltic Germans in it was no longer acknowledged. President Ulmanis personally advocated an interpretation of history that regarded the founding fathers of Livonia as uncultured conquerors, even criminals (this idea was promoted by Ulmanis confident Rihards Berzinš—“Nordicus”—in Latvian press). The Baltic Germans were greatly insulted by the nationalisation in December 1935 of ­several historical properties, which were very important for them, and by the plans to rebuild radically the Old Town of Riga, making it “Latvian” and demolishing a large part of the historical “German” Riga. The growing might of Nazi Germany in turn facilitated the consolidation of Bewegung, and in 1938 the leading organizations of the Baltic Germans came under the influence of the trustees of Bewegung. Many Jews in turn were irritated by the closure of several popular leftist-oriented Jewish schools and the subjugation of the whole of Jewish education under the authority of religious orthodox and conservative Agudhat Izroel, which was loyal to President Ulmanis (like all other parties in Latvia, the party officially had been banned but continued to exist under a different title as a religious organisation). The Jews were also insulted by the nationalization of several prominent Jewish enterprises as part of the efforts “to Latvianize the economy”, as they were called, which in practice meant nationalization. In 1939, Ulmanis even considered passing an unprecedented in Latvia anti-Jewish law that would have prohibited Jews from hiring non-Jewish domestic servants. Although the law was not officially adopted, in practice the rights of the Jews were restricted in this regard. 70 Butulis, “Dai 1934. gada 15. maija apvērsuma aspekti Ulmaņa autoritarajā ideologijā,” 97.

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were bizarre at best. The 1936 collection Jaunais nacionalisms [The New Nationalism], edited by popular regime ideologist Janis Lapins, defined this type of ­nationalism as “the philosophy of  inequality” and “a racial issue.”71 There followed statements that “according to racial doctrine mixed blood results in discords in the person’s soul and behavior. Thus each race must ­safeguard the purity of its blood. Nationalism teaches each member of the nation that he is a carrier of good blood, and it is in the blood that the person’s destiny lies... a belief in the superiority of one’s race has huge vital power that helps in the achievement of super-human goals.” Latvians must proudly i­dentify “the outstanding features of their race,” of which there are many, since “in Latvians the Nordic race is represented more strongly than in the Germans.”72 This racist nationalism did not, however, have enough time to become an entrenched ­feature of the regime’s ideology. In sum, the Ulmanis regime fell short of its self-ascribed fascist totalitarianism. Riven by ideological contradictions, meager resources for the g­ randiose plans, and above all, the subjugation of all principles and institutions to Ulmanis’ personal rule and whims, it ended up as a chaotic autocracy that was devoured by the real totalitarian polities it took for as models.

71 Jaunais nacionālisms. Rakstu krājums (Riga: Jāņa Lapina redakcijā, 1936), 7, 9, 10. 72 Ibid., 37.

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The Rise of the Radical Right, the Demise of Democracy, and the Advent of Authoritarianism in Interwar Estonia Andres Kasekamp University of Tartu

INTRODUCTION

O

f all the fateful dates from the Republic of Estonia’s first period of existence, Estonian scholars have primarily been in interested in the events of 1939. The collapse of democracy and the emergence of authoritarianism in 1934 have attracted much less attention. Much of it has been in the vein of counter-factual history: had Konstantin Päts not assumed power in 1934, then perhaps Estonia would not have capitulated to Soviet demands in 1939 without firing a shot. The comparison is sometimes made between Estonia’s reaction and Finland’s response to the Soviet ultimatum, with the explanation that the regime type was a decisive factor. According to this argument, functioning parliamentary democracy ensured that Finnish decision-makers had to respect public opinion, whereas a small ruling “clique” made the fateful decision in Estonia.1

 1 Magnus Ilmjärv, Silent Submission: Formation of Foreign Policy of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania; Period from mid-1920s to Annexation in 1940 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell International, 2004). Maria Groeneveld, The Role of the State and Society Relationship in the Foreign Policy Making Process (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2012) (Dissertationes rerum politicarum Universitatis Tartuensis 7).

The Rise of the Radical Right, the Demise of Democracy

Hardly any research has been done on the causes of the regime change and on the functioning of the authoritarian regime.2 In any discussion of the advent of authoritarianism in Estonia, the role of the Vaps movement would certainly be central to the story. Three main factors or causes are usually given for the collapse of democracy: the economic crisis, the constitutional crisis, and the ambition of Päts. The Vaps movement is at the intersection of each of these. The economic crisis created the circumstances permitting the rise of a radical-right populist movement and the constitutional crises allowed the Vaps movement to have a decisive impact on the development of Estonian politics; the Vaps movement itself provided Päts with the justification for dismantling democracy and erecting his personal authoritarian regime. The Estonian Vaps movement (also referred to as the Veterans)3 was one of the most popular fascist-type movements in interwar Europe, yet it has been largely neglected by researchers of the transnational phenomenon.4 The pioneer of fascism studies, Ernst Nolte, observed that it was “the only one of all the fascist groups to succeed in legally obtaining the absolute majority vote of the people […].”5 Though his statement is not entirely accurate (as will be explained below), it nevertheless highlights the significance of the Vaps ­movement in the wider European context. Before proceeding to the developments that led to the rise of the extreme right and the demise of democracy, an outline of the context of the Estonian political system is necessary. The first Estonian constitution, adopted on June 15, 1920, was inspired by Western European models, especially Weimar Germany and the French Third Republic, in addition to Switzerland. As a r­ eaction to Tsarist rule and to the fact that the Constituent Assembly was  2 Ago Pajur, “Die ‘Legitimierung’ der Diktatur des Präsidenten Päts und die öffentliche Meinung in Estland,” in Autoritäre Regime in Ostmitteleuropa 1919–1944 im Vergleich, ed. Erwin Oberländer, Rolf Ahmann, Hans Lemberg, and Holm Sundhaussen (Padeborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2001), 163–213. Andres Kasekamp, “The Nature of Authoritarianism in Interwar Estonia,” International Politics 33:1 (1996): 57–65.   3 The official name of the organization was the Eesti Vabadussõjalaste Liit (The League of Veterans of the Estonian War of Liberation). Vaps (plural: vapsid) was the name popularly used; it is an abbreviation of vabadussõjalane (a veteran of the War of Liberation), not an acronym.   4 Andres Kasekamp, The Radical Right in Interwar Estonia (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000); Andres Kasekamp, “The Estonian Veterans’ League: A fascist movement?” Journal of Baltic Studies 24:3 (1993): 263–268. Admittedly, the label “radical right” is more appropriate than “fascist” according to Stanley Payne’s typology of fascism.   5 Ernst Nolte, The Three Faces of Fascism (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1965), 12.

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d­ ominated by left-wing parties, there was distrust of strong executive power and great trust in the Riigikogu (legislature) as the representative of the people. The balance of power was markedly tilted in favor of the parliament at the expense of the executive branch. From the Swiss model came the idea of direct democracy in the form of referenda and the absence of the office of president. When drafting the constitution it was thought that, in a small country like Estonia, a separate but strictly ceremonial head of state was simply not necessary (and it was also more economical). This resulted in the Chairman of the Riigikogu accruing great influence. The provision in the constitution for the right of popular initiative would have great consequences for the future of Estonian democracy. In order to adopt legislation, twenty-five thousand voter signatures had to be collected and presented together with the draft legislation to the Riigikogu. If the parliament rejected the draft, the right to decide would be transferred to the electorate in the form of a referendum. The Estonian political party system consisted of three groupings: the ­agrarian parties, the Left, and the moderate parties in the center. The land reform of 1919 affected two-thirds of the rural population and thus had far reaching political, social, and economic consequences. Politically, the land reform initiated a steady shift to the right, away from the Socialist and Labor parties, which were the two parties responsible for the land reform legislation in the Constituent Assembly. Ironically, the main political beneficiary was the Farmers’ Party, which had originally opposed the radical land reform proposals. The Farmers’ Party represented those farmers who had acquired their own land prior to independence, and it was the staunchest defender of the principle of the inviolability of private property. In the absence of a genuine ­conservatism in Estonian society, it functioned as the surrogate conservative party. The Farmers’ Party supplied Estonia with the majority of its heads of government (Riigivanem), notably including Konstantin Päts. The land reform created a new class—the settlers or new farmers—who began to mobilize politically in order to advance their own interests, which were often opposed to those of the Farmers’ Party. Thus in 1923 the Settlers’ Party began to participate in Riigikogu elections, becoming the third largest party by 1926. The Estonian Social Democratic Workers’ Party was the largest party in the Constituent Assembly, having received 33% of the vote in 1919. In this capacity, they were responsible for much of the progressive legislation that shaped the Republic. However, in the first half of the 1920s the Social Democrats were in continuous retreat in the face of an advance by the extreme Left. The Estonian Communist Party (ECP), committed to the overthrow of

The Rise of the Radical Right, the Demise of Democracy

the Republic and its incorporation into Soviet Russia, was perforce an underground ­organization, but it participated in Riigikogu elections through the use of front organizations such as the Estonian Working People’s United Front, which received nearly 10% of the vote in the 1923 elections.6 The growing support for the ECP, the economic crisis in Estonia, and the mass trial of 149 communists in November 1924 convinced the ECP leadership that the situation was ripe for revolution. With the support of Soviet Russia, conspirators attempted to seize key communication and military installations in the capital on December 1, 1924. The insurrection plan hinged on Tallinn workers rising up in support of the action, but as this did not occur, the revolt was swiftly crushed. The failure was a blow from which the ECP never recovered. Many of its leaders were arrested or killed, and those who managed to flee to the Soviet Union were later executed in Stalin’s purges. The Social Democrats subsequently won back the positions they had lost to the Communists in the trade unions and the Riigikogu. However, the onset of the depression in the 1930s intensified the disagreements that constantly racked the party. While the right wing of the party believed in the necessity of cooperation with bourgeois parties in order to improve conditions for the working class, the left denounced it for helping postpone the imminent collapse of capitalism. Of the parties in the center of the political spectrum, the Labor Party, a radical democratic party espousing non-Marxist evolutionary socialism, was initially the most successful. Its greatest achievement was the enactment of land reform. Paradoxically, the Labor Party’s success in the first years of the Republic led to the dramatic decline in its support, as the new farmers or settlers whom they had championed formed their own party. The party counted teachers, civil servants, craftsmen, and shop clerks among its supporters. In face of its declining support and the ascendancy of the agrarian parties, the Labor Party merged with the People’s Party in 1932 to form the National Center Party. The People’s Party, more than any other party, was identified with one authoritative individual, Jaan Tõnisson, the preeminent leader of the national movement. Being at the center of the political spectrum, the People’s Party participated in nearly every government coalition. Though the party fought against narrow sectional and class interests, it was, nevertheless, primarily the representative of the urban middle class, though it also attracted some prosperous farmers from southern Estonia. The party’s regional base was Tartu, the seat of the country’s  6 Tönu Parming, “The Electoral Achievements of the Communist Party in Estonia, 1920–1940,” Slavic Review 42 (1983): 439.

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only university and its cultural and intellectual center. Two other minor parties, The Christian People’s Party and the House Owners’ Party, also merged with the National Center Party.7 Completing the picture of the political party landscape were the ethnic minority parties. The Republic of Estonia was a fairly homogeneous ­country, with 88.2% of its population ethnically Estonian. Russians comprised the largest ethnic minority, at 8.5% of the population. The Russian minority was a mixed group, including Old Believers on the coast of Lake Peipus, peasants in the territories acquired by Estonia in the Tartu Peace Treaty, and refugees from the Russian Civil War. The Russians were less well organized politically than the other minorities, and as a consequence were underrepresented in the Riigikogu, never being able to win more than five seats. The ethnic group whose position was most affected by the establishment of independent Estonia was the Baltic Germans. Although they were not the most numerous minority in Estonia (1.5 percent), they were the most significant.8 Having been the privileged elite for centuries, they found it hard to adapt to being ruled by the “peasants.” They remained influential in business and industry, but they were increasingly excluded from high positions in public life. The German minority was represented in the Riigikogu by the Baltic German Party, which formed an electoral alliance with the Swedish National League, representing the small Swedish community that comprised 0.7% of the population and consisted mainly of fishermen and peasants inhabiting the northwestern coast and islands. Having unsuccessfully opposed the land reform, the Baltic German Party fought for satisfactory compensation. It led the successful campaign for adoption of a law on cultural autonomy in 1925. The innovative feature of this law was that it was based not on territory, but on individual choice allowing any national minority with 3000 or more members to form its own public institutions. The Baltic Germans were the first to set up their own Cultural Council, responsible for German educational and cultural institutions. They were followed by the Jews, also a predominantly urban national minority, who numbered just 4,500. Until the nineteenth century Jews had not had any significant presence, as Estonian territory had been outside the Jewish Pale of Settlement in the Tsarist Empire. Cultural autonomy of the kind established by Estonia’s 1925 legislation was  7 Mati Graf, Parteid Eesti Vabariigis 1918–1934 koos eellooga (1905–1917) ja järellooga (1934–1940) (Tallinn: Tallinna Pedagoogikaülikooli kirjastus, 2000), 209–210.  8 See Boris Meissner, Dietrich A. Loeber and Cornelius Hasselblatt, eds., Die Deutsche Volksgruppe in Estland während der Zwischenkriegszeit und aktuelle Fragen des deutschestnischen Verhältnisses (Hamburg: Bibliotheca Baltica, 1996).

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unprecedented at the time, and its success was internationally recognized as one of the greatest achievements of the Republic.9 In the period from January 1921 (when the first Riigikogu entered office) until March 1934 (coup d’état) there were seventeen governments, each with an average duration of just 9.5 months.10 The extremes did not differ ­significantly from the average; the longest duration was a year and a half and the shortest slightly more than three months. The rest of the governments fluctuated between five months and one year. The worldwide economic depression reached Estonia at the beginning of the 1930s and had a polarizing impact on politics, heightening disagreements and resulting in an even more rapid turnover of governments. As a result, the reputation of parliamentarianism and the political parties suffered.

RISE OF THE VAPS MOVEMENT Four broad factors account for the mercurial rise of the Vaps in the early 1930s: the example of fascist-type movements in Europe, a strong organizational base, the economic depression, and the constitutional crisis. Parliamentary ­democracy was challenged by fascist movements across the continent in the 1930s, but the major example was that which was closest to home. As so often in modern Estonian history, the example of Finland was a powerful influence. The radical right Lapua movement burst onto the Finnish political scene in 1929. Using strong-arm tactics and enjoying a certain amount of support from the establishment, Lapua was able to successfully act as a pressure group which forced the Finnish parliament to adopt anti-communist legislation. Lapua was banned after an abortive insurrection in 1932 and was succeeded by the Patriotic People’s Movement (IKL), a genuine fascist party. There was also ­personal connection between members of the Finnish radical right and Estonian veterans, since a number of Finns had fought as volunteers in Estonia’s War of Liberation.11 Naturally, the example of fascist parties that came to power in Europe also had an influence. The first, in Italy, was too geographically and c­ ulturally   9 David Smith and John Hiden, Ethnic Diversity and the Nation State: National Cultural Autonomy Revisited (London: Routledge, 2012), 6 10 Artur Mägi, Das Staatsleben Estlands während seiner Selbständigkeit. I. Das Regierungssystem (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1967), 202. 11 Andres Kasekamp, “Radical Right-wing Movements in the North-East Baltic,” Journal of Contemporary History 34:4 (1999): 590–1.

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distant to have any notable influence on Estonians. National Socialism in Germany received much more attention, though much of it negative. Unlike the Finns, the Germans had fought against Estonia’s independence and were the historic enemies of the nation. Hitler’s idea of Lebensraum was anathema to Estonians. Nevertheless, there was admiration for Hitler’s struggle against the Communists. Their resemblance to German Nazism was a highly awkward problem for the Vaps, since it opened them up to charges of being unpatriotic. The Vaps was established in 1929 as the umbrella organization for local associations of veterans of the War of Liberation. In the aftermath of the First World War and in the wider context of the Russian Civil War, Estonian national forces had fought both Russian Bolsheviks and German Freikorps from November 1918 to February 1920 to win independence for their ­country. Unlike other fascist-type organizations, the Vaps established a strong nationwide network and organizational base before becoming a political force. Initially, it served as a lobby-group for veterans’ interests, but transformed itself into a political movement in 1932 when it began accepting non-veterans as members, though it never turned itself into a political party, always claiming to be above parties. At this point active career military officers had to resign from the organization. The movement was able to profit from the positive public image the veterans enjoyed as national heroes. They claimed moral authority and the right to have a decisive voice regarding the nation’s future because they had sacrificed to establish the state on the battlefield.12 The third factor, the worldwide economic depression, impacted Estonia in 1931 after Great Britain left the gold standard, which led to a catastrophic fall in the foreign exchange reserves of the Bank of Estonia, held in sterling. This resulted in a sharp decline in the value of Estonian goods in foreign m ­ arkets. The economic difficulties were compounded when Britain and Germany, Estonia’s two chief trading partners, placed restrictions on their imports. The value of Estonian exports fell by nearly two-thirds between 1929 and 1932.13 The principal consequences were a sharp rise in unemployment, growth in farmers’ indebtedness, and a drop in the state’s revenue, to which the ­government responded ineffectively with austerity measures. The most i­mportant consequences were not so much economic as political—for example, the heightening of political tensions and polarization. In this divisive e­ nvironment it was 12 Kasekamp, The Radical Right, 25–30. 13 The Baltic States. A Survey of the Political and Economic Structure and the Foreign Relations of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania Royal Institute of International Affairs. Information Department (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1938).

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harder to form and keep government coalitions together. The life-span of coalition governments had rarely been much longer than one year prior to 1930 but the economic crisis accelerated the turnover of governments. The issue arousing the greatest passions and political deadlock was whether to devalue the Estonian currency, the kroon. Since the parties and parliament were not able to effectively come to grips with the economic depression, it led to an increase in public mistrust and alienation from the entire political system. Many Estonians began to see the lack of a strong leader as the key problem and look to constitutional reform as the answer. The 1920 Estonian c­ onstitution vested the greatest powers in the legislature, the Riigikogu, and did not create a presidency. To many, the establishment of a strong presidency ­promised a panacea for the crisis. Another notable feature of the constitution, which would play a decisive role in subsequent events and allowed the Vaps to ­influence the political agenda while remaining only an extra-parliamentary movement, was the provision for popular initiative. Though constitutional reform to create a strong presidency came to be the focus of the Vaps’ political effort, constitutional amendments were first proposed by the mainstream center-right ­political parties. Ironically, Konstantin Päts, the man who would crush the Vaps in 1934, was the one who first encouraged the Vaps to intervene in politics. Päts was the first and most consistent proponent of constitutional change to create a presidency—naturally envisioning himself as the ideal occupant of the new office. He was the founding father of the republic and served as its first prime minister. In 1931 Päts’s Farmers’ Party, the largest political party, put forward ideas for amending the constitution. Päts sought to engage the Vaps in his cause so that they would apply public pressure on the other parliamentary parties to support Päts’s proposed constitutional amendments.14

THE CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS Three national referenda on constitutional amendments to introduce a ­presidency and correspondingly reduce the powers of the parliament took place within the space of little more than a year during 1932 and 1933. The first constitutional amendment bill put forward by the center-right parties failed narrowly in the referendum held in August 1932. The Socialists viewed the amendment as a dangerous step towards weakening the power of the ­parliament in favor of the concentration of power in the hands of one individual. 14 Eduard Laaman, Konstantin Päts. Poliitika- ja riigimees (Stockholm: Vaba-Eesti, 1949), 222.

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The Vaps, however, believed the bill did not go far enough in that direction. Thus, the determined opposition campaign by the Left and the radical Right swayed the outcome more than the half-hearted efforts by the sponsors of the amendment. A revised constitutional amendment proposal (diluted in the vain hope of gaining Socialist support) put forward by the Riigikogu was also defeated in a referendum in June 1933. The Vaps could now go ahead with their own constitutional amendment proposal, which the Riigikogu could no longer ignore. The provision for the popular initiative provided for a legislative proposal to be presented to parliament if twenty-five thousand signatures were collected in its favor. If the Riigikogu refused to endorse the proposal, then it would be put to a national referendum.15 However, before the Vaps initiative could proceed, the centrist government of Jaan Tõnisson instituted a state of emergency and banned the Vaps in August 1933, citing a threat to public order. Tõnisson explained that the intimidating activities of the uniformed “security units” sponsored by the Vaps, but also by some other political forces, notably the Socialists, were causing public anxiety and were a danger to democracy.16 The state of emergency was widely derided and the ban did not stop the Vaps from continuing their political agitation. The fact that the government appeared to be heavy-handedly targeting a movement that was airing popular grievances, worked in favor of the Vaps in the weeks leading up to the third referendum. Shortly before the vote, the Riigikogu decided to reinstate the requirement of an absolute m ­ ajority of the electorate which had been discarded for the previous referendum. The ­establishment appeared to be unfairly attempting to stack the deck against the Vaps. It should also be mentioned that the Tõnisson government forced the devaluation of the currency in July, which aroused great passions and residual bitterness towards the government in some sections of society. The constitutional provision for popular initiative allowed an extra-­ parliamentary force, which was officially banned at the time, to still influence the political agenda of the country. In October 1933, 73% of the electorate voted in favor of the Vaps’ constitutional amendment proposal, the essence of which was the establishment of a strong presidency and the corresponding reduction of the powers of the parliament. The constitutional amendment bill presented 15 Rein Marandi, Studia Baltica Stockholmiensia, 6: Must-valge lipu all. Vabadussõjalaste liikumine Eestis 1929–1937, vol. I: Legaalne periood (1929–1934) (Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis, 1991). 16 Jaan Tõnisson, “Me peame end võtma kokku positiivseks ülesehitavaks tööks,” Päevaleht, August 13, 1933.

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by the Vaps movement was similar in its substance to the previous two failed amendment proposals put forward by the Riigikogu itself, but was somewhat more radical. The president could initiate legislation, issue decrees when the Riigikogu was not in session, and could in the case of “immediate state necessity” lead cabinet meetings and form and dismiss governments.17 In response to the electorate’s decision, the Tõnisson government resigned. The Vaps were allowed to legally re-establish their organization. They proclaimed their victory in the referendum as “marking the beginning of the rebirth of the Estonian nation” and initiating a “bloodless national ­revolution.”18 Nevertheless, the Vaps could not claim the victory entirely for themselves. A decisive factor had been the Farmers’ Party and Päts, who had called on their supporters to vote in favor of the amendment. Of great significance for future developments, Tõnisson’s resignation allowed Päts to return to power as the head of a transitional minority government of technocrats.

THE IDEOLOGY OF THE VAPS The Vaps defined itself as an activist movement and therefore rejected the need for a detailed political program. The Vaps movement was undoubtedly revolutionary and forward-looking, as its motto, “struggle for a better future for Estonia,” attests. The movement characterized itself as a “dynamic force” opposed to the “coagulated status quo.” The “stagnated” political party system was held responsible for blocking the path for the rise of younger men.19 The Vaps glorified youth and stressed the conflict between generations. Rhetorically, the main thrust of their assault was against the political establishment, especially the political parties and public officials associated with them, who allegedly were corrupt and profit-seeking. They sought the radical overhaul of the entire political system. In the newly independent state whose society had recently been radically transformed by a sweeping land reform, a conservatism that sought to preserve traditional institutions or hierarchies simply did not exist among Estonians. A nostalgia for the past existed only among the dispossessed Baltic German aristocrats, the former ruling elite. The Vaps sought to develop a more patriotic citizenry and, by actively ­generating national spirit, to create a “new, upright, and honest Estonian.”20 17 Marandi, Must-valge lipu all. 18 Võitlus, October 19, 1933. 19 Võitlus, July 15, 1933. 20 Võitlus, October 22, 1932.

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Their project of an alternative modernity entailed a categorical rejection of  Marxism. Thus their main targets, alongside liberal parliamentarianism, were socialists and communists. They decried the malignant influence on society of Marxist ideas, which were perceived as undermining the foundations of the nation. The Vaps went so far as to call for outlawing the Socialist Party, which reciprocated their animosity with vigor. In their view, the nation-state that they had self-sacrificingly helped to create had degenerated. The War of Liberation’s high ideals of solidarity and fraternity had been trampled by the politicians who had led the state down the road to ruin with their greed and incompetence. As veterans of the war, the Vaps had a special right and duty to intervene in order to resuscitate the nation after its descent into crisis. Theirs was a populist drive that successfully energized the grassroots of ­society and mobilized the masses. The Vaps movement rapidly became the largest political force in the country. Their events were attended with greater enthusiasm than any political meetings since the days of the Russian Revolutions. Artur Sirk, the dynamic young leader of the Vaps, was an inspirational orator whom people lined up to listen to. He was the figure that many looked to as the savior of Estonian politics, the one who could implement strong and stable rule in the country. The revolutionary agenda, populist drive, and striving for national rebirth of the Vaps movement is encapsulated well by their statement after their victory in the constitutional referendum: The Vaps people’s movement was blessed and consecrated by 416,000 citizens as the only true and rightful leader of the Estonian people […] the Vaps movement wants to work tirelessly so that the Estonian people, not only in form, but also in content, can achieve the second republic so fervently desired by all classes, the republic which is truly based on justice and fairness as it is written in our constitution. That republic, however, can only be guided by the Vaps spirit. The first republic belonged to the political parties. The second republic, however, belongs to the Vaps spirit.21

Their main positive message was a striving for national unity, which took as its point of reference a revival of the “spirit of the War of Liberation,” meaning a sense of self-sacrifice and solidarity for the good of the nation. This was their answer to the Marxist attempt to “divide the nation” by stoking class conflict. The republic that they fought for had failed to live up to expectations because of the corrupt political class; they intended to renew Estonia with new men, a new 21 Võitlus, November 21, 1933.

The Rise of the Radical Right, the Demise of Democracy

generation, and a new spirit. The Vaps movement was propelled by a “guiding idea”: rahvuslik tervik (organic nation, or national community). Their aim was to create a rahvusriik, a “national state,” which would act in the interests of the nation, not favoring any classes or sectors of society over others—“a system which unites the Estonian nation into one organic whole where each class asserts itself only through the organic whole.”22 The Vaps stressed the importance of duty to the collective nation over sectarian interests. They appealed to all classes and occupations, promising each group a “worthy and equal position in the national society.” Overcoming class conflict and narrow sectional interests, which characterized Estonian domestic politics, was the prerequisite for healing the Estonian body politic and molding it into an organic whole. Though a revolutionary nationalist movement, the Vaps were not racialist like the Nazis. Anti-semitism was simply not a significant issue in a country with just four thousand Jewish inhabitants. On the campaign trail, Vaps leaders even attempted (unsuccessfully) to woo members of the largest ethnic minority group by giving speeches in Russian in Russian-populated eastern districts of the country. The most problematic ethnic minority was the Germans. The Baltic Germans had been the political, social, and economic ruling elite for centuries and thus were the main target for Estonian hostility. The Vaps naturally shared this sentiment, especially since the emotional high point of the War of Liberation had been the defeat of the Baltic German Landeswehr and German Freikorps. However, their evident affinity to German Nazism and their praise for Hitler’s anti-communism left them open to charges of being unpatriotic by their political opponents, who tried to dent their popularity by ­accusations of association with German Nazism. Indeed, praise from Viktor von zur Mühlen, the pro-Nazi head of the Baltic German Party, inadvertently did much to tarnish their reputation, since it was seized upon by opponents as proof of their collusion.23 The Vaps’ affinity with German Nazism and other fascist movements was apparent in their external attributes. As a signifier of their identity, they wore black berets and black and white armbands. Holding marches and rallies was also ­typical of nationalist movements based on veterans of the Great War. The desire for rule by a “strong hand” or of “putting a master in the house” was a common yearning among wide sectors of society across interwar Central and Eastern Europe. 22 Võitlus, July 15, 1933. 23 Jaak Valge, “Eesti vabadussõjalased ja Saksa natsionaalsotsialistid: ideoloogia, poliitiline ­taktika ja kontaktid,” Tuna: Ajalookultuuri ajakiri, 12:3 (2009): 59–62.

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Some tentative generalizations about the social basis of support for the Vaps movement can be made by examining the results of the local elections held in January 1934, the first and only direct electoral test of the Vaps’ ­popularity. There was a substantial urban/rural divide in their support. The Vaps were victorious in the cities, obtaining a plurality of votes in the three largest cities. However, in the countryside, where two-thirds of the population still lived, the Vaps fared poorly, with voters generally maintaining allegiance to their traditional parties. The Vaps were remarkable in winning adherents from all classes, at least in urban centers. Particularly noteworthy for an extreme right movement was their ability to attract support from the proletariat and especially to win over former supporters of the communists. Päts later alluded to this by claiming that along with the “floodwaters” come the “dregs.”24 In any case, the Vaps did not have much time or opportunity to exercise the levers of power in municipal government. In most of the cities where the Vaps won a plurality, the established political parties kept them out of office by forming broad coalitions amongst themselves.

THE COUP D’ETAT OF MARCH 12, 1934 The coming into force of the new constitution in January 1934 necessitated the election of a president and a new parliament. Elections were scheduled for April, and in the meantime Prime Minister Päts became Acting President, temporarily assuming greater powers. The Vaps nominated retired General Andres Larka as their presidential candidate, in retrospect a fatal mistake. Larka certainly had the credentials—he was formally the leader of the Vaps and the only general in their ranks—but the real driving force of the movement was its vice-­chairman, Artur Sirk, a lawyer who had been a lieutenant in the War of Liberation. He was the charismatic orator, while Larka was a rather dour personality. However, Sirk was only 33 years old, and thus did not meet the age qualification for the ­presidency. Any potential candidate for the presidency needed to collect ten thousand signatures. Hjalmar Mäe, the Vaps’ election campaign manager, turned the collection of signatures into a competition to show public support for their candidate. By March 12, Larka had managed to secure more signatures than the other three candidates combined. Päts was a distant third after retired General Johan Laidoner, who had been nominated by centrist parties. 24 Konstantin Päts, Riigikogu V koosseis. Stenograafilised aruanded. IV istungjärk (March 15, 1934), 1436.

The Rise of the Radical Right, the Demise of Democracy

This fact has often been used to argue that Larka would have been the winner of the election. However, an absolute majority in the first round of the election was implausible. The most likely scenario would have been a second round run-off between the two generals, with the anti-Vaps vote consolidating behind Laidoner. In terms of popularity and authority, Larka paled in comparison with Laidoner. The fact that Larka commanded the army as it retreated in the initial phase of the War of Liberation until he was replaced by Laidoner, who lead it to victory, spoke volumes about the level of respect accorded to each of them by the public. The successful referendum campaign and municipal elections gave the Vaps movement substantial political momentum in the run-up to the presidential and parliamentary elections. Political agitation reached an unprecedented level and electoral campaigning reached a fever pitch. Uniformed Vaps security units often faced off against the brawny “gymnastic” squads of the Young Socialists. Each group tried to intimidate or disrupt the campaign meetings of the other, but despite the dramatic escalation in political competition, there was no serious violence. In fact, in characteristic Estonian fashion, they typically tried to drown out the others’ voices with singing of their patriotic or internationalist anthems.25 Before the Vaps movement’s popularity could be tested nationally at the ballot box, Prime Minister Konstantin Päts declared a state of emergency and banned the movement on March 12, 1934. Päts appointed Laidoner as Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces and Chief of Internal Security, and hundreds of leading members of the Vaps movement were arrested across the country. Three days later Päts justified his actions to the Riigikogu. He claimed to have saved democracy from extremism, insinuating that the Vaps movement represented a foreign (that is, Nazi German) ideology and was preparing to seize power. Päts charged that the Vaps had been “preparing a revolution” that could have resulted in a civil war. Regarding the forthcoming elections, he stated: We do not think that in such an atmosphere, where on the one hand the people have been incited to anger and thoughts of revenge, and on the other, there is a wave of fear, that anyone would be able to fulfill his duties as a citizen and make responsible decisions. The people must settle down; instead of agitation there must be explanation. It must be explained that there is a serious illness in our state.26 25 Kasekamp, The Radical Right, 62. 26 Konstantin Päts, Riigikogu V koosseis. Stenograafilised aruanded. IV istungjärk (March 15, 1934), 1438.

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Päts disingenuously denied that his own personal ambition played a role. He had consistently been the major proponent of the creation of a presidency, but his own chances as a presidential candidate appeared unfavorable. Among Estonian statesmen, Päts was generally regarded as the wiliest and most experienced political operator.27 He outsmarted the Vaps movement and other political actors by appointing his popular rival presidential candidate, General Laidoner, as the Supreme Commander, thereby guaranteeing the support of the military. How he managed to convince Laidoner to abandon his own candidacy and hitch his future to Päts’s gamble is one of the mysteries of the regime change. The Riigikogu overwhelmingly approved the government’s measures, and its deputies were relieved that the challenge from the extreme right had been eliminated. The Farmers’ Party naturally supported their leader. The Communists and Socialists had already been fighting the “fascist” threat for two years in vain and had the most to lose, and they also knew that a large portion of their electorate was deserting them in favor of the Vaps. Likewise, the ethnic minority parties were wary of the Vaps’ nationalism. Tõnisson and the Center Party had already tried a similar, but unsuccessful, clampdown against the Vaps in 1933. The Settlers, being the most sympathetic to the Vaps, had doubts about the need for such actions, but they went along with the measures because their presidential candidate, Laidoner, was now one of the two men in charge. The Socialist Party was a silent partner in Päts’s coup d’état. According to Socialist leader Karl Ast, a secret understanding with Päts had been reached in October 1933. In return for “showing the Vaps their proper place,” Päts asked the Socialists to ­support his government and to go along with necessary restrictions. Ast later wrote: It was clear that because of the general psychosis, especially the mood of the army, the Kaitseliit, and Päts’s own supporters, the activity of the Riigikogu in its present form could not last. In the case of a conflict, nothing would remain but the personal authority of Päts and General Laidoner. In other words, a ­ government with unrestricted power. However, I held this to be a thousand times better for the Estonian state than surrendering power to Sirk and Larka.28

Though Päts claimed to have acted preemptively at the last moment, there were already indications of the government’s intentions during ­preceding 27 Jaak Valge, “Top Estonian Politician Konstantin Päts’s Financial Dealings with Moscow,” Journal of Baltic Studies 43:4 (2012): 473. 28 Karl Ast, “Demokraatliku Eesti loojakul,” Akadeemia 1 (1989): 615.

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weeks. The Riigikogu passed a law forbidding military personnel to belong to any organization with political aims, and the government transferred several senior officers to different posts to ensure the loyalty of the armed forces. Päts also hinted to foreign ambassadors that he intended to neutralize the Vaps movement.29 The leaders of the Vaps were not entirely surprised by the government clampdown, yet they did nothing to resist. They had learned the wrong lesson from the ban and state of emergency imposed by Tõnisson’s government in August 1933, which discredited the government and increased the ­popularity of the Vaps. Sirk reportedly told Mäe: “let them imprison us, the people will vote us out of jail. The government cannot halt the elections, but the use of force against us will arouse the people to even greater indignation.”30 Sirk assumed that Päts would respect the democratic framework and misjudged how far Päts was willing to go in order to secure power. Nearly four hundred branches of the Vaps nation-wide were closed, and nearly nine hundred Vaps were detained by the police after the implementation of martial law.31 This included all of the leaders of the organization with the exception of presidential candidate Larka. However, most of these individuals were detained for only a few days or weeks. Thirty-nine Vaps leaders were brought before a military ­tribunal in June 1935, charged with having belonged to an association whose aims “threatened public safety and peace.”32 Though convicted, they received only short suspended sentences. This was a tacit admission by the regime that there was no evidence to prove its claim that the Vaps had been preparing to forcibly seize power. Notably absent among the defendants was Sirk, who had managed to escape from prison and found asylum in Finland. The Vaps are often portrayed as having been given a taste of their own medicine, as they themselves drafted a constitution which supposedly granted the president dictatorial powers. Päts claimed to be acting constitutionally by using the authority granted to him as Acting President under the amended ­constitution. However, his actions went considerably beyond anything envisioned by the new constitution and amounted to a coup d’état.33 29 Jaak Valge, “Foreign Involvement and Loss of Democracy, Estonia 1934,” Journal of Contemporary History 46:4 (2011): 788–808. 30 Marandi, Must-valge lipu all, 414. 31 Estonian National Archive (ERA), f. 1, n. 7, s. 129; f. 1, n. 7, s. 69, lk. 162. 32 Süüdistusakt, ERA, f. 927, n. 2, s. 3, lk. 27p. 33 Peeter Kenkmann, “Kas 1933. aasta põhiseadus lubas autoritaarset valitsemist?” Tuna: Ajalookultuuri ajakiri 12:3 (2009): 42–49.

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THE PÄTS DICTATORSHIP Päts’s goals were not limited to removing the Vaps from political life. He seized the opportunity to fulfill his own ambition of fundamentally r­eordering the political system. After his coup d’état and the subsequent purge of Vaps supporters from civil service, military, and political offices, Päts developed a nationalist authoritarian state with many of the characteristics envisaged by the Vaps. Paradoxically, he justified his steps toward constructing a dictatorship as measures to thwart the threat from the Vaps. Karl Einbund, the Speaker of the Riigikogu from the Farmers’ Party, was made acting prime minister by Päts in August. The energetic Einbund became the third man in the ruling triumvirate, and was the one most ­associated with introducing restrictive measures and strengthening government control. Subsequently, Einbund would often be cast in the role of “bad cop” when the regime tightened the screws on political opposition and restricted civic ­liberties. Päts extended the state of emergency by one year in September 1934, thus ­further postponing the elections. As his actions to this point had encountered no significant opposition, Päts reconvened the Riigikogu on September 28 in order to form a pro-government majority. However, when the Riigikogu took a critical stance and elected an opposition candidate as the new Speaker, Päts responded by the dismissing the Riigikogu. It was not dissolved but “silenced,” a phrase which gave name to the entire subsequent six-year period—“the silent era” (vaikiv ajastu).34 Nevertheless, the Riigikogu leadership ­continued to meet irregularly. Päts and the Vaps shared a contempt for the Estonian parliamentary system. Though the government had supposedly acted “to save democracy,” Päts and Einbund made it clear that there would be no going back to the old order. Corporatism, a general European trend in the 1930s, was promoted as an alternative to the political parties and as a means of eliminating class conflict. In Estonia, it was Päts, not the Vaps, who was the chief proponent of this idea. He had long been enamored of the idea of organization by occupation; he had been the prime mover in the establishment of the two existing professional chambers (the Chamber of Commerce and Industry in 1924 and Chamber of Agriculture in 1931).35 Between 1934 and 1936 Päts decreed the ­establishment of fifteen new occupational or professional chambers. In February 1935 Päts 34 William Tomingas, Vaikiv ajastu Eestis (New York: Eesti Ajaloo Instituut, 1961). 35 Eduard Laaman, Konstantin Päts: poliitika- ja riigimees (Stockholm: Vaba-Eesti, 1949), 192–3, 212–3, 290.

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established the State Economic Council (Riigi majandusnõukogu) with fifteen members elected by the corporative chambers and ten appointed by Päts to advise the government. Corporatism provided ideological cover for the dictatorship and allowed it to be seen as striving for new ways to ensure societal harmony. Päts explained his vision of organization by occupation to mean that “a person will no longer have to kneel before the parties” but would join together with his “closest co-workers” and should feel that they are “part of one large family and that they can only flourish under a common roof.” Furthermore, this reform was meant “to teach a new morality and sense of honor—individual rights alone are not decisive, [the question is] rather, who does the most for the good of the state.”36 This emphasis on public responsibilities and national duties, rather than on individual rights, was a central postulate for the Päts regime, as it had also been for the Vaps movement. On March 6, 1935 the regime abolished political parties and on the f­ ollowing day announced the establishment of the Fatherland League (Isamaaliit). It resembled Primo de Rivera’s National Union and Dolfuss’s Fatherland Union in more than just name. Its aim was “to unite the Estonian people in the service of the fatherland under the state’s protection and guidance.”37 To this end it sought to develop in the people “a spirit of harmony, solidarity, cooperation among all classes, and singleness of purpose.” The regime attempted to mobilize public opinion and broaden its base of support, but the Fatherland League did not prove to be popular. Its ranks consisted mainly of office holders and opportunists, though the careers and upward mobility of civil servants did not become dependent on ­membership. While many of the senior figures came from Päts’s own Farmers’ Party, a key to Päts’s success was his ability to co-opt leading individuals from the former political parties. Though in the regime’s rhetoric the Fatherland League was to serve as the intermediary between the government and the people, in practice it functioned simply as a propaganda vehicle for the regime. Its role was mostly limited to promoting government sponsored campaigns, and thus it cannot be viewed as a serious attempt to establish a one-party system. The Fatherland League, with its nationalist ideology, hierarchical structure, and pretense of being something other than a party, was in many respects a pale imitation of the Vaps. To amplify its message, the government founded a new newspaper, Uus Eesti (New Estonia), in September 1935. The existing newspapers that were affiliated 36 Kaja, January 17, 1935. 37 ERA, f. 943, n. 1, s. 1, lk. 47.

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with the political parties were gradually phased out and eventually eliminated by 1938. At the same time, the government established a State Propaganda Office with a mission “to organize the people and activate all elements of ­society for participation in state and national tasks.”38 The Office’s duties included censorship. The Propaganda Office conducted campaigns to promote national ­consciousness and pride, such as the increased use of the state flag, a competition to compose patriotic songs, and the revival of folk traditions. The most successful campaign was the Estonianization of surnames, which had begun in the 1920s but became a mass movement under the direction of the Päts regime, when nearly 20% of Estonians changed their surnames from predominantly German and also Russian to Estonian forms. Prime Minister Karl Einbund set the example by Estonianizing his own name to Kaarel Eenpalu.39 These cultural activities were also meant as a substitute for political involvement. Päts was fortunate that by the time of his coup the economic depression had already begun to recede. Though Tõnisson’s devaluation of the kroon in June 1933 had laid the foundation for economic recovery, the regime’s ­policies also played an important role. These policies can be characterized as economic nationalism in the form of protectionism and state intervention.40 The government subsidized agriculture, encouraged import substitution in food ­production, and introduced state export monopolies on the main export products: butter, bacon, eggs, and wood products. It launched an industrialization drive that concentrated on the development of new industries to refine Estonian raw materials, notably oil shale, and created a Fund for Revival of the Economy to invest in public enterprises. The absence of any significant opposition to the regime can be explained by Päts’s success in eliminating the challenge from the Vaps and bringing about economic recovery, as well as by the public perception of the pre-1934 ­parliamentary system as thoroughly discredited. The regime was also adept at co-opting opposition figures with attractive offices. Furthermore, the Päts ­government had managed to satisfy the public’s yearning for stability, which the Vaps had exploited so successfully. In exile and forced underground at home, the Vaps leadership became ­radicalized and desperate. Finnish ideological sympathizers aided and abetted Sirk and other Vaps leaders to plot an overthrow of the Päts regime. The plan was to 38 ERA, f. 1093, n. 1, s. 3, lk. 10. 39 Toivo U. Raun, “The Movement to Estonianize Surnames in Interwar Estonia,” Acta Historica Tallinnensia 18 (2012): 97–107. 40 Anu-Mai Kõll and Jaak Valge, Economic Nationalism and Industrial Growth: State and Industry in Estonia 1934–1939 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1998), 193–5.

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surround the Estonia Concert Hall during the congress of the Fatherland League on 8 December 1935, when Päts, Laidoner, Einbund and all of the top leadership were expected to be present. The plan envisaged a bloodless t­akeover by a provisional government headed by Sirk and the proclamation of new ­elections. However, the Estonian political police arrested the conspirators a day before the planned action at their final secret meeting, where they had decided to call off the plot because stormy seas prevented Sirk from crossing the Gulf of Finland. The political police had undoubtedly been aware of the conspiracy for some time. The mass trial of the conspirators in May 1936 was the largest trial ever held in Estonia, with 155 defendants. Throughout the trial the chief defendants never wavered from the position that their actions had not been illegal since their motive had been to defend the constitution by removing the unconstitutional regime. Unlike in the first trial of Vaps leaders in 1935, the sentences were harsh. After the arrest of the conspirators, Sirk fled Finland and died in exile in Luxembourg in August 1937, of apparent suicide, but some suspected at the hand of the Päts regime.41

THE PÄTS CONSTITUTION The regime skillfully used the arrest of the conspirators in December 1935 to thoroughly discredit the Vaps and rally the nation behind the government. Päts capitalized on the opportunity by announcing a plebiscite to amend the c­ onstitution. He claimed that the people realized that they had narrowly escaped a serious danger and therefore desired that the system of government be based on a “new foundation.” Since the Vaps had allegedly sought to establish a dictatorship, the constitution drafted by them was dangerous and needed to be replaced.42 The regime asked the people to authorize it to convoke a National Assembly (Rahvuskogu) for the purpose of amending the constitution or drafting an entirely new constitution. The National Assembly was to consist of two chambers: the first with eighty members directly elected; the second with forty representatives of institutions, local governments and professional corporations, and individuals appointed by Päts. The plebiscite in February 1936 was preceded by a government campaign denigrating the existing constitution written by the Vaps as being ­fundamentally 41 Rein Marandi, Must-valge lipu all. Vabadussõjalaste liikumine Eestis 1929–1937. II. Illegaalne vabadussõjalus (1934–37) (Uppsala: Centraltryckeriet i Uppsala, 1997). 42 Uus Eesti, January 20, 1936.

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flawed, hurriedly drafted, and containing provisions for dictatorial power.43 Despite his expression of confidence in the new constitution after the October 1933 referendum, Päts started publicly talking of the need to reform the constitution in January 1935. The Vaps’ aborted putsch provided a convenient pretext for carrying out his plans for reordering the state. The overwhelming vote (76%) in favor of constitutional reform can be explained by the fact that no agitation against the government’s proposal was permitted and that it was generally believed to be the first step in ending the state of emergency and returning to normalcy.44 Democratic opposition to the regime was subdued. The only significant manifestation was the memorandum of four former heads of government in November 1936 criticizing the government’s policies and demanding the easing of martial law.45 In reaction to the restrictions placed on their campaign activities, most of the opposition boycotted the elections and thus the pro-­ government candidates won an overwhelming majority with only thirty of the eighty electoral districts being contested. The National Assembly was convened in February 1937 and produced a new constitution in five months on the basis of Päts’s guidelines. The most ­controversial innovation was that of an undemocratically elected upper chamber. Undoubtedly, Päts was influenced by the advice of his friend, Finnish President Svinhufvud, who believed that “the weakness of the new states is the absence of an upper chamber.”46 The other important influence on Päts was the 1935 Polish constitution, particularly its method of electing the president and its configuration of the upper chamber.47 As the National Assembly was composed mostly of pro-government ­deputies, the end product did not diverge significantly from Päts’s draft. Päts stated that the aim of the new constitution was to find a middle way between the democratic excesses of the first constitution and the authoritarian excesses of the second.48 Nevertheless, the new constitution, as compared to the Vaps’ constitution, strengthened the state’s interests at the expense of individual rights. Popular initiative to put legislation to a referendum and the previously guaranteed right to strike were omitted. The new Riigikogu, like the National Assembly, was bicameral: the lower chamber, the Chamber of Representatives (Riigivolikogu), had eighty directly elected members; the upper chamber, the 43 Ibid. 44 ERA, f. 949, n. 1, s. 34, lk. 265. 45 ERA, f. 989, n. 1, s 1798, lk. 233–4p. 46 Laaman’s diary, October 14, 1934, ERA, f. 827, n. 1, s. 1a. 47 Laaman, Konstantin Päts, 270. 48 Laaman, Konstantin Päts, 227.

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State Council (Riiginõukogu), had forty members—sixteen elected by professional corporations, fourteen representatives of institutions, and ten appointed by the President. The power to initiate legislation was almost entirely taken away from the Riigikogu and placed almost exclusively in the hands of the government. Three institutions—the two chambers of the Riigikogu and an electoral college of representatives of local governments—could each nominate one c­ andidate for the office of President. The people would vote only if the three bodies did not all nominate the same candidate. The President’s powers included the right to appoint and dismiss the members of the government, appoint judges, issue laws by decree when the Riigikogu was not in session, and a suspensive veto. The President was also given the right to appoint a supreme commander of the armed forces during peacetime with the authority to give orders to ­civilians in the interests of security. Päts also replaced proportional representation with first-past-the-post elections, one of the main demands of the Vaps, which they had nevertheless left out of their amendment bill because they feared that it would provoke too much opposition. The whole process of adopting the new constitution contradicted the one that was in force at the time. The regime’s claim that the new constitution was a return to the path to democracy is unconvincing. After the implementation of the new constitution and the elections that followed, the character of the regime remained basically unaltered. Thus the main purpose served by the exercise was the legitimization of the regime. Nevertheless, Päts did attempt to maintain a semblance of popular and legal sanction for his rule unlike, for ­example, his counterpart Kārlis Ulmanis in Latvia, who did not even go through the motions and was critical of Päts’s moves towards limited pluralism. During the transition period from the implementation of the new ­constitution on January 1, 1938 until the election of the President, Päts ­occupied the specially created office of Riigihoidja (State Protector). He used his unfettered position to issue a number of decrees contradicting the government’s rhetoric heralding a return to democracy. The state of emergency was again extended, and restrictions on civil rights, previously of a temporary nature, were made permanent. Any public expressions “disrespectful toward the Estonian state and people, the prevailing democratic order, state institutions, and the leaders of the state” were banned by the publishing law and the association law, as were any expressions which might “create discord” and

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“harm community solidarity and national unity.”49 Centralization was another characteristic of the regime’s policies: mayors of municipalities and the heads of county governments were to be appointed by the President or the Minister of the Interior. Elections for the new Riigikogu were held in February 1938. Päts explained before the elections that “now is not the time to allow such a luxury as to let the parties loose before the elections. […] A serious illness may return if one is not careful. One who has been ill must be careful that upon repetition of the illness it does not get worse.”50 The only party permitted to campaign for election was the government’s Popular Front for the Implementation of the Constitution (Põhiseaduse elluviimise rahvarinne), an organization created for that purpose by the Fatherland League. The Popular Front won a plurarity but not an absolute majority of votes. However, since voting was conducted on a first-past-the-post basis rather than a proportional one as previously, the Popular Front won f­ifty-four seats out of eight. This number increased to ­sixty-four because many candidates who campaigned as independents joined the pro-government bloc when the Riigikogu convened, including Karl-Arnold Jalakas, the former editor of Võitlus. The other two elected deputies associated with the Vaps joined the representatives of the Center Party and the Settlers to form the “Democratic Faction.”51 The first task of the new Riigikogu was to conduct the presidential ­elections. The three nominating bodies—the State Council, the Chamber of Representatives, and the council of local governments—all chose Päts as their candidate. In the Chamber of Representatives he was unsuccessfully ­challenged by Tõnisson. Thus according to the new constitution, Päts was elected President at a special joint meeting of all three bodies. The functioning of the new ­governing institutions was less democratic in practice than in theory. In his inaugural speech Prime Minister Eenpalu made it clear that the government did not consider itself responsible to the Riigikogu. Power was firmly in the hands of the President, who continued to issue legislation by decree, and the Riigikogu did not exercise its right to initiate legislation.52 Eenpalu aptly dubbed this “guided democracy” (juhitav demokraatia). The results of the Riigikogu elections showed that support for the regime was strongest in the countryside where the Popular Front was able 49 Eesti kroonika 1938, 36. 50 Laaman, Konstantin Päts, 308. 51 Viljar Peep, “Poliitilised rühmitused VI. Riigikogus,” Kleio 18:4 (1996): 34–6. 52 Mägi, Das Staatsleben Estlands während seiner Selbständigkeit, 307.

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to utilize the Farmers’ Party’s old network.53 In the larger cities, however, the pro-­government candidates fared poorly. The intelligentsia, alienated by the continued restrictions on civil liberties, were the staunchest opponent of the regime. University reforms sought to create a “disciplined” student body by giving the state-appointed rector wider powers, dissolving and reorganizing the student council, and bringing student fraternities under state supervision. The attitude of the working class was ambivalent. The Socialists had supported the Päts government because they feared the alternative, a “fascist” regime. The ­general economic recovery and the regime’s program of industrialization, which helped to reduce unemployment, were welcome. But strike activity increased, which led to the entire Labor Unions’ Central Council being replaced by government appointees in 1936. Business circles and the military can be counted among the supporters of the regime. Businesses were pleased by the economic recovery and Päts’s policy of industrialization, and the army’s influence grew significantly due to General Laidoner’s role as the second pillar of the regime.54 The state’s relations with the dominant Lutheran church became closer, as Päts granted both it and the Orthodox Church (the second largest religious confession) the institutional status and legal rights that liberal democracy had denied them. Here, too, the Päts regime seemed to be implementing much of what the Vaps movement had indicated might be expected of their future policies. However, at the same time the state also asserted control over both the Lutheran and Orthodox churches, giving the Minister of the Interior the right to reject church appointments. Parallel with developments in public life, the church’s organizational structure was centralized and greater power was given to the head of the church.55 Support for the Vaps dissolved rapidly, demonstrating that it was not the movement itself which appealed to the masses, but what it represented: firm leadership and political stability. Once Päts provided that, the Vaps ­movement lost its purpose. Furthermore, there was substantial ideological affinity between Päts and the Vaps, as the nationalistic and anti-democratic policies implemented by Päts demonstrated. He appropriated and put into practice many 53 Olaf Kuuli, Vapsidest Isamaaliiduni. Fašismi ja fašismivastase võitluse ajaloost kodanlikus Eestis (Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1976), 218–220. 54 Imre Lipping, “The Emergence of Estonian Authoritarianism,” in Baltic History, ed. A. Ziedonis, W. L. Winter and M. Valgemäe (Columbus, OH: Association for the Advancement of Baltic Studies, 1974), 213–4. 55 Riho Saard, “Mustas talaaris mustvalge lipu all. Vabadussõjalaste religioonipoliitika, kirik ja vaimulikkond,” Tuna: Ajalookultuuri ajakiri 12:3 (2009), 69–71.

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of the ideas originally propagated by the Vaps. These, however, were put into ­service by him against them. Following the 1938 elections, one of the first steps of the new Riigikogu was to unanimously approve an amnesty law for those convicted of political offenses. Under the amnesty, seventy-three Vaps and 106 Communists were released from prison in May 1938. This shows that the regime had confidence that the Vaps movement, leaderless after the death of Sirk, no longer posed a threat and its political agenda was irrelevant. In any case, the regime had ­implemented many of the popular demands which the Vaps movement had channeled: a strong presidency, stability, curtailing the political parties, promoting national unity and patriotism, and economic recovery.56

56 Tönu Parming, The Collapse of Liberal Democracy and the Rise of Authoritarianism in Estonia. Sage Professional Papers in Contemporary Political Sociology (London: Sage Publications, 1975).

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938: A Fateful Year for the Baltic States Magnus Ilmjärv Tallinn University

C

zechoslovakia’s location is, in a sense, similar to that of the Baltic states. In Czechoslovakia, too, East and West collide. The First World War, the October Revolution in Russia, and the November revolution in Germany brought about the dissolution of empires and gave independence to the Baltic peoples as well as to the Czechs and the Slovaks. Throughout the post-war period, debate has surrounded the question of whether the vastly bigger catastrophe of the Second World War could have been avoided. The Munich Pact and the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact were both key factors leading to the catastrophe. Internationally, the Munich Pact meant the destruction of the Republic of Czechoslovakia and the essential liquidation of the Versailles system, the League of Nations, and the principle of c­ ollective security.1 Czechoslovakia’s relations with Hitler’s Germany and with Poland   1 About the Czechoslovak crisis see: Vít Smetana, In the Shadow of Munich. British Policy towards Czechoslovakia from the Endorsement to the Renunciation of Munich Agreement (1938–1942) (Prague: Charles University in Prague, Karolinum Press, 2008); Sławomir V. Nowinowsky, comp., Stosunki Polsko-Czechosłowackie 1932–1939 w relacjach diplomatów II Rzecy pospolitej (Lodz: Ibidem, 2006); Williamson Murray, The Change in the European Balance of Power, 1938–1939. The Path to Ruin (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984).

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in 1938 were linked to the preservation of peace and stability in Europe. In that year the fate of Czechoslovakia became a critical question, especially in European diplomatic circles and the press, as well as among the general public. Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania were no exception in this. It has been asserted that, in times of conflicts between great powers, small and weak states mainly prefer to stay neutral or else to adopt the “bandwagon” approach, joining the stronger side to seek protection instead of attempting to preserve the balance of power. Stephen M. Walt, who has studied how states react to threats, argues that a small country “bandwagons” because of three factors: to avoid suffering in the conflict, since its resources are too limited to influence the outcome; because it lacks allies; and since leaders of the small states believe that yielding to the potentially threatening state could possibly bring about positive results.2 Walt asserts that a small and weak neighbor of a powerful state is most likely to turn to bandwagoning, but, in his view, the state that resists this approach is better protected, since it forces the aggressor to face further opposition. A state that bandwagons invites the opposite effect; it is left defenseless, since the aggressor’s success usually attracts more allies—that is, the aggressor’s power and available resources increase.3 Eric J. Labs asserts that the theory of international relations largely acknowledges that a weak country usually b­ andwagons with the larger country that threatens it. This results in the imperative to be always on the winning side of a conflict, regardless of whether or not the winner threatens the balance of power.4 The historian Paul Schroeder lists ­several alternative strategies used by states in times of crisis. One of these is hiding, which describes an attempt to avoid becoming a direct participant in the crisis to the benefit of one or the other of the opposing sides. In its most effective form, this is manifested by ignoring or denying the threat.5 Schroeder also considers the possibility of bandwagoning, which a small state may ­undertake even when it is accompanied by a lack of security vis-à-vis the greater allied state and the sacrifice of some independence.6  2 Stephen M.  Walt, “The Origins of Alliance,” in Cornell Studies in Security Affairs, ed. Robert J. Art and Robert Jervis (Ithaca, NY, and London, UK: Cornell Univeristy Press, 1987), 29–30, http://web.stanford.edu/class/ips198/docs/Walt.pdf.  3 Ibid.  4 Eric J. Labs, “Do Weak States Bandwagon?,” Security Studies 1:3 (1992): 383-416, http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/09636419209347476?journalCode=fsst20#preview.   5 Paul W. Scroeder, “The Neo-Realist Theory of International Politics: A Historian’s View,” Arms Control, Disarmament and International Security [CDIS] Occasional Paper (Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, April 1991), 3–4.  6 Ibid., 4. See also Michael Sheehan, The Balance of Power. History & Theory (London and New York: Taylor & Francis, 1996), 162–169.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

Historians have left vital questions concerning the Czechoslovak crisis and the Munich Pact unanswered: What was the attitude of the Baltic states toward article 16 of the League of Nations treaty, toward the Czechoslovak crisis, toward the Munich Pact? How did events in Czechoslovakia ­reverberate in the internal politics of the Baltic states? Similarly, no answer has been sought to address the question of how the Czechoslovak crisis affected the relations of the Baltic States with Germany, the Soviet Union, and Western democracies. In this article I shall attempt, based on archival and published materials, to analyze the foreign policy of the Baltic states in the context of international relations, illustrating how historians have explained the behavior of small states in times of crisis.

HISTORIOGRAPHY The diplomats and politicians of the inter-war period in the Baltic states paid little attention to the Czechoslovak crisis and the Munich Pact in their ­memoirs, or forgot to mention them altogether.7 The Estonian diplomat Aleksander Warma, for example, remembered only that the occupation of Czechoslovakia by Hitler raised real alarm (in Estonia, perhaps) and that the closure of the Czech legation in Kaunas elicited expressions of sympathy toward the envoy’s family.8 Warma’s papers do, however, contain a certain later evaluation of the Munich Pact: “[…] an opportunity was sought to save Western civilization on the basis of a principle that proved catastrophic for Europe: ‘peace in our time.’”9 The former Estonian foreign minister and envoy Kaarel Robert Pusta also remembered President Eduard Beneš’s words that the army would be able to resist for only two weeks, but the word “Munich” does not appear once in his memoir. Of Estonian refugees, the former diplomat and historian Evald Uustalu is the one who has paid most attention to the Czechoslovak crisis  7 Heinrich Laretei, Saatuse mängukanniks. Mällu jäänud märkmeid (Tallinn: Abe, 1992); K. Selter, “Testimony of Estonia’s Foreign Minister,” in Lituanus 2 (1968): 50–92; A. Torma, “Eesti saatkonnas Londonis,” in Eesti riik ja rahvas II maailmasõjas, vol. II (Stockholm: Kirjastus EMP, 1956), 93–96.  8 Aleksander Warma, Diplomaadi kroonika. Ülestähendusi ja dokumente aastatest 1938–1944 (Lund: Eesti Kirjanike Kooperatiiv, 1971), 13–14.   9 Warma to Aruja ( July 1953). Sveriges Riksarkivet Baltiska arkivet [RA BA], Stockholm, Warma, 4.

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and the Munich Pact.10 The former Latvian minister of social affairs, Alfrēds Bērziņš, devotes a whole sub-chapter to the crisis in his memoirs 1939, lielo notikumu priekšvakarā (On the eve of the great events) but limits himself ­primarily to a presentation of facts.11 After World War II, Soviet historiography followed the line of argumentation that Great Britain and France tried to appease Hitler by yielding in the Munich Pact on the question of Czechoslovakia, attempting thus to direct his aggression toward the east. Today’s Russian and Baltic historiographies ­present conflicting views of the Czechoslovak crisis. The historiographies of the Baltic states are dominated by the view that there is no direct link between the Munich Pact and the fate of the Baltic states in 1939–1940.12 Exceptions are, however, provided by the monographs of Algimantas Kasparavičius and the ­compendium of presentations from the 2012 conference on the Czechoslovak crisis sponsored jointly by Lithuanian and Czech historians.13 Russian historiography, on the other hand, claims that the 1939 MolotovRibbentrop Pact was a direct result of the Munich Pact. It is asserts that after this pact was signed, Moscow feared a trilateral agreement between Great Britain, France, and Germany to form a common front against the Soviet Union.14 10 See Evald Uustalu, “Teise maailmasõja eellugu,” in vol. II of Eesti riik ja rahvas II maailmasõjas, 24–27. 11 Alfrēds Bērzin̦š, 1939, lielo notikumu priekšvakarā (Riga: Grāmatu Draugs, 1976), 7–43. 12 See M. Duhanovs, I. Feldmanis. A. Stranga. 1939. Latvia and the Year of Fateful Decisions (Riga: Latvian University, 1994), p. 37; Daina Bleiere, Ilgvars Butulis, Antonijs Zunda, Aivars Stranga, Inesis Feldmanis, Istoriia Latvii. XX vek (Riga: Jumava, 2005), 180–181; Vahur Made, Eesti ja Rahvasteliit (Tartu, 1999); Vytautas Žalys, “The Era of Ultimatums,” in Lithuania in European Politics. The Years of the First Republic, 1918–1940, ed. Edvardas Tuskenis (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998), 164–165. 13 See Algimantas Kasparavičius, Lietuva 1938–1939 m. Neutraliteto iluzios (Vilnius: Baltos lankos, 2010); Luboš Švec, Vaidas Šeferis and Geda Montvilaitė-Sabaitienė, ed., Češi, Litevci a středoevropský vektor jejich moderní historie / Čekai, lietuviai ir Vidurio Europos vektorius jų moderniojoje istorijoje in Acta Universitatis Carolinae. Studia Territorialia, Supplementum II. 2011. Čislo 1 (Prague: Univerzita Karlova, 2012). 14 А. О. Chubarian, Kanun tragedii. Stalin i mezhdunarodnyi krizis: sentiabr′  1939-iiun′  1941 goda (Moscow: Nauka, 2008), 26, 35; S. Z. Sluch, ed., Vostochnaia Evropa i Vtoraia Mirovaia Voina, 1939–1941. Diskussii, kommentarii, razmyshleniia (Moscow: Nauka, 2008); М. I. Mel′ tiukhov, Upuschennyi shans Stalina. Sovetskii Soiuz i bor′ba za Evropu: 1939–1941 (dokumenty, fakty, suzhdeniia) (Moscow: Veche, 2000), 52–54; К.К. Provalov, “Miunkhenskoie soglashenie 1938 goda i ego osnovnyie uroki”, in Miunkhenskoe soglashenie 1938 goda: Istoriia i sovremenost’. Materialy mezhdunarodnoi nauchnoi konferencii. Moskva, 15–16 oktiabria 2008 g. (Moscow: IVI RAN, 2009), 45–48.

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ARTICLE 16 AND THE POSSIBILITY OF THE PASSAGE OF THE RED ARMY The objective of the League of Nations was to preserve the status quo that resulted from the First World War. The key articles of the League of Nations Pact were articles 10, 11 and 16. Article 10 provided that all League members were obligated to protect the territorial integrity and political independence of all member nations in case of external aggression. Article 11 stated that every war or threat of war, regardless of whether it directly threatened a League member, was a threat to the League as a whole and the League had to, therefore, adopt immediate measures to protect the member states. This meant that a member of the League could not remain neutral in case of a conflict. Article 16 of the pact must be considered to be the most important article for insuring peace as it required the use of military and economic sanctions against a state which had violated the constitution of the League or had gone to war against a League member. Article 16 stated that if a state starts a war despite the ­obligations entered into under Articles 12, 13, and 15, it has ipso facto entered into war with all League members. The third section of Article 16 provided that League members must support each other with financial and economic means which were prescribed in the article to resist any and all actions the state that had broken the pact might take against them. The same section also stated that League members must jointly support each other, take extraordinary measures against the state that had violated the League’s precepts, that they must take necessary steps to allow the military of another member state, in the fulfillment of the obligations outlined in the pact, passage through their territory.15 That meant that, when the Council of the League of Nations authorized a joint armed action—action commune—the nations participating in it had the right to transport military units needed to stop aggression through the territory of any member state. The cited section placed on member states the unconditional obligation to permit the passage of armed forces and to assist them. As a result, the use of military sanctions was not something any member 15 Covenant of the League of Nations. Including Amendments in Force August 8, 1934, League of Nations, 6–7, 11; see also Anique H. M. van Ginneken, Historical Dictionary of the League of Nations in Historical Dictionaries of International Organizations, No. 23 (Laham, MD, Toronto, Oxford: The Scarecrow Press, Inc., 2006), 211, https://books. google.ee/books?id=-mjkuGZLhBIC&pg=PA176&lpg=PA176&dq=salvador+de+madariaga+league+of+nations&source=bl&ots=_B8qvBko7q&sig=ld7n1v-7MuMwfo31_0 m4MWndOY0&hl=et&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiCgvrj97PMAhVJ1ywKHTnuAJ04FBDoA QgsMAc#v=onepage&q=article%2016%20league%20of%20nations&f=false.

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nation could remain neutral toward. Articles 11 and 16 were, therefore, based on the concept that the League of Nations was able to approach the resolution of d­ ifferences not only as a mediator and one who imparts decisions and responses but also with means that could call the aggressor’s achievement of its objective into question. In September 1934, supported by France, Czechoslovakia and the ­alliance of small states of the Soviet Union became a member of the League of Nations. It is impossible to underestimate the importance of this event, which granted the Soviet Union a voice in European politics. On May 2, 1935, a Mutual Assistance Pact between France and the Soviet Union was drawn up in Paris.16 Soon after, on May 16, the Mutual Assistance Pact between the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia was created. A completely new situation in European politics was created by the circumstance that the Soviet Union, for the first time ever, entered into a military alliance with two European states on the basis of the League of Nations’ Covenant. If the Soviet Union wanted to assist its allies in case of war with Germany without being sanctioned by the League of Nations, it could only do so by participating in combat at the Baltic Sea. For the Soviet Union, the utilization of air passages over Latvia and Lithuania would prove unrealistic and inefficient, whereas the employment of its land forces would require their marching through the southern part of Latvia, as well as through Lithuania, Poland and Romania. Assuming that the German navy might try to use the Baltic coast and the Baltic Sea islands as its strongholds, the Soviet Union, in order to forestall the German invasion, would have to occupy Estonia, or request, on the basis of Article 16, the right to march through the territories of the Baltic states. Estonian and Latvian representatives subsequently asked Soviet diplomats how the Soviet Union would be able to assist France and Czechoslovakia while there were no common borders between the USSR and Germany, a nation that was to become an aggressor. Soviet representatives were not able to answer this question in a satisfactory manner. In the beginning, naïve explanations were put forth: that the pact served the purposes of peace and that the issue of troop transit was mostly theoretical.17 As the inquiries continued, Soviet ­diplomats were forced to turn to the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs for ­guidance. Litvinov stated that the matter concerned only France and the Soviet 16 Dokumenty vneshnei politiki SSSR [DVP SSSR], vol. XVIII: January 1–December 31, 1935 (Moscow: Gospolitizdat, 1973), 309–310. 17 Brodovski to Beriozov, May 20, 1935, Arkhiv vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federacii [AVP RF], Moscow, 05-15-59-108, 103.

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Union. He judged the questions raised by Estonians and Latvians abnormal or ­straight-out impertinent: “We are not obliged to answer Latvia, from whom we seek agreement to the transit of our military units and airplanes. As this ­question would primarily interest France, Latvians should approach the envoy of France with this question.”18 It must be admitted that the application of Article 16 jeopardized the ­security of the Baltic states, as well as that of Finland and Poland. For example, if the League of Nations had declared Germany an aggressor state, the application of sanctions would have made it possible for the Soviet Union to utilize the harbors and airfields of the states involved and give the Soviet Union the right to have its military forces march through the territories of the Baltic states. The ­authorities of Tallinn and Riga assumed that after the destruction of the a­ ggressor forces, the Soviet military would refuse to leave the country. Also, in Estonia and Latvia not much faith was put into the military operations of Great Britain and France on the Baltic Sea. Similarly, economic and political aspects of the situation could not be ignored, as the Baltic states depended on foreign trade, and it was essential to them that the international exchange of goods not be hindered by any artificial obstacles. Furthermore, the proposed employment of the prescribed sanctions would have created great difficulties in the economic life of a small country. Considering the possibility of war with France as well as with the Soviet Union, Germany was especially interested in the disintegration of the League of Nations. Germany viewed all collective and multilateral defense agreements as dangerous to Germany. At the time Germany was not as yet able to fight against international coalitions, particularly simultaneously on two fronts, and ­therefore wanted to make sure that the victim of aggression would remain isolated. Also, from the viewpoint of wartime economics, it was essential for Germany to be supplied with foodstuffs and raw materials by neutral countries. Thus, on the one hand the unconditional neutrality of small states was expected to guarantee the continuance of unhindered trade with Germany, while on the other hand it would not allow hostile states to utilize the ­territories of small states for anti-German military operations. On July 6, 1938, the Auswärtiges Amt (German Foreign Office) dispatched a circular to all its diplomatic ­representatives stationed in the small states of Europe. This circular requested that the representatives announce to the governments of these states that the only way for them to retain their neutrality in the coming international conflict would be to unconditionally denounce Article 16 of the League of  Nations.19 18 Litvinov to Brodovski, July 4, 1935, AVP RF, 05-15-108-58, 15. 19 Memorandum by Bismarck, July 6, 1938, in Documents on German Foreign Policy [DGFP]. 1918–1945. Series D (1937–1945), vol. V: Poland, The Balkans, Latin America,

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Discussions about declaring Article 16 optional had already begun c­ irculating among Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania in July and December 1937, at the Sixth and Seventh Conferences of Baltic League foreign ministers. It was Latvian foreign minister Vilhelms Munters who proposed, based on the views of the Swedish foreign minister Rickard Sandler,20 that Estonia and Lithuania should present their views on the matter. Stazys Lozoraitis, Lithuanian foreign minister, swiftly rejected Munters’s proposal, arguing that, as long as the Great Powers had not guaranteed the neutrality of the Baltic states, it was ­impossible to take a firm stand regarding Article 16. Lozoraitis, in his talks with the Soviet envoy, had already announced that if Article 16 were declared optional, the Baltic states would have no moral right to ask for help from the League of Nations in a state of emergency. At the same time, against the ­background of Great Powers’ struggles, he called Article 16 an imaginary fabrication; one that, under certain conditions however, might become necessary as an option of last resort.21 From June 10 to 12, the Eighth Conference of the Baltic League foreign ministers was held in Riga. Before the conference, on June 9, the Lithuanian foreign minister Lozoraitis had a discussion with the Estonian foreign minister Selter, which was centered on Article 16 of the League of Nations Pact and the question of the transit of the Red Army. Selter stated that the Estonian government and the public were especially concerned about the possible use of Article 16 as under its provisions Estonia would have to allow foreign forces to enter its territory or else allow them to march through the territory. The last assertion he based on the thought that it was expected that soon there would be conflicts between the Soviet Union and Germany, resulting in a threat ­primarily The Smaller Powers. 1937–1939 (Washington, DC: United States Government Printing Office, 1953), 578; see also Lilita Zemīte, Latvia in the League of Nations (Riga: Latvian University, 2002), 113. 20 In March 1937 Sandler, acting in the name of the Northern States, called upon the League of Nations to agree to the application of Article 16 only if member states directly involved in the conflict consented to the action. Sandler also sought support for his proposal from the Baltic states: while visiting the Baltic capitals in June–July 1937, Sandler declared that applying sanctions as prescribed by the League of Nations might offend the aggressor and thus provoke the attack. To Sweden, because it was the supplier of valuable iron ore to Germany, the application of Article 16 would prove extremely perilous. See: Memorandum by Sandler, June 30, 1937, Sveriges Riksarkivet [RA], Stockholm, UD HP20b; Akel’s circular to Estonian envoys posted abroad, June 22, 1937, Eesti Riigiarhiiv [ERA], Tallinn, 957-14-445, 2; Podolski’s report, July 17, 1937, AVP RF, 05-17-73-33, 157–159; Wilhelm M. Carlgren, Rootsi ja Baltikum. Maailmasõdade vahelisest ajast sõjajärgsete aastateni. Ülevaade (Tallinn: Olion, 1995), 28. 21 Podolski‘s report, July 2, 1937, AVP RF, 05-17-73-133, 141–146.

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to Estonia, since Germany would, in case of war, have to insure transit through the Baltic Sea for its supplies from Swedish and Finnish mines which, however, the Soviet Union would want to block. Related to this, Selter spoke of the importance of the Estonian islands both to Germany and the Soviet Union. He declared that, at the outbreak of war, both of the major powers would try to occupy the Estonian islands. In summing up his arguments, Selter stated that there had been heated discussions in Estonia concerning the exercise of Article 16, and the Estonian parliament had reached the conclusion that Estonia would not, under any conditions, allow the passage of foreign forces, that on this issue a public announcement may be expected from Estonia—one that Estonia could make solo. The Lithuanian foreign minister attempted to counter these arguments. He stated that a declaration about not permitting passage of foreign armies would not in any way protect Estonia in the case of a German attack; furthermore, that the declaration would not prevent German or Soviet actions against Estonian islands, and that the declaration would be viewed by the world as a German- and Polish-inspired repeated assault on the League of Nations. Lozoraitis presented three possible courses of action that could, in his opinion, protect the Baltic states from being drawn into war. First: neutrality of the Baltic states and a guarantee of this neutrality by all the interested major powers. Second: the Baltic states would do everything in their power to protect their neutrality. Third: the formation of a military alliance among the Baltic states. Lozoraitis once again stressed that a declaration on the subject of Article 16 could not protect Estonia and the Baltic states against military ­intervention should one of the powers interested in intervention deem it necessary. In response to the question of whether the Estonian government had discussed the subject with England, Selter stated that there was no need to do so, since, at the outbreak of war, Estonia would become “uninteresting” to England.22 The main subject of the conference became whether to declare Article 16 optional for the Baltic states. It was quickly ascertained that Latvia and Lithuania had not as yet established a firm stance concerning Article 16. Pointing to Finland as a positive example, Estonian Foreign Minister Karl Selter exerted pressure on the representatives of Latvia and Lithuania to convince them of the necessity of the proposed declaration. But Munters, and Lozoraitis in ­particular, displayed caution in their approach to the subject. They alleged that there was no reason for them to take an official stand at present, and that the 22 Memorandum by Lozoraitis, June 20, 1938, Hoover Institution Archives [HIA], Stanford, CA, Turauskas, 7.

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proposed move could be interpreted as support for Germany’s foreign policy goals. But, at the end of the conference, both diplomats agreed to contemplate the matter further.23 As the Sudetenland problem increasingly attracted international ­attention, Berlin became anxious for the Baltic states to speedily declare their position on Article 16. It was clear that, in case of a war with Czechoslovakia, the General Assembly of the League of Nations might adopt an anti-aggression resolution, demanding free passage of Soviet troops through the Baltic states. German authorities understood that if Estonia proclaimed Article 16 optional, Latvia and Lithuania would also have to follow suit. In fact, only a few days after the conclusion of Baltic Foreign Ministers’ Conference, Berlin praised and endorsed the course of foreign policy taken by the Estonian government. At the end of August 1938, the Auswärtiges Amt sent Karl Megerle, the brotherin-law of Hermann Göring and a journalist attached to Dienstelle Ribbentrop, to Tallinn. In Hitler’s Germany, emissaries who could bypass the official diplomatic channels played an essential role in the communications and negotiations process. Megerle was a well-known journalist whose articles, drawn up under the rules set by Ribbentrop and by the German Research Institute for Foreign Policy, covered the Baltic states among other subjects and were s­ yndicated in influential German newspapers.24 In any case, on August 29 and 30, Megerle held “private” talks in Tallinn with Foreign Minister Selter and with the minister of finance Leo Sepp. In a memorandum to Ribbentrop, Megerle made note of the following points considered by the leaders of Estonian foreign policy: to remain steadfastly neutral in the approaching war; to put up a full and effective resistance against Soviet troops in case of an attempt to pass through Estonian territory; to accept military aid from Latvia and the Reich in case of a war with the Soviet Union; to continue trade with all countries, particularly with Great Britain; and finally, to make a declaration regarding Article 16 in October 1938.25 Megerle was opposed only to the last point on the list. Being aware of German intentions regarding Czechoslovakia, he r­ecommended that the 23 VIII Conference of the Baltic states foreign ministers June 10–12, 1938, ERA 957-14-597, 77–78; Minutes of the meeting of the Committee of Foreign and Defence Affairs of the both Houses of the Parliament, September 20, 1938, Sveriges Riksarkivet, Baltiska arkivet [RA BA], Stockholm; see also Palin’s report; July 25, 1938, Suomen Ulkoasiainministeriön arkisto [UM], Helsinki 5C/16; Aivars Stranga, “Latvia and the Baltic Policies of the USSR, Poland and Germany in late 1930s. Part I: Competition among the USSR, Poland and Germany 1934 to 1938”, Latvias Ziņātņu Akadēmijas Vēstis 11 (1993): 14. 24 Megerle Papers 1938–1940, NA II RG-242 T-120, R-1374, D527452. 25 Memorandum by Megerle, August 31, 1938, DGFP Serie. D, vol. V, 464–465.

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Estonian government expedite its declaration regarding Article 16 because the situation could unexpectedly turn critical, since the League of Nations might demand passage for the Red Army. It seems that the talks with Megerle spurred Selter to action. He discussed the issue with other ministers, and thus, on ­leaving Estonia, Megerle was informed about Estonia’s plan to disclose its declaration concerning Article 16 in the near future. In his memorandum, Megerle made note of the fear of the Soviet Union displayed by the Estonian government, as well as apprehension regarding the possibility of the total destruction of the Estonian nation by the Soviet Union.26 In the beginning of June 1938, Admiral Canaris, the chief of Abwehr (German Military Intelligence), visited Tallinn; in addition to his intelligence assignment, he was supposedly there to discuss the subject of the League of Nations’ sanctions and the possibility of German military assistance for Estonia.27 Surely the military planners of Germany were aware of the problems involved in a war likely to be fought simultaneously on two fronts, in which case Germany would be limited to conducting only a defensive campaign in Eastern Europe.28 Berlin determined that, in case the Soviet Union provided military assistance to Czechoslovakia, the Baltic states should defend Poland and Germany along their eastern borders. In the beginning of September 1938, Reimar von Bonin, the German naval attaché, reported that Army commander Johan Laidoner and other Estonian military leaders, as well as Frohwein, the German envoy in Tallinn, had, during the summer of 1938, repeatedly ­discussed the matters of Article 16 and German military aid to Estonia. According to Bonin, Laidoner had assured the German envoy time and again of Estonia’s decision to oppose militarily any attempt made by the Soviet Union to pass its troops through Estonia, but also expressed the hope that Estonia, considering its small size and restricted resources, would, in case of war with the Soviet Union, receive assistance, primarily material aid, from Germany, as long as overland connections with Germany were secured.29 Obviously, Laidoner had considered the possibility that both Latvia and Lithuania would be o­ ccupied by Germany. Until this occurred, the necessary transport of goods and war ­material between Estonia and Germany had to be done by sea. Therefore, Laidoner promised to support Germany with the development of Estonian 26 Ibid. 27 See Frohwein’s report, June 15, 1938, US National Archives II [NA II], College Park, Maryland, RG-242 T-120 R-909, 381928. 28 See, for example, Öpik’s report, July 26, 1937, ERA 957-14-439, 13. 29 Bonin to OKM, September 2, 1939, NA II PG-48787 T-1022 R-295, 48787NID 5912/38.

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naval forces. To the question of whether Estonia, in case of a conflict, would approve of the German navy controlling traffic lanes in the Baltic Sea, Laidoner answered affirmatively. He assured the Germans that, for just this reason, Estonia viewed the refurbishing and securing of important military and naval fortifications on the coast as essential.30 Furthermore, Bonin’s memorandum indicated that the German legation in Tallinn, particularly the German naval attaché, had hitherto been cautious in making concrete promises concerning the details of future military assistance to Estonia. But German authorities had, orally at least, pledged military aid to Estonia and Finland in their efforts to prevent the passage of Soviet troops through their territories. In order to answer Laidoner’s inquiries, Bonin asked the Oberkommando der Marine (German Naval High Command) how the Reich intended to help Estonia in case of war—what kind of aid method would be chosen and what means Estonia should employ to succeed in its efforts of self-defense. Bonin proposed that Estonia should begin building the necessary piers for unloading ships, furnishing them with anti-­aircraft and long-distance guns.31 It is possible that, by the end of August, German authorities in Berlin had already made promises (albeit only orally) of forthcoming military aid. According to Munters, in late summer of 1938 Colonel Ludvig Jakobsen, the Estonian military attaché in Berlin, had discussed with the leadership of the German army the possibility of providing military support to Estonia, but no documents were signed in the matter.32 This information, forwarded by Munters, was not based on rumors, obviously; it is supported by correspondence between the German Naval High Command and the German naval attaché, indicating that the authorities in Berlin had, indeed, discussed the subject of providing military aid to Estonia.33 Decisions made by the Latvian government were influenced by pressure from Germany and by the political positions assumed by Estonia and the Scandinavian countries. On August 31, Grundherr, the Head of the Scandinavian and Baltic Section of the Auswärtiges Amt, was concerned that Latvia would hold fast to its stance on Article 16. This circumstance forced Germany to act quickly. On September 1, Grundherr informed Eriks Pauls Igenbergs, the Latvian representative in Berlin, that the Reich did not consider countries permitting passage of foreign troops through their ­territories neutral, and requested from Latvia an 30 31 32 33

Ibid. Ibid. Palin’s report, September 9, 1938, UM 5C/16. Memorandum by OKM (Estonia and Finland in the Soviet-German War), January 24, 1939, NA II RG-242 T-1022 R-2953, PG-48787NID.

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immediate declaration in the matter of Article 16. Igenbergs commented in his report that Grundherr expressed his views in a very aggressive manner.34 Germany exerted its influence in regard to Article 16 in Lithuania as well. On June 24, Lozoraitis met with Ribbentrop. The subject of discussion that lasted for more than an hour was primarily the Klaipėda question. The Reich foreign minister stressed that any improvement in relations between Germany and Lithuania was directly dependent on clearing up—Bereinigung—this issue. In Ribbentrop’s words, the Baltic states had to keep in mind the ever-­ present threat of Bolshevism, and a threat was made that Germany’s attitude toward the Baltic states was dependent on their attitude toward Bolshevism.35 The questions of Article 16 and the League of Nations Pact were not directly ­mentioned. Ribbentrop did, however, state that the stance taken toward Bolshevism was important to Germany, and that Estonia’s stance in this regard was clear, as Estonian foreign minister Selter as well as Poland had clearly stated their p­ osition regarding any transit by foreign troops. And here followed an implicit threat addressed to Latvia and Lithuania: what he, Ribbentrop, had heard concerning Lithuania’s and Latvia’s attitude toward Bolshevism was far from clear.36 Poland, while focusing on the Czechoslovak crisis, also tried to strengthen its position in the Baltics. In June and July of 1938 General Waclaw Stachiewicz, the Chief of Polish General Staff, visited Riga, Tallinn, and Helsinki.37 In July, Colonel Beck, the Polish foreign minister, went to Riga and Tallinn. These visits were all intended to determine whether Latvia and Estonia would permit transit of the Red Army across its territory. Polish defense and foreign policy leaders attempted to persuade Latvia and Estonia to take a stand regarding the sanctions of the League of Nations.38 But, officially, the Polish representatives limited themselves to a general discussion of subjects of common interest to Poland, Estonia, and Latvia.39 However, while in Riga, Beck stated in a press interview that during his talks with Latvian leaders the sanctions of the League 34 Igenberg’s report, September 1, 1938, Latvijas Valsts vēstures arhīvs [LVVA], Rīga, 2574-47165, 43–44. 35 Memorandum by Lozoraitis to Prime Minister, June 25, 1938, HIA Turauskas, 7. 36 Ibid. 37 Valter’s report, June 28, 1938, LVVA 2575-15-96, 73; Sydow’s report, June 28, 1938, RA UD HP1Ee. 38 Valter’s report, June 11, 15 and 17, 1938, LVVA 2575-15-96, 101–102, 89–91. 39 Gazeta Polska, June 11, 1938.

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of Nations had been discussed, but that the automatic applications of these sanctions was not compatible with Poland’s foreign policy aims.40 On July 5, shortly after Stachiewicz’s departure from Helsinki, the commander of the Finnish Army, Lieutenant General Hugo Österman,41 arrived in Tallinn. It is worth noting that on the same day Österman arrived in Tallinn, the Estonian chief of staff Nikolai Reek assured the German envoy in Tallinn that Estonia had firmly decided to go to war with the Soviet Union, should it attempt to march through Estonia. Reek stated that 200,000 men would be needed to vanquish Estonia, a number that should force the Soviet Union to “think twice,” and that Estonia hoped, in case of war, for Germany’s support in the form of weapons supplies. Reek added that Estonia could, without attracting attention, support the German navy by mining the Gulf of Finland, thus preventing the Soviet navy from controlling the sea routes of the Baltic Sea. The German envoy stated in response that Germany was extremely satisfied with the explicit decision to militarily stop the Red Army from transiting Estonia, and that this Estonian approach would have even greater weight if it were adopted not only by Finland but also by Latvia.42 Warsaw understood that the Soviet Union would be able to help Czechoslovakia effectively only by passing through Polish and Baltic ­territories. On the other hand, Poland itself was interested in participating in the act of breaking up Czechoslovakia and in claiming some parts of it, namely Teschen (Zaolzie). Poland was prepared to resist Soviet troop movement through its territory. Therefore, in the summer of 1938, it was in Poland’s interest that the sanctions of the League of Nations were optional to the Baltic sates.43 40 Jaunākās Ziņas, July 15, 1938. 41 Österman fought in the First World War in the German army, in the Königlich-Preußische ReserveJägerbataillon 27. In 1933 he was named commander of the Finnish Army but was dismissed in February 1940 after the Finnish lines had been breached. He later took an active part in forming the Finnish SS battalion, was from February to June of 1944 Mannerheim’s representative to Oberkommando der Wehrmacht. A Finnish historian asserts that Österman gained the Germans’ trust and was in the Germans’ vision intended to become the commander in chief of the Finnish armed forces in case the leadership of the country, including Mannerheim, were to be removed as result of a coup. See Mirko Harjula, Saksan liittolaiset toisessa maailmansodassa 1939–1945. Poliitikkojen ja sotilaiden elämäkertoja (Helsinki: Books on Demand, 2009), 292. 42 See Frohwein’s report in Molotovi–Ribbentropi paktist baaside lepinguni. Dokumente ja materjale (Tallinn: Perioodika, 1989), 57–59. 43 See Anna Cienciala, Poland and the Western Powers 1938–1939. A Study in the Interdependence of Eastern and Western Europe (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1968), 79–80; Bohdan B. Budurowycz, Polish-Soviet relations 1932–1939 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963), 115.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

At the end of August 1938, Polish Foreign Minister Beck directed the Polish ­diplomatic representatives in the Baltic States to pose three questions to the governments of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania: 1) Does the Baltic League plan to raise, at the plenary session of the League of Nations, the question as to the interpretation of Article 16? 2) If not, would the Baltic League support the ­initiative of other nations on this question? 3) Would the Baltic League want to discuss this question together with Poland? At the same time, the government of Poland stated its position that under the given conditions, that is, given the international situation at that time, certain provisions of the League of Nations pact could not be obligatory for Poland.44 Thus, the interests of Poland and Germany coincided in this respect, although Poland wanted to conduct an entirely independent foreign policy. Beck saw in the Baltic states only one component of the so-called Międzymorze (Intermarium Third Europe), a defensive zone composed of neutral states stretching from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Beck foresaw this Międzymorze standing apart from all political and military blocs, conducting neutral foreign policy, developing its own combined armed forces, abandoning the system of collective security and compulsory sanctions, and establishing good relations with all neighboring states.45 Poland attempted to direct this so-called “Third Europe” against the League of Nations on the one hand, and on the other hand against both Germany and the Soviet Union, thus causing all border states to stumble into indefensible isolation. In the spring and summer of 1938 the representatives of the Soviet Union repeatedly declared, in their speeches as well as in their private talks, that the Soviet Union was ready to assist Czechoslovakia in case of an attack from Germany.46 In June, Litvinov, in a public speech held in Leningrad, called for the whole world to bear in mind that the Soviet Union would keep its promise to help Czechoslovakia, but he touched upon the situation of the Baltic states 44 Memorandum by Lozoraitis, September 2, 1938, Lietuvos centrinis valstybės archyvas [LCVA], Vilnius, 383-7-2068, 309–311; Memorandum by Stegmanis, August 25, 1938, LVVA 293-2-19, 7–8. 45 See Waldemar Rezmer, “Małe państwa bałtyckie 1918–1940. Próby sojuszy wojskowych,” in Nad Bałtykiem. W kręgu polityki, gospodarki, problemów narodowościowych i społecznych w XIX i XX wieku. Księga jubileuszowa poświęcona Profesorowi Mieczysławowi Wojciechowskiemu, ed. Z. Karpus, J. Kłaczkow, M. Wołos (Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika, 2005), 931–935; Marek Kornat, “Pol’skaia koncepciia ‘Mezhdumoria’ v 1937–1938 gg.: ­politicheskii mif i istoricheskaia realnost’,” in Miunkhenskoe soglashenie 1938 goda, 61. 46 See М. I. Kalinin, О mezhdunarodnom polozhenii (Moscow: Gospolitizdat, 1938), 14.

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only obliquely. Litvinov stated that some small states in Europe had openly joined the aggressor states, whereas the rest grumbled about neutrality and renouncing aid from the League of Nations as well as the support promised by various friendly states, while at the same time opening themselves to attack by anyone who wished to do so.47 Moscow viewed the neutrality of the Baltic states as entirely illusory, and the Soviet press also published similar views.48 If Tallinn did not pay special attention to the o­ pinions of Moscow, Paris, and London in the matter of declaring proposed sanctions by the League of Nations optional, then the attitude of Kaunas toward the issue was completely different. Thus Baltrušaitis, the Lithuanian envoy in Moscow, announced on May 23, while visiting the Commissariat of Foreign Affairs, that Lithuania would never become a supporter of the neutrality policy.49 After the Conference of Baltic Foreign Ministers, Baltrušaitis declared to the Commissariat that Lithuania did not wish to take a stand with respect to Article 16. He stated that in spite of the attempts by Selter and Munters, Lozoraitis had not changed his mind.50 In the spring and summer of 1938 France, through the good offices of Quai d’Orsay, attempted to convince Poland, Romania, and the Baltic states to open their borders for the Red Army in case of a war.51 At the same time, the French press declared the policy of neutrality propagated by Germany to be unbalanced and one-sided, thus leaving Poland, Romania, and the Baltic states without the option to choose a middle road.52 Shortly before the General Assembly meeting at the League of Nations, France tried to apply pressure on Poland and the Baltic states in the matter. On September 15, Joseph Paul-Boncour, the former prime minister and the leader of the French delegation, met Munters and Selter at the General Assembly in Geneva. He told Munters and Selter that the French delegation did not approve of the ­proposed amendment to Article 16, because it would harm the authority of the League of Nations, a move u­ ndesirable in the prevailing international 47 Dokumenty po istorii Miunkhenskogo sgovora 1937–1939 (Moscow: Ministerstvo Inostrannykh Del SSSR, Ministerstvo Inostrannykh Del ChSSR, 1979), 114. 48 See Pravda, June 2, 1938; Memorandum by Bezhanov, May 3, 1938, AVP RF 0105-28-53-3, 71–72. 49 Memorandum by Bezhanov (Conversation with Baltrušaitis), May 23, 1938 AVP RF 05-18111–46, 22. 50 Memorandum by Bezhanov (Conversation with Baltrušaitis), July 21, 1938, AVP RF 05-18111-46, 31. 51 Budurowycz, Polish-Soviet relations 1932–1939, p. 116. 52 See Le Populaire, June 19, 1938.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

situation. Regardless of Selter’s intention to present the General Assembly with his declaration concerning Article 16, ­Paul-Boncour asked him whether Estonia intended to support proposed sanctions if the General Assembly took a stand against the aggressor states and demanded joint action from its member states against a specific aggressor. Actually, the meaning of the question set forth by the leader of the French delegation was whether the Estonian government would permit Soviet troops to use its territory for anti-German military operations. The answer was a straightforward denial of ever letting the Red Army into Estonia’s territory.53 The British Foreign Office was in favor of a formulation, at least in ­principle, that stipulated the right of each member of the League of Nations to determine how to aid the victim of any specific aggression. At the same time, the Foreign Office recommended that the League of Nations continue to honor the established principle that an aggression against one member state would constitute aggression against the entire League, therefore rendering individual declarations regarding Article 16 invalid.54 The British press concluded that Germany, in view of the approaching war, was trying to secure for itself exploitable economic hinterlands in Eastern Europe, and was for this reason in favor of the neutrality of the Baltic states.55 On September 19, 1938, the Estonian and Latvian foreign ministers declared to the General Assembly of the League of Nations that their governments reserved the right to decide on their own and on a case-by-case basis when to employ the regulations of Article 16. Consequently, the Lithuanian foreign minister, jointly with the Polish and Romanian ministers, presented a similar manifesto to the General Assembly on September 22. Actually, the cooperation of the Baltic states in declaring the application of Article 16 optional was initiated partly at the insistence of Estonia, but also under the pressure of Germany and Poland. Great Britain, too, finally decided against the application of sanctions, fearing that the Czechoslovakian crisis might turn into an all-out war. Richard A. Butler, the British representative to the League of Nations, declared in the name of his government that, from that point on, each member state in every specific case should decide on its own the method of employing anti-aggressor sanctions. 53 Schmidt’s report, October 5, 1938, ERA 957-14-571, 102–103; see also Stranga, Latvia and the Baltic Policies of the USSR, Poland and Germany in late 1930s, Part I, 15. 54 Schmidt’s report, September 2, 1938, ERA 957-14-581, 92. See also Schmidt’s reports, April 4, 1936 and May 20, 1936, ERA 957-14-324, 132; 142. 55 See The Manchester Guardian, July 21, 1938.

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MILITARY PREPARATIONS On September 23, Czechoslovakia began a general mobilization. The ­mobilized forces encompassed almost 1.1 million persons.56 German preparations for war, in contrast, occurred in silence, without an announcement of general mobilization. From September 15 to 18, Germany began to amass its forces at the Czechoslovak border. As to the Soviet Union, the size of the forces concentrated on the Western front was as follows: 28,236 soldiers, 6,208 NCOs, 1,522 officers, 112 tanks, and 797 trucks. At the end of September, maneuvers of the red-flagged Baltic fleet took place. In August, the Soviet Union formed a special corps to send to Czechoslovakia but this was demobilized by mid-October.57 Romania and Hungary, too, began to concentrate their armies on Czechoslovakia’s borders. Poland wanted to seize the Teschen area (comprised of Cieszyn/Silesia, Śąlaska Cieszyńskiego, Zaolzie), and at the same time p­ revent the Soviet Union from aiding Czechoslovakia. On September 21, the Inspector General  of the  Polish Armed Forces, Marshal Edward Rydz-Śmigły, gave the order to form an independent military detachment, Śląsk, under Brigadier General Władysław Bortnowski. Śląsk encompassed 36,000 men, representing 10 percent of the Polish army.58 It was moved to the Czechoslovak border to occupy Zaolzie, and its leadership was expected to have the unit ­battle-ready by October 1. It should be noted here that in August, before the formation of the Śląsk detachment, as the Czechoslovakian crisis was escalating, Bortnowski visited Riga and Tallinn. In Estonia he met with Army commander Laidoner.59 It has not been possible to find any written record of the d­ iscussions held during the Polish brigadier general’s visits to Latvia and Estonia, but it is clear that this was no courtesy visit. The o­ bjective of such a visit at a time of escalating crisis was almost certainly to determine Estonia’s readiness for war, to encourage Estonia and Latvia to prevent the transit of foreign troops, and to acquire intelligence concerning the Soviet navy and the Red Army. 56 See Pavel Šrámek, Ve stínu Mnichova. Z historie Československé armády 1932–1939 (Praha: Mladá fronta, 2008), 84–87; Piotr Kołakowski, Między Warszawą a Pragą. PolskoCzechosŀowackie stosunki wojskowo-polityczne 1918–1939 (Warszawa: Bellona, 2009), 497. 57 See М. I. Mel′tiukhov, “Krasnaia Armiia v usloviiakh narastaniia mezhdunarodnogo krizisa 1938–1939 gg.,” in Miunkhenskoe soglashenie 1938 goda, 226–239. 58 Koŀakowski, Między Warszawą a Pragą, 497. 59 See Stranga, Latvia and the Baltic Policies of the USSR, Poland and Germany in late 1930s, Part I, 14; Piotr Łossowski, Stosunki Polsko–Estońskie 1918–1939 (Warszawa: Oficyna Olszynka, 2010), 165; Szeczekowski’s report, August 11, 1938, Archiwum Akt Nowych [AAN], Warszawa, Sztab Głowny, 616/356.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

On September 23, Sweden announced that 25 percent of its conscripts would continue in service. Norway also announced that sailors who had ­completed their service would not be released from service until duly notified and that the fleet would continue its maneuvers. Belgium, in turn, announced the call-up of reservists.60 Lithuania’s military staff ordered in September that the garrisons i­ nstitute a heightened degree of readiness. Reservists were called to training for the period of September 1 to 22. In the given instance, this was an extraordinary measure affecting the entire territory of Lithuania.61 Latvia, too, conducted military maneuvers. True, these had also taken place in the fall of 1937. According to military exercises, the Latvian army was expected to defend an attack from the south, that is, from Germany, and to hold the line until reinforcements arrived from the east, that is, from the Soviet Union.62 On September 13, the Czechoslovak envoy to Poland, Juraj Slávik, sent a telegram to Prague containing a statement by the former Latvian envoy to Poland, Miķelis Valters: In the case of conflict, the Baltic states could not remain neutral but would have to align themselves with France and England, and also perhaps with the Soviet Union. This would guarantee their ­territorial integrity and independence even in the case of temporary occupation.63 The Czechoslovak foreign ministry asked for clarification from Tallinn.64 During the crisis, several Latvian military leaders were inclined toward the Soviet Union. The Czechoslovak military attaché in Latvia and Estonia, Oldřich Farský, had noticed among the Latvian military a certain Soviet-friendly attitude—in his words, a Soviet empathy. On September 24, the Latvian military attaché in Moscow, Jānis Zālītis, assured Farský, in the name of the three Baltic states, that if Germany and Poland attacked Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union provided aid to the victim, all the Baltic states would side with the Soviet Union. Readiness to fight with the Soviet Union against Germany was expressed by several members of the Latvian military—General Roberts Dambītis, retired General Jēkabs Rūdolfs Ruškevics, and Minister of  War Jānis Balodis. Let us note here that the Latvian diplomats often made statements in Päevaleht, September 23, 1938. Memorandum by Gurbski, October 20, 1938, AAN 616/356. Packer’s report, October 29, 1937, NA II RG-59 M1177, R-10. Telegram by Slávik, September 13, 1938, in Dokumenty československé zahraniční politiky. Československá zahraniční politika v roce 1938 [DČZP], svazek II (1. červenec–5 říjen 1938) (Praha: Ustav Mezinarodnich Vztahu, 2000), 264–265. 64 Ibid., 265. 60 61 62 63

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the name of the three Baltic states which did not correspond to reality. Valters and Zālītis’s statement did not reflect the opinion of the Estonian government, nor did it reflect the opinion of several members of the Latvian government. As early as August 18, the Latvian minister for Social Affairs, Alfreds Bērziņš, had informed the Soviet envoy Ivan Zotov that no foreign soldier would be permitted to cross Latvia.65 Estonia did not mobilize its forces during the Czechoslovakian crisis. At the end of September the Czechoslovak envoy, Jaroslav Šejnoha, forwarded to Prague the opinion of the Estonian army commander Johan Laidoner: “Laidoner believes that the great powers will reach an agreement on Czechoslovakia.”66 But in reference to Estonia, it is worth noting that certain safeguards were put in place. The Soviet political intelligence agency got hold of a telegram sent to Rome on September 27 by the Italian representative in Tallinn. Its contents can be summarized as follows: in case of a world war, a state of affairs had to be created in which Estonia, Latvia, and Poland would oppose the Red Army. The named states wished to take upon themselves the protection of Germany, should the Red Army plan to attack by going through the Baltic states.67 On October 9, after the crisis had been resolved, Šejnoha informed Prague that, keeping in mind the possibility of a Soviet march through the area, consultations were held in Tallinn with the participation of Polish and Finnish officers and the assistant to the chief of staff of Sweden. Having sought confirmation of this information, Šejnoha was able to tell Prague only that nothing was known about the discussions of war at Laidoner’s Viimsi estate except for the repeated slogan of neutrality and preparedness for self-defense.68 Nevertheless, according to Paavo Hynninen, the Finnish envoy in Tallinn, two high-ranking military officers had addressed a joint meeting of the foreign and defense commissions of both houses of the Estonian parliament on September 20. At that time they had announced that the Estonian military leadership had already weighed the immediate adoption of necessary measures and that, in case of war starting in Central Europe, army units would automatically be sent to the eastern b­ order.69 65 66 67 68

Zotov’s report, August 19, 1938, AVP RF 05-18-145-107, 150. Šejnoha’s report, September 29, 1938, in DČZP, svazek II, 264–265. Eesti Riigiarhiiv (Filiaal) [ERA(F)], Tallinn, 138SM-1-55, 94–95. Šejnoha’s report, October 9, 1938, Archiv Ministerstva zahraničních vecí České republiky [MZV], Praha, Trezorovė spisy, II/1, Tallin, 1938, PZ č 1-26/PPZ č I-IV. 69 Hynninen’s report, September 21, 1938, Suomen Kansallisarkisto [KA], Helsinki, Hynninen, 2; see also Minutes of the meeting of the Committee of Foreign and Defence Affairs of the both Houses of the Parliament, September 20, 1938, RA BA.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

ESTONIA AND THE CRISIS The conference in Munich took place from September 29 to 30, 1938. Four great powers took upon themselves the right to decide the fate of the Sudetenland, populated by Germans; Germany thereby gained the right to occupy the Sudetenland.70 On October 1, Poland presented Czechoslovakia with an ­ultimatum to hand over the Teschen area, and occupied it the next day.71 With the Vienna arbitrage, the territorial demands of Hungary were also partially ­satisfied. Czechoslovakia lost over 40,000 square kilometers of its territory.72 The Czechoslovak envoy Šejnoha wrote on October 8 that with the danger of a worldwide conflict, Estonia had begun to tremble in fear of war and the march of foreign armies through its territories. The Soviet army was depicted, rightly or wrongly, as bringing with it the Bolshevik horror, deportations, and an end to the Estonian people. The German threat was more removed from the Estonians, even though official declarations stated that neutrality would ­provide protection against Germany as well.73 In spite of the fact that freedom of the press was at that time restricted and the government tried to maintain good relations with Germany, a part of the Estonian press expressed its support for Czechoslovakia in no uncertain terms. For example, Päevaleht published an editorial on September 25 stating that “the argument that Czechoslovakia is no longer justified in remaining an ­independent country is raised ever more sharply, and the impression is created that the liquidation of Czechoslovakia is the most blessed task for humanity.” By September of 1938, the Estonian press had not yet been completely silenced. A share of the credit for the further restriction of the freedom of the press belongs to the German and Polish legations. “When, despite the widespread panic, the official position is neutral, the same cannot be said for the Estonian press,” wrote the German envoy Hans Frohwein in October of 1938.74 70 See “Dohoda mezi Německem, Velkou Británií, Francií a Italií rýkajici se odstoupení československého pohraničniho ùzemi Německu 30.9.1938,” in DČZP, svazek II, 452–454. 71 See Polish note, September 30, 1938; Kroffta’s telegramm, October 2, 1938, in DČZP, svazek II, 460–461, 481. 72 Valerián Bystrický, “Slovakia from the Munich Conference to the declaration of independence,” in Slovakia in history, ed. Mikuláš Teich, Dušan Kováč and Martin D. Brown (Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 166. 73 MZV Tallin 1938 PZ č 1-26. 74 Frohwein’s report, October 7, 1938, NA II RG-242 T-120 R-190, 40381. See also Gallienne’s report, September 26, 1938, United Kingdom National Archives [UKNA], London, FO 371/22229, N4988/349/59.

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The Polish legation in Tallinn was also upset, and protested articles in the Estonian press that discussed Polish foreign policy, the ultimatum, and the ­occupation of the Teschen area.75 A Czechoslovak diplomat expressed the belief that the rise of anti-German and anti-Polish sentiment in Estonia was due to the Estonian mentality: a small country sympathizes with the fate of another small country.76 The Estonian public was pro-Czechoslovakia and anti-German. This is clearly evident from the materials of the political police, the communications of foreign diplomats, and the press. Estonian politicians and officials expressed, on the one hand, their ­sympathy to the Czechoslovaks over the Munich decision, while on the other they also congratulated the winners, Germany and Poland. For example, the opinion expressed by Foreign Minister Selter on the occupation of the Teschen area was, according to the Polish envoy, as follows: “Poland should get that which truly belongs to it.”77 A Czechoslovak diplomat noted that, after the Munich Pact, Estonian officials and officers believed that the West—that is, the democracies—were rotten to the core, and that the Red Army was incapable of fighting; among the higher ranks in the military, the belief had taken root that war between the Soviet Union and Germany was unavoidable, even though it was further away than was to be hoped.78 In an attempt to evaluate the views held by the leadership of Estonia’s ­foreign policy establishment regarding the new circumstances that had arisen in Europe, it behooves us to examine explanatory comments made by General Laidoner, the army commander and chairman of the parliament’s Upper House Commission for Foreign Affairs. Laidoner spoke to the editors of various Estonian newspapers in October 1938 and presented his views in presentations to the Lower and Upper Houses of Parliament and to the Military Academy. In his statements, he predicted the political moves of the Great Powers, ­analyzing Estonia’s policy of neutrality and the strategic situation of the Baltics, including its chances of avoiding war, as well as the fate of Czechoslovakia. It must be remarked right off that one part of Laidoner’s viewpoint represented more his wishful thinking than the real situation. In fact, some of his a­ ssessments were in 75 Extract from Przesmycki’s report, October 5, 1938, AAN Sztab Głowny 616/356. 76 See Šejnoha’s report, October 9, 1938, MZV Trezorovė spisy II/1, Tallin 1938, PZ č 1-26/ PPZ č I-IV. 77 Extract from Przesmycki’s report, October 5, 1938, AAN Sztab Głowny 616/356. 78 See Šejnoha’s report; November 24, 1938, MZV Trezorovė spisy II/1, Tallin 1938, PZ č 1-26/PPZ č I-IV.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

conflict with public opinion in Estonia and also with the opinion of the foreign, including the Soviet, press. The following tries to clarify Laidoner’s standpoint on the new situation taking shape in Europe in the fall of 1938. First of all, looking westward, Laidoner stressed that the Munich Pact ­prevented a big catastrophe from taking place in Europe. Looking eastward, he simultaneously asserted that the Soviet Union was becoming an unimportant factor in European affairs, although regardless of the repression of its military leadership the Soviet Union still remained, from Estonia’s point of view, a dangerous neighbor.79 Laidoner did not deny the peril originating from Germany. Nevertheless, according to him, the main danger to Estonia emanated from the East. He predicted that the expansion of Germany would be directed through the Danube basin toward Romania and the southern region of the Soviet Union, and in all likelihood not toward the Baltics and the northern regions of the Soviet Union. The possibility that Germany could attack the Soviet Union through the Baltics Laidoner called an absurd hypothesis.80 At the same time, he considered Hitler and his National Socialist regime a useful phenomenon from Estonia’s standpoint.81 Surprisingly, Laidoner denied the strategic importance of Estonia’s islands to Germany as well as to the Soviet Union. Still, when speaking at the Estonian Military Academy he touched upon the possibility of an agreement between Germany and the Soviet Union at Estonia’s expense. But he considered this kind of combination unlikely, since Germany would not agree to yield Estonia to the Soviet Union.82 He declared the foreign policy of Czechoslovakia entirely erroneous. According to Laidoner, Czechoslovakia— unlike Estonia, a state born not through military action but as a result of machinations by the Great Powers at the end of the First World War—had eventually perished because it lacked the necessary military mentality.83 At the end of his speech at the Military Academy, Laidoner posed the hypothetical question of what Estonia should do if it were threatened simultaneously from both the east and west. In reality he was asking whether Estonia, in case of war 79 Minutes of the meeting of the Committee of Foreign and Defence Affairs of the both Houses of the Parliament, October 14, 1938, RA BA; Conversation between the Army commander Laidoner and the editors of various Estonian newspapers, October 6, 1938, ERA 2553-1-60, 99. 80 Address by the Army commander Laidoner at the Military Academy, December 14, 1938, ERA 495-12-224, 27. 81 Ibid., 7–9. 82 Ibid., 29–30; see also Address by the Army commander Laidoner at the General Committee of the Parliament, October 14, 1938, ERA 2553-1-60, 130. 83 Address by the Army commander Laidoner at the Military Academy, December 14, 1938, ERA 495-12-224, 24.

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between Germany and the Soviet Union, should fight on the side of Germany against the Soviet Union, or vice versa. This was a subject, however, that was not openly discussed in Estonia. The solution to the problem, according to Laidoner, was to monitor the situation closely and to come to a decision at the right moment.84 In his speech to reserve officers in the beginning of  November, Laidoner asked them whether Estonia would be able to resist an attack from the Soviet Union. However, he then assured them that the breakout of a war between only Estonia and the Soviet Union was out of the question because there were other players present on the shores of the Baltic Sea, organized and ready to act against the Soviet Union. Laidoner forgot to mention that only Germany would fit the description of such a force. Contrary to the views of the Estonian press, which was attempting to prove that it was possible for Estonia to remain untouched by the coming war, Laidoner informed reserve officers that Estonia could not survive a European war as an observer.85 Estonian President Konstantin Päts, in a confidential conversation with the Polish envoy, also expressed the belief that the threat would only affect states that were created at the “green table.” For some reason, he named Romania one of the “green table” states, and Foreign Minister Selter also included Latvia among them; states that had won their independence in a war could, in his opinion, remain calm.86 Many Estonian diplomats believed that Munich represented a significant landslide in foreign policy and the politics of war, to the benefit of Germany.87 At least initially, the Estonian envoy in Moscow, August Rei, evaluated the ­foreign policy situation after the Munich Pact in dark tones: the Soviet Union, in his view, was now totally excluded from the higher politics of Europe. Rei supposed that, as a result of the European international policy crisis, the peoples’ commissar for foreign affairs, Maxim Litvinov, would be removed from his position and Germany would now direct its foreign policy activity toward Poland.88 In August and September of 1938, Rahva Sõna, the main organ of the Estonian Socialists, published numerous articles hypercritical of the s­ ituation in Europe. After the English and French note of September 19, which demanded that Czechoslovakia cede to Germany all of its territory populated by Germans, 84 Ibid., 34. 85 Address by the Army commander Laidoner to the Estonian High Command, November 6, 1938, ERA 2553-1-80, 2. 86 Przesmycki’s report, November 29, AAN Sztab Głowny 616/356. 87 See, for example, Tofer’s report, December 2, 1938, ERA 957-14-573, 22–223. 88 Rei’s report, October 28; November 1, 1938, ERA 957-14-573, 92-97; 98–99.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

Rahva Sõna sharply criticized Germany, Great Britain, and France, and even the Soviet Union, predicting that war was unavoidable. Further articles contemplated whether the price paid for insuring this kind of peace was not too high, and whether the visible moral collapse of Western democracy would introduce a corresponding physical disintegration.89 After reading articles ­critical of Germany in Rahva Sõna, Richard Veermaa, the Estonian interior minister, took a stand regarding the future of the newspaper. He ordered that Rahva Sõna be closed, because its articles had presented a viewpoint that might harm good-neighborly relations with foreign states, the defense of the homeland, and its place in international relations.90 The German language press in Estonia, as well as in Latvia and Lithuania, took an entirely different approach to the Czechoslovak crisis, attempting to justify the actions of Germany and the annexation of the Sudetenland.

LATVIA AND THE CRISIS The Czech diplomats in Riga characterized the prevalent mood in Riga after the events in Munich as Germanophobic, emotionally Russophilic and Anglophilic. Envoy Pavel Baráček-Jacquier also noticed Germanophobia among members of the government.91 This was only partially true, however. After the Munich Pact, the Latvian war minister Balodis declared to the Soviet envoy in Riga, Ivan Zotov, that all patriotic Latvians, particularly those in the military s­ ervice, had cordial feelings toward the Russians and therefore would never join the Polish or German camps.92 At the same time, many of Baráček’s communications and conversations with Latvian diplomats contained the accusation that Foreign Minister Munters and the Latvian government were o­ riented in foreign policy toward Germany.93 In fact, Munters gave the following statement to the Czechoslovak envoy in Riga concerning the decisions of the Munich conference: “This is the worst diplomatic loss that England and France have ever endured.”94 The British envoy Orde remarked about Munters, “I found him greatly relieved 89 Rahva Sõna, September 23, 1938. 90 Decision by the Minister of Interior, September 29, 1938, ERA 852-1-2569, 27. 91 Baráček-Jacquier’s report November 22, 1938, MZV Trezorovė spisy II/1, Riga 1938, PZ č 1-14/PPZ č III-IV. 92 Zotov’s report, October 30, 1938, AVP RF 0150-35-6-7, 147. 93 Baráček-Jacquier’s report, October 17, October 21, 1938, MZV Trezorovė spisy II/1, Riga 1938, PZ č 1-14/PPZ č III-IV; Zotov’s report, July 18, 1938, AVP RF 05-18-145-107, 126. 94 Baráček-Jacquier’s report, October 17, 1938, MZV Trezorovė spisy II/1, Riga 1938, PZ č 1-14/PPZ č III-IV.

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that thanks to the Prime Minister’s efforts peace had been preserved. [. . .] Mr. Munters agreed that it was a great gain from the Prime Minister’s visits to Germany that they had provoked open manifestations of the desire for peace among the ordinary population.”95 But let us also recall the ­earlier statement that the Lithuanian journalist Valentinas Gustainis said Munters had made to him: “Such a sausage in the middle of Europe is an abnormal sight, and Hitler may at some moment decide to eat it up in fourteen days.”96 It can also be said that the Latvian press published information obtained from the foreign press, alongside articles emphasizing moments that showed the actions of Poland and Germany in a negative light.97 In Latvia, too, there developed doubts before and after the Munich Pact about whether Poland might enter into a secret pact with Germany at the expense of the Baltic states.98 Munters assembled his conclusions about the Munich Pact and the ­disintegration of the Versailles system for the influential Latvian magazine Sējējs as well as for the military magazine Lāčplēsis. The German translation of the article published in Sējējs was also printed in the Rigasche Rundschau.99 The content of this article proved contradictory. On the one hand, Munters found that the strategic situation of Latvia had not deteriorated, and that the events of 1938 had not presented Latvia with new problems. But on the other hand, Munters stressed that new circumstances in Europe had exposed the weakness of the League of Nations, forcing Latvia to change its foreign policy orientation: “We must join the new European community also in its foreign policy realm.” Under New Europe Munters meant, of course, Germany. Munters called upon Latvians to cease criticizing the foreign policy of all European Great Powers, to keep their mouths tightly shut, and to abstain from expressing their thoughts and feelings freely.100 This was exactly what German foreign policy and the German press were demanding from the Baltic states. The official voice of the Lithuanian government, Lietuvos aidas, took the statement of Munters as an attempt to reshape the country’s foreign policy orientation.101 In a report to the British Foreign Office, Charles W. Orde, the 95 Orde’s report, October 14, 1938, UKNA FO 371/22227, N223/223/59. 96 Memorandum by Gustainis, April 7, 1937, LCVA 648-1-17, 51. 97 See Brzeskwinski’s report, September 27, 1938, AAN Sztab Głowny 616/357; Klopotowski’s report, November 3, 1938, AAN MSZ 6189 B22461. 98 See Kłopotowski’s report, December 13, 1938, AAN MSZ 6187 B22453.   99 See Sējējs 11 (1938); Lāčplēsis 6 (1938); Rigasche Rundschau, November 5, 1938. 100 Sējējs (11) 1938. 101 See Lietuvos aidas, November 24, 1938.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

British envoy in Riga, also drew attention to Munters’s declaration in the press that Germany was now the dynamic center of Europe.102 Munters’s article also received attention from Moscow and Berlin. The German press welcomed Munters’s call to join the New Europe, regardless of its doubts about the seriousness of his stance, as it suspected that Munters still continued to swing between Berlin and London, and that his statements should be taken with a grain of salt.103 Nevertheless, in October 1938, Eckhard von Schack, the German envoy in Riga, reported to Berlin that Munters was one of the few Latvian p­ oliticians who understood the importance of the Reich’s role in European politics. At the same time, in the diplomatic corps of Riga rumors floated about that Berlin had demanded Munters’s replacement by an individual more friendly toward Germany.104 Meanwhile, Germany took steps to increase its influence in Latvia. On October 12, 1938, a trade agreement was created between Latvia and Germany that increased the trade between the two countries.105 In fact, it seems that Munters indeed attempted to maneuver between London and Berlin. From December 5 to 11 he visited Great Britain, where he was received by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain and Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax. He also visited the Vickers Armstrong armament plants, where he held negotiations on economic matters. In Great Britain, Munters displayed surprising optimism in his consultations with British authorities regarding ­foreign and defense policies. He claimed that in the prevailing murky ­political situation, Latvia did not feel endangered by Germany or the Soviet Union, and that he expected the expansionary drive of Germany to be directed toward central and southeastern Europe rather than northeastern Europe. He called the Soviet Union a feeble state. But he described Estonia’s foreign policy as being pro-­ German and unfriendly toward the Soviet Union.106 Germany was not happy 102 Orde’s report, November 22, 1938, UKNA FO 419/32; see also Palin’s reports, October 22, 1938 and November 2, 1938, UM 7 Latvia. 103 Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, November 19, 1938; Frankfurter Zeitung, November 20, 1938; see also Rigasche Rundschau, November 22, 1938. 104 See Rebane’s reports, December 19 and 29, 1938, ERA 957-14-439, 97; 102. 105 Rolf Ahmann, “Nazi German Policy towards the Baltic States on the Eve of the Second World War,” in The Baltic and the Outbreak of the Second World War (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 55. 106 See Schmidt’s report, December 6, 1938, ERA 957-14-439, 95; Occupation and Annexation of Latvia 1939–1940. Documents and Materials (Riga: s. n., 1995), 22; Aivars Stranga, “Latvia and the Baltic Policies of the USSR, Poland and Germany in Late 1930s,” part II: “Latvia’s Foreign Policy Choices in 1938 and 1939,” Latvias Zinātņu Akadēmijas Vēstis 3 (1994): 11.

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about Munters’s visit to London. Thus on December 23 Berliner ­Börsen-Zeitung accused Munters of seeking political possibilities that could hardly help Latvia in its difficulties. The Estonian authorities and press were also rather skeptical about Munters’s travels to Great Britain, although Estonians were glad that in London Munters had spoken in the name of Latvia alone.

LITHUANIA AND THE CRISIS According to the Czechoslovak envoy Jan Skalický, there were those in the Lithuanian military leadership who, during the crisis, raised the question of the outcome of the Red Army’s possible passage through Lithuania, fearing that it could be the beginning of Lithuania’s Bolshevization.107 The Munich Pact generated only negative feelings in Foreign Minister Lozoraitis. He stated to the Czechoslovak envoy that Munich would lead to a loss of faith in both the old and new agreements as well as to the dissolution of the European security system.108 Lozoraitis’s statement to the British representative was no different: “Collective security and the League of  Nations as the mediator in international conflicts are a thing of the past.”109 The Munich Pact elicited greater ­emotion from many Lithuanian diplomats. For example, the envoy in Paris, Petras Klimas, used phrases in his presentations such as “an era of international gangsterism,” “extremely egotistical,” “unprincipled politics,” and “denial of international morality.”110 With regard to Lithuania as well, Germany and Poland were not satisfied with how the Lithuanian press treated the Czechoslovak crisis. Rumors reached Kaunas that Germany demanded the establishment of a free zone around Klaipėda, and that the big neighbors Germany and Poland had agreed on some undertaking at the expense of Lithuania, with Poland ceding the ­corridor to Germany and receiving, as compensation, some part of Lithuania.111

107 108 109 110

Skalický’s report, September 30, 1938, in DČZP, svazek II, 467–468. Ibid, 467–468. Preston’s report, October 22, 1938, UKNA FO 371/22228, N5174/239/59. See Česlovas Laurinavičius, “1938 metų Sudetų krizė ir Lietuva,” in Češi, Litevci a středoevropský vektor jejich moderní historie, 160. 111 See Memorandum by Lozoraitis, October 10 and November 11, 1938, HIA Turauskas; Dalia Bukelevičiūte, Lietuvos ir Čekoslovakios dvišalių santykių dinamika 1918–1939 metais. Monografija (Vilnius: s. n., 2010), 134; Telegram by Merekalov, October 25, 1938, in Moskva–Berlin. Politika i diplomatiia Kremlia 1920–1941. Sbornik dokumentov. V trekh tomakh, vol. 3: 1933–1941, ed. G. N. Sevost’ianov (Moscow: Nauka, 2011), 270.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

The mood of the population must be analyzed on the basis of their national origins: Lithuanians and Jews, Poles and Germans, and Russians. The Lithuanian historian Saulius Kaubrys presents the following picture: the majority of Lithuanians and the Jews were pro-Czechoslovakia, pro-Soviet, and opposed to Germany and Poland. Both England and France were, however, accused of betrayal. Lithuania’s national minorities, the Poles and Germans, reacted to what was occurring with the reverse opinion. Both were pleased about the expansion of their historical homeland—Poland and Germany, respectively.112 In spite of the existence of laws and institutions in Lithuania to repress the press, both the press and radio broadcasts expressed their support of Czechoslovakia before and after the signing of the Munich Pact. Change in the foreign policy of Lithuania commenced in March 1938. On March 12, when German military troops marched into Austria, Warsaw quickly recognized that, by applying decisive action, Poland might be able to solve its problems with Lithuania. After a border incident on their common frontier the Polish government gave an ultimatum to Lithuania on March 17, 1938, demanding the establishment of proper diplomatic relations between the two countries.113 To coax Lithuania in the intended direction, Poland began concentrating its military units on its common border with Lithuania. It can be said that the Czechoslovak crisis opened Lithuanians’ eyes. Eduard H. Palin, the Finnish envoy in Riga and Kaunas, characterized the situation in Lithuania after the Munich Pact as follows: “The fate of Czechoslovakia brutally opened the eyes of Lithuania. […] It was clear that the country must immediately make a complete turn-around, and adopt an entirely new ­direction in its foreign policy…”114 In October 1938, the third conference of Lithuanian diplomats and ­representatives to foreign countries was called.115 The main subject of the meeting was the re-orientation of Lithuanian foreign policy. It was agreed that, after the Munich Pact, France had lost its prestige in international politics, and that moral—and perhaps also political—support could only be expected from Great Britain. However, the participants of the conference did not favor a wholehearted orientation toward Germany. They decided that Lithuania must firmly adhere to the declaration of its foreign minister concerning Article 112 Saulius Kaubrys, “Čekoslovakijos likiminės peripetijos Lietuvos visuomenės recepcijoje 1938–1939 m.,” in Češi, Litevci a středoevropský vektor jejich moderní historie, 201–205. 113 See Łossowski, Stosunki Polsko–Estońskie 1918–1939, 152–158. 114 Palin’s report, November 7, 1938, UM 5C/26. 115 See Lietuvos aidas, October 19, 1938.

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16, must unconditionally utilize its neutrality, and must find an acceptable ­solution to the question of Klaipėda.116 After this conference the Lithuanian ­government announced that it would immediately disband the Committee for the Liberation of Vilnius,117 and take steps to restrict the publication of anti-Polish articles in the Lithuanian press.118 As to the Klaipėda landdag, the government announced a readiness to replace the current governor of Klaipėda with one suitable to Germany and the Klaipėda populace. An attempt was made to influence public opinion in a more pro-German and pro-Polish direction. On November 2, Lithuania’s military staff held a meeting attended by the commanders of military units as well as the chiefs of military support units and the central staff. The army commander, Raštikis, analyzing the developing international situation, announced that Lithuania should start to consider expanding economic relations with Germany and avoid doing anything that could be interpreted as standing in opposition to Germany’s aspirations. Raštikis did not believe the annexation of Klaipėda by Germany to be a realistic threat.119 It is possible that this assessment was influenced by a desire to avoid alarm. Regarding Poland, Raštikis stated that mistakes had been made in the past due to an inability to see the future, that Lithuania must avoid straining its relations with Poland, and that, according to the Lithuanian c­ onstitution, Vilnius remained the capital of Lithuania but, considering the current ­situation, it was unrealistic for Lithuanians to expect a regaining of the city and region seized by the Polish army in October 1920. Relations with the Soviet Union were also covered in this speech: Raštikis regretted that relations with Germany and Poland had not been developed because Lithuania had been o­ riented towards the Soviet Union, which in reality no one considered important anymore, and which played no role at all in European politics.120 On November 28, Lozoraitis sent a memorandum to ten Lithuanian ­legations giving the legations instructions for future operations. Of primary importance were relations with Germany. The legations were informed that Lithuania wished to obtain assurances that Germany would respect the ­territorial integrity of Lithuania and seek to find legal and peaceful means to iron out ­differences in the interpretation of the Klaipėda statute; in return, the 116 Memorandum by Öpik, November 1, 1938; Warma’s report, October 25, 1938, ERA 957-14-572, 67–68; Palin’s report, November 7, 1938, UM 5C/26; Just’s report, November 4, 1938, NA II RG-242 T-120 R-1146, 449633–449637. 117 Vilniaus vadavimo sąjunga. 118 Preston’s report, October 24, 1938, UKNA FO 371/22228, N5312/239/59. 119 See Raštikis’s confidential statement, November 2, 1938, AAN Sztab Głowny 16/324. 120 Ibid.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

Lithuanian government was ready to demonstrate good will and make concessions that would be contrary to the country’s independent existence and international obligations. The Lithuanian envoy in Berlin, Kazys Škirpa, was to ask whether the German government would agree to Lithuania’s attempts to improve relations and what Germany would expect in return for the normalization of relations. To engender trust toward Germany in Lithuania and also to ­neutralize the German threat in the Klaipėda region, the envoy was expected to obtain a declaration from the German government affirming the territorial integrity of Lithuania. Lozoraitis also emphasized that the government of Lithuania, wishing to continue with neutrality, would try to avoid anything that Germany might interpret as unfriendliness toward itself. The envoy was to clarify this change in Lithuanian foreign policy first to the Auswärtiges Amt and thereafter to Hitler. Following Germany in importance was Poland. Here, the emphasis was on the psychological factors straining relations between the two countries and on ways to overcome these. Lozoraitis stated that Lithuania was ready to make ­concessions to Poland and reach certain agreements to eliminate antiPolish articles from the news media. Lozoraitis proposed that an agreement be reached with Poland concerning the news media, analogous to the news media agreement reached with Germany in 1936. It should be noted here that in 1936 the Lithuanian Telegraph Agency (ELTA) and Deutsches Nachrichtenbüro (DNB) described consultations between the governments of Lithuania and Germany with the objective of maintaining a businesslike tone in presenting the news, so as to have a positiveinfluence on the attitude of the people of the two countries towards each other. After Poland, Lozoraitis’s memorandum covered the Soviet Union. It stated briefly that the Lithuanian government valued highly its cordial relations with the Soviet Union, wished to maintain them, and expected the same from the Soviet government. Next in line were relations with Britain and France. Here the discussion centered on trade relations. The memorandum stressed that Britain and France, as signatories of the Klaipėda Convention, could help Lithuania improve relations with both Germany and Poland. In the last part of the memorandum, Lozoraitis briefly mentioned relations with Estonia, Latvia, Sweden, and Czechoslovakia. He emphasized that Lithuania would remain true to the Baltic Union, that cordial relations with Sweden as well as with Denmark and Norway were important to Lithuania, and that Lithuania had sympathy toward Czechoslovakia and wished to develop cordial relations with Czechoslovakia in the future.121 121 See LCVA 648-1-53, 326–333.

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Lozoraitis’s memorandum was by its nature an attempt to define, based on decisions made at the conference, the country’s future foreign policy orientation. The order in which the countries were addressed shows on which countries Lithuania placed its stake in foreign policy.

˙DA BECOME MEMEL KLAIPE  Lithuania’s special relationship with the Soviet Union had come to a sudden end.122 Finally, the Lithuanian government decided to surrender Klaipėda to Germany. In the beginning of January 1939, the new Lithuanian foreign minister Juozas Urbšys told the Finnish envoy Palin: “We are ready to carry out foreign policy principles that cannot be viewed by Germany as moves against its interests. But we are not able to make contact with Germany’s foreign policy leadership.”123 Warma, the Estonian envoy in Kaunas, reported to Tallinn that Lithuania was willing to formalize the secession of Klaipėda as soon as the first half of February.124 An opportune moment arose in March 1939, when Urbšys visited the Vatican on the occasion of the crowning of the new pope, Pius XII. The Lithuanian government had authorized him to travel through Berlin in order to arrange a meeting with the German foreign minister Ribbentrop. 122 The territorial problems of Lithuania—Vilnius and Klaipėda (Memel)—basically determined the foreign policy orientation of Lithuania, and thus also greatly influenced the foreign policies of other Baltic states. Until 1934 Lithuania had been politically oriented toward Soviet Union, and in lesser degree toward Germany, both enemies of Poland. Lithuania considered both countries as allies in its conflict with Poland. In fact, at the time Lithuanian prime minister and the acting minister of foreign affairs Mykolas Sleževičius signed the Lithuanian-Soviet Non-Aggression Pact in Moscow in September 1926, the secret “gentlemen agreement” was also concluded. With this secret agreement both parties pledged to exchange essential information concerning the policies of Poland as well as that of the Baltic states. The Soviet Union in its turn promised Lithuania to influence Germany and other friendly states for support of Lithuania in its international relations. The increasingly strained situation in Memel, the German-Polish Non-Aggression Declaration, and the denouncement of Georgi Chicherin’s note, which in 1926 had declared Vilnius an occupied region, brought along a number of changes in Lithuanian foreign policy in 1934. Consequently, relations between Lithuania and Germany became increasingly more strained. From 1934 to the fall of the 1938 the Lithuanian foreign policy oriented toward the Soviet Union and France, and supported the collective security policies of the League of Nations. Also in 1934 Lithuania began its limited cooperation in the field of foreign policy with Estonia and Latvia. At the same time the Lithuanian military strove to establish Baltic military alliance under the protection of Soviet Union. 123 Palin’s report, January 11, 1939, UM 5C/26. 124 Warma’s report, January 27, 1939, ERA 957-14-572, 118.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

Since Ribbentrop was not in Berlin at the time, Urbšys had to delay his ­departure from Rome. On March 17, a correspondent of the ELTA explored the possibility of a meeting between Ribbentrop and Urbšys, by informing the German authorities that Urbšys was ready to discuss the matter of Klaipėda.125 Consequently, on March 20 Urbšys arrived in Berlin to meet Ribbentrop.126 The reports of some diplomats and the subsequent history books claim that Ribbentrop treated Urbšys brutally, threatened to destroy Kaunas, and demanded an immediate declaration ceding Klaipėda to Germany.127 These claims might have been true, but it should be remembered that the whole scenario between Ribbentrop and Urbšys had already been pre-determined.128 In any case, Urbšys returned to Kaunas late on the morning of March 21, and that same evening the Lithuanian Seimas decided in a closed meeting to surrender Klaipėda to Germany. During this crisis, Lithuania did not approach any foreign states for aid or support. On the night of March 22 an extraordinary meeting of the Seimas was called. It was decided that a special declaration should be sent to Berlin, and on the same evening Urbšys flew back there. The meeting with German foreign policy leaders immediately commenced and ended with signing the friendship agreement early the next morning, which officially ceded Klaipėda to Germany. Furthermore, the signers of the treaty agreed to reconcile their problems over financial, economic, and citizenship concerns. The agreement also contained a clause concerning their mutual commitment of non-aggression. The annexation of Klaipėda by Germany generated all-around alarm in Eastern Europe, and also affected the trends of grand policies in Europe. It became clear that the future demands of Germany would be directed at Poland, and that the subsequent expansion of Germany into Eastern Europe was imminent. Considering the possibility it afforded to import Swedish iron ore, the Klaipėda harbor was of immense strategic value to Germany. Since Germany had made Slovakia its protectorate, annexed Klaipėda, and had ­pressured Lithuania into becoming its satellite, Germany now beleaguered Poland from 125 Memorandum by Likus, March 17, 1939, NA II RG-242 T-120 R-31, 29264. 126 About the Klaipėda crisis see Česlovas Laurinavičius, “The Lithuanian Reaction to the Loss of Klaipėda and the Combined Gift of Soviet ‘Security Assistance’ and Vilnius,” in History of Warfare, vol. 87: Northern European Overture to War, 1939–1941, ed. Michael H. Clemmesen and Markus S. Faulkner (Leiden, Boston: Brill, 2013), 173. 127 See Warma’s report, March 21, 1939, ERA 957–14-572, 138–139; Warma’s report, March 22, 1939, ERA 957-14-572, 141; Memorandum by Litvinov (Conversation with Baltrušaitis), March 29,1939, AVP RF 06-1-1-5, 138. 128 See Memorandum by Woermann, December 12, 1938, NA II RG-242 T-120 R-119, 117504.

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both north and south and consequently hoped that Warsaw, following the example of Prague and Kaunas, would peacefully cede to Germany’s demands.

NEUTRALITY AND LAW OF NEUTRALITY In October 1938, the foreign ministers of the Baltic States drew up statutes and laws concerning their neutrality, following the model of neutrality laws adopted by the Oslo States. On November 18, foreign ministers of the Baltic states met in Riga to sign an agreement obligating all three countries to avoid changing the adopted law of neutrality without the consent of the other two states, as was apparently required by Berlin. In November, the Estonian Foreign Ministry informed the German journalist Megerle that the Baltic states had clarified that the proposed rules of neutrality, as suggested by the Estonian representatives, would soon be put into operation, and that any future changes in the rules could be made only with the agreement of all three states.129 Both houses of the Estonian Parliament granted their approval to the proposed law of neutrality on November 3, followed suit by the Latvian Cabinet of Ministers on December 21, 1938 and the Lithuanian Seimas on January 21, 1939. For the basis of the proposed neutrality law, Estonians had used the international convention, signed on October 18, 1907 in the Hague, that established the rights and responsibilities of neutral states in case of a naval war. 130 The question of what Germany meant by the absolute neutrality principle needs to be addressed. According to the Auswärtiges Amt, a neutral state ­inevitably had to consider its geopolitical location and to seek accord with states in its immediate proximity, while still following Germany in its internal as well as foreign policies. To Germany, neutrality also meant restraining the freedom of the press. Thus, in February 1939, the Monatshefte für Auswärtige Politik stressed that neutrality did not only mean keeping away from war but also not getting involved in Great Power politics, even in times of peace. In addition, some threats followed the preceding seemingly benevolent advice: the Reich would not honor the neutrality of states that themselves did not honor it, and a neutral state could not allow its citizens to freely express their thoughts and feelings against other states.131 129 Estonian Foreign Ministry to Megerle, November 27, 1938, NA II RG-242 T-120 R-1721, E026362. 130 See Riigi Teataja, December 6, 1938. 131 Frankfurter Zeitung, December 7, 1938.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

The military aspect of neutrality, as understood by Germany, was probably stated best by the Finnish military attaché, Aarne Snellman, in a 1936 report that also covered the Baltic states. Snellman wrote that the political and military leadership of Germany had repeatedly and convincingly expressed its satisfaction with the neutrality and defense policies of the Northern States, and foremost with the joint policies of Finland and Sweden. Contemplating the approaching war, the Germans reasoned: “In the future conflict between the allies of Soviet Union and the anti-Bolshevist bloc, a strong defensive line in the north and an unhindered flow of food-stuffs and raw-materials from this region [to Germany] are of utmost importance to us. If the northern states are successful in their joint efforts of arming themselves and securing their common neutrality, our goal is reached… Nevertheless, the end result will remain the same: as the Soviet Union, like ourselves, is interested in the northern states and as in all likelihood it will be ready, in case of a war, to rob from us our intended northern defensive figuration as well as expected sources of ­necessary goods and materials, we have to react preemptively and ­resolutely. In this case Finland will become a theater of war, thus allowing the northern states to defend their ‘neutrality.’ But these states will not be able to repulse the attack alone, and with Great Britain likely to step aside at the time when aid is badly needed, we will be allowed to rush in to provide required aid and assistance…”132 A memorandum from Admiral Erich Raeder, Chief of the German Navy entitled “The Principles of Conducting Naval War” gives some understanding of Germany’s treatment of the neutrality question. In the memorandum, delivered in February 1937 to Hitler, Konstatntin von Neurath, and Werner von Blomberg, Raeder predicted that if Germany became militarily involved in the West, the Soviet Union would attempt to establish its operational bases in the Baltics. He recommended, in order to secure the prospect of German bases in the region, adopting the following strategy during the prevailing period of peace: to conclude neutrality agreements with states located on the coast of the Baltic Sea, and to establish military strongholds on Baltic territories, creating a benevolent atmosphere in the Baltic states that would facilitate later action there. On April 12, 1938, in his subsequent memorandum, Raeder stated that, in case of a war with the Soviet Union, it would take a considerable effort to occupy Finland and Estonia by aggressive means. Therefore, he concluded that, in the beginning, Germany should honor the neutrality of these states, ­delivering 132 Snellman’s report, November 26, 1936, Suomen Sota–arkisto [SArk], Helsinki, 2139/29.

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a counterattack only once the enemy had broken their neutrality. Raeder thought that, in this case, Estonia and Finland would regard Germany not as a conqueror but as an ally, which would be invaluable for conducting an anti-­ Soviet military operation.133 The vision of German military planners with regard to Latvia and Lithuania differed, particularly as the military leadership of both countries favored the Soviet Union. Therefore, taking into account the coming attack of the Soviet Union on the coast of the Baltic Sea and the strengthening of Estonian and Finnish resistance to the Soviet Union, German strategists weighed the ­possible occupation of Latvia. Admiral Conrad Albrecht also recommended this move during the war games that took place in 1937–1938.134 A couple of weeks after Estonia accepted the law of neutrality, Lietuvos aidas, the official voice of the Lithuanian government, published an article by its Berlin correspondent, V. Kaupas, entitled “Germany and the Baltic States.” Kaupas had connections with high-level politicians in Berlin.135 Because this article treated the subject with an extraordinary openness, the Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian foreign ministries and the Lithuanian Commissariat of Foreign Affairs paid special attention to it. Kaupas declared that, after the events in central Europe, Germany would focus more and more on the Baltic states; as it wanted to build its relations with them on a new foundation, it would consider neutrality as a tool for establishing the unity of the Baltic states. Kaupus reported that “German official circles pay great attention to the attempts of Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia to come to a common understanding about neutrality. […] Therefore, German diplomatic authorities have decided to speak up, adopting a new slogan concerning the Baltic states: no matter what direction the policies of the Baltic states take, any defense of their neutrality would be impossible without the support of the Reich […] According to the latest political views of the German state, the Reich has grown strong enough to protect the Baltic states from the attack of the Soviet Union. Thus the Baltic states need no longer fear their eastern neighbor, as from now on the Baltic states must completely trust the power of the Reich, although at the same time protection provided by Germany calls for certain duties and responsibilities on the part of the Baltic states.” In conclusion, Kaupas’s article stated, in a s­traightforward manner, 133 Rolf Ahmann, Nichtangriffspakte: Entwicklung und operative Nutzung in Europa 1922–1939. Mit einem Ausblick auf die Renaissance des Nichtangriffsvertrages nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg (Baden-Baden: Nomos-Verlagsgesellschaft, 1988), 652–653. 134 Ibid., 654. 135 Undated and unsigned memorandum, NA II RG-242 T-120 R250, 190276–190277.

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

that the Baltic states must unconditionally follow their status of neutrality and ­harmonize their foreign policy with that of Germany.136

CONCLUSIONS The decision by Estonia and Latvia to declare article 16 of the League of Nations non-binding was a result of the stand taken by the Scandinavian countries, but also of pressure from Germany and Poland. Lithuania’s decision was, in turn, the result of pressure from Estonia and Latvia as the two other ­members of the Baltic league. From 1937 to 1938 the Soviet Union stressed that, in the coming war, the states located between Germany and the Soviet Union could not remain neutral and, therefore, talk regarding the Baltic states’ neutrality was an illusion. The decision of the Baltic states, Poland, and Romania regarding Article 16 was interpreted by the Soviet Union as a message that these states would not agree to grant passage for the Red Army to aid Czechoslovakia, and would refuse any attempt by the Red Army to pass through the territories located between the Soviet Union and Germany. Declaring Article 16 optional helped to resolve the Czechoslovak crisis in Germany’s favor. Despite the fact that the Latvian and Lithuanian governments attempted to demonstrate their neutrality during the crisis, several of their government members and military leaders expressed Soviet-friendly, anti-German, and anti-Polish opinions. In analyzing the mood of the Latvian military leadership, it becomes apparent that they were ready to enable the Red Army to ­traverse Latvia and to join the fight with them against Germany. In the case of the Lithuania, the support of government and military leaders for the League of Nations is evident. Also discernible are certain attitudes giving rise to the supposition that, in case of a conflict, Lithuania would have turned toward the Soviet Union and against Germany and Poland. Until the conclusion of the Munich Pact, Latvia’s foreign policy l­eaders believed, first and foremost, that only the League of Nations and collective security could guarantee their independence. After the conclusion of the Munich Pact, the Latvian foreign policy leadership became seriously interested in “unconditional neutrality,” which in essence meant an orientation toward Germany. In contrast to Latvia, from 1935 to 1936 Estonian military and ­foreign policy leadership viewed the Soviet Union as the main danger to their 136 Lietuvos aidas, November 23, 1938.

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s­ overeignty, whereas the citizenry at large regarded Germany more than the Soviet Union as its true enemy. The approach of the Estonian and Lithuanian press toward the Czechoslovak crisis was twofold, encompassing the official response and the opposition. Of these, the first, official approach attempted to calm the public and show that nothing special had occurred. The second, the opposition, declared that the ­politics of Germany and Poland were the politics of aggressive force and that France and England had abandoned Czechoslovakia to its fate, or had even betrayed it. All this was augmented in the pages of the opposition press by the concern that the small states would themselves fall victim to aggression. The Latvian press did not express its support for Czechoslovakia as openly. The approach of the German- language press toward the crisis was to side with Germany. The prevailing mood in Latvia at the time the Munich Pact was signed led to the conviction among Estonian foreign and defense policy makers that Latvia as Estonian military ally would not fight with Germany against the Soviet Union. In Estonia, the dominant belief after the Munich pact was that a continued political alliance with Latvia and Lithuania—that is, the Baltic League— would be detrimental to Estonia. This resulted in a noticeable weakening of the Baltic League, and thus of cooperation among the Baltic states. The Munich Pact had far-reaching consequences. As a result of the agreement, England and France’s influence on European politics was diminished. The superior power England and France had enjoyed in Europe was gone, and the balance of power in Europe swung in Germany’s favor. Lithuania’s loss of Klaipėda must be understood in the context of Germany’s appeasement by the Western powers. The Baltic states drew their own conclusions about the Munich Pact and the resulting situation in Europe. It was understood that, should a new crisis develop, England, France, and the League of Nations were powerless to guarantee the security of Eastern Europe. After the Munich Pact, those in the Baltic states who viewed Germany as the only power capable of opposing the Soviet Union gained in strength. Estonia, Latvia, and Poland underestimated the stabilizing role of Czechoslovakia in central Europe. The behavior of the Baltic states and Czechoslovakia following the Munich Pact is an example of “bandwagoning,” or choosing the politics of accommodation and trying to avoid that which could be seen as standing in opposition to Germany. The end of Czechoslovak independence came in March of 1939. The conclusion of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact brought with it, in August and September 1939, the accommodation politics of the Baltic states with respect

The Czechoslovak Crisis and the Baltic States in 1938

to the Soviet Union. Czechoslovakia disappeared from the map of Europe for six years, and the Baltic states, as a result of the events of 1939 and 1940, for a total of fifty-one years. The research was financially supported by the Estonian Ministry of Education and Science (Target Financing № SF130038s09; Institutional Research Fund of the Estonian Research Council № IUT31-6, the grant of the Polish History Museum Scholarship Fund (Fundusz Stypendialny Muzeum Historii Polski) 2011, and the Fulbright program 2014. My special thanks to translator Ene Inno (USA).

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Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940 Artūras Svarauskas Lithuanian Institute of History, Vilnius

T

he Republic of Lithuania, which declared its independence in 1918 and was deprived of it in 1940, underwent two threatening periods in the interim. During the Lithuanian Wars of Independence in 1919–1920, the ­country fought to retain its independence in the face of external threats; once these were neutralized, the sovereignty of the state appeared to be secured. However, the end of the 1930s saw a second and more lethal threat to the independence of the young state. During that period not only the totalitarian regimes of Germany and the USSR but also the highly fragmented nature of Lithuanian society endangered the fate of this small and neutral state. Some members of society supported the authoritarian regime of President Antanas Smetona, whereas a larger part endeavored to remove him from office through legal or illegal means. As a result, the last two years of independence in Lithuania are referred to as a period of political, social, and moral crisis.1 Starting in the spring of 1938, the government of Lithuania was forced to accept four ultimatums from Poland, Germany, and the Soviet Union. These powers pursued different goals by their ultimatums, but in almost every case the common consequence was quite obvious, as the gap between the Lithuanian government and society—represented by the leaders of political and ideological opposition to Smetona’s rule—was widening.   1 Liudas Truska, Antanas Smetona ir jo laikai (Vilnius: Valstybinis leidybos centras, 1996), 165.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

On March 17, 1938 Poland demanded the establishment of diplomatic relations with Lithuania. Relations were broken off due to an unresolved dispute over territory in the Vilnius region. Negotiations over this territory had ended in failure as early as 1920. Since then Vilnius, the historical capital of Lithuania, had been incorporated into Poland, which based its own claim to Vilnius on the fact that the majority of local people were not ethnically Lithuanian. Lithuanian society had taken deep offense at Poland, and each year commemorated October 9, 1920—that is, the day when Lithuania was deprived of Vilnius—as the Day of Mourning and Historical Deprivation. This loss became one of the most significant factors contributing to the mobilization of Lithuanian society. Every year, the church bells would ring on that day, and the production lines of factories would stop for a symbolic minute of silence. As such, when the Lithuanian government quietly complied with the ultimatum from Poland on March 19, 1938, Lithuanian society, which had long rallied around the cry that “without Vilnius, we shall not rest,” judged this event a fiasco for Smetona’s regime.2 Ordinary people were not aware of what was happening politically behind the scenes, and harbored both anger toward Poland for the diplomatic insult and resentment toward the President Smetona and the government for such a response to the ultimatum. A year later Lithuania suffered another severe setback. On March 22, 1939, Germany seized Lithuania’s costal territories. The loss of Klaipėda as the result of a German ultimatum differed from the earlier case of the Polish ultimatum because it dealt a heavy blow to society in addition to offending national self-­ esteem. The loss of the territory, and with it the country’s only port, had a negative economic effect and resulted in a twofold decrease in Lithuania’s exports. Lithuania was deprived of the territory on which almost one-third of its industrial products were manufactured.3 Lithuanian public servants, workers, and citizens of Jewish origin in particular, who were not welcomed in Lithuania proper, were forced to leave the Klaipėda region.4 This process fueled not only economic and social but also ethnic tensions in Lithuania. An increase in anti-Semitic tendencies in society was observed after the annexation of the Klaipėda region.5  2 Zenonas Ivinskis Diary, National Library of Lithuania, Department of Rare Books and Manuscripts, fund 29, vol. 2, sheet 101.  3 Eglė Bendikaitė e. a., Lietuvos istorija. Nepriklausomybė 1918–1940 m, vol. 10, part 2 (Vilnius: Baltos Lankos, 2015), 311.   4 “Advokatas Rapolas Skipitis lietuvių repatriacijos klausimais,” Vakarinės naujienos, January 13, 1940, 2.   5 Liudas Truska, Lietuviai ir žydai nuo XIX a. pabaigos iki 1941 m. birželio. Antisemitizmo Lietuvoje raida (Vilnius: VPU Leidykla, 2005), 160–168.

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Hitler was not considered the sole cause of the crisis in Klaipėda, and some Lithuanians also blamed Smetona for this humiliation. The main reason for their disillusionment with the Lithuanian government was its failure to mobilize the people in the countryside. Bitter resentment was also expressed over the suppression of political self-expression in society. At that time, German spies intensified their activities in Lithuania and rumors about the imminent loss of Lithuania’s independence started to circulate. Zenonas Ivinskis, a wellknown historian of that time, defined the public mood in the spring of 1939 as follows: “We are living through an extremely uncertain moment and nobody is aware of what the future holds.”6 In August and September 1939 the USSR and Germany divided their spheres of influence in Eastern Europe, and the Baltic States fell under the influence of the Soviet Union. Stalin started to press these countries to sign the so-called Pacts of Mutual Assistance, and Lithuania did so on October 10, 1939. The importance of the Pact for Lithuania was not confined, however, to the fact that 20,000 soldiers of the Red Army had to be allowed onto Lithuanian territory. On the basis of the ratified document, Vilnius, the historical capital, along with a part of the Vilnius region, which had been under Polish dominance for nineteen years, was returned to Lithuania. This episode engendered new problems. Firstly, Lithuania regained Vilnius from the Soviets. Neither the Polish government in exile nor the main European countries such as Great Britain and France agreed to acknowledge the return of Vilnius to Lithuania in such a manner. It was considered by them to be part of occupied Poland. The British and French corps in Kaunas expressed this stance explicitly.7 Perhaps for this reason, in 1940 President Smetona commemorated February 16, Independence Day, in Kaunas rather than in the historical capital. In fact, the president has never visited Vilnius. Unaware of the diplomatic complexities and subtleties, ordinary citizens expressed bewilderment and dissatisfaction with the president and his administration for their apparent reluctance to integrate Vilnius into Lithuania. The second problem was linked with the ethnic composition of Vilnius city and the resulting social crisis in the region. The new “titular nation” in the recovered capital, that is, Lithuanians, made up only about 15% to 16% in 1939–1940 (while Jews comprised 25%–28% of the city’s population).8  6 Zenonas Ivinskis Diary, sheet 262.   7 Algimantas Kasparavičius and Pawel Libera, Lietuvos ir Lenkijos diplomatiniai santykiai 1938– 1940 metais: dokumentų rinkinys (Vilnius: Lietuvos Istorijos Instituto Leidykla, 2013), 507–509.  8 Lietuvos istorija. Nepriklausomybė 1918–1940 m, vol. 10, part 2, 529–530.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

Thus, Lithuanians were in the minority as Polish culture prevailed in Vilnius. This provoked conflicts between the Lithuanian and Polish people living there. Furthermore, the region experienced an economic recession, and, due to a high influx of war refugees, living conditions continued to rapidly deteriorate. There were no large industries or companies in the region. During the nineteen years of Polish rule, agrarian reforms had not been implemented in the region, and ethnic problems were compounded by social ones, particularly unemployment. At the end of 1939, Lithuanian military forces marched into Vilnius. This event was photographed, filmed, and broadly covered in the Lithuanian press. Lithuanian administrative institutions began to emerge, and the processes of “Lithuanization” began in the city and region. The majority of the Polish intelligentsia considered the presence of Lithuanians in Vilnius as merely a temporary condition. The Catholic Church contributed to the tensions. Bishop Romuald Jałbrzykowski and ordinary priests regarded the Lithuanian language as “non-Catholic” and, therefore, inappropriate for Holy Masses. The fight between Polish and Lithuanian believers over the language issue even led to instances of direct brawling in churches. Because of this, some Vilnius churches, including the Cathedral, were temporarily closed in May of 1940.9 Negative feelings towards Lithuania were strongly supported by underground organizations of  the Polish military. With the start of  World War II, war refugees ­(civilians from various ethnic groups) flooded the region of Vilnius in numbers that may have exceeded 30,000.10 About 14,000 Polish soldiers who had retreated from battle with the Germans were interned by the Lithuanian authorities. Such processes hindered the reintegration of the region into Lithuania. Finally, at the end of May 1940, the Soviet Union began openly exerting diplomatic pressure on Lithuania. On May 25, the Lithuanian secret ­services were accused of kidnapping Red Army soldiers in order to gain access to Soviet military secrets. The Soviets required that Lithuania punish the Minister of the Interior and other culpable officials. Later another charge was voiced: all the Baltic States were accused of forging a military alliance against the USSR. This was a shock to Lithuanian society, as it had been officially stated that the USSR was Lithuania’s ally and that their relations were ­perfect. The Red Army ­soldiers, stationed in Lithuania on the basis of the treaty signed on October 10, 1939, maintained more or less polite relations with the local people and  9 Regina Žepkaitė, Vilniaus istorijos atkarpa (1939 m. spalio 27 d.–1940 m. birželio 15 d.) (Vilnius: Mosklas, 1990), 132–138. 10 Simonas Strelcovas, Antrojo pasaulinio karo pabėgėliai Lietuvoje 1939–1940 metais (Šiauliai: Šiaulių universiteto leidykla, 2010), 33, 101.

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no serious conflicts were reported. A number of officers did not even live in ­military barracks and instead rented apartments from people living not far from the barracks. Some officers would go into town wearing civilian clothes and even eat at the local restaurants. However, the situation radically changed at the end of May and the beginning of June 1940, when the officers suddenly moved from their rented apartments to the military barracks and thereafter avoided communication with the local people. The latter were also alarmed by the increased movement of Soviet military equipment that could be noticed at night.11 As uncertainty over the future grew in society, disillusionment with the president and the government increased as well. In an atmosphere saturated with rumors, the public officials of Lithuania tried to calm the public with claims made in the press and on the radio that the country was not under any threat of losing its sovereignty, and that the USSR was a friendly country. This article focuses on the rising tensions in society during these weeks and discusses the reasons for conflicts and the forms of their expression.

*** As a result of the coup in 1926, Smetona consolidated his position and created a government based on national ideology, which restricted political expression in society. Only one legal pro-governmental political institution, the Lithuanian Nationalist Union, functioned in Lithuania in the 1930s. By the end of the 1930s, the organizational structure of the largest Lithuanian political parties (the right-wing Lithuanian Christian Democratic Party, the ­left-wing Lithuanian Popular Peasants’ Union, and the Social Democratic Party of Lithuania) had been destroyed, and their activities were prohibited by law in 1936. This increased the divide between the government and the politically active segment of society that did not belong to the Nationalists. Criticizing Smetona’s rule, his political opponents frequently referred to its non-democratic governance and establishment of a single-party regime. Other accusations addressed ethnic and social reforms. In the first case, the regime was accused of  being too indulgent toward Polish and Jewish m ­ inorities. In the second case, criticism was directed towards its conservative policy in the social sphere. The regime did not take any measures to achieve social 11 Valstybės saugumo ir Kriminalinės policijos Marijampolės apygardos biuletenis nr. 77. 1940 m. birželio 3 d., Lithuanian Central State Archives, C. 378, in. 10, file 611, sheet 175, 177, 180.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

justice. The political opposition demanded that Smetona implement a second land reform (particularly in the region of Vilnius recovered in 1939), conduct a redistribution of public services, change its remuneration policy, and improve the living conditions of the most disadvantaged strata of society.12 The political opposition criticized the regime for various reasons throughout the 1930s. Its rule was not acceptable to the left-wing layers of society because of the restrictions imposed on personal freedom, creative self-­ expression, and democratic rights.13 The elimination of democratic principles from the governing of the country was not the only reason why the Christian Democrats opposed the regime. They resented the usurpation of their own political ambitions. As the most influential political force in Lithuania by the end of the 1920s, the Christian Democrats were marginalized after the coup and hoped to regain their influence in the government. Nor was Smetona’s regime popular with right-wing radicals (the so-called Voldemarists), who were not against a government grounded on national ideology but disliked the ­insufficiently “radical” degree of Smetona’s nationalism; they were not content with his relatively tolerant policy on national minorities. Instead of Smetona they wanted to see their own ideological leader, former Prime Minister Augustinas Voldemaras, back in power. From 1929 onwards, he had been pushed out of politics and even imprisoned for some time.14 These three political groups—the Christian Democrats, the Nationalists, and the Voldemarists—presented the most serious opposition to the regime. Moreover, beginning in the autumn of 1939, the Communists became a ­relevant part of opposition to the regime as a result of changes in Lithuania’s geopolitical situation. The Communists opposed not only Smetona and the Nationalists but the independent state of Lithuania as such. Involved in persistent conflicts with the authoritarian regime in the 1930s, the opposition attacked Smetona’s rule on four fronts. The first emphasized the anti-constitutional status of the government as well as all the adverse ­consequences of non-democracy. The second highlighted inefficient 12 Valstybės saugumo policijos bendradarbių agentūrinis pranešimas. 1940 m. vasario 27 d., Kaunas, Lithuanian Central State Archives, C. 378, in. 10, file 157, sheet 44–45. 13 Česlovas Laurinavičius, “Dėl Antano Venclovos politinio apsisprendimo motyvų ir kainos,” in Antanas Venclova epochų vėjuose (Vilnius: Lietuvi� literatūros ir tautosakos institutas, 2007), 13–23; Mindaugas Tamošaitis, Didysis apakimas. Lietuvių rašytojų kairėjimas 4-ame XX a. dešimtmetyje (Vilnius: Vilniaus Pedagoginis universitetas, 2010), 147–156. 14 Gediminas Rudis, “Jungtinis antismetoninės opozicijos sąjūdis 1938–1939 metais,” Lietuvos istorijos metraštis. 1996 (Vilnius: LII leidykla, 1997), 182–215.

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socio-economic policy as one of the reasons for the increase of popularity of leftist, pro-communist ideas in society. The third denounced the government’s policy toward the church in Lithuania as Kulturkampf. And the final criticism, which came to overshadow the rest, condemned the government’s inability to make firm and courageous decisions in domestic and foreign policy.15 Dissatisfaction with the political regime at the end of 1939 grew among officers and also peasants and workers who were not involved in direct political activities. The main reasons for this situation were the ethnic tensions in Vilnius and issues of social reform. One secret report prepared in February of 1940 stated that dissatisfaction with governmental policies among officers ran as deep as it did in June 1934, when an attempted coup (referred to as the “June putsch”) had failed to reinstate Voldemaras as president. According to ­security agents, dissatisfaction over the regime in the winter of 1940 was expressed “in a rather public and open way.” Fears grew that “external forces” might take advantage of the situation to occupy the state. To prevent this, the officers had plans to introduce changes in the upper echelons. One of the most important roles in this plan was designated to the popular General Stasys Raštikis, whose relations with the president were strained.16 The second reason for dissatisfaction expressed by a number of ­officers was the political monopoly of the Lithuanian Nationalists’ Union in the c­ ountry. The Union was accused of breaking “national unity” and, according to the opinion of the officers, had to be outlawed as other parties had been in 1936.17 The leaders of the political opposition attempted to make use of the mood of dissatisfaction in society. The Christian Democrats advanced the idea of “national consolidation” or “national unity”. It was supported by the Lithuanian Popular Peasants’ Union and other, more marginal political groups (whereas earlier all parts of the opposition had fought not only against the regime or the Nationalists but also with each other). The first signs that the Christian Democrats were prepared to reach an agreement with liberals and leftists were noted in the spring of 1938.18 By the end of that year, the possible political allies of the Christian Democrats included the Voldemarists (right-wing radicals). The Christian Democrats even accepted the possibility 15 J. Patirgas [Zenonas Ivinskis], “Hitlerio kalba ir kas toliau,” XX amžius, January 31, 1939, 12. 16 Valstybės saugumo policijos bendradarbių agentūrinis pranešimas. 1940 m. vasario 27 d., Kaunas, Lithuanian Central State Archives C. 378, in. 10, file 157, sheet 44–45. 17 Ibid. 18 Mindaugas Tamošaitis, “Valstiečiai liaudininkai jungtiniame antismetoniniame sąjūdyje ‘Ašis’ (1938–1939 m. pradžia),” Lituanistica 4 (2011), 386.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

of collaborating with communists and Soviet supporters.19 Nevertheless, the idea of political and general consolidation failed then to mobilize diverse opposition forces for joint activities. Such an impulse came only from the outside on March 17, 1938, when Poland demanded the establishment of diplomatic relations. Though the majority of Lithuanian politicians and the intelligentsia understood the importance of having diplomatic relations with Poland and advocated their establishment, the humiliating form of their restoration was hurtful. The Polish ultimatum triggered the consolidation of Lithuanian ­society, which was grounded not only in anger against their historical neighbor but also in discontent with the government and the president in particular. The leaders of the political opposition encouraged different ideological factions to seek political and general consolidation.20 The Peasants’ Populists accepted the invitation favorably. The left-wing radicals, the Communists especially, also supported such actions,21 for their own reasons. The Communists had a particularly negative attitude towards the establishment of diplomatic relations between Lithuania and Poland. Unlike members of the official opposition, who were more outraged by the manner in which the relations were established, the Communists found such relations unacceptable in principle: the restoration of diplomatic relations did not serve the interests of the USSR in the region, and the Lithuanian Communists perceived unified opposition as a bridgehead for disseminating anti-Smetona and anti-Polish agitation. The Voldemarists, who still entertained illusions of seeing Augustinas Voldemaras as the leader of the country, also became very active at this time,22 fearing the Christian Democrats, together with the Peasants’ Populists, might form a coalition cabinet without them. The Nationalists, supporters of the ruling government, accepted the invitation of the Christian Democrats “to act jointly,” yet arrogantly ignored the Left and understood the consolidation as the opposition’s “adoption” of their policies rather than as mutual “agreement.”23 Encountering such a diversity of opinion, the Christian Democrats ­concluded the easiest and most rational accord with the leaders of the Peasants’ Populists in the spring of 1938: they rejected the Communists and Voldemarists 19 Ramūnas Labanauskas, “Jaunųjų katalikų sąjūdžio santykis su komunizmo doktrina ir praktika (1936–1940),” Bažnyčios istorijos studijos 3 (2010): 173–242. 20 I. Petrikonis [Ignas Skrupskelis], “Neatsisako nuo. . . Tautos konsolidacijos,” XX amžius, April 11, 1938, 3. 21 Ramūnas Labanauskas, “Jaunųjų katalikų sąjūdžio santykis su komunizmo doktrina ir praktika (1936–1940),” Bažnyčios istorijos studijos 3 (2010): 231. 22 Rudis, “Jungtinis antismetoninės opozicijos sąjūdis 1938–1939 metais,” 186. 23 “Dėl tautininkų sąjungos taktikos,” Lietuvos aidas, April 8, 1938, 4.

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as unacceptably marginal groups and excluded the Nationalists because of their unwillingness to make compromises. The leaders of the new alliance put forward a public proclamation, “Tautai ir vyriausybei” (To the nation and government), in which they announced their joint position. They required the resignation of the Nationalist-dominated government, the formation of a new Cabinet, and the re-orientation of Lithuania’s political organization towards democratic governance. This proclamation reflected several frequently repeated, pointed criticisms of the regime: firstly, its wrong-headed foreign policies; secondly, the fragmentation and depoliticization of society, its exclusion from state affairs and transformation into a “disorderly mass”; thirdly, over the demoralization of the nation through censorship and the suppression of public initiatives, which ­contributed to submission rather than “creativity.” The proclamation served as a foundation for activities of the opposition until the Soviet occupation of the country in 1940. President Smetona understood the relevance of national unity to the survival of the state. However, the achievement of political agreement and reconciliation between the president, the Nationalists supporting him, and the official opposition was obstructed by miscommunication and mutual mistrust; Smetona’s regime suggested working “by agreement” or “approval” instead of meeting the opposition’s demands. Some hopes of achieving political agreement in Lithuania emerged after March 22, 1939, when Germany seized the Klaipėda region. Smetona was forced to reform his Cabinet for the third time in one year. Two Christian Democrats and two Peasants’ Populists were included in the new government. Territorial changes in the map of Lithuania and the most radical shifts in the structure of the Cabinet since 1927 resulted in the opposition’s change of tactics. The demand for a new government had ostensibly been fulfilled by Smetona’s appointment of the new ministers. Although these ministers turned out to belong to the opposition more or less in name only, the Christian Democrats’ call for unification against the regime had nevertheless lost much of its urgency. The slogan of “national consolidation” shaped the new strategy of the Christian Democrats and the Peasants’ Populists, who now aimed to mobilize diverse opposition factions and unify them in a coalition that would be called the Patriotic Front (PF). The PF would leave no place for separate political trends; this would mean the elimination of the Nationalists, the last remaining legal political organization in Lithuania and the main political opponent of the Catholics and the Peasants’ Populists. The former opposition aimed at removing the Nationalists from the government, with Smetona himself to follow. Calling of new elections to the Seimas was also considered.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

However, the inclusion of ministers from the opposition in Smetona’s last two Cabinets did not bring the expected results. The ministers were passive and the political opposition’s plans were unrealized. In late summer 1939, Smetona’s regime yielded to public outcry over the annexation of Klaipėda and easily suppressed the Patriotic Front, while a new nucleus of young radical political figures with totalitarian ideals emerged. These new young leaders controlled the semi-official press and took over leadership of the Nationalist Party from the older generation. They group encompassed many who would later become liberals in post-war exile, such as Bronys Raila, Vincas Rastenis, and Vytautas Alantas. The new leaders of the Nationalists were active, dynamic, and unprepared to seek a compromise with the opposition. Consequently, in 1940, when the Soviets presented their ultimatum to Lithuania, the gap between the government and its people had never been greater.

*** Following the Pact on Mutual Assistance, signed between the USSR and Lithuania in October 1939, units of the Red Army were deployed in Lithuanian territory. Though society was aware of the underlying threat, it was not discussed in public. Compared to a possible German military expansion, the establishment of Soviet military bases was seen as the “lesser evil” by numerous high officials and intellectuals (though they hardly believed this themselves).24 In the spring of 1940, the majority of the leaders of the Christian Democrats, the Peasants’ Populists, and other organizations voiced their determination “to focus on” the Soviets rather than the Germans, for the followng reasons: firstly, witnessing the Wehrmacht’s victorious march through Western Europe, Lithuanians reasoned that it would be impossible for small states to remain sovereign during the war; secondly, “Russians” were thought to be people of lower culture and poor discipline, and as such the opinion spread that it was better for Lithuania to give in to the Soviets rather than the Germans in the face of an eventual crisis; the third argument was based on the assumption that communism had changed and become “milder.” Amidst these attitudes, Lithuanian society and the Christian Democrats in particular expected that, in the case of a Soviet occupation, there would be a chance for Lithuanians to 24 “Baltic Shipping Given Bad Jolt by Sea Warfare. Dr. Pakstas Speaks,” Hamilton Spectator, April 26, 1940, 8; Zenonas Ivinskis Diary, National Library of Lithuania, Department of Rare Books and Manuscripts, fund 29, vol. 2, sheet 452.

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preserve their nation and to restore their independence in the future. During the spring and summer of 1940, a number of politicians and cultural figures repeatedly called for an adjustment to “new existing conditions,” encouraged “new work ­methods,” and urged people to expect changes in international policy, that is, a war between Germany and the USSR.25 Even during the occupation by the Soviets in 1940, the famous philosopher Stasys Šalkauskis resented the intellectuals who fled Lithuania to escape the Soviets. He stated that “Lithuanian culture, as it is clearly Western, is considerably higher than Russian culture. Therefore, Soviet occupation does not present any cultural risk to Lithuania. Lithuanian intellectuals are superior to Russians and will be able to resist them or even to surpass them. So why flee the homeland?”26 In fact, it cannot be said that the opposition had well-defined attitudes towards the Soviets. And yet, despite differences in opinions, the prevailing position was always more favorable to the Soviets than to the Germans. In 1939, when Lithuania fell under Soviet influence, the position of the democratic opposition to Smetona stemmed from several arguments. Firstly, they sided with Šalkauskis’s view about the cultural advantage of Lithuanians over “Russians.” Secondly, it was thought that the Catholic worldview might be used to mobilize society and make Lithuanians immune to communism. Thirdly, in the context of Soviet pressure on Lithuania, attempts were made to highlight the Nationalist-dominated government’s unacceptability to Moscow and to replace members of that government with opposition figures, including leaders of the Christian Democrats and the Peasants’ Populists. It was stated that even though these figures seemed loyal to the Soviets, in the ­cultural context they had to remain “national-Catholic.” The Christian Democrats expressed the opinion that the Nationalists were liberals in terms of their worldview and thus might more easily succumb to the indoctrination of the atheist Soviet system or to “bolshevization.”27 Asserting the necessity of becoming protectors of “Lithuanian identity” and “Catholicism” in the new geopolitical situation and also wishing to regain political power, the Christian Democrats and the Peasants’ Populists tried to present themselves to the Kremlin as a 25 Stanley V. Vardys, The Catholic Church, Dissent and Nationality in Soviet Lithuania (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978), 46–56; Antanas Sabalis, “Dr. Kazys Ambrozaitis”, Aidai 6 (1968): 237; Juozas Girnius. Pranas Dovydaitis (Chicago: Ateitis, 1975), 285. 26 Antanas Maceina, “Nuo ko mes bėgome? Komunizmo ir rusiškumo santykių klausim,” Į laisvę 51 (1971): 6. 27 Artūras Svarauskas, Krikščioniškoji demokratija nepriklausomoje Lietuvoje (1918–1940): ­politinė galia ir jos ribos (Vilnius: LII Leidykla, 2014), 363–365.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

more preferable alternative to the Nationalists. Moreover, the latter had been in power since 1927, and the majority of citizens were already tired of them. In 1940, the leaders of the opposition would once again maintain that Lithuania’s situation should be approached “realistically” under existing international circumstances. In fact, the majority of the opposition leaders ­condemned the Nazi’s military aggression and were looking forward to more forceful action by the Allies against Germany, referring to Lithuania as a temporary protectorate of the USSR.28 Such temporariness was usually explained by the fact that both Germany and the USSR were aggressors, and war between them was inevitable. They would destroy each other in the near future.29 The reasoning went that staying under Soviet rule until the end of World War II would later make it easier for the country to restore its sovereignty and take over the governance of “the new Lithuania.” Politicians of the opposition parties would compare the fatal spring and summer of 1940 with the so-called Soviet statehood episode of Vincas Mickevičius-Kapsukas in 1919. Then, a part of the territory of independent Lithuania was occupied by the Bolsheviks. Apparently, the phrase “to save what can be still saved” became particularly popular in society at that time, encouraging Lithuanians to not avoid collaborating with the Bolsheviks or join Bolshevik structures, and to direct the apparatus of the Bolshevik government towards Lithuanian identity and religious tolerance. The preservation of Lithuanian identity and Catholicism likewise became the dominant goal of political life in 1940 after the country’s incorporation into the USSR. Already in exile after World War II, the priest Mykolas Krupavičius, the most famous and active Christian Democrat of independent Lithuania, justified the Lithuanian intellectuals who had worked in the government of Kapsukas in 1919 and cited this as a precedent for the period of occupation in 1940: “I understand such people and justify their behavior. Our partisans would not refuse to take up one or another post in Bolshevik institutions to help Lithuania and Lithuanians as much as possible. During the first Bolshevik period [1940–1941—A. S.] a number of people asked me whether or not to work in Bolshevik institutions. I suggested without any hesitation: work, but do not sell your soul. Help Lithuanians and Lithuania as much as you can. It is much better if a Lithuanian patriot holds one or another post rather than a person loyal to the Bolsheviks.”30 28 Vincentas Brizgys, Gyvenimo keliai: Atsiminimai (Vilnius: Lietuvos Rašytojų sąjungos ­leidykla, 1993), 101. 29 Zenonas Ivinskis Diary, s. 388. 30 Mykolas Krupavičius, “1926 metų gruodžio septynioliktoji. Liūdna 30 metų sukaktis,” Lithuanian Institute of History, Department of Manuscripts, C. 54, file 35, sheet 9.

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The opposition leaders’ call for “realistic politics,” that is, the autonomy of Lithuania within the structure of the USSR, came to fore during the last meeting of the last government on June 14 and 15, 1940, as the ministers of the Christian Democrats and the Peasants’ Populists joined other colleagues in unconditional acceptance of the ultimatum from Moscow without any discussion.31 This decision not to provoke the Soviets and to approve of all their requirements also had an additional reason: up to the very last minute, the Christian Democrats were sure that General Raštikis, a person from their milieu, was the best candidate for prime minister of Lithuania and the one who would be most acceptable to Moscow. During the last years of independence, he became a personality of the utmost importance in the military and in society, and publicly criticized Smetona’s rule. Though he never formally held any political posts, General Raštikis was invited to take part in the last meeting of the government. President Smetona had even approved of his candidacy for the post of the new head of the government. During this last meeting of the Cabinet, General Raštikis openly supported the opinion held by the Christian Democrats and Peasants’ Populists, that it was pointless to struggle with the Soviets. He insisted on “attempts not to make the ‘Russians’ angry”: “We will have to work with them, and that is why we have to show more sincerity.”32 It is interesting to point out that Viacheslav Molotov, head of the Soviet government and Minister for Foreign Affairs, had also considered the candidacy of the general for the post of prime minister. The Russian archives house a significant document—the draft of the Soviet ultimatum to Lithuania of June 14, 1940. It is thought to have been prepared no later than June 11, 1940. This earlier variant of the ultimatum reveals that Moscow had planned to demand that Lithuania dissolve the government led by the Nationalists and replace it with a new, more pro-Soviet Cabinet “coordinated” with the Kremlin. Raštikis had been named to head the new Lithuanian government.33 He remained the sole candidate during the tense nighttime meeting of the Lithuanian government on June 15. The Lithuanian press had prepared information on the new prime minister in advance and planned to print it on the front page next to a photograph of General Raštikis.34 However, the layout of this particular edition of the daily, XX amžius (The twentieth century), had 31 Truska, Antanas Smetona ir jo laikai, 372. 32 Kazys Musteikis, Prisiminimų fragmentai (Vilnius: Mintis, 1989), 54. 33 Jelena Zubkova, Pabaltijys ir Kremlius 1940–1953 (Vilnius: Mintis, 2010), 89. 34 Zenonas Ivinskis Diary, sheet 502.

Government, Society, and the Political Crisis in Lithuania, 1938–1940

to be changed at the last minute when the Soviets unexpectedly rejected the general’s candidacy. Shortly after, additional units of the Red Army marched into Lithuania, and supreme powers were given to the high Soviet officials— Vladimir Dekanozov, a deputy of Molotov, and Nikolai Pozdniakov, the Soviet envoy to Lithuania.

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Latvia, Nazi German Occupation, and the Western Allies, 1941–1945 Uldis Neiburgs The Museum of the Occupation of Latvia, Riga

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here are a broad range of studies dedicated to Latvia under the Nazi German occupation, encompassing both the historical, political, and ­military side as well as economic, cultural, and social aspects of the occupation. Nazi regime politics, the Holocaust and other Nazi crimes, public opinion, resistance, and collaboration with the Nazis have been studied both in Western historiography and in Latvian historical scholarship for more than twenty-five years, since the restoration of Latvian independence.1 Baltic issues have also been thoroughly researched as part of the diplomatic history of the United States and Great Britain and their relations with the Soviet Union during World War II.2   1 Andrew Ezergailis, The Holocaust in Latvia 1941–1944: The Missing Center (Riga: Institute of the History of Latvia, 1996); Valters Nollendorfs, Erwin Oberländer, eds., The Hidden and Forbidden History of Latvia under Soviet and Nazi Occupations 1940–1991: Selected Research of the Commission of the Historians of Latvia (Riga: Institute of the History of Latvia, 2005); Valdis O. Lumans, Latvia in World War II (New York: Fordham University Press, 2006); Daina Bleiere et al., Latvija Otrajā pasaules karā (1939–1945) (Riga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2008); Björn M. Felder, Lettland im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Zwischen sowjetischen und deutschen Besatzern 1940–1946 (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh, 2009); Valters Nollendorfs, Erwin Oberländer, ed., Latvijas Vēsturnieku komisijas raksti, vol. 26: Okupācija, kolaborācija, pretošanās: vēsture un vēstures uztvere (Riga: Institute of the History of Latvia, 2010). 2 Maris A. Mantenieks, “FDR and the Baltic States,” in Franklin D. Roosevelt and the Formation of the Modern World, ed. Thomas C. Howard, William D. Pederson (New York: Taylor and

Latvia, Nazi German Occupation and the Western Allies, 1941–1945

This article is devoted to a topic still lacking detailed and comprehensive research. It deals with wartime contact and cooperation among the national resistance movement in Latvia during the Nazi occupation, Latvian diplomats in the West, and the foreign and military intelligence services of the Western Allies. These three groups are examined in this context in order to uncover interrelations and interactions among them. Due to factors such as the illegal character of the resistance movement’s activities and the secretive nature of ­foreign intelligence services, investigation of these subjects is especially complex and time-consuming. During World War II, Latvia lost its national independence and underwent a series of occupations, including two by the Soviet Union with an intervening period under Nazi rule. Latvia’s initial occupation by the Soviet Union on June 17, 1940 by means of military threat and its subsequent annexation and incorporation into the USSR were unlawful acts of aggression that blatantly violated ­international law. From a legal point of view, the same can be said about the change of military regimes in June and July 1941, when, after the outbreak of war between Germany and the USSR, the territory of Latvia was subjugated to National Socialist Germany. The Nazis regarded Latvia not as a liberated independent state but rather as an occupied territory of the Soviet Union. Yet, from the perspective of state and international law, both the government of the Latvian SSR, which evacuated to the USSR during the war, and the Latvian ­Self-Administration of the Land, which was formed under the Nazi occupation, were unlawful.3 In spite of the de facto loss of its sovereignty, Latvia continued to exist de jure as a subject of international law during the war. This was manifested in the attitude of the Western Allied powers—the United States and Great Britain— who fought against the Axis states. They regarded the subjugation of the Baltic states to the USSR, and later to Germany, as unlawful and invalid. The only legal representatives of the Republic of Latvia were the holders of plenipotentiary powers: the ambassador in London, Kārlis Zariņš, and the alternate Francis, 2003), 93–121; Antonijs Zunda, “The Baltic States and Great Britain during the Second World War,” in Britain and the Baltic: Studies in Commercial, Political and Cultural Relations 1500–2000, ed. Patrick Salmon, Tony Barrow (Sunderland: University of Sunderland Press, 2003), 267–292; Kaarel Piirimäe, Roosevelt, Churchill, and the Baltic Question. Allied Relations during the Second World War (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014).   3 Kārlis Kangeris, “Izvēles iespējas: ‘Jaunā Eiropa’, padomju republika vai neatkarīga valsts. Valststiesiskie jautājumi un ‘lielā politika’ kara gados (1941–1945),” in Latvijas Vēsturnieku komisijas raksti, vol. 1: Latvija Otrajā pasaules karā, ed. Daina Bleiere, Iveta Šķiņķe (Riga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2000), 79–94.

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plenipotentiary, the Latvian ambassador in Washington, DC, Alfrēds Bīlmanis.4 Their status was recognized, fully or with few reservations, by the governments of their countries of residence, Great Britain and the United States. After the German invasion of the Soviet Union and Japan’s attack on the United States in 1941, Great Britain and the United States became allies of the USSR against National Socialist Germany. In the subsequent course of the war, they had to give priority to the considerations of realpolitik over ethical ­principles.5 Consequently, they were forced to take into account the geopolitical interests and military contributions of the USSR in the war against Nazism. Although the Baltic diplomats abroad wanted to facilitate the victory of the Western democracies in the war, their efforts to officially join the Atlantic Charter, signed on August, 14, 1941, and the United Nations Declaration, adopted on January 4, 1942, were both rejected.6 Future research should seek answers to the following questions: In what practical ways could the United States and Great Britain have demonstrated a firmer stance toward the Soviet Union and more determinedly protected the interests of East European states from 1941 to 1943, when the USSR was in need of US military and civilian supplies, in the framework of the Lend-Lease program and other military assistance? What could have been the actual effects of a more determined stance by the Western Allies after the opening of the Second Front in 1944 and 1945, when the Western powers had fulfilled all their promises to the USSR? How might the USSR have reacted if the United States and Great Britain had adopted such a stance? And if relations between the Western countries and the USSR had been different, would the subsequent course of World War II and the defeat of Nazism have been substantially affected or even changed? While the territory of Latvia was in the hands of one occupier—National Socialist Germany—with the threat of yet another USSR occupation ­looming, the Latvian people’s aspirations for self-determination and desire for the ­recovery of their national independence were represented by the national   4 TNA, FO 371, 24765, 7562, 2039/59; NA II, RG 59, microfilm 1177, roll. 16; Ainārs Lerhis, “Latvijas valdības 1940. gada 17. maija ārkārtas pilnvaru jautājums,” Latvijas Vēstures Institūta Žurnāls 1 (2011): 48–79.   5 For more robust account of American war time diplomacy please see Henry Kissinger, Diplomacy (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1994), 394–422.  6 LNA LVA, 2263/1/30; LNA LVVA, 293/1/847; Ainārs Lerhis, “Ārvalstu okupācijas neatzīšanas politika: Lielbritānijas un ASV ārpolitiskie lēmumi 1942.-1945. gadā,” Latvijas Zinātņu Akadēmijas Vēstis, part A, 1/2 (2010): 92–116.

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resistance movement, which had assumed various organized and spontaneous forms.7 It is important to stress that, unlike in Nazi-occupied Western Europe, resistance movements in the Baltic States had to fight against not one, but two enemies: the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. Weakening Germany’s m ­ ilitary force in the struggle against the USSR was not in the interest of the Baltic nations, because at that time Germany was the only military power that could prevent a second Soviet occupation. That is the reason why, in many cases, collaboration with the Nazis was seen as the lesser evil, and resistance against the Nazis assumed a mostly non-violent character. Another peculiarity of the resistance movement in Latvia was that its ­ultimate goal to restore the state’s de facto sovereignty prevailed over ensuring that all political sides and nationalities cooperate and come to each other’s aid to set up a united front against the Nazi occupation regime and its policies. The Soviet and Nazi occupations had managed either to turn into enemies or to juxtapose many inhabitants of Latvia, who had previously lived in their country side-by-side without pronounced hatred. As a result, different groups within the Latvian nation focused on their own survival during the World War II years, be it from Soviet deportations, the Nazi Holocaust, or other repressions. Their actions were mostly determined by their existential survival interests, while the view, which dominates the present-day outlook, of German National Socialism as an absolute evil and Soviet Communism as a relative evil had no firm ground at that time. As the same time, pro-Western sentiments were also broadly prevalent in wartime Latvian society, which had high hopes for support and help from Great Britain and the United States to aid in the restoration of Latvia’s national ­sovereignty. Underground publications from various groups of the national resistance movement voiced belief in such a scenario, and Nazi propaganda used multiple methods to combat such attitudes.8 Attempts by the Latvian resistance movement to establish contacts with officials of the Western and Scandinavian countries were unfruitful until the summer of 1943, when the former Latvian Ambassador to Sweden,  7 Dzintars Ērglis, “Nacionālā pretošanās kustība vācu okupācijas periodā,” in Latvieši un Latvija, vol. II: Valstiskums Latvijā un Latvijas valsts–izcīnītā un zaudētā, ed. Tālavs Jundzis, Guntis Zemītis (Riga: Latvijas Zinātņu akadēmija, 2013), 405–422.   8 NA II, RG 59, microfilm 1185, roll 4; Uldis Neiburgs, “Western Allies in Latvian Public Opinion and Nazi Propaganda during the German Occupation 1941–1945,” in The Hidden and Forbidden History of Latvia under Soviet and Nazi Occupations 1940–1991, 132–147.

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Voldemārs Salnais, began taking an increasingly active interest in the situation of ­Nazi-occupied Latvia and to consider the possibility of establishing a political center of the resistance movement. In these efforts he was guided by a belief then dominant among Latvian diplomats abroad: that the Western Allies would play the decisive role in defeating Germany, and therefore everything possible had to be done to inform the West that the people of Latvia did not want to be subjugated by either Germany or the USSR, but rather wished their statehood to be restored. On July 22, the journalist Leonids Siliņš successfully crossed the Baltic Sea and reached the Swedish island of Gotland, bringing with him a wealth of information on the situation in Nazi-occupied Latvia. On August 13, 1943, the Latvian Central Council (LCC), c­onsisting of former political figures, was founded in Riga under the chairmanship of Professor Konstantīns Čakste. The LCC based its political activities on the Latvian Constitution of 1922 as the only foundation for the restoration of the independent and democratic Republic of Latvia.9 It was a clandestine ­organization, whose composition, goals, and activities were not widely known to the Latvian public. The members of the LCC also did not openly oppose the policies of the Nazi occupation that went against Latvia’s national interests (e.g., the Holocaust in 1941, the formation of the Latvian Legion in 1943, and so on) but mostly focused on political debates within the organization. The LCC managed to establish secret contacts with representatives of a­nalogous organizations from the other Baltic resistance movements, the Supreme Committee for the Liberation of Lithuania, and the National Committee of the Republic of Estonia. These organizations produced several joint political declarations and tried to coordinate their future activities in a joint struggle for the restoration of the national independence of their respective countries. In December 1943, “A Declaration in the Name of the Peoples of Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia” was adopted and later sent to the West. Between January and April 1944 at least three joint political meetings of representatives of the Baltic resistance movements took place surreptitiously in Riga.10 The United States and British military intelligence services, into whose field of attention the Nazi-occupied Baltic States came during the war, tried to maintain a position that differed from the official diplomacy of the Western   9 Geoffrey Swain, “Latvia’s Democratic Resistance: a Forgotten Episode from the Second World War,” European History Quarterly 39:2 (2009): 242–245. 10 NA II, RG 226, entry 16, box. 817, file 67897 C; Tomas Remeikis, ed., Lithuania under German Occupation 1941–1945. Dispatches from US Legation in Stockholm (Vilnius: Vilnius University Press, 2005), 594–595; Mart Orav, Enn Nõu, ed., Tõotan ustavaks jääda… Eesti Vabariigi valitsus 1940–1992 (Tartu: Eesti Kirjanduse Selts, 2004), 641–644, 770–773, 1195.

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Allies. Already in 1942, a special Baltic States Section was established in the headquarters of the US Office of Strategic Services in Washington, D.C., but ­particularly active in gathering information about the Nazi-occupied Baltic states was the Special Reporting Section of the US Embassy in Sweden, headed by Harry Carlsson. The former Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian ambassadors in Stockholm—Heinrich Laretei, Voldemārs Salnais, and ­ Vytautas Gylys—contributed greatly to keeping the Western Allies informed. The US Ambassador in Sweden, Herschel Johnson, received their reports on a regular basis and f­ orwarded them with his comments to the State Department in Washington.11 The rapid advance of the Red Army to the borders of the Baltic states in 1943 and 44 also caused concerns in the C-Bureau of the Swedish Defense Headquarters under the command of  Major Carl Petersen. Among other things, the C-Bureau gathered military data concerning a possible intervention by the German armed forces in Sweden.12 As the defeat of Germany became imminent, the British Secret Intelligence Services, whose representative, Colonel Alexander McKibbin, worked actively in Stockholm during the war, also became increasingly interested in the situation on the Baltic littoral.13 The special role of neutral Sweden in ensuring contact between Nazioccupied Latvia and the Western Allies was dictated not only by its geographic proximity to the Baltic area, but also by the fact that the embassies of all warring parties—Germany, the USSR, and the Western Allies—as well as agents of their intelligence services could operate without hindrance in Stockholm during the war. The Swedish government’s attitude toward the Baltic states during World War II was subject to the general evolution of Swedish policy: from unprincipled submission to the political ambitions of the USSR in 1940 and 41, to ­maneuvering between the interests of Germany and the Western Allies in the subsequent years, to concerns about an excessive increase in the influence of the Soviet Union and threats to Sweden’s sovereignty in the final phase of the war and the post-war period. Although Sweden had in fact accepted Latvia’s annexation by the USSR in 1940, it did not raise any objections to the clandestine evacuation of thousands of Baltic civilian refugees to Sweden later on.14 11 Andrew Ezergailis, ed., Symposium of the Commision of the Historians of Latvia , vol. 5: Stockholm Documents. The German Occupation of Latvia. 1941–1945: What Did America Know? (Riga: Institute of the History of Latvia, 2002), IX-XX. 12 Howard D. Grier, Hitler/Dönitz and the Baltic Sea. The Third Reich’s Last Hope, 1944–1945 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2007), 165. 13 Stephen Dorill, MI6. Inside the Covert World of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service (New York: Free Press, 2000), 273. 14 Kārlis Kangeris, “Sweden, the Soviet Union and the Baltic Question 1940–1964. A Survey,”

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Thanks to active cooperation between the Latvian Central Council and Ambassador Salnais, and to the diplomatic activity of his colleagues, Zariņš in London and Bīlmanis in Washington, a stream of materials and political ­declarations on the situation in Nazi-occupied Latvia, and on the hopes of its population to recover their national independence, reached the US State Department and British Foreign Office during the war. These political documents included: the Political Platform and Declaration of the LCC; a report from the Latvian Social-Democratic Workers Party on the situation in Latvia and in the other Baltic States; a report from representatives of the Free Trade Unions of the Baltic States, titled “The Workers of the Baltic States under the German and Russian Occupation”; a memorandum on the necessity for renewed Latvian independence, signed by 188 Latvian political and public representatives; a declaration by Pauls Kalniņš, President of the last Latvian Parliament, concerning the status of the Latvian ambassadors to Great Britain and the US, Zariņš and Bīlmanis; and a statement from the LCC about the efforts to restore the independent Republic of Latvia.15 Military and economic information about Latvia acquired by the Western Allies was one component of British and American analysts’ knowledge and views on Nazi-Germany’s policies and their changing course throughout the war. The former Latvian ambassador in Stockholm, Voldemārs Salnais, played a particularly important role in this regard by carrying out preliminary processing and critical evaluation of the information received, both from legal sources as well as from the resistance movement in secret. His efforts systematized the data and thus made them more credible. Furthermore, thanks to the LCC’s activity, the West received not only information provided by official sources (the press, radio, and so on) and individual eyewitnesses, but also publicly ­inaccessible original documents issued by the German occupation regime and the Latvian administrative authorities.16 in Relations between the Nordic Countries and the Baltic Nations in the XX Century, ed. Kalervo Hovi (Turku: Turku University Press, 1998), 207. Note also Sweden’s negative reaction to the Baltic’s peaceful surrender to the Soviets in 1940, in contrast to Poland and Finland who chose to fight. See Magnus Ilmjärv, Silent Submission: Formation of Foreign Policy of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania: Period from mid-1920s to Annexation in 1940 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell International, 2004). 15 Uldis Neiburgs, “The Latvian National Resistance Movement and the Western Allies during German Occupation, 1941–1945,” in Acta humanitarica universitatis Saulensis. Mokslo darbai, vol. 16: Regionas laisvės kovose: istorija ir atmintis (Šiauliai: Šiaulių universiteto ­leidykla, 2013), 88–90. 16 HIA, Salnais Voldemārs, box. 1–2; Andrew Ezergailis, ed., Stockholm Documents. The

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There is no doubt that a large proportion of political information received from Salnais and the Latvian resistance movement was inconvenient from the perspective of Allied–USSR relations and was thus ignored until the end of the war. This information, on the other hand, could be of far-reaching importance in the near future because it was uncontaminated by Nazi and Communist ideology and disinformation about a purported desire of the Latvian population either to take part in the struggle for a “New Europe” together with Nazi Germany, or, on the other hand, to be “liberated” by the Soviet Union. Especially important for cooperation between the resistance movement in Nazi-occupied Latvia and the Western Allies was the period from January to November 1944. During this time several thousand Latvian refugees came to Gotland in boats organized by the Latvian Central Council and the SwedishLatvian Relief Committee in Stockholm, with organizational and financial support from Sweden’s C-Bureau and the US War Refugee Board.17 The ­organization of such a massive refugee movement was difficult and dangerous. It had to avoid endangering the Swedish policy of neutrality, and therefore could not be organized officially. From the Nazi point of view, boat traffic was regarded as illegal espionage and improper communication with foreign ­countries, which were treated with the utmost severity. The Swedish Defense Headquarters was interested in obtaining military information about the situation in Latvia. With this objective in mind, the arrival of Latvian political refugees was tolerated and indirectly supported. In contrast, the participation of the US War Refugee Board in this secret traffic was dictated by humanitarian considerations and the wish to rescue victims of Nazi persecution. From January 31, 1944 to March 5, 1945, with the support of the C-Bureau, 37 boat trips between Sweden and Latvia took place.18 From early June to late September 1944, at least eighteen refugee boats financed by the War Refugee Board came from Latvia to Sweden.19 Out of more than 4,500 Latvian refugees, 2,077 arrived in Sweden individually, while 2,541 came in refugee boats organized by the Latvian Central Council. Of the latter number, at least 764 German Occupation of the Commision Latvia. 1941–1945, IX-XX. 17 Uldis Neiburgs, “Zviedru un amerikāņu izlūkdienestu loma Latvijas Centrālās padomes organizētajās bēgļu laivu akcijās pāri Baltijas jūrai uz Zviedriju, 1944.-1945. gads,” in Latvijas Vēsturnieku komisijas raksti, vol. 27: Otrais pasaules karš un Latvija: notikumi un sekas, 20. gadsimta 40.-60. gadi, ed. Daina Bleiere (Riga: Zinātne, 2011), 170–194. 18 KA, Försvarsstaben, C-byrån, file I, vol. 2. 19 RL, RG 220, file 72.

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persons reached Gotland in boats supported by Sweden’s C-Bureau, and about 740 refugees came in boats financed by the US War Refugee Board. Some of the boat trips used both Swedish technical support and American financial support. Many refugees were taken across the Baltic Sea by Latvian fishermen without any government support.20 The members of the resistance movement planned to achieve their ­political goal—the restoration of Latvia’s national sovereignty—in an opportune moment between the retreat of the German Army and the invasion of the USSR’s troops into the territory of Latvia. They intended to establish ­control with the help of Latvian armed forces, declare Latvia’s i­ndependence, and form a temporary government. They expected to receive political support from Western Allies and the Scandinavian countries. In the specific ­historical situation, however, the plans of the Latvian national resistance ­movement failed. Their implementation was hampered by the arrests of the LCC leaders (Konstantīns Čakste, Bruno Kalniņš, Ludvigs Sēja) by Nazi security ­institutions, and even more so by the Red Army’s attack on the Baltic region in the summer of 1944, as well as by the unfavorable international and military ­situation overall for the Baltic countries in the final phase of World War II.21 Due to these circumstances, the Latvian Central Council had no chance either to announce the restoration of Latvia’s independence, which had been declared in Riga on September 8, 1944,22 or to form a provisional government, let alone to use potential Latvian military units to fortify its independence claims. After the Germans liquidated the core of the military group of General Jānis Kurelis on November 14, 1944, only a 500-soldier battalion under Lieutenant Roberts Rubenis actively resisted the Germans. Eight Latvian ­officers were sentenced to death by an SS and Police court in Liepāja on November 19. Over 1000 men were arrested and sent to concentration camps in Germany. The defeat of the Kurelis group was a significant blow against the 20 Uldis Neiburgs, “Zviedru un amerikāņu izlūkdienestu loma Latvijas Centrālās padomes organizētajās bēgļu laivu akcijās pāri Baltijas jūrai uz Zviedriju, 1944.-1945. gads,” 170–194. 21 For more information about the efforts of the resistance movement to organize refugee boats to Sweden, and the attempts to restore Latvia’s national sovereignty in a military and political way, see Uldis Neiburgs, Draudu un cerību lokā: Latvijas pretošanās kustība un Rietumu sabiedrotie (1941–1945) (Riga: Mansards, 2017), 287–396. 22 RA, 730154, Lettiska Hjälpkommittens Dokumentsamlig, 78: 37/1, 78: 37/2; Uldis Neiburgs, “Latvijas Republikas Saeimas priekšsēža Paula Kalniņa 1944. gada 8. septembra deklarācijas par Latvijas valsts atjaunošanu un valdības izveidošanu,” Latvijas Vēstures Institūta Žurnāls, 3 (2014): 132–142.

Latvia, Nazi German Occupation and the Western Allies, 1941–1945

national resistance movement, from which it was unable to recover before the war ended on May 8, 1945.23 An evaluation of the history of wartime cooperation among the Latvian national resistance movement in Nazi-occupied Latvia, Latvia’s diplomatic representatives abroad, and various foreign-service and military intelligence ­institutions of the Western Allies is necessarily complicated. It is a wartime ­history of high ideals for a post-war Europe amidst a world subverted both by Soviet machtpolitik and Western realpolitik on the one hand, and by the real fears and unrealistic expectations of Latvia and the other Baltic states on the other.24 It does not matter whether the alliance of the Western Allies and the Soviet Union was dictated by the prime concern about a possible armistice agreement between the Soviet Union and Germany; by the Western Allies’ sense of guilt over their failure to open the Second Front earlier, as had been promised; by their reckoning with the military might of the Red Army; by the belief that the USSR would become democratized and adopt a more humane stance in ­international relations; by the need for Soviet help in the Pacific; or by any other considerations. As far as Baltic expectations and hopes were concerned, the failure of the United States and Great Britain to apply and follow the f­ undamental principles of the Atlantic Charter and United Nations Declaration with regard to East European countries demonstrated disrespect for the right to self-determination that the Western democratic powers themselves had proclaimed. Instead of abiding by their principles, they collaborated with a criminal, totalitarian Communist regime, resulting in the subjugation of the Baltic states to Soviet occupational rule for nearly half a century. Despite this major failure, the contacts that were established between the national resistance movement and the Western Allies during the war played a not-insignificant role later on. By systematically providing information and adopting political declarations, the Baltic resistance movements and Baltic diplomats in the West counteracted the disinformation spread by the USSR about the desire of Latvians, Estonians, and Lithuanians to belong to the Soviet 23 Kārlis Kangeris, “Kurelieši: ‘Mirt par Latviju uz Latvijas zemes.’ Vācu varas iestāžu attieksme pret ģenerāli Kureli,” in Virzība uz demokrātisko Eiropu 2. pasaules kara laikā. Latvijas Centrālā padome un “Kurelieši”: konferences materiāli, ed. Inesis Feldmanis (Riga: LU Akadēmiskais apgāds, 2010), 89–100. 24 Maris A. Mantenieks, “FDR and the Baltic States,” pp. 93–121; Geoffrey Swain, “‘The highest flights of circumlocutory art’: Britain, Latvia and Recognizing the Soviet Annexation of 1940,” Journal of Baltic Studies 43:3 (2012): 346–348, 356–360.

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Union. Thus, they encouraged the Western Allies not to give up their policy of not recognizing the occupation of the Baltic States. In the immediate post-war period, this information also constituted a foundation for an impartial understanding of the Baltic peoples’ destiny in World War II. Furthermore, it contributed to the favorable attitude that United States and British authorities displayed towards Lithuanian, Latvian, and Estonian refugees in the West, as well as toward the oppressed Baltic people in their occupied homelands. The experience that the American, British, and Swedish military intelligence services gained in running secret boat campaigns and maintaining radio contacts across the Baltic Sea was useful for intelligence activities against their former ally, the USSR, during the Cold War. Admittedly, the work of the Baltic resistance movements and Baltic diplomats in the West failed to provide sufficient political ammunition to make the United States and Great Britain advocate for the Baltic states’ sovereignty during and after the war. Nevertheless, this work laid the foundation for the restoration of the Baltic states’ independence and their international recognition in 1990 and 91.

Archival collections consulted: Latvijas Nacionālais arhīvs, Latvijas Valsts arhīvs (LNA LVA), 2263. fonds “Zariņš Kārlis, Latvijas sūtnis Lielbritānijā, ārkārtējo pilnvaru nesējs”. Latvijas Nacionālais arhīvs, Latvijas Valsts vēstures arhīvs (LNA LVVA), 293. fonds “Latvijas sūtniecība Vašingtonā”. Krigsarkivet, Stockholm (KA), Försvarsstaben, C-byrån, B I, B II, F I. Riksarkivet, Stockholm (RA), Lettiska Hjälpkommittens Dokumentsamlig; “Sandlerkommissionen”, Kommittéarkiv 984. The National Archives, Kew, Richmond, Surrey, London (TNA), Foreign Office 370, 371. Hoover Institution on War, Revolution and Peace Archives, Stanford, CA (HIA), Bīlmanis Alfrēds, Cielēns Fēlikss, Salnais Voldemārs. National Archives II, College Park, MD (NA II), Record Group 59 (State Department), Record Group 84 (Stockholm Legation and Embassy), Record Group 226 (Office of Strategic Services). Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library, Hyde Park, NY (RL), Record Group 220 (War Refugee Board).

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition: An Outline of the Post-1989 Mnemohistory of Estonian “Freedom Fighters” Ene Kõresaar University of  Tartu

INTRODUCTION

I

n most European countries, a special meaning continues to be assigned to World War II in defining individual identity and the consensus of values related thereto. At the same time, World War II is an event whose impact is characterized by a conflict in collective memory. From the beginning of the ­twenty-first century, the Baltic countries, Estonia included, have come to symbolize this conflict, whether as part of historical controversies with Russia or in the “war of monuments.” Just as the Second World War is a characteristic part of contemporary collective memory, it also forms a reference point for ­individual and group identities. Siobhan Kattago states that World War II is more of a moral trauma in Estonia than in other countries because “it has different conflicting meanings beyond the liberation of Europe from fascism: Soviet occupation, loss of independence, deportations, destroyed cities, military and civilian death as well as heroic resistance to the Soviet Union among the Estonian Resistance This research was supported by the institutional research funding IUT34-32 from the Estonian Ministry of Education and Research and by the ERA.NET RUS Plus initiative under the EU’s Seventh Framework Programme for Research (LIVINGMEMORIES).

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Fighters and Forest Brothers.”1 The issue of how to interpret the experience and role of men who wore the German uniform is one of great controversy, as it illustrates the way the post-Soviet Baltic narrative of World War II is at odds with the Western one. To date, memory researchers have focused their attention on the meaning of World War II in international relationships2 and national politics of memory,3 as well as on representations of remembrance in the public space.4 There is also a significant pool of literature on the autobiographical interpretation of individual experiences of war.5 The level of social ­remembrance  1 Siobhan Kattago, “Sõjamälestusmärgid ja tsiviliseerimisprotsess.” In Monumentaalne Konflikt: mälu, poliitika ja identiteet tänapäeva Eestis, ed. Pille Petersoo, Marek Tamm (Tallinn: Varrak, 2008), 51–69, in particular 64.   2 See Maria Mälksoo, “Liminality and Contested Europeanness: Conflicting Memory Politics in the Baltic Space.” In Identity and Foreign Policy: Baltic-Russian Relations in the Context of European Integration, ed. Eiki Berg, Piret Ehin (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, 2009), 65–83; eadem, “Hard Memory, Soft Security: Competing Securitisation of the Legacy of Communism in Eastern Europe,” East European Memory Studies 9 (2012): 17–20; eadem, “Criminalizing Communism: Transnational Mnemopolitics in Europe.” International Political Sociology 8:1 (2014): 82–99. See also Eva Clarita Onken, “Commemorating 9 May: The Baltic States and European Memory Politics,” in Identity and Foreign Policy. BalticRussian Relations and European Integration, 33–50.   3 See Eva-Clarita Pettai, “Establishing ‘Holocaust Memory’. A Comparison of Estonia and Latvia.” In Historical Memory Culture in the Enlarged Baltic Sea Region and its Symptoms Today, ed Oliver Rathkolb; Imbi Sooman (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2011), 159–174; Eva-Clarita Pettai and Vello Pettai, Transitional and Retrospective Justice in the Baltic States (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). See also Marek Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time: Memory Politics in Estonia, 1991–2011,” Nationalities Papers 41:4 (2013): 651–674.   4 See Stuart Burch and Ulf Zander, “Preoccupied by the Past. The Case of Estonian’s Museum of Occupations,” Skandia: Tidskrift för historist forskning 72:2 (2008): 53–73; Ene Kõresaar, “Märkmeid mälukultuuri muutumisest siirdeajal: Teine maailmasõda Eesti Ajaloomuuseumi püsiekspositsioonis 1980. aastate lõpul ja 1990. aastate algul,” Eesti Rahva Muuseumi Aastaraamat 54 (2011): 66–91; Ene Kõresaar, Kristiina Müür, Tiiu Kreegipuu, “Journalistic Commemoration of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact in Estonia 1989–2009,” in The Curving Mirror of Time, ed. Halliki Harro-Loit; Katrin Kello (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2013), 93–114; Marek Miil, “22 September 1944 in Soviet Estonian Anniversary Journalism,” in The Curving Mirror of Time, 115–138; Aro Velmet, “Breaking the Silences: Contradictions and Consistency in Representing Victimhood in Baltic Museums of Occupation,” in Maps of Memory: Trauma, Identity and Exile in Deportation Memoires from the Baltic States, ed. Violeta Davoliute, Tomas Balkelis (Vilnius: Institute of Lithuanian Folklore and Literature, 2012), 179–210.   5 Tiina Kirss, Ene Kõresaar, and Marju Lauristin, eds., She Who Remembers Survives: Interpreting Estonian Women’s Post-Soviet Life Stories (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2004); Ene Kõresaar, ed., Soldiers of Memory: World War II and Its Aftermath in Estonian Post-Soviet Life Stories (New York, Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2011); Leena Kurvet-Käosaar, “Voicing Trauma in the Deportation Narratives of  Baltic Women,” in Haunted Narratives: Life Writing in an Age of Trauma, ed. Gabriele

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition

has appeared in the researchers’ sphere of interest in connection with major memory ­conflicts, such as the Bronze Soldier crisis of 2007.6 This article draws another, longer-term and less clear-cut trajectory of the conflict, beginning with the late 1980s and focusing on post-1989 processes of memory politics surrounding the efforts to make meaning out of Estonians’ participation in the German armed forces, who were retrospectively called “freedom fighters.” It offers a contextualized periodization of the politics of recognition related to this controversial fact. The post-Soviet memory work of World War II veterans who fought in German uniform is directed toward achieving national recognition of their status as “freedom fighters.” Charles Taylor explains that individuals’ self-definition is dependent on public recognition of the social group in and through which they develop, affirm, and revise their social identities.7 Concern for public recognition involves issues regarding the distribution of material resources and opportunities, as well as those regarding society’s dominant cultural patterns and valuations, which establish the social foundations of self-respect for d­ ifferent social groups.8 According to Stephan Feuchtwang, 9 the demand for (public) a­ cknowledgement of difficult past experiences can be understood as a kind of a debt claim, one that needs redemption. A solution for this need would be to achieve a new, ­officially

  6

  7   8 9

Rippl, Philipp Schweighauser, Tiina Kirss et al. (Toronto: University of Toronto, 2013), 129– 151; eadem, “Creating a Habitable Everyday in Estonian Women’s Diaries of the Repressions of the Stalinist Regime,” in Unspeakable: Narratives of Trauma, ed. Magda Stroińska, Vittorina Cecchetto, Kate Szymanski (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang Verlag, 2014), 141–156; Tiiu Jaago, “Cultural Borders in an Autobiographical Narrative,” Folklore: Electronic Journal of Folklore 52 (2012): 15–38; eadem, “Discontinuity and Continuity in Representations of 20th Century Estonian History,” Culture Unbound. Journal of Current Cultural Research 6 (2014): 1071–1094. Karsten Brüggemann and Andres Kasekamp, “Identity Politics and Contested Histories in Divided Societies: The Case of Estonian War Monuments,” In Identity and Foreign Policy. Baltic-Russian Relations and European Integration, 51–64; Martin Ehala, “The Bronze Soldier: Identity Threat and Maintenance in Estonia,” Journal of Baltic Studies 1 (2009): 139–158; Marek Tamm and Pille Petersoo, “Monumentaalne konflikt: sissejuhatuseks,” in Monumentaalne konflikt. Mälu, poliitika ja identiteet tänapäeva Eestis, ed. Pille Petersoo, Marek Tamm (Tallinn: Varrak, 2008), 9–15. Charles Taylor, “The Politics of Recognition,” in Multiculturalism: Examining the Politics of Recognition, ed. Amy Gutmann, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 25–73, in particular 38–41. Bruce Baum, “Feminist Politics of Recognition,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 29:4 (2004): 1073–1102, in particular 1073. Stephan Feuchtwang, “Loss: Transmissioon, Recognitions, Authorisations,” in: Memory Cultures: Memory, Subjectivity and Recognition, ed. Susannah Radstone, Katharine Hodgin (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2006), 76–89, in particular 77–78.

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recognized status, which ideally would lead to closure. In reality, however, what emerges is more of a “nostalgia for the irrecoverable,” and “demand for its ­recognition creates sites for the transmission of grievance [and] further demands for redemption.” Feuchtwang notes that the relationship of recognition is dialogic, involving two agencies. One of them is the applicant for recognition, who uses different ways and institutions to share their hard experience of the past. The second is the recipient of the request for recognition, who is assigned the authority of recognition, that is, the authority to judge that the past experience as such is worth recognition, for example by recording and creating history or ­treating it as truth. Recognition processes also operate in the opposite direction: “[t]hat which authorizes and recognizes, itself demands recognition.” Furthermore, in other situations and contexts, the one who authorizes recognition is also searching for recognition, which in turn affects judgment. The issue of recognition in the context of memory actualizes a range of questions about memory and politics both in the sense of decision-making and resources as well as of political communication about the past. Politics of memory takes place when actors articulate a group or community’s ­interpretations of the past in the political public sphere, competing for recognition and cultural hegemony. However, the politics of the recognition of memory also include financial and legal preconditions as well as the interest of political systems to resolve conflicts.10 In the following, the dynamics of remembering World War II in Estonia will be analyzed beginning with the year 1989 by comparing the decisions of the parliament, government, and president, oriented toward shaping collective memory and influencing the acts of organizations of veterans labelled as “freedom fighters.” The legal, institutional, commemorative, and monumental dimensions of the national politics of memory are described, relying on the exhaustive study by Marek Tamm about the periodization of Estonian state politics since 1991.11 This provides context to the dynamics of social memory expressed in civic initiatives and grassroots memory work. It is noteworthy that the level of official politics of memory and the level of social memory do not move fully in the same rhythm, but rather

10 Erik Meyer, “Memory and Politics,” in Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook, ed. Astrid Erll, Ansgar Nünning (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 2008), 173–180, in particular 178–179. 11 See Marek Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time: Memory Politics in Estonia, 1991–2011.” Nationalities Papers 41: 4 (2013): 651–674.

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition

meet in certain “explosive”12 situations. This implies the situated-ness of the politics of recognition.

EVOLUTION OF THE LANDSCAPE OF WORLD WAR II REMEMBRANCE: 1987–1994 World War II veterans who fought against the Red Army made their first attempts to unite under the auspices of the Estonian Heritage Society, founded in 1987. The Society’s early efforts to collect what they called historical t­ radition, alongside the Estonian Cultural Historical Archives’ gathering of life stories and the documentation of Soviet repressions undertaken by the Memento Society (founded in 1989), have been called the formative stage of national memory politics.13 During this period at the end of the 1980s the key topics of Estonian cultural remembrance were established, focusing on two key terms: restoration and repression. Restoration meant emphasizing the ­continuity of statehood, which at the commemorative level led, on the one hand, to the restoration of monuments of the War of Independence and pre-World War II street names, and on the other hand, to the culminating c­ ommemoration of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact in the Baltic Way human chain in 1989. The topic of repression focused particularly on the mass deportations of 1941 and 1949, as well as on the legislative acts of the Supreme Soviet of the ESSR.14 The Republic of Estonia was restored in 1991, and its first steps in memory politics were also made in legislation. In the period from 1991 to 1994 the Parliament passed a number of acts of remembrance that were of political significance and created a legal framework for the measures to follow. These included The Law on the Rehabilitation of the Repressed (1992), The Oath of Conscience Act (1992), and The Law of Crimes against Humanity and War Crimes (1994). In this period, moreover, the State Commission for Examining the Policies of Repression and Crimes against Humanity was created (1992), later renamed the State Commission for the Examination of  Repressive Policies 12 Lotman uses the term “explosive” to define a radical cultural shift. See Iurii Lotman, Culture and Explosion, ed. Marina Grishakova, trans. Wilma Clark (Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 2009). 13 See Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time,” 654. 14 In December 1988, the Supreme Soviet of the ESSR passed the law “On the Extrajuridical Mass Repressions in Soviet Estonia During the 1940s and 1950s,” which can be regarded as one of the founding documents of Estonia’s new memory politics (Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time,” 3). A year later the Supreme Soviet declared the annexation of Estonia by the USSR “an act of aggression” and “military occupation.”

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Carried Out during the Occupations (1993). The Public Holidays and Days of National Importance Act (1994) provided structure for the new national order of commemoration and included June 14 and March 25 as the national days of mourning and commemoration, respectively.15 While official memory politics is divided into two periods around the restitution of national independence,16 on the level of cultural and social memory these two periods should be treated as one. The period of 1987–1994 witnessed a total reevaluation of World War II. In addition to the 1941 mass deportation and the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, one of the first topics to come to the fore in connection with World War II experience was the suffering of Estonians in Soviet labor battalions and their post-war armed resistance to Soviet power. The respective compendia of documents and treatments of this subject’s h­ istory were published in the early 1990s.17 Beginning in 1987, the men who had fought against the Red Army in World War II were given added support by the initiatives of the Heritage Society of Tori Parish to restore the monument of the War of Independence (1989) and reconstruct the Tori church as the memorial church of Estonian soldiers (from 1990). In the summer of 1990, an attempt was also made to organize a reunion of veterans, but it was cancelled due to the risk of interference from the Soviet army.18 Still, veterans’ conventions took place on several occasions during the restoration work on the Tori church in the 1990s.19 15 Terje Anepaio, “Boundaries in the Soviet Society–the Case of the Repressed,” in Making and Breaking of Borders. Ethnological Interpretation, Presentation, Representation, ed. Teppo Korhonen, Helena Ruotsala, Eeva Uusitalo (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2003), 67–78. 16 See Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time,” 655. 17 Evald Laasi, Vastupanuliikumine Eestis 1944–1949. Dokumentide kogu (Tallinn: AS “Nõmm & Co”, 1992); Mart Laar, Metsavennad (Tallinn: Ühiselu, 1993). See also Urmas Usai, ed., Eestlased tööpataljonides 1941–1942, vol. 1 and 2: mälestusi ja dokumente (Tallinn: Olion, 1993). 18 See “Eesti Sõjameeste Mälestuskirik. Tori kiriku taastamine,” accessed August 20, 2015, http://web.zone.ee/tkirik/tori_3.html. Members of the Jewish community in Estonia and representatives of the Intermovement both reacted to the announcement of the reunion. The press published a number of articles in which the topic of Estonians having fought for opposite sides in World War II was raised. The possibility of using the Tori gathering to reconcile the former hostile parties was also discussed. 19 The memorial church of  Estonian soldiers was consecrated on April 23, 2001. The church has acquired an important place both in military culture and in World War II c­ ommemoration. In this church, Estonian military officers, policemen, and members of youth organizations take their oaths, and the anniversary of the Treaty of Tartu (February 2), Victory Day ( June 23), and Veteran’s Day (April 23) are celebrated. The church itself is a site of ­commemoration, containing numerous memorial plaques for those who perished in World War II and other conflicts.

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition

In the year 1991, a number of organizations were founded to unite the v­ eterans who had fought in the German armed forces during World War II. Finally, in 1992, the Estonian Freedom Fighters Association (EVL) was founded to act as an umbrella organization for these veterans groups.20 By the mid-1990s it had seventeen sub-organizations, and that number has remained static to this day. In 2005, the EVL had nearly 3,000 members.21 In 1989 and 90, veterans who had fought against the Soviet army in the Finnish Army also started to organize. In 1992 they founded the Association of Finnish War Veterans in Estonia within the Finnish War Veterans Association and were recognized by the Republic of Finland. In 1992 the Estonian Former Forest Brethren Association was founded, which united veterans of anti-Soviet armed resistance.22 In 1994 the privately funded Museum of the Fight for Estonia’s Freedom23 appeared, establishing its role in the country’s memory culture; first, with an exhibition on the War of Independence of 1918–1920; this exhibition was later extended to include World War II, and the museum aspired more generally to become that of Estonian military culture. To this day, the museum is active in commemorative practices, has an impressive collection of monuments in the field surrounding its facilities, and also acts as a mediator between different ­veteran and military organizations. The now infamous annual veterans’ gathering at Sinimäed first took place in 1994, when the initial monument was erected on the onetime battlefield and the Second World War Convention of Estonian Freedom Fighters was held. Since 1994, every July the meeting of the 20th Waffen-SS Grenadier Division veterans has taken place at Sinimäed.24 20 See the website of Estonian Freedom Fighters Association, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.hot.ee/vvliit/. 21 Vaino Kallas, ed., Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate Liidu ajalugu 1992–2008 (Tallinn: Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate Liit, 2010), 3. 22 Eesti Endiste Metsavendade Liit [Estonian Former Forest Brethren Association], accessed August 20, 2015, http://eesti-endiste-metsavendade-liit.blogspot.com/. 23 Eesti Vabadusvõitluse Muuseum [Museum of the Fight for Estonia’s Freedom], accessed August 26, 2015, http://vabadusvoitlus.ee/. 24 In 2000, the 20th Estonian Waffen Grenadier Division Veterans Union was established, which organizes annual gatherings to celebrate the anniversary of the Sinimäed battles (1944). The union does not belong to but cooperates with the EVL. Since 1994, the gathering of veterans of the 20th Estonian Waffen Grenadier Division takes place on the so-called Grenadier Hill at Sinimäed every year in July. From 1997 to 2000 an approximately one-hectare memorial ground was established in lieu of the temporary memorial cross.

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It can be said that by the mid-1990s, the landscape of World War II r­ emembrance had generally evolved both institutionally and organizationally. Also, the national narrative of World War II and the cultural logic of war remembrance had developed and settled. The Estonian post-Soviet narrative contains two evils, Communism and National Socialism, but Communism is widely regarded as the primary one by way of duration and intensity. Both the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany are considered enemies, and the participation of Estonians in World War II is seen as a fight for independence that, due to circumstances, took place in a foreign uniform. The beginning of World War II is marked by the secret protocols of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact (signed on August 23, 1939), dividing Europe into spheres of influence between Hitler and Stalin. The anniversaries of the 1941 and 1949 Soviet mass deportations have been fixed in the national calendar, while at the same time the dates of the war’s end (May 8 or 9) do not have a similar status. The Holocaust is seen as peripheral to national suffering in the context of the war and dual occupation.25 The memory of World War II is thus integrated into the founding narrative of the Estonian state, which is based on two premises: the illegality of Soviet rule in the Baltic states and the principle of legal continuity.26 According to the post-Soviet cultural logic of remembering, the memory of Stalinist repressions, ideological pressure, persecution, nationalization, and forced collectivization represent a filter that gives meaning to other periods of the confusing and violent 20th century. In social memory, the pre-war Republic of Estonia nostalgically became a society ruled by patrimonial harmony and well-being, solid peasant wisdom in statecraft, and “good” national stereotypes and values. The generation born in that society (including the veterans) became the carriers of such values for the wider public in early 1990s.27 The narrative image of Stalinism as a national disruption expanded during the memory work of the early 1990s to include the entire period of Soviet rule separating two periods of continuity: the periods of national independence before World War II and after 1991. The motif of “extended disruption” is prominent 25 On the discrepancy between the post-Soviet Baltic narrative and the Russian and the Western narrative of World War II, see Kattago, “Sõjamälestusmärgid ja tsiviliseerimisprotsess”; Onken, “Commemorating 9 May”. See also Marko Lehti, Matti Jutila, and Markku Jokisipilä, “Never-Ending Second World War: Public Performances of National Dignity and the Drama of the Bronze Soldier,” Journal of Baltic Studies 39:4 (2008): 393–418. 26 See Lehti, Jutila, Jokisipilä, “Never-Ending Second World War,” 406. 27 Ene Kõresaar, Memory and History in Estonian Post-Soviet Life Stories. Private and Public, Individual and Collective from the Perspective of Biographical Syncretism. PhD Dissertation, University of Tartu, Faculty of Philosophy (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2004).

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition

in memoirs written in the 1990s by veterans who had fought against the Red Army, ­borrowing the metaphor of the “long, long night” to denote the period between the end of the war and the restitution of independence.28 The entire history of that period was interpreted in terms of suffering and resistance.29 In the light of this “long night,” World War II also became the “never-ending war”30: in ­popular history, both the restitution of national independence (1991) and the withdrawal of Russia’s military forces from Estonia (1994) were equally valid as the true end of the war.31 The crimes of Stalinism in Estonia worked as a memory filter for remembering the Nazi occupation: among the events of World War II, the Soviet occupation was perceived as the crisis period, and in this light the German occupation appeared as a period of normality, as the regaining of a lost continuity.32 The “normality” of the German occupation was a means for highlighting the tragedy of the Soviet occupation. Principally, the above represents the narrative image through which the veterans who had fought against the Red Army understood the course of their lives, and which functioned as the ideological background for their organizations’ activities. One example of how such a narrative template of the past can adapt to changing situations is the event organized in the summer of 2011 by the veterans association of Viljandi to celebrate the seventieth a­ nniversary of the beginning of the German occupation. This event, which elicited ­contradictory responses, was explained by its organizers as follows: “The arrival of the Germans is treated at the gathering as the liberation of Estonia because it saved people from the regime that had deported more than 10,000 people to Siberia in June 1941 and devastated the local people”.33 This explanation reveals how 28 Ene Kõresaar, “Boris Takk–The Ambiguity of War in a Post-Soviet Life Story,” in Soldiers of Memory: World War II and Its Aftermath in Estonian Post-Soviet Life Stories, ed. Ene Kõresaar (New York, Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2011), 343–360, in particular 346; Boris Takk, “My Youth in the Turn of History,” ibid., 187–208, in particular 206. 29 On the manifestation of the post-Soviet national drama in the exhibitions of historical museums, see Lehti, Jutila, Jokisipilä, “Never-Ending Second World War”; Burch, Zander, “Preoccupied by the Past”; Kõresaar, Soldiers of Memory; Velmet, “Breaking the Silences.” 30 See Lehti, Jutila, Jokisipilä, “Never-Ending Second World War.” 31 According to the most radical view, the Second World War in Estonia ended in 2004 with the accession of Estonia to the European Union and NATO. 32 See Tiina Kirss, “Mälujäljed ja tõlgendamisvõimalused: eestlaste elulood Saksa okupatsiooni ajast,” Vikerkaar 4–5 (2006): 136 - 149, in particular 137, 147–148; Ene Kõresaar, “The Culture of Remembrance of the Second World War in Estonia as Presented in Post-Soviet Life Stories: On the Logic of Comparison Between the Soviet and the Nazi Occupations,” in We Have Something in Common: the Baltic Memory, ed. Anneli Mihkelev, Benediks Kalnačs (Tallinn: Under and Tuglas Literature Centre, 2007), 35–60. 33 Jaanika Kressa, “Viljandis tähistatakse Hitleri armee tulemise aastapäeva,” Sakala 07.07.2011, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.sakala.ajaleht.ee/491272/viljandis-tahistatakse-­ hitleri-armee-tulemise-aastapaeva.

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the experience of Soviet occupation operates as a memory filter in interpreting the experience of war. The event also held an aspect of recognition: organizers wanted to “thank the surviving soldiers and tell them they did the right thing in fighting against Bolshevism.” In the following, the recognition politics of the veterans who fought in German uniform are analyzed based on the published management reports of the Estonian Freedom Fighters Association (EVL),34 along with the press and veterans’ bulletins (the newspaper Võitleja and magazine Kultuur ja Elu), placed in the context of national memory politics and the politics of recognition of the Republic of Estonia itself. The EVL defined freedom fighters as “former soldiers, forest brethren and other fighters for freedom, who have participated in the anti-communist fight for freedom,”35 with which definition they continued the traditions of the World Legion of Estonian Liberation, founded in exile in 1960.36 The term “freedom-fighter” had a historical analogue in the participants of the War of Independence (1918–1920) and also implied a future vision of the liberation of Estonia (remember that Russian troops left Estonia two years after EVL was founded). From the very beginning, the term “freedom-fighter” has been associated with the idea of restoring Estonian military traditions and promoting military history in the patriotic spirit. The activities of the EVL and similar veterans’ organizations focused on three main goals: (1) standing up for their members’ social welfare, (2) collecting and recording war memories and ­ensuring their commemorative perpetuation, and (3) striving to obtain national recognition for the status of “freedom-fighter.”

CONTRADICTIONS AND CONFLICTS: 1995–2004 Particularly from the second half of the 1990s, the fact that a number of Estonians who fought in the German armed forces had belonged to Waffen-SS became a source of conflict regarding remembrance; it was a challenge for 34 Publication of the history and management reports of the EVL by the organization is itself a step in their politics of recognition. The collection interprets the activities of the organization from the start through the lens of recognition politics and gives an evaluation of the organization’s position in the memory landscape of Estonia. See Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate. 35 Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 7. 36 “Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate keskuse põhikiri 1980. aastast kehtiv versioon,” Estonian National Archives ERA4996.1.61, pp 3–12.

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r­ ecognition politics at the grassroots level and a tough diplomatic nut to crack at the political level.37 The second half of the 1990s was characterized by the increasingly negative remembrance of the Soviet regime at the national level. The memory politics of this period followed and elaborated on principles that were ­ established at the beginning of the decade.38 The Estonian International Commission for the Investigation of Crimes against Humanity (also known as the Max Jakobson Commission, hereinafter referred to as the Historical Commission) was founded by the president in 1998 and marked a new stage in institutional memory politics. Otherwise, the legal dimension remained prevalent in memory politics. Among other things, a law was passed in 1995 that regulated the registration and disclosure of persons who had cooperated with the security and intelligence organs of occupying powers, and the first list of such persons was published in the State Gazette in January 1997. In 1996, the first criminal case for crimes against humanity was taken to court.39 The national memory politics of the second half of the 1990s was characterized by pragmatism, stability, and a lack of major changes. In the public sphere, interest in the past cooled to some extent. The audience at m ­ emorial events for Stalinist repressions consisted mostly of its victims; younger ­generations and the political elite had generally abstained from participating, and even some of those who had been repressed refrained from taking part.40 Key events in the nation’s history, such as the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact or Stalinist mass repressions, faded from memory politics owing to contemporary issues, while at the same time their significance as national traumas was established.41 Martin Ehala sums up the general mood of the second half of the 1990s as follows: “[…] support for conservative ethnic ideology and groups was very low. The society was involved in achieving economic goals, joining 37 Toomas Hiio, “Toomas Hiio Vabariigi Presidendi Mõttekojas 24. aprillil 2007,” Vabariigi President,accessed August 20, 2015, https://www.president.ee/images/stories/pdf/200704-24_toomas-hiio.pdf. 38 Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time,” 655. 39 Ibid., 658. 40 Terje Anepaio, “Reception of the Topic of Repressions in the Estonian Society. Pro Ethnologia,” 14 (2002): 47−65, in particular 55–56. 41 Halliki Harro-Loit and Anu Pallas, “Temporality and Commemoration in Estonian Dailies.” In The Curving Mirror of Time, 17–58. See also Kõresaar, Müür, and Kreegipuu, “Journalistic Commemoration”; Kristiina Müür, Politics of Memory and Journalism’s Memory Work: Changes of Commemoration Practices of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact in the Estonian and Russian Press 1989–2014. Master’s Thesis, University of Tartu, EuroCollege (2015).

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the European Union (EU) was on the agenda, and the ideology of success was widely supported. Far more than the issues of identity, social inequality problems touched the nerve of the society.”42 In the early 2000s, the memory of mass deportations was revived, which, according to Tamm, marked the beginning of a new stage in national memory politics.43 This period was initiated by outgoing President Lennart Meri’s tour through all the Estonian counties in the summer of 2001, on the sixtieth ­anniversary of the 1941 deportation. During that tour, the persons repressed by the occupational powers received the Badge of the Broken Cornflower from the president. A few years later, the badge was officially confirmed by the government as the external sign of a repressed person (2004). In 2002, the Parliament passed the Declaration on the Crimes of the Occupying Regimes in Estonia,44 in which all the institutions of the Soviet Union’s communist regime that had perpetrated crimes against humanity and war crimes in Estonia were declared to be criminal. At the end of  2003, the Parliament passed the Persons Repressed by Occupying Powers Act,45 which provided the definition of unlawfully repressed person and enumerated the privileges, benefits, and ­pension rights granted to them. The recognition sought by “freedom fighters” was granted by article 4 of the act, according to which persons who “participated in the armed fight for the restoration of the independence of the Estonian state after June 16, 1940” were treated as repressed persons.46 The Persons Repressed by Occupying Powers Act recognized “freedom fighters” as victims, but during the 1990s they had also been recognized as heroes. In 1994 the chief of the Defense Forces participated in unveiling the Memorial Cross at Sinimäed and delivered greetings from the president. Since then, men who fought in World War II on the German side have been officially called “freedom fighters of military merit” and have been awarded decorations of the Republic of Estonia. The Ministry of Defense created a commemorative medal for freedom fighters “who actively fought with a gun in their hands for the freedom of Estonia from 1918 to 1920 and from June 17, 1940 to 42 Ehala, “The Bronze Soldier,” 152. 43 Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time,” 655 44 Riigi Teataja [State’s Gazette] I (2002): 52, 326, accessed August 20, 2015, https://www. riigiteataja.ee/akt/174385. 45 Riigi Teataja [State’s Gazette] I (2003): 88, 589, accessed August 20, 2015, https://www. riigiteataja.ee/akt/690831. 46 Individually, a number of veterans who had fought against the Red Army had the status of unlawfully repressed persons even without extending the term to armed struggle.

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August 20, 1991.”47 On the anniversary of the Republic of Estonia in 1998, the minister of defense awarded the medal to nearly 5,000 “freedom fighters,” based on lists prepared by the EVL and the Association of Finnish War Veterans in Estonia.48 Later, the minister of defense also bestowed the Cross of Merit of the Ministry of Defense to freedom fighters. Moreover, the veterans’ organizations have also received financial support from the Ministry of Defense since 1997. For example, in 2001 the Foundation for Dignifying the Fight for the Freedom of Estonia was established, and the commemoration of the fight for freedom and the collecting of historical traditions took place under its auspices.49 The EVL’s decision in the late 1990s to start purposefully explaining the essence of “freedom-fighting” in World War II and attaining national recognition for it cannot be considered in isolation. Instead, it should be understood against the background of the accusations that Estonian officials had not sufficiently confronted, either legally or morally, the issue of past collaboration with the Nazi occupying powers responsible for committing crimes against humanity.50 The context for these accusations was the international revisiting of the Holocaust issue in the mid-1990s, which resulted in establishing the Holocaust Memorial Day on January 27, 2000.51 The government of Estonia, which was negotiating at that time for accession to the EU and NATO, found that “Holocaust recognition is our contemporary European entry ticket”.52 In the first decades of independence, politicians and the wider public in the Baltic countries reacted emotionally and defensively to the issue of Holocaust; in Estonia in particular, no debate took place.53 A more proactive phase in Holocaust and World War II-related issues in Estonia started in the late 1990s, when the legal cases of Jewish organizations against German companies as well as Swiss and Swedish banks were in the international spotlight. It was under these circumstances that the Historical Commission was founded by President Lennart Meri.54 The commission studied Holocaust-related topics in 47 Issuing of the commemorative medal has been discontinued. 48 “Kaitseminister annab vabadusvõitlejatele mälestusmedalid,” Õhtuleht, 16.02.1998, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.ohtuleht.ee/17026/kaitseminister-annab-vabadusvoitlejatele-malestusmedalid. 49 Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 26. 50 Pettai, “Establishing ‘Holocaust Memory,’” 159. 51 The Stockholm Declaration. Holocaust Memorial Day Trust, accessed Aug 26, 2015, http://www.hmd.org.uk/page/stockholm-declaration#sthash.wtf KERKD.dpuf. 52 Tony Judt, Postwar: A History of Europe since 1945 (New York: Penguin, 2005), 803. 53 Pettai, “Establishing ‘Holocaust Memory,’” 160. 54 Ibid., 164

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the context of researching the Nazi occupation of 1941–1944.55 From the late 1990s, the government established cooperation with Yad Vashem in the field of Holocaust information. From the early 2000s, Estonian Jewish organizations began working more actively in the Estonian landscape of remembrance, and the topic of the Holocaust appeared in cultural media and museums.56 While new agents of remembrance emerged in the landscape of Holocaust memory in Estonia, in the early 2000s awareness and education about the Holocaust played a diplomatic role as well. Since the early 1990s, the “return to the West” had been a key priority, and accession to EU and NATO the key milestones of the Estonian political elite. For these they were willing to make compromises that the Estonian public was not yet ready to accept. Political scientists have referred to this period in the first half of the 2000s as “forced Europeanization.”57 In 2001, the minister of foreign affairs sent a note c­ ondemning the Holocaust to Jewish communities in the United States, who had reproached the government of Estonia for anti-semitism, reluctance to recognize the Holocaust, inadequate coverage of the Holocaust in textbooks, ­inability to deal with Nazi collaborators, and insufficient action in addressing the issue of war crimes.58 In 2002, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs via the Ministry of Education founded the Holocaust Memorial Day as a day of national importance, which drew opposition in society as it was perceived as having been c­ reated in response to direct pressure from the United States.59 55 The Estonian Historical Commission remained a largely outside actor, not getting involved in either academic or public discussions (Pettai, “Establishing ‘Holocaust Memory,’” 164). When the Commission was established, “freedom fighters” demanded the inclusion of their representative (Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 23), but the politics of establishing the Commission excluded the participation of domestic members (see Hiio, “Toomas Hiio Vabariigi Presidendi Mõttekojas”). 56 For more detail about the role of Holocaust memory in the politics of recognition in the Republic of Estonia at the end of the 1990s and beginning of the 2000s, see Marek Miil, Tingimuslikkus Eesti Vabariigi liitumisprotsessis Euro-Atlantiliste organisatsioonidega holokaustist teavitamise juhtumi näitel. Master’s Thesis. University of Tartu, EuroCollege (2009). 57 Tõnis Saarts, “Pronksiöö—sundeuroopastumise läbikukkumine ja rahvusliku kaitsedemokraatia sünd,” Vikerkaar 4–5 (2008): 105–110. 58 Miil, Tingimuslikkus Eesti Vabariigi liitumisprotsessis, 65, 79. 59 “Editorial: Mälukaotus ühishaua ääres,” Postimees, 27.01.2005, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.postimees.ee/1456847/juhtkiri-malukaotus-uhishaua-aares. To integrate the Holocaust Memorial Day into Estonian memory culture, the Ministry of Education made a proposal to link the events of January 27 with the the Days of Mourning and Commemoration of Victims of Deportations of March 25 and June 14 (see “Holokaustipäev toob küüditatute mälestamise,” Postimees, 8.11.2002, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.postimees.ee/1978481/holokaustipaev-toob-kuuditatute-malestamise).

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The Agreement on the Protection and Preservation of Certain Cultural Properties signed by the United States and Estonia in 2003 focused on the documentation and preservation of Holocaust sites. In a speech held on May 8, 2005 at the memorial site of the Klooga concentration camp, Prime Minister Andrus Ansip apologized “for the fact that Estonian citizens could be found among those who participated in the murdering of people or assisted in the perpetration of these crimes.”60 The steps taken by the Estonian government at the end of the 1990s and early 2000s in relation to Holocaust remembrance were poorly communicated to society, if at all. What primarily reached the Estonian public were the ­constant accusations of fascism coming from Russia, along with statements on alleged war criminals made by the Simon Wiesenthal Center, which monitored Estonian politics of memory and repeatedly insisted on further investigations after the Historical Commission released its first report in 2001.61 At the same time, increased international attention was paid to the gatherings of veterans who had fought in the German armed forces, to which the g­overnment reacted by imposing restrictions on such gatherings. For ­example, the scope of the 1998 convention in Tallinn organized by the EVL, the Association of Wounded Warriors, and the Association of Finnish War Veterans was significantly reduced, considering the negative international response to the meeting of the veterans of the Latvian Legion that had taken place in Riga in the spring of the same year.62 Since the late 1990s, the EVL had begun to d­ iscuss with increasing urgency the need to explain to society the past decisions and motives of Waffen-SS veterans, in order “to prove that 60 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, “Address by Prime Minister Andrus Ansip in Klooga, Estonia,” 08.05.2005, accessed August 26, 2015, URL: http://vm.ee/en/news/address-prime-­ minister-andrus-ansip-klooga-estonia. 61 For instance, the Security Police repeatedly investigated persons included in the list of alleged war criminals submitted by the investigator of Nazi crimes Efraim Zuroff (see, for example, “Zurofi nimekirjas pole sõjakurjategijaid,” Delfi and BNS, 23.07.2002, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.delfi.ee/news/paevauudised/eesti/zurofi-­nimekirjas-polesojakurjategijaid?id=3984742; Jaanus Piirsalu, “Uurimine vabastas eestlased natsisüüst,” Eesti Päevaleht, 25.01.2003, accessed August 26, 2015, http://epl.delfi.ee/news/eesti/uurimine-vabastas-eestlased-natsisuust?id=50945044), relying on the information included in the 2001 report of the Historical Commission (“Jakobson: komisjonil olid kaudsed tõendid,” Eesti Päevaleht, 29.07.2002, accessed August 26, 2015, http://epl.delfi.ee/news/eesti/ jakobson-komisjonil-olid-kaudsed-toendid?id=50929884). 62 Tanel Rütman, “Vabadusvõitlejate kokkutulek ähvardab Eesti löögi alla seada,” Postimees 11.06.1998, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.postimees.ee/2548405/vabadusvoitlejate-kokkutulek-hvardab-eesti-loogi-alla-seada.

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the Estonian soldier was neither a Nazi nor a war criminal, but fought for the freedom of Estonia.”63 In addition, the EVL set out to “apply for a decision from the Parliament that the men who served in the German armed forces fought for the independence of Estonia, and were therefore freedom fighters.”64 The main forum for the explanatory work was the magazine Kultuur ja Elu, which had a nationalistic orientation and described itself as “the magazine of national culture […] with an emphasis on the memory of Estonian people and real-life events.”65 Beginning with the second half of the 1990s, the magazine regularly published polemical articles on the choices made by Estonians in World War II. The arguments presented over the late 1990s and the 2000s by the spokesmen of veterans, meant to liberate those who fought in World War II from the “curse of the uniform,”66 were based on the following: (1) the August 12, 1949 Geneva Convention, specifically articles 51 and 147 about the ­war-time defense of civilians—to prove that the participation of Estonians in World War II within the German army was not voluntary and thus not legally culpable;67 (2) the assertion made on February 2, 1944 by Jüri Uluots, Estonian Prime Minister, that fighting against the Red Army in German uniform was a fight for freedom recognized by the Republic of Estonia; (3) the exculpatory decision of the Nuremberg tribunal: “the whole of the SS [was claimed to be] a truly criminal organization, but with a big and very important exception for us [the Estonians]: according to the ruling of the tribunal, persons drafted by the state into the Waffen-SS without the right of choice cannot be considered members of the criminal organization. Lack of the freedom of choice was even triple in the case of Estonians: first, the Germans did not allow the Estonians to form their own army, second, the voluntary Wehrmacht troops from Estonia were forcibly subordinated to the Waffen-SS in the spring of 1944, and third, all 63 Management reports of the EVL show that due to the image they had elsewhere in the world, they also had problems in international communication, for instance, with the German War Graves Commission, because the Estonians wanted to erect a monument to those who served in the Waffen-SS. See Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 24. 64 Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 23. 65 “Editorial,” Kultuur ja Elu: Rahvuskultuuri ajakiri 445:1 (1996). 66 Uno Raudkivi, “Nüüd üles, keda mundrineedus rõhub,” Kultuur ja Elu: Rahvuskultuuri ajakiri 3 (2005), accessed August 26, 2015, http://kultuur.elu.ee/ke481_raudkivi.htm. 67 Article 51 rules: The occupied state must not force the protected persons to serve in its armed force or in their auxiliary services. Any pressure or propaganda for voluntary recruitment is forbidden. Article 147 rules among other things: forcing a protected person to serve in the armed force of the enemy state is a serious violation of the law. (Riigi Teataja [State’s Gazette] II (1999): 20, 120, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.riigiteataja.ee/ert/act.jsp?id=79260.)

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the rest of the Estonians, a huge majority in fact, were mobilized.”68 (4) the fact that after the war, Baltic refugees were screened both by refugee organizations and by the countries receiving refugees, which proved that the men who served in the German military forces had been scrutinized several times and found “not guilty.” To support this claim, reference was made to a letter from the US Displaced Persons Commission to the Consul General of the Republic of Estonia in New York, dated September 13, 1950, stating that the Commission did not judge the Baltic Waffen-SS units as hostile organizations and considered them separately in estimating their aim, ideology, and activities, as well as their membership in the SS;69 (5) the prosecution of the former German ­militaries according to the 59th paragraph of Soviet criminal law,70 under which even the Soviet post-war occupying powers did not treat Estonians who had participated in the war in German uniform as Nazis; (6) a resolution adopted by the European Parliament on January 13, 1983 addressing the situation in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania,71 which recognized the anti-communist fight in the Baltics from 1940 onward as a fight for freedom. The arguments surrounding the politics of recognition for “freedom fighters” were directly related to the real politics of the Cold War. The persistence of these arguments in changing international and mnemo-political circumstances was due to the fact that the building of veteran culture was strongly influenced by Cold War émigré culture and by anti-communist discourse during the period of the disintegration of the Soviet Union. While the veterans’ historical and legal arguments remained mostly confined to the pages of a niche periodical, the monumental expression of their work for recognition escalated in the years 2002–2004 in the conflict over 68 Enn Sarv, “Vabadusvõitlejad väärivad lugupidamist,” Kultuur ja Elu: Rahvuskultuuri ajakiri 4 (2008): 49–51, accessed September 4, 2015, http://kultuur.elu.ee/ke494_sarv.htm. 69 The former Baltic combatants were admitted to the United States from September to December 1951. In December 1951, admission of migrants was ended by the DP Act. The letter referred to was translated into Estonian and published in the Estonian refugee journals during the Cold War. In 2001 the letter was published in Kultuur & Elu. 70 Paragraph 58 denoted counter-revolutionary crimes against the state. 71 Veterans in particular refer to section F of the Resolution, in which the European Parliament expresses “regard to the eight-years long struggle and armed resistance of Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians fighting for their freedom, the thousands of victims of this struggle and the 665,000 Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians who have been resettled and removed to labor camps in Siberia by the Soviet rulers since 1940” (a copy of the document is published on the website of the Estonian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, http://vm.ee/sites/default/files/ content-editors/web-static/358/eup_resol_1983.pdf). The resolution was translated into Estonian and published in Estonia in the Looming magazine in 1989.

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the “freedom-fighter’s” monument.72 In 2002, a monument was erected in Pärnu with a bas-relief featuring Nazi iconography and the inscription “To all the Estonian soldiers who fell in the Second War of Independence for their homeland and a free Europe 1940–1945.” The monument was set up as a private initiative, although it was initially attributed to the EVL. However, before the official ceremony marking its establishment, the monument was removed. In its place, in 2003 the EVL erected a monument in the same park in Pärnu with a much more modest inscription: “For those who fought for the national independence of Estonia in the Second World War.” In 2004, the old bas-relief emerged at Lihula with a slightly altered text: “To Estonian men who fought in 1940–1945 against bolshevism and to restore Estonia’s ­independence.” Solemnly unveiled on August 20, 2004, the monument was removed a few weeks later under pressure from the EU, foreign states, and upon Prime Minister Juhan Parts’s order, which led to protests at the site and a heated public debate. According to Tamm,73 it can be reasonably claimed that the two removal operations activated extremist groups in society and elevated tensions surrounding the Bronze Soldier in Tallinn.74 In the words of Siobhan Kattago, the unrest that broke out around the Lihula monument showed that “a monument depicting an Estonian soldier in Nazi uniform is politically unacceptable, while at the same time the Estonian soldier can wear the Red Army uniform, because Fascism could not be defeated in Europe without the Soviet Union.”75 At the domestic level, the government’s ambivalent position on “freedom fighters” was more clearly expressed. Unable to provide them with public recognition under the conditions that the “freedom fighters” and their followers demanded, the government nonetheless supported them and their commemorative activities financially through different foundations, and government representatives sporadically showed their

72 Tamm, “In Search of  Lost Time,” Stuart Burch and David J. Smith, “Empty Spaces and the Value of Symbols: Estonia’s ‘War of Monuments’ from Another Angle,” Europe-Asia Studies 59/6 (2007): 913–936; Brüggemann and Kasekamp, “Identity Politics and Contested Histories.” 73 Tamm, “In Search of Lost Time,” 16. 74 Officially called “The Monument to Liberators of Tallinn,” the Bronze Soldier was not demolished after 1991, as were, for instance, statues of Lenin. Instead, its symbolic meaning shifted from that of Soviet war heroes to the victims of World War II, which kept the monument free from controversy for a time. However, in early 2000s the number of (mostly Russian-speaking) participants attending the May 9 gathering increased, reigniting the old controversy surrounding the significance of World War II in Estonia. 75 Kattago, “Sõjamälestusmärgid ja tsiviliseerimisprotsess,” 65.

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support by attending the veterans’ meetings.76 As for the “freedom fighters,” the saga of the Pärnu and Lihula monuments highlighted the existence of two strands in the veterans’ politics of recognition, one more radical and the other more conciliatory and cooperative. The more cooperative line, which the EVL represented in the meeting with the prime minister in the autumn of 2004, disavowed any links with the Lihula monument.77 The more radical strand, however, stood behind the Lihula monument and represented the viewpoint that the Waffen-SS veterans and their past should be recognized in the way the former soldiers experienced it. This version of the past also includes the ­uncritical use of the anti-Bolshevist rhetoric of World War II as was visible on monuments first erected in Pärnu and Lihula. Its reasons lie in the longterm isolation of the population of the Soviet Union caused by the Cold War ­confrontation, and the covert status of the German military past in Soviet ­society, which forbade any discussion of or critical reflection on one of the central aspects of Estonians’ World War II experience. Therefore, the rhetoric of the anti-Bolshevist fight crystallized as the only vocabulary available for expressing one’s experience, and was later integrated into post-Soviet memory culture. After the Lihula crisis and the restrictions imposed on the veterans’ gathering in 2003, the veterans worded their agenda of recognition politics more sharply and clearly. In an appeal to the Parliament presented by the ­conservative Pro Patria politician Trivimi Velliste, a leader in the “freedom fighters” debate, the veterans demanded that the Parliament: “(1) give a political evaluation of World War II events in 1941–1944 in Estonia’s name; (2) initiate and adopt a law that would recognize the battles against totalitarian communism in World War II, including battles defending Estonia in 1944, as a fight for the ­restoration of national independence in Estonia based on legal continuity, and as a fight for the restoration of democracy in Estonia; (3) provide legally the official status of Estonian freedom-fighter, also posthumously, to those who participated in the Summer War of 1941 and the defense battles of 1944; (4) treat the people 76 For example, after a period in 2003, following the replacement of monuments in Pärnu, a government representative attended the veterans’ gathering in Rakvere again (Valdo Einmann and Aarne Mäe, “Eesti vabadusvõitlejad kogunesid Rakveres,” Virumaa Teataja, 26.08.2003, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.virumaateataja.ee/2428381/eesti-vabadusvoitlejad-kogunesid-rakveres). In the autumn of 2004 the veterans’ representatives were received by the Prime Minister (Vabariigi Valitsus [Government of the Republic of Estonia], Peaminister kohtus Vabadusvõitlejate Liidu esindajatega, 10.09.2004, accessed August 26, 2015, https:// valitsus.ee/et/uudised/peaminister-kohtus-vabadusvoitlejate-liidu-esindajatega). 77 Vabariigi Valitsus [Government of the Republic of  Estonia], Peaminister kohtus Vabadusvõitlejate Liidu esindajatega.

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who fought against communism in World War II as the equals of those who participated in the Estonian War of Independence.”78 As a result of this appeal, in the following years leading to parliamentary elections the topic of “freedomfighting” in World War II was actually taken up for discussion in the Parliament.

BETWEEN APPROACH AND RETREAT: 2005–2012 The Lihula monument was a nuisance for the government, and its thoughtless removal in August 2004 generated significant protest. In a public poll on the most important events of 2004 in Estonia, the removal of the Lihula monument was placed third, after joining NATO and the EU.79 However, EU and NATO membership provided a sense of security that enabled the inclusion in World War II commemorations of some areas that were formerly inadequately marked (such as the defensive battles of 1944) and the introduction of the Estonian view on World War II more unambiguously than before. The Lihula conflict, which had long-term consequences, took place in 2004, sixty years after the Nazi occupation in Estonia was replaced by the Soviet occupation. The anniversary of Otto Tief ’s government taking office was widely celebrated.80 In line with the theme of the continuity of Estonia’s statehood, the appeal made to Estonian citizens by Jüri Uluots on August 17, 1944 to join in armed struggle against the Soviet occupation became an important precedent. This key landmark in the politics of recognizing ­“freedom fighters” remained topical in the context of the international celebration of the end of World War II (and the anniversary of the death of Uluots) in 2005 and c­ ulminated in 2006, with the discussion of two pieces of draft legislation that dealt with “the fight of Estonian citizens for independence.” In the spring of 2006, the factions of Pro Patria Union and Res Publica submitted a draft resolution to the Parliament titled “On the Armed Struggle of Estonian Citizens against the Military Occupation by the USSR,” in which the citizens of Estonia who fought against the Soviet occupation were declared freedom fighters. The aim of the draft legislation,81 aligned with the ­recognition 78 Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 33. 79 Ehala, “The Bronze Soldier,” 152. 80 Vabariigi Valitsus [Government of the Republic of Estonia], Valitsus tähistab Otto Tiefi vahevalitsuse 60. aastapäeva väljasõiduistungiga Ridalas, 20.09.2004, accessed August 26, 2015, https://valitsus.ee/et/uudised/valitsus-tahistab-otto-tiefi-vahevalitsuse-60-aastapaevavaljasoiduistungiga-ridalas. 81 The text of the draft is available to this day on EVL website, accessed Aug 27, 2015, www.hot.ee/ajalugu08/eelnou_910.htm.

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politics of “freedom-fighter” organizations, was to recognize “men who fought in the German army and after the war in the forests of Estonia in a way that would morally compensate for the losses they suffered during the years of the Soviet ­occupation: imprisonment, humiliation, loss of property, life not lived to the fullest.”82 An alternative draft by the governing faction, titled “On the Fight of Estonian Citizens for the Restoration of the Independence of the Republic of Estonia” was put forward in the summer of 2006,83 and attempted, in light of the Lihula conflict and the gradually developing Bronze Soldier conflict, to remove the connotation of “armed resistance” from the definition of freedom-fighting. This draft excluded men who had fought in the Waffen-SS uniform as well as those who had belonged to the destruction battalions or rifle corps of the Red Army.84 Defining the term “freedom-fighter” proved to be such a complicated and contentious task that the discussion broke off with these drafts, although the governing faction later changed the draft to define “only those who put up armed resistance to occupations” as freedom fighters .85 When the governing coalition was replaced, both drafts were dismissed with the argument that their adoption would provoke hostility in Estonian society between those who had fought on different sides.86 However, in February 2007, a bill was adopted, delivered first by the conservative Pro Patria and Res Publica Union, that commemorated ­resistance to the Soviet invasion in the autumn of 1944 by celebrating September 22 as “Resistance Day.”87 The two original bills, followed by the creation of a new 82 Otsuse Eesti kodanike relvavõitlusest NSV Liidu sõjalise okupatsiooni vastu” eelnõu (910 OE) esimese lugemise jätkamine, Riigikogu istungi protokolli pn 3, 13.09.2006, accessed August 20, 2015, http://stenogrammid.riigikogu.ee/et/200609131300#PKP-2000013216. 83 Vabariigi Valitsus [Government of the Republic of Estonia], Valitsus ei toetanud opositsiooni algatatud vabadusvõitlejate tunnustamise eelnõu, 15.06.2006, accessed August 26, 2015, https://valitsus.ee/et/uudised/valitsus-ei-toetanud-opositsiooni-algatatud-vabadusvoitlejate-tunnustamise-eelnou. 84 Jürgen Ligi, “Vabadusvõitleja sõdis vaba riigi eest,” Postimees, 12.09.2006, accessed August 20, 2015, http://arvamus.postimees.ee/1577111/jurgen-ligi-vabadusvoitleja-sodis-vaba-­ riigi-eest; Otsuse “Eesti kodanike võitlusest Eesti Vabariigi iseseisvuse taastamise eest” eelnõu (933 OE) esimene lugemine, Riigikogu istungi protokolli pn 2, 12.09.2006, accessed August 20, 2015 http://stenogrammid.riigikogu.ee/et/200609121000#PKP-2000013211. 85 Peeter Kuimet, “Reformierakond esitas muudatuse vabadusvõitlejate eelnõusse,” Postimees 19.09.2006, accessed November 29, 2017, https://www.postimees.ee/1579457/ reformierakond-esitas-muudatuse-vabadusvoitlejate-eelnousse. 86 Vahur Koorits, “Laar kavatseb Saksa vormis sõdinud mehed ametlikult vabadusvõitlejateks tunnistada,” Eesti Päevaleht 27.12.2011, accessed November 29, 2017, 2015, http:// epl.delfi.ee/news/online/laar-kavatseb-saksa-vormis-sodinud-mehed-ametlikult-vabadusvoitlejateks-tunnistada?id=63687978. 87 Riigi Teataja [State’s Gazette] I (2007): 22, 118, accessed August 20, 2015, https://www.­ riigiteataja.ee/akt/12799647; Pühade ja tähtpäevade seaduse muutmise seaduse eelnõu

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day of national importance, marked a shift to nationalist and conservative politics of memory, which was highlighted by the refusal of President Arnold Rüütel to attend the celebration of the end of World War II in Moscow, by the relocation of the Bronze Soldier monument in April 2007, and by the erecting of the War of Independence Victory Column in Tallinn in 2010. The government’s communication with World War II veterans after the 2004 Lihula conflict could be described as cautiously conciliatory, while at the same time controlling and restraining. For example, in 2005, a memorial ground dedicated to those who participated in the defense battles of 1944 was inaugurated in Maarjamäe, Tallinn, near the earlier gigantic Soviet memorial. With the controversial sixtieth anniversary of World War II approaching, and less than a year after the Lihula conflict, the government rebutted the media’s claims that “a monument to the warriors who fought in German uniform would be opened.” Instead, a new commemorative ritual was introduced, dedicated to “all the victims and those who perished in World War II” and held annually on Maarjamäe Memorial Ground on May 8.88 For some observers, the government’s actions signified the replacement of the former cult of victimhood with the cult of heroic soldiers.89 For the “freedom fighters,” who had, with the ­government’s approval, been involved in designing the memorial ground since the early 2000s,90 the government’s taking full credit in establishing the Maarjamäe memorial ground was just another sign of ignoring them and their contribution in planning the memorial.91 The EVL noticed that the government restricted the public display of its symbols.92 In addition, the Ministry of  Defense tightened control over the use of public finances assigned to the EVL.93 Tensions over the Bronze Soldier erupted once again when the Victory Day approached in 2006, resulting in the sealing off the area by the police. (786 SE) esimene lugemine, Riigikogu täisistungi protokoll pn 5, 07.02.2006, accessed August 21, 2015, http://stenogrammid.riigikogu.ee/et/200602071000#PKP-2000012704. 88 Vabariigi Valitsus [Government of the Republic of Estonia], Eesti mälestab kõiki Teises maailmasõjas hukkunuid, 27.04.2005, accessed August 26, 2015, https://valitsus.ee/et/ uudised/eesti-malestab-koiki-teises-maailmasojas-hukkunuid. 89 Lehti, Jutila, Jokisipilä, “Never-Ending Second World War,” 408. 90 Vabariigi Valitsus [Government of the Republic of Estonia], Peaminister Mart Laar kohtus täna demokraatlik-rahvuslike jõudude koostöökoja liikmetega, 13.09.2001, accessed August 26, 2015, https://valitsus.ee/et/uudised/peaminister-mart-laar-kohtus-tana-demokraatlikrahvuslike-joudude-koostookoja-liikmetega. 91 Kallas, Eesti Vabadusvõitlejate, 36–38. 92 Ibid., 36. 93 Ibid.

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Estonia held a general election in March 2007 and the issue of the future of the Bronze Soldier also played a significant part in it. Both the governing Reform Party and the Pro Patria and Res Publica Union opposing parties called loudly for the statue’s removal.94 Prime Minister Ansip attended the “freedom ­fighters”’ gathering in Võru in the summer of 2006 and expressed gratitude for their “sacrifice and historical contribution”,95 drawing parallels with the War of Independence in 1918. By contrast, a year later, when meeting veterans in Toronto, the prime minister rejected their application to declare anti-communist fighting in World War II the “Second War of Independence” with the argument that “there were also war criminals among you.”96 From 2007 onward, the veterans did not participate in the defense forces’ parades celebrating the anniversary of the republic. The second publication of research by the Historical Commission in 2006 had its effect, too.97 In the coming years, v­ eterans protested the commission’s results, accusing it of selective treatment of war crimes and of ignoring research done by previous 94 Ansip’s tough stance on the Bronze Soldier helped his Reform Party win the election in 2007. With the next World War II anniversary approaching in April 2007, the government relocated the Bronze Soldier from central Tallinn to the military cemetery. To protest the removal of the monument, a crowd of approximately 100,000, mostly Russian-speakers, gathered, causing a violent riot on April 26 and 27. One man involved in the riot was killed. By the third night the peace was restored in Tallinn but a wave of public disturbances followed in other cities. April 26 and 27, 2007, are known as the “Bronze Night” in Estonian mnemohistory. (For a more detailed overview, see Karsten Brüggemann and Andres Kasekamp, “The Politics of History and the War of Memories in Estonia,” Nationalities Papers 36:3 (2008): 425−448.) 95 “Ansip: vabadusvõitlejate võitlus oli kangelastegu,” Postimees, 08.07.2006, accessed August 21, 2015, http://www.postimees.ee/1559847/ansip-vabadusvoitlejate-voitlus-oli-kangelastegu. 96 E. Purje and E. Lindaja, “Peaminister Ansip kohtus veteranidega,” Võitleja. Ülemaailmne Eesti Sõjameeste ja Vabadusvõitlejate Häälekandja 3 (2007): 1. 97 See Toomas Hiio, Meelis Maripuu, and Indrek Paavle, ed., Estonia 1940–1945. Reports of the Estonian International Commission for the Investigation of Crimes Against Humanity (Tallinn: Estonian International Commission for the Investigation of Crimes Against Humanity, 2006). A brief summary of the Commission’s report (available both in Estonian and English, http:// www.mnemosyne.ee) was much more widely read than the extremely voluminous original (which was never published in Estonian). Among other matters, the Commission revealed that “the 287th [Police Battalion] was on duty at the Klooga camp in September 1944, when the last surviving prisoners were killed. It is not clear whether the actual killings were carried out by German SS guards, by members of a reserve unit of the Estonian SS, or by members of the 287th. It is, however, clear that the 287th was actively involved in gathering together the prisoners, guarding them, and escorting them to their death. The unit was withdrawn to Germany and most of its men were sent to the 20th Estonian SS Division.” The report disclosed evidence of other crimes committed by Estonian Police Battalions in Belarus and elsewhere.

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c­ ommissions as well as, most significantly, neglecting the “common memory of Estonians.”98 However, as the topic of perpetrator was never actually debated in the public sphere, the polemics and umbrage of the veterans remained within the framework of their specific niche. Still, feedback in response to the Commission’s report showed that there was little support among the public for recognizing “freedom-fighting” in the way the veterans desired.99 After the failed draft legislation of 2006,100 Pro Patria and Res Publica Union addressed the issue of “freedom-fighting” again in 2010, after the ­sixty-fifth anniversary of the end of World War II, by initiating a new proposal “which would grant the ‘freedom fighter’ status to all those who participated in the defensive battles of 1944, including those who fought in Waffen-SS uniform.”101 The next attempt was made a year later, when the proposal was publicly backed by Minister of Defense Mart Laar.102 A certain closure to the saga of recognition for “freedom-fighting” finally arrived with a statement from the Parliament on February 14, 2012 “On Expressing Recognition to Estonian Citizens.”103 Four years after the Day of Remembrance for Victims of Communism and Nazism, August 23, had been added to the national calendar, the Parliament expressed recognition of “the citizens of the Republic of Estonia who, in the years of Soviet or Nazi German occupation, acted in the name of de facto restoration of the Republic of Estonia.” The Parliament also   98 Herbert Lindmäe, “Hinnang M. Jakobsoni rahvusvahelise komisjoni raportile,” Kultuur ja Elu: Rahvuskultuuri ajakiri 3 (2011), accessed August 26, 2015, http://kultuur.elu.ee/ ke505_okupatsioon.htm; Peep Varju, “Miks Riigikogu pelgab Eesti vabaduse eest võidelnud vanu sõjamehi?,” Kultuur ja Elu: Rahvuskultuuri ajakiri 4 (2011), accessed August 26, 2015; http://kultuur.elu.ee/ke506_varju.htm. 99 “Editorial: Vene ajaloopropaganda,” Postimees, 29.09.2007, accessed August 26, 2015, http://arvamus.postimees.ee/1709093/juhtkiri-vene-ajaloopropaganda. 100 Pro Patria, Res Publica Union, and the EVL made a cooperation agreement in 2007. They also work together in the Cooperation Chamber of Democratic National Forces of Estonia, which includes, among its members, the Association of Former Political Prisoners, the Memento Association, the Association of the Former Student Freedom Fighters, the Estonian Association of Wounded Warriors, the Estonian Central Union of Owners, General Johannes Laidoner Association, Farmers’ Assembly, the Estonian Reserve Officers’ Association, and the Heritage Association of Veterans of the Finnish War. 101 “IRL soovib Relva-SSis võidelnutele vabadusvõitleja staatust,” Delfi, 26.07.2010, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.delfi.ee/news/paevauudised/eesti/irl-soovib-relva-ssisvoidel nutele-vabadusvoitleja-staatust?id=32305805. 102 Koorits, “Laar kavatseb Saksa vormis sõdinud mehed ametlikult vabadusvõitlejateks tunnistada.” 103 Riigi Teataja [State’s Gazette] III (15.02.2012): 2, accessed August 20, 2015, https://www. riigiteataja.ee/akt/315022012002.

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denounced the repressive politics of the Soviet Union and National Socialist Germany and “the activities of the persons who, in the service of these regimes, have committed crimes against humanity, irrespective of their citizenship and the ­location where these crimes were committed.” The final text of the statement did not include the definition of “freedom-fighting” for which Pro Patria and Res Publica Union had been advocating for years. Yet, the press still associated the Parliament’s statement with the recognition of “freedom fighters.”104 Veterans, however, expressed their disappointment with the statement, saying that “its contents do not meet the long-term expectations recorded in our appeals to the Parliament prepared at the freedom fighters’ meetings: to provide on behalf of the Republic of Estonia an official evaluation of the events of 1939–1991 in Estonia and to unambiguously recognize the fight for Estonia’s national independence and the freedom fighters.”105 After the strong international attention given to the “freedom fighters’” monument in Pärnu and Lihula in 2002 to 2004 and the Bronze Soldier crisis of 2007, a more conservative politics of memory followed. Despite this turn, the state started to move decisively away from veterans’ organizations, withdrawing its involvement in actions that could have a damaging effect on the country’s reputation.106 Nevertheless, the veterans who fought against the 104 “Riik tunnustas Eesti vabadusvõitlejaid,” Delfi, 14.02.2012, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.delfi.ee/news/paevauudised/eesti/riik-tunnustas-eesti-vabadusvoitlejaid? id=63917829. 105 See “Tartu Vabadusvõitlejate Ühenduse juhatuse arvamusavaldus Riigikogu tunnustuse kohta Eesti kodanikele 14.02.2012,” Kultuur ja Elu: Rahvuskultuuri ajakiri 3, accessed August 26, 2015, http://kultuur.elu.ee/ke509_avaldus.htm. The reactions of “freedom fighters” were not uniform. For example, the Former Forest Brethren Association of Estonia and the Association of Admiral Johan Pitka’s Brothers-in-Arms welcomed the statement of the Parliament (Elle Puusaag, “Moraalse auvõla tasumisest,” Eesti Elu, 25.02.2012, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.eesti.ca/moraalse-auvola-tasumisest/article35352). Furthermore, in the autumn of 2013 the Former Forest Brethren Association awarded the minister of defense (Pro Patria and Res Publica Union) with their Cross of Merit (“Endised metsavennad autasustasid kaitseministrit,” 13.10.2013, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.kaitseministeerium.ee/et/uudised/endised-metsavennad-autasustasidkaitseministrit). 106 For example, the Ministry of Defense withdrew from participating in the creation of the commemorative medal “20 Years of Freedom” in the spring of 2014, before the 70th anniversary of the Sinimäed battle (“Vabadusvõitlejad peavad mälestusristi omast taskust kinni maksma,” Delfi, 08.08.2014, accessed August 26, 2015, http://www.delfi.ee/news/ paevauudised/eesti/vabadusvoitlejad-peavad-malestusristi-omast-taskust-kinni-maksma?id=69501965&utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed& utm_campaign=Feed%3A+delfiuudised+%28DELFI+%3E+K%C3%B5ik+uudised%29). The commemorative cross was created by different veterans’ and military retirees’

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Red Army in World War II have remained a part of Estonian military culture. They continue to get support for their activities from the state budget and are involved in the important events of the Defense Forces and the Defense League. For ­example, a military funeral was organized in 2014 for Harald Nugiseks, a veteran of the 20th Estonian Division of Waffen-SS and recipient of the Knight’s Cross of Germany.107 Even so, the Defense Forces are cautious about associating their new traditions with World War II veterans: for instance, World War II veterans have been clearly left out of the Veteran’s Day tradition, held on April 23, which aims to enhance the social recognition of veterans in society,108 although the Estonian War of Independence is commemorated on Veterans’ Day.109 However, as the Veteran’s Day memorial service is held at St. George’s Church in Tori village, and dedicated to all soldiers slain in World War II; where the visibility of war relics is very vivid, this distinction becomes blurred in practice.110 Moreover, the “freedom fighters” do attend the ­memorial service. The example of Nugiseks’s treatment also illustrates the direction the ­politics of recognition for “freedom fighters” is heading in when generations organizations, for “those who fought for the de facto restoration of the independence of Estonia from 1940–1994, including the participants of the defense battles at Sinimäed; to those who participated in 1990–1994 in restoring the national defense of Estonia, or have contributed to the valuation and recording of freedom-fighting in Estonia and to raising patriotism and the will to defend in citizens” (from statute of the commemorative medal, http://www.eeok.eu/index.php?id=30). 107 Teelemari Loonet, “Nugiseksile korraldatakse kaitseväelised matused,” Postimees, 10.01.2014, accessed November 29, 2015, https://www.postimees.ee/2656706/ nugiseksile-korraldatakse-kaitsevaelised-matused. 108 Among the veterans are included citizens of Estonia who “have participated as part of the Defense Forces in either an international or collective self-defense operation on the basis of the International Military Cooperation Act” (Policy regarding veterans of Defense Forces and the Defense League,” http://www.mil.ee/et/veteran/veteranipoliitika). The topic of veteran politics was also raised at the end of 2011, when there was a public discussion in a statement drafted by the Parliament, “On Expressing Recognition to Estonian Citizens” (“Juhan Kivirähk: kaitseministeeriumil tuleb välja töötada veteranide poliitika,” Delfi, 30.12.2011, accessed August 20, 2015, http://www.delfi.ee/news/ paevauudised/eesti/juhan-kivirahk-kaitseministeeriumil-tuleb-valja-tootada-veteranidepoliitika?id=63710698). 109 Kirsti Jõesalu, “Commemorating ‘new’ Veterans: Transition of memories across time and mediums” (Power Point presentation, Sevent Symposium of the Finnish Oral History Network, Helsinki, Finland, November 27–28, 2014). 110 Halliki Harro-Loit, Triin Vihalemm, Kirsti Jõesalu, and Elo-Hanna Seljamaa, “Mapping celebration practices in Estonia: which days of importance actually influence societal rhythms?” in Approaches to Culture Theory 8 (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2017).

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of “postmemory” take over the work of remembrance.111 The tendency of the 2000s was for younger generations to join the existing veterans’ o­ rganizations and also establish their own.112 For example, in 2009, the Club of Friends of the Estonian Legion was officially registered.113 The club’s aim was to achieve public recognition for “freedom fighters” and to document their heritage, actively speaking out in public on the issue.114 Honoring Nugiseks, the only living Estonian recipient of the Knight’s Cross of the Nazi Germany, had been on the agenda of “heritage holders” for years. While the state repeatedly refused to recognize Nugiseks as a national hero, they created their own forms of recognition: in 2008, the Medal of Gratitude of the Estonian People was established and awarded to Nugiseks as a civic initiative,115 and in 2010 his ninetieth b­ irthday was grandiosely, if informally, celebrated.116 The spurring on of younger generations on the issue of “freedom-fighting” also marks the beginning of a new stage in the commemoration of World War II: rather than embodying living memory, combat experience in World War II is ­increasingly becoming a part of the production of cultural heritage. To wit: it is a cultural resource in the expressions of social protest or in celebrating radical ­nationalism.117 Culturally, those social memory processes are marked by ­increasing intermediality, with the younger generations ­mastering the increasingly media-driven nature of memory work much better than 111 On postmemory, see Marianne Hirsch, “The Generation of Postmemory,” Poetics Today 29:1 (2008): 103–128. 112 Of course, young members who were nationalist-minded and interested in military history had been around veterans’ organizations earlier, too. 113 Website of the Club of Friends of the Estonian Legion, accessed August 27, 2015, http:// www.eestileegion.com 114 Andri Ollema, “Ükski vabadusvõitleja ei lähe tunnustust kerjama, riik peab oma selja sirgu lööma!” Delfi, 29.12.2011, accessed Aug 26, 2015, http://rahvahaal.delfi.ee/news/uudised/ ukski-vabadusvoitleja-ei-lahe-tunnustust-kerjama-riik-peab-oma-selja-sirgu-looma? id=63707410. 115 See statute of the medal, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.noortekolonn.org/index. php/tanumedali-tutvustus/tanumedali-statuut. 116 See the anniversary theme page on the website of the Estonian Freedom Fighters Association, accessed August 27, 2015, http://www.hot.ee/vaikal00/vaikal_73.htm. 117 The Club of Friends of the Estonian Legion, for example, shares a commemorative album on Facebook, one of which (“We shall not forget!”) carries the message “We know the rulers of E(SS)R are hypocritical and two-faced in their activities, they have forgotten their responsibility to their nation, language and culture. They keep away from the sacred last resting places of their Heroes, they prefer strangers’ interests to their own, and they worship foreign idols and rulers. CFEL invites Estonians to go from words to actions, which means that we should be Estonians and remain so in our actions, bearing the honor and the pride of our ancestors […].”

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their ­predecessors. Nevertheless, one cannot say that social concern for “freedom-fighting” has widened as the issue has moved to social media. Quite the opposite—the topic of “freedom-fighting” has exhausted itself in ­institutional and monumental commemorations, and society has acknowledged its ambivalence on the subject. As the number of living veterans has decreased, the topic itself has been handed over to “heritage holders,” further contributing to its marginalization in society.

CONCLUSION The politics of recognition for Estonian “freedom fighters” falls into three memorial and political periods. The period of 1987 to 1994 witnessed the total reevaluation of World War II in Estonia. During this period the general commemorative landscape of World War II was developed, and the foundation laid for the national narrative of war remembrance. This period also produced the cultural logic that to this day frames the politics of recognition of veterans who call themselves “freedom fighters.” The period of 1995 to 2004 was a time when the politics of recognition pursued by Estonia on the international level existed in an ambivalent relationship with the country’s own domestic memory work. The “freedom fighters” got conflicting messages of, on the one hand, material and moral support, but, on the other hand, apathy from a government under pressure from ­international accusations of fascism and collaborationism. In the middle of this period, the veterans acknowledged the need for a purposeful politics of recognition and attempted to validate their version of the past primarily at the monumental level. The attempt culminated in the Lihula conflict, illustrating the disharmony between the contemporary European memory regime and the Cold War ideology-oriented politics of memory supported by the “freedom fighters.” The period of 2005 to 2012 that followed the Lihula conflict was ­characterized by a turn toward a more conservative national politics of memory. Emphasizing the legal continuity of Estonia in the context of the year 1944, the commemoration of the Republic of Estonia’s ninetieth anniversary ­complied with the goals of the “freedom fighters’” politics of recognition. The strategy adopted by veterans and their advocates of using political means to attain state recognition for the status of “freedom fighter” was successful, but public ­discussion of the relevant draft legislation also showed that the narrative of World War II in public memory was not as uniform as anticipated.

World War II Remembrance and the Politics of Recognition

In addition, the report of the Historical Commission brought public attention to the topic of war criminals. The relationship of veterans to the government could be described as the taming of the “freedom fighters”: recognition at the everyday level was accompanied by the gradual removal of veterans’ organizations from the official public sphere (e.g., during the celebration of national holidays). The vague recognition authorized by the Parliament in 2012, which did not come close to meeting the expectations of all veterans, seemed to conclude for the government the issue of defining the “fight for freedom.” The state interacts with social memory primarily through its role in military culture. Regardless of the relatively unrestricted climate of Estonian national politics of memory and remembrance, particularly on the institutional and ­monumental levels, the issue of “freedom fighting,” especially in the form advocated by the veterans and their sympathizers, is increasingly viewed by the ­government and members of society with ambivalence. As such, the memory of “freedom-fighting” is now entering a new, more hidden stage, as a cultural resource for subsequent generations to turn to in acts of social protest or in manifestations of radical nationalism.

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Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West Kristina Burinskaitė The Genocide and Resistance Research Centre of Lithuania Vilnius University

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 ithin Lithuania, the topic of the Holocaust—especially with regard to the participation of Lithuanians—is a particularly sensitive one, demanding ­consideration of the different evaluations and approaches taken by Jews and Lithuanians. Emotions still prevent objective assessment of certain aspects of the tragedy. During the Soviet occupation, which followed the Nazi occupation, it was not possible to speak openly on this topic or to carry out objective research. Although much was written in the Soviet era about the atrocities of the Nazis in Lithuania, justice was certainly not the most important goal of the Soviet authorities. Evaluation of emigrants’ attitudes toward the Holocaust and Lithuanians’ role in said tragedy was influenced by the attitudes of Lithuanian anti-Nazi resistance organizations, which were basically organized in the background of organization of independent Lithuania. The Nazi occupation regime prohibited political parties and organizations acting in independent Lithuania on August 5, 1941, with the exception of the Lithuanian Nationalist party, which in turn was banned in December 1941. As a result, some organizations ­reappeared and acted covertly as peaceful anti-Nazi resistance organizations. Some of these organizations were liberal, Catholic, and national. Members of military, youth, and student organizations also played an important role. Attitudes toward anti-semitism and the Holocaust were contradictory and ­distinct.

Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West

For example, The Lithuanian Activist Front (LAF), which organized the ­uprising against the Soviets in 1941, held on to anti-semitic ideology. Others did not pay attention to the tragedy of the Jews and watched it unfold without taking any measures to stop the massacre or come to their aid.1 Simply put, the Jewish calamity was not a priority to these Lithuanian organizations. With such moods and attitude some of the groups retreated to the West, continuing to develop their position regarding the Holocaust, and Lithuanians’ role in the mass killing of Jews. After WWII, Lithuanian emigrants did not pay attention to the topic of the Holocaust. Society paid more attention to the fate of Jews just when émigrés had to protect themselves from accusations r­egarding their participation in the Holocaust.2 Some research by the Lithuanian ­diaspora into Jewish and Lithuanian relations was mainly based on the p­reconceived evaluations and anti-Jewish stereotypes that émigré Lithuanians held onto after feeling the country in 1944 and 45. They tried to downplay the number of Lithuanians who had participated in the Holocaust, and partly ­justify Lithuanians’ actions during this period, shifting r­ esponsibility to the Nazi’s policy. Moreover, they blamed Jews for collaboration with the Soviets in 1940 and participation in the NKVD repressions against Lithuanians. Such tendencies are evident in the memoirs of high ranking officials, including those from the military, members of the clergy in independent Lithuania, and active participants in the anti-Soviet and anti-Nazi resistance (nationalist and Catholic groups), as well as the Generals Stasys Raštikis, Kazys Škirpa, Vincentas Brizgys, Adolfas Damušis, and others. However, some émigrés— mainly from the young, liberal generation, who grew up in the West and adopted the Western way of life, thinking, and values, began speaking more openly and objectively about Lithuanian responsibility during this tragedy. In 1978, the liberal organization Santara - Šviesa organized a forum about Jewish and Lithuanian attitudes toward the Holocaust.3 An article by the Lithuanian dissident (and later émigré) Tomas Venclova deserves a special mention, since the reaction from conservative circles of emigration was defensible.4

  1 A. Bubnys, “Lietuvių antinacinė rezistencija 1941–1944,” Voruta, 17.09.2013, http://www. voruta.lt/lietuviu-antinacine-rezistencija-1941–1944-metais  2 Zigmas Vitkus, “Prof. Saulius Sužiedėlis: ‘Svarbu ne švari, o teisinga istorija,’” http://www. bernardinai.lt/straipsnis/2012-01-02-prof-saulius-suziedelis-svarbu-ne-svari-o-teisinga-­ istorija/74448  3 Ibid.   4 T. Venclova, “Lietuviai ir žydai,” Akiračiai 2 (1977).

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Meanwhile, Jewish authors writing about Lithuania’s wartime situation emphasized the uniqueness of the Holocaust in Lithuania. Only after the ­restoration of Lithuania’s independence was it possible to examine this painful period in history objectively and thoroughly. However, telling the truth about the Holocaust in Lithuanian society is still an extremely painful and difficult process. Attempts by historians and publicists to critically assess the events of recent history and to expose Lithuanian collaboration with the Nazis in ­committing genocide against the Jews were negatively received by both the general public and the media in Lithuania and abroad. Accusations of involvement in the Holocaust have usually received a negative response from Lithuanians and have led to defensive attitudes and counter-accusations directed at Jews for the harm perpetrated against Lithuanians. Avoidance of Holocaust research by Lithuanian historians can be ­partially explained by the fact that during the Soviet period this painful topic was used by the regime for political and propaganda purposes—in order to discredit the regime’s enemies, the so-called Lithuanian bourgeois nationalists. These, without exception, were portrayed as Nazi collaborators and war criminals. This essay seeks to show how Soviet authorities, using the KGB, took a­ dvantage of Lithuanians’ role in the Holocaust to target war ­criminals—not for the sake of justice, but to interfere with émigré activities seeking the liberation of Lithuania.

USES AND AIMS OF THE DISCREDITING APPROACH Lithuanian émigrés were one of the principle targets of KGB activities after 1940, since, from the beginning of the Soviet occupation, they made the international community aware of crimes perpetrated by the Soviets in Lithuania and denied the lies spread by the Soviet government claiming that Lithuania had voluntary acceded to the Soviet Union. KGB activities particularly intensified after 1953, when émigrés and dissidents started to push the issue of the occupation of Lithuania and the other Baltic States into the international arena. At the beginning of the 1950s, because of the limited diplomatic thaw between Western countries and USSR,5 émigrés feared that the issue of the occupation would disappear from the international policy agenda. As a result, they started an active public opinion campaign, using the press and  5 J. Banionis, Lietuvos laisvinimas Vakaruose, 1940–1975 (Vilnius: Lietuvos Gyventojų Genocido ir Rezistencijos Tyrimo Centras, 2010), 157.

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lobbying within the US administration and other international organizations to gain support for the liberation of Lithuania. They spread information about reprisals and ­persecution for religious beliefs and for political activism, thereby undermining Soviet propaganda and shaping a negative image of the Soviet Union. Some of the most important tasks of the KGB intelligence and ideological counterintelligence agencies were to weaken and shut down the liberation activities of Lithuanian émigrés, to prevent them from raising the issue of Lithuania’s occupation at the international level, to divide the diaspora, and to discredit its activities and members. The fight for domestic and international public opinion became a new area of confrontation between the diaspora and the KGB, whose primary purpose in discrediting Lithuanians abroad was to reduce international support for diaspora activities and ideas and to isolate representatives of the diaspora.

METHODS AND FORMS OF THE DISCREDITING APPROACH The KGB’s discrediting campaigns involved the publication, distortion, and biased presentation of facts—positive or negative, true or false—in the press or other mass media in order to generate public disdain and condemnation of their targets. They used documents and articles from the Nazi period. According to the testimony of those interrogated by the KGB and to KGB documents themselves, a series of dossiers entitled “Facts accuse” was published about the crimes of the so-called Lithuanian bourgeois nationalists; these dossiers included files on the annihilation of the Jews, co-operation between the diaspora and US special agencies, partisan crimes, and the hypocrisy of Catholic priests.6 In a letter from 1966 regarding the search for people suspected of war crimes, the KGB gives instructions to its divisions regarding not only the ­collection of information about those individuals but also the discrediting of suspected Lithuanians abroad, including their defamation on TV, the radio,7 and in books and dossiers disseminated in the United States and Israel. In 1978, the KGB of the Lithuanian SSR (LSSR KGB) wrote to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania, rejoicing that, ­following the publication of KGB articles on war criminals, “a sociology professor at   6 J. Mikuckis, Šioje ir anoje pusėje (Vilnius: Mintis, 1974), Jie gyvena tarp mūsų (Vilnius: Mintis, 1972); J. Jakaitis, Išdavystės keliu (Vilnius: Mintis, 1973); V. Miniotas, Atsargiai, Balfas! (Vilnius: Mintis, 1973).   7 Letter dated August 3, 1966, from the deputy chairman of the LSSR KGB to KGB divisions regarding the search for war criminals, LYA, f. K-41, ap. 1, b. 652, l. 10.

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Jerusalem University prepared and published in the New York Times and the Chicago Tribune a paper based on KGB material about collective Lithuanian responsibility.”8 A method widely used by the KGB was to send letters regarding the guilt of émigrés, written by allegedly unhappy or disaffected individuals, to a targeted group of organizations, officials, and the press. In one instance, the First Department of the LSSR KGB wrote to the First Main Directorate (PGU) of the USSR KGB regarding the severing of relations between the Lithuanian American Council (LAC) and Jewish organizations specifying that “we are sending you our prepared letters addressed to the ‘Lithuanian Jewish Society in Israel’ by Lithuanian émigrés supposedly residing in the United States [...]. One copy could be posted on the organization’s official letterhead, and for the others it would be better to send on behalf of anonymous ­individuals.”9 This is a method not only of discrediting the ­individuals, but also of spreading disinformation.

TARGETS OF DISCREDITING The search for war criminals and the publication of their crimes—with the supposed aim of justice—was clearly meant to undermine the diaspora and its activities lobbying for Lithuania’s liberation. The KGB targeted those with anti-Soviet opinions who were active during the Nazi occupation, such as Rev. Vincentas Brizgys,10 as well as former politicians and members of the ­military and other organizations. The anti-Soviet activities these people undertook after they emigrated to the West were an even greater incentive to harm them. Diaspora organizations did include people who had participated in the killing of Jews, but these organizations could not always obtain or verify any such information. Even people who knew something did not talk about it. As a result, these people and the diaspora organizations to which they belonged became targets of discrediting.  8 Letter dated December 13, 1978 from LSSR KGB to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania, regarding the relationship between the Lithuanian population and the Jewish diaspora following the publication of KGB articles on war criminals, LYA, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 298, l. 258.   9 J. Starkauskas, KGB bandymai sukiršinti JAV lietuvius ir žydus, Lietuvos žydų žudynių byla (Vilnius: Vaga, 2001), 514. 10 Vincentas Brizgys (1903–1992) was one of the most active fighters during the first Soviet occupation. In 1944 he was sent to Germany by the Nazis. He continued his extensive anti-Soviet activity in the West.

Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West

DISCREDITING MATERIAL Discrediting campaigns against the diaspora in relation to the Holocaust were built on historical facts about Lithuanian collaboration with the Nazi ­occupation authorities and participation in the killing of Jews. These facts were sometimes true; however, they were often deliberately distorted and assessed in a biased way through the prism of Communist ideology. The historical context of the Lithuanian collaboration with the Nazis was deliberately concealed. In 1941–1944, Lithuania was occupied by Nazi Germany. Under their control, the Nazis allowed local self-government (Lithuanian provisional government and other local institutions like police), established as a result of the uprising on June 22 and 23, 1941. Lithuanian participation in mass killings and anti-semitism of the Lithuanian Provisional Government, as well as the rather cautious position of Lithuanian Catholic Church, gave a pretext for Soviet authorities and the KGB to accuse many Lithuanians, except those known to be pro-Communist, of collaboration with the Nazi government and direct or indirect participation in the Holocaust. The Soviet authorities and the KGB controlled the archives and created their own self-serving version of the events from ­1940–1944 in Lithuania.11 This allowed the Soviets to portray émigrés as supporters of Nazi Germany. Discussions of émigrés in the Soviet press and pro-Communist newspapers were dominated by accusations that émigrés and émigré organizations were guilty of war crimes, or of hiding war crimes, or of participation in the killing of Jews and Soviet officials. Lithuanian anti-Soviet activities and rhetoric, statements made during the Nazi occupation, and even peaceful anti-Nazi resistance were all likened to a pro-Nazi position and denounced as ­collaboration with the Nazi authorities. This information was supposed to shape international public opinion in ways acceptable to Soviet authorities, discredit diaspora activities directed against the Soviet occupation, reduce the ranks of diaspora supporters, and distort and devalue the real goals of the diaspora.

KGB AND THE SEARCH FOR WAR CRIMINALS: THE CONTEXT OF DISCREDITING CAMPAIGNS Advancing its own political aims under the guise of justice, the Soviet Union also engaged in and organized trials against war criminals and became involved 11 J. Banionis, “Lietuvos laisvinimo veikla Vakaruose įsigalint detantui 1970–1974 metais,” Genocidas ir Rezistencija 15/1 (2004): 124.

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in the search for them in the West. In 1961 to 1962, Soviet authorities o­ rganized public and well-publicized trials against war criminals in Lithuania. A few defendants were sentenced to death. The full arsenal of LSSR KGB propaganda measures is revealed in the action plan for the 1962 public trial of the m ­ embers of the Twelfth Police Battalion: “pursuant to the decision of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania, a committee was set up which will organize events and report on the trial. A film, articles, exhibitions, and lectures have been prepared. [...] One of the events will be a meeting of Kaunas authorities with the general public, using the trial to discredit bourgeois nationalists abroad, foreign governments, and foreign intelligence agencies supported by Lithuanian émigré organizations. Send letters to émigrés and the US administration about the ongoing trials.”12 Throughout the Soviet era in Lithuania, approximately 1,300 people who participated in the killings of Jews and Soviet citizens were put on trial: 300 were shot and 1,000 were given other punishments.13 Some defendants who had emigrated to the West were tried in absentia. The KGB used these trials for anti-Western propaganda, d­ iscrediting émigrés and seeking to extradite them back to Lithuania. The KGB managed to take advantage of the search for and trial of suspected war criminals that took place in the West. The Office of Special Investigations at the US Department of Justice (OSI), founded in 1979, organized searches for war criminals and their prosecution in the US. It took legal action to revoke the US citizenship of war criminals and to deport them. The KGB was the main institution that provided information to the OSI about those accused of war crimes, but did not publicize its role in the process. The OSI investigations were obstructed by the fact that the American organization could not verify the information sent by the Soviets, yet this information was not the only evidence that influenced the OSI decisions.

THE AIMS OF USING THE HOLOCAUST The task of discrediting émigrés by publicizing information about Lithuanian participation in the Holocaust is revealed explicitly in KGB order No. 0051, dated May 8, 1968, which aims “[...] to spread suspicion and otherwise obstruct activities of the diaspora, to force the US special services to rethink their f­ urther 12 Plan dated July 25, 1962 of the chairman of LSSR KGB for preparations for an open trial of a self-defense battalion. LYA, f. K-30, ap. 1, b. 850, l.26, 29. 13 R. Geleževičius, Holokausto teisingumas ir restitucija Lietuvoje atkūrus nepriklausomybę (1990–2003) (Vilnius: Lietuvos Teisės universitetas, 2003), 38–41.

Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West

cooperation with Lithuanian diaspora organizations.”14 Discrediting was aimed at not only influencing public opinion but also convincing US government agencies to discontinue their support for the Lithuanian diaspora and the Lithuanian liberation movement. This goal resurfaced when the KGB, n­ oticing that Lithuanian and Jewish émigrés were trying to improve their relations, began publicizing such information. In order to set Jews against Lithuanians and derail effective liberation campaigns by émigrés from the Baltic States, the KGB disseminated material on Lithuanians who had assisted or allegedly assisted the Nazis in the annihilation of the Jews to Western news organizations and institutions. This was aimed at creating an impression in the West that Lithuanians were active Nazi supporters and that there were supposedly a number of Lithuanians in the West who had not yet been convicted for their war crimes. Additionally, the KGB sought to reduce the Baltic diaspora’s i­nfluence in the US Congress and government agencies.15 Historian Juozas Starkauskas identifies yet another aim of the Soviet propaganda. In his opinion, the dissemination of KGB brochures about the Holocaust in Lithuania was driven by the desire to distort and denigrate the memory of the participants of the June 1941 uprising, who were supposedly fascists and were often referred to as “Jew-killers.” This rhetoric is heard even now from certain Russians, although it must be admitted that there were indeed such people among the rebels of the uprising. So-called bourgeois nationalists were often cited as German collaborators in killing the Jews.16

DISCREDITING CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE DIASPORA: TRUTH LOST IN LIES AND INTERPRETATIONS There are several examples that illustrate how the Soviets organized p­ ublication of information—sometimes accurate and sometimes biased, depending on what was useful to them. Among the most striking of these campaigns was one that began in 1962 and focused on the actions of Antanas Impulevičius, the commander of the Twelfth Lithuanian Police Battalion during WWII.17 14 Letter dated 1965 from the first unit of the LSSR KGB about the division and discrediting of the Lithuanian diaspora, survey of the activities of the first unit of the LSSR KGB 1944– 1965. LYA, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 844, l. 204. 15 Alfonsas Eidintas, ed., Lietuvos žydų žudynių byla: dokumentų ir straipsnių rinkinys (Vilnius: Vaga, 2001), 201–202. 16 J. Starkauskas, KGB bandymai sukiršinti, 514. 17 In 1941, Impulevičius was sentenced to eight years in a correctional facility; when the war broke out, he was freed from prison. Between 1941 and 1943, he was the commander of the

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The campaign involved newspaper articles published during 1962 and 1963;18 the book Do You Know Them? published in 1962; and the 1962 film Why the Stones are Silent. The film, book, and articles condemned Impulevičius, who was implicated in the murder of 50,000 people during the Nazi occupation. From October 1941 onward, the Lithuanian police battalion under his command, which was subordinated to the Eleventh German Police Reserve Battalion, ­carried out the killings of Soviet activists and Jews in Belarus. The vast majority of the victims were Jews. It is estimated that in 1941 the Lithuanian battalion, together with the Germans, killed 46,000 people.19 Though the information was correct and Impulevičius was indeed responsible for the massacre of Jews, the history of this Holocaust episode was manipulated by the Soviets by glossing over such facts as his arrest in 1940 and subsequent torture by NKVD investigators of Lithuanian, Russian, and Jewish descent. According to ­historian Alfredas Rukšėnas, the violence used against Impulevičius heightened his own sense of injustice, which was associated with a desire to punish and take revenge. This situation fostered the “scapegoat” psychology that could have led to his decisions regarding participation in the police battalions and the Holocaust.20 This should not be seen as a justification, but would help explain why a Lithuanian army officer rapidly rising through the ranks, who had no previous disciplinary charges, became such a violent criminal. Another widely publicized case was the exploitation of the contacts that the ardent anti-Communist Bishop Vincentas Brizgys maintained with the Nazi authorities for Soviet propaganda. In the 1970s and 1980s, a plethora of articles appeared in the Soviet press about Brizgys, calling him a war criminal and accusing him of assisting the Germans and contributing to the 1943 Lithuanian Conference that announced a call to enlist in Nazi service.21 This seems to be a somewhat muddled charge. What does history tell us about V. Bizgys, and what was concealed by the Soviet propaganda? The 1943 Lithuanian Conference mentioned by Soviet propaganda announced a call to enlist in the German Army

18 19 20 21

Second Lithuanian Police Battalion, later 12th battalion. After the war, he served for a while as chairman of the Lithuanian community in Philadelphia. S. Laurinaitis, M. Savickas, “Liudytojai atskleidžia nusikaltimų uždangą,” Tiesa, October 16, 1962; S. Laurinaitis, “Kas smerkia, o kas gina žudikus,” Tiesa, June 14, 1963. A. Bubnys, “Lietuvių policijos batalionai ir holokaustas,” in Lietuvos žydų tragedija (Vilnius: General Jonas Žemaitis Military Academy of Lithuania, 2001), 39–51. A. Rukšėnas, Kauno tautinio darbo apsaugos, 2-ojo pagalbinės policijos tarnybos batalionų karių kolektyvinė biografija. Doctoral dissertation (Klaipėda: Klaipeda University, and Vilnius: Institute of Lithuanian History, 2013), 72–73. “Karo nusikaltėliai JAV” (an article by the KGB author), LYA, f. K-1, ap. 46, b. 1118, l. 103–104.

Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West

to fight against the Bolsheviks.22 The most important condition for collaboration was the restoration of Lithuania’s statehood,23 but Soviet p­ ropaganda glossed over this aspect. In addition, the appeal appeared after Nazi reprisals had been carried out against Lithuanian priests and forty-six intellectuals had been arrested because of the failed mobilization to the SS legion. The Church leaders, including Brizgys, were in favor of Lithuanians joining the German Army for the purpose of fighting against the Bolsheviks. That the Nazis pressed the Church to make statements favorable to the occupiers is attested by the fact that the Germans agreed to release two imprisoned priests if Bishop Justinas Staugaitis wrote an anti-Soviet pastoral letter.24 In addition, Brizgys actively helped Jews, and, on his initiative, a letter was sent to the German authorities stating that Jews were Lithuanian citizens.25 This refutes the Soviet propaganda that the bishop did nothing, or even that he assisted the Nazis. In 1941, priests travelled to Belarus as military chaplains. One of them, Zenonas Ignatavičius, emigrated to the West after the war and became the vice-rector of St. Casimir’s College, hosting Lithuanian programs on Vatican Radio. This activity spurred the Soviet’s campaign of slander, and their ­propaganda accused him of participating in massacres perpetrated by the Twelfth Police Battalion. The article “What Pope John XXII does not know” was published in the magazine Švytury (1963, No. 21) and appeared in the Italian press thanks to the agent “Klimov.”26 Yet the Soviet report failed to ­mention that he had served as a chaplain, not a soldier, and arrived at the battalion only after the massacre had taken place.27 One of the most important pieces of Soviet propaganda regarding the Catholic Church’s collaboration with the Germans was the publication of the diary of Archbishop Juozas Skvireckas, which allegedly revealed the pro-Nazi position of the Catholic clergy. Favorable attitudes towards the Germans were shaped, however, by the fact that their arrival brought an end to Soviet terror 22 A. Bubnys, Vokiečių okupuota Lietuva (1941–1944) (Vilnius: Lietuvos tautinis kultūros fondas, 1998), 376. 23 R. Zyzas, “1943 m. balandžio 5 d. ‘visos Lietuvos’ konferencija: lietuvių politinis elitas kolaboravimo ir pasipriešinimo kryžkelėje,” Genocidas ir Rezistencija 1 (2011): 41. 24 R. Laukaitytė, Lietuvos bažnyčios vokiečių okupacijos metais (1941–1944) (Vilnius: Lietuvos Istorijos Instituto Leidykla, 2010), 22. 25 A. Bubnys, “Lietuvos kunigai žydų gelbėtojai,” LKMA Metraštis 27 (2005): 530. 26 Letter dated 1 January 1965 from the first unit of the LSSR KGB about the division and discrediting of the Lithuanian diaspora, LYA, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 844, l. 177–207. 27 A. Streikus, Sovietų valdžios antibažnytinė politika Lietuvoje (1944–1990) (Vilnius: Lietuvos Gyventojų Genocido ir Rezistencijos Tyrimo Centras, 2002), 62–63.

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and gave hopes of restoring Lithuania’s statehood. While the Catholic Church in Lithuania did pay obeisance to the Nazis, Skvireckas’s sermon criticized the new Nazi regime in 1942 because it did not improve the situation of the Church. Not all bishops supported the German occupiers. Bishop Mečislovas Reinys voiced his opposition to both Communism and Nazism.28 Though bishops did not publicly condemn the Holocaust, some of them secretly helped the Jews.29 Various KGB documents reveal the Soviet plans to consciously associate diaspora organizations with war criminals and thus discredit them in the international community. Such documents show no concern for the fact that justice was their ostensible aim. The LSSR KGB leadership, in a letter addressing the establishment of a group to carry out active measures, including the ­discrediting of Lithuanian émigrés, states that one of its aims is “to collect ­information about the activities of the diaspora in WWII [...] in propaganda campaigns using former players, including former German aides.”30 The 1972– 1974 plan of the LSSR KGB for measures against the Lithuanian diaspora organization Santara-Šviesa states that “in order to discredit diaspora organizations among the youth, [agents] should distribute in English the dossier ‘Facts accuse’ about émigré war criminals.”31 The 1980–1982 plan of the LSSR KGB for measures against organizations such as the World Lithuanian Community (PLB) and Lithuanian American Council (ALT, LAC) states that in order to discredit these organizations within Lithuania and the United States, articles about people suspected of war crimes should be published, since they were active in these organizations.32 A letter from the LSSR KGB to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania regarding Lithuanian émigrés’ preparations for the 1980 Madrid Conference reports that actions had been taken to discredit diaspora organizations among US officials by portraying émigrés as falsifiers of history

28 A. Streikus, “Katalikų bažnyčios padėtis nacių okupuotoje Lietuvoje,” LKMA Metraštis, 27 (2005): 410–411. 29 R. Laukaitytė, Lietuvos bažnyčios vokiečių okupacijos metais, 107. 30 Letter dated September 12, 1968 from the deputy chairman of the LSSR KGB to the second board of the first Uunit of LSSR KGB regarding a group established in the 5th unit for carrying out “active” measures against the Lithuanian diaspora, LYA, f. K-41, ap. 1, b. 659, l.86. 31 The 1972–1974 plan of the LSSR KGB dated September 14, 1972 for measures against Santara-Šviesa, f. K-41, ap. 1, b. 689, 1. 263–278. 32 The 1980–1982 plan of the LSSR KGB dated April 9, 1980 to investigate PLB and ALB, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 318, 1. 111.

Discrediting the Diaspora: The KGB Search for War Criminals in the West

who hid their own past as Nazi collaborators during the German occupation.33 A telegram sent on October 27, 1981 from the “K” Board of the USSR KGB PGU instructed the first unit of the LSSR KGB to accuse diaspora organizations and activists of war crimes and to portray émigrés as terrorists to Western audiences.34 The signs of rapprochement between Lithuanians and Jews forced the KGB to send to US authorities and the press forged documents about the émigrés who had been allegedly involved in the war crimes.35 According to US-based KGB agents, disagreements between the Lithuanian and Jewish émigrés should be used to further discredit émigrés in the eyes of the US public and to disclose their former contacts with the fascist Nazi government.36

RESPONSE FROM THE DIASPORA AND THE SEARCH FOR WAR CRIMINALS While Soviet propaganda declared its purpose to be justice against war criminals, the KGB documents reveal that the true aim of the Soviet regime was to discredit diaspora organizations by associating them with war criminals, and to undermine the ongoing activities for Lithuanian liberation. The publication of the KGB documents succeeded in generating confusion and discontent among émigrés and, worst of all, discredited the search for war criminals itself. The Lithuanian diaspora press understood that such materials (and p­ ublications) were directed against the entire diaspora, and that the whole campaign was undertaken by Soviet agents, whereas the documents were forged and aimed at discrediting the émigré community as such.37 At that time, however, it was impossible in Lithuania to verify the charges, since witnesses did not talk, which enabled some real war criminals to escape justice. 33 Letter dated March 20, 1980 from the LSSR KGB to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Lithuania regarding activities of the diaspora in preparation for the Madrid Conference, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 300, l. 301–304. 34 Telegram dated October 27, 1981 from the “K” Board of the USSR KGB PGU to the first unit of the LSSR KGB regarding discrediting of diaspora activities, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 302, L. 79–80. 35 Letter dated December 13, 1978 from the LSSR KGB, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 298, l. 257–261. 36 Letter dated August 24, 1978 from the first unit of the first subunit of the LSSR KGB regarding the suggestions from the center about discrediting diaspora organizations, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 298, l. 248. 37 Information from the first unit of the LSSR KGB regarding the response of the Lithuanian diaspora to articles about L. Kairys, f. K-35, ap. 2, b. 298, l.265–266.

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Truthful ­information sometimes was discredited by the fact that it came from the Soviet Union and could mislead some émigrés. Soviet propaganda about crimes of from a n­ ationalist or ideological background led some émigrés to believe that a­ ccusations regarding Lithuanian participation in the Holocaust was mere Soviet propaganda devoid of truth.38 Only after the restoration of ­independence of Lithuania did historians uncover archival data on the basis of which 2,055 persons suspected of involvement in the killing of Jews were identified.39

38 Z. Vitkus, “S. Prof. Saulius Sužiedėlis: ‘Svarbu ne švari, o teisinga istorija,’” http://www. bernardinai.lt/straipsnis/2012-01-02-prof-saulius-suziedelis-svarbu-ne-svari-o-teisinga-­ istorija/74448 39 http://www.delfi.lt/mokslas/archive/po-lietuviu-tyrimo-litvaku-sudarytame-­zydsaudziusarase-nauji-itariamieji.d?id=63132320#ixzz2rssXNY

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953 Tõnu Tannberg The University of  Tartu

J

osef Stalin’s death in March 1953 paved the way for a shift in domestic policy in the Soviet Union. The demise of the Soviet empire’s longtime d­ ictator was both lamented and welcomed. Many people in the Soviet Union regarded Stalin’s death as a genuine tragedy, and their mourning was deep and sincere. However, many others, from simple kolkhozniks to people closely connected to the “Great Leader,” greeted Stalin’s death with relief. They hoped that the regime’s harsh treatment of society would give way to a more civilized approach. At the same time, the dictator’s passing paved the way for a power crisis. After Stalin’s death, a “collective leadership” formally took power in the Kremlin. In this leadership, Georgi Malenkov, who had become chairman of the Soviet Union’s Council of Ministers, and his first deputy Lavrentii Beria, who had been appointed minister of internal affairs at the same time, played central roles. One of three Central Committee secretaries, Nikita Khrushchev, emerged as a third important figure and was initially given control of the Party apparat.1 Stalin’s successors realized that changes—both in how the empire was ruled and in its interaction with the rest of the world—were inevitable.   1 The new power structure was drawn up on March 5, 1953 at a joint plenum of the CPSU CC Presidium, the Council of Ministers, and the Presidium of the USSR’s Supreme Soviet even before Stalin died. For more information, see Politbiuro TsK VKP(b) i Sovet Ministrov SSSR 1945–1953 (Moscow: Rosspen, 2002), 101–104; Oleg Khlevniuk, Stalin. Zhizn’ odnogo vozhdia (Moscow: Ast, Corpus, 2015), 420–427.

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Changes were also needed to strengthen these three men’s positions of power, because no one could foresee the precise outcome of the power struggle in the Kremlin. Under these new circumstances, the central contenders for power tried to carve out “a place in the sun” for themselves by implementing various reorganizations and reforms that historical literature now frequently refers to as the Kremlin’s “new course.”2

THE NATURE OF THE KREMLIN’S “NEW NATIONALITIES POLICY” Beria became particularly active in the framework of the “new course.”3 He did not limit himself to reforming his own “personal” agency, the Ministry of Internal Affairs.4 Instead, the “Marshal of the Lubianka” began proposing v­ arious reorganization plans in other fields as well.5 Foreign policy did not escape Beria’s attention either, especially Moscow’s policy vis-à-vis Eastern Europe.6 Yet the most vigorous reorganizations—known collectively as the “new nationalities policy”—were initiated by Beria in the Soviet Union’s peripheral territories, that is, the western regions of Ukraine and Byelorussia, the Baltic republics, and Moldavia. Thus Beria’s actions primarily affected the territories that were incorporated into the Soviet Union between 1939 and 1940.   2 Rudol’f Pikhoiia, Sovetskii Soiiuz: istoriia vlasti 1945–1991 (Moscow: Rags, 1998), 97–133; Aleksandr Pyzhikov, Khrushchevskaia “ottepel’”: 1953–1964 godoy (Moscow: Olma-Press, 2002), 41–85; William Taubman, Khrushchev: The Man and His Era (New York and London: Free Press, 2003), 239–269; Jurii Aksiutin, “Khrushchevskaia ottepel’” i obshchestvennye nastroeniia v SSSR v 1953–1964 gg. (Moscow: Rosspen, 2010), 20–61.   3 The best biography of Beria to date comes from Amy Knight: Amy Knight, Beria, Stalin’s First Lieutenant (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). Only a few of the numerous biographies that have been published in Russia merit attention; see, for instance, Lev Lur’e and Leonid Maliarov, Lavrentii Beriia. Krovavyi pragmatik (St. Petersburg: BKhV Peterburg, 2015); Boris Sokolov, Dvulikii Beriia (Moscow: Eksmo, 2014).   4 A recapitulative overview of changes in the structure and cadres of the Ministry of Internal Affairs is found in Aleksandr Kokurin and Nikita Petrov, Lubianka. Organy VChK-OGPUNKVD-NKGB-MGB-MVD-KGB. 1917–1991. Spravochnik (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnyi Fond “Demokratiia,” 2003), 110–118; Nikita Petrov, Kto rukovodil organami gozbezopasnosti. 1941–1954 gg. Spravochnik (Moscow: Zven’ia, 2010).   5 A great deal of literature of varying scholarly quality has been published on Beria’s reforms. A few of the more important examples include Beriia: konets kar’ery (Moscow: Politizdat, 1991); Boris Starkov, “Sto dnei ‘Lubianskogo marshala,’” Istochnik 4 (1993): 82–90; Oleg Khlevniuk, “L. P. Beriia: predely istoricheskoi ‘reabilitatsii,’” in Istoricheskie issledovaniia v Rossii. Tendentsii poslednikh let (Moscow: AIRO-XX, 1996), 139–154; Vladimir Naumov, “Byl li zagovor Berii? Novye dokumenty o sobytiiakh 1953 g.,” Novaia i noveishaia istoriia 5 (1998): 17–39.   6 See, for instance, Christoph Klessmann and Bernd Stöver, ed., 1953—Krisenjahr des Kalten Krieges in Europa (Vienna: Böhlau, 1999).

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

Beria began implementing the “new nationalities policy” in Western Ukraine and Lithuania, where postwar resistance to the Soviet regime was the strongest. First, information was gathered through the Ministry of Internal Affairs on domestic conditions in these union republics: the extent of repressions, the ethnic composition of the ruling cadre, the effectiveness of the ­struggle against the resistance movement, abuses by the authorities. Next, based on that information, memos were drawn up at Beria’s initiative and discussed at the highest level of power—the Presidium of the Communist Party’s Central Committee (CPSU CC). An analogous procedure was followed in Western Byelorussia and Latvia as well. Specific CPSU CC nationalities policy decisions were adopted on the basis of the memos approved by the Kremlin: one concerning Western Ukraine and the Lithuanian SSR on May 26,7 and one concerning the western oblasts of Byelorussia and the Latvian SSR on June 12.8 The decisions adopted by the CPSU CC Presidium in May and June 1953 called for the following actions in these union republics: - - -

-

discontinuing the groundless repressions and policy of mass violence; implementing a thorough change in cadres at all levels of Party and Soviet organs, promoting local cadres to leading positions; incorporating the local language into the management of official affairs in union republics while also taking the interests of smaller ethnic minorities into account (for instance, the use of Polish in Lithuania); devising specific measures for strengthening the kolkhoz system.

Plenums of the Communist parties were held in the aforementioned union republics in June 1953. They endorsed Moscow’s guidelines, and thereafter the CPSU CC Presidium’s decisions were implemented. This primarily meant  7 Lavrentii Beriia, 1953: Stenogramma iiul’skogo plenuma TsK KPSS i drugie dokumenty (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnyi Fond “Demokratiia,” 1999), 46–52. CPSU CC Presidium decisions concerning the situation in the western oblasts of Ukraine and the Lithuanian SSR, May 26, 1953.  8 The CPSU CC Presidium decision dated June 12, 1953 concerning the situation in the Byelorussian SSR has been published (Lavrentii Beriia, 61–62), as has the decision ­concerning the Latvian SSR (Regional’naia politika N.S. Khrushcheva. TsK KPSS i mestnye partiinye komitety 1953–1964 gg. (Moscow: Rosspen, 2009), 32–33). See the draft of the Latvian decision, Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv noveshei istorii (RGANI) f. 5, op. 30, d. 6, l. 26–29. The decision of the Latvian CP CC Plenum from June 23, 1953 has been published (Latvija padomju režima varā 1945–1986. Dokumentu krājums (Riga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2001), 206–210). See also Boris Sokolov, Kak provalilas’ berievskaiia “­ perestroika” (Moscow: AIRO-XX, 2010), 59–62.

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rather extensive changes in cadres in the political elite of the union r­ epublics under consideration, the transition from Russian to the local language in managing official affairs in administrative agencies, and the softening of the policy of repression and of the struggle against the resistance movement. Table 1 s­ ummarizes the development of the decisions of the CPSU CC. Beria’s plans were not limited to the four union republics mentioned above. Similar decisions were prepared for two other union republics: Estonia and Moldavia. However, these decisions were never adopted because, before they could be approved by the CPSU CC Presidium, Beria was arrested and the previous nationalities policy decisions were nullified. Nevertheless, significant changes also took place within the framework of the “new nationalities policy” in the Estonian SSR of that time. The aim of this article is to examine the Kremlin’s plans for the Estonian SSR in the spring and summer of 1953 in order to more precisely characterize the place of the Estonian SSR in Beria’s “new nationalities policy.” Since this is a complex and multifaceted topic and cannot be comprehensively examined in just one article, only a few aspects of this policy will be addressed below. Specifically, this article seeks to analyze and answer the following questions: 1) what reorganizations were carried out in the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs and how the policy of preferential treatment of local cadres was implemented there, 2) whether the departure of the second secretary of the Estonian Communist Party’s Central Committee (ECP CC) weakened Moscow’s control over the union republic, 3) how the authorities hoped to reduce resistance in society to the Soviet regime by co-opting “prominent nationalists,” 4) what changes concurrently took place in the struggle against the armed resistance movement, 5) who in the Kremlin initiated the CPSU CC draft decision concerning the Estonian SSR, and 6) how Estonia was affected by the Kremlin’s decision, after Beria’s arrest, to nullify decisions made as part of the “new nationalities policy.” TABLE 1 Development and Implementation of the Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” Decisions in 1953 Union republic Gathering of information

Drawing up of memos

Ukraine

May

Lithuania Byelorussia Latvia

March–April April–June

June

CPSU CC Presidium decision May 26

Union republic CC Plenums June 2–4

June 12

June 11–13 June 25–26 June 22–23

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

Estonia Moldavia

May–June

June

?

This article relies mainly on materials from the Russian State Archive of Contemporary History (RGANI), the State Archive of the Russian Federation (GARF), the Estonian State Archive (ERA), and the former Communist Party Archive (ERAF) that has been incorporated into the ERA. Topical literature published in recent years have been used,9 along with source publications.10 Of the latter, collections of documents associated with Lavrenti Beria’s “case” are of particular importance.11 The author has intentionally focused solely on the course of events in Estonia and has referred to domestic policy developments in other union republics within Beria’s sphere of interest only when necessary. This article relies partially on the author’s monograph published in Russian in 2010, which examines Moscow’s postwar policy in the Baltic union republics more broadly.12

THE “ETHNICIZATION” OF THE ESTONIAN SSR MINISTRY OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS The reorganization of the state apparat carried out after Stalin’s death in March 1953 also included provisions to merge the ministries of state security and internal affairs in the union republics into a unified Ministry of Internal Affairs  9 Elena Zubkova, Pribaltika i Kreml’ 1940–1953 (Moscow: Rosspen, 2008), 320–337; Amir Weiner, “Robust Revolution to Retiring Revolution: The Life Cycle of the Soviet Revolution, 1945–1968,” Slavonic and East European Review 86:2 (April 2008): 216–222; Jeremy Smith, Red Nations: The Nationalities Experience in and after the USSR (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 189–193; William D. Prigge, Bearslayers: The Rise and Fall of the Latvian National Communists (New York: Peter Lang, 2015), 21–44; Aldis Bergmanis, “Politiskās pārmaiņas Latvijā 1953. gadā,” in Padomju okupācijas režims Baltijā 1944–1959. gadā: Politika un tās sekas (Riga: Latvijas vēstures institūta apgāds, 2003), 109–118; Arvydas Anušauskas, ed., Lietuva 1940–1990: okupuotos Lietuvos istorija (Vilnius: Lietuvos Gyventojų Genocido ir Rezistencijos Tyrimo Centras, 2005), 399–405. 10 Viktor Knoll and Lothar Kölm, ed., Der Fall Berija: Protokoll einer Abrechnung. Das Plenum des ZK der KPdSU Juli 1953. Stenographisher Bericht (Berlin: Aufbau-Taschenbuch-Verlag, 1999); Lavrentii Beriia. 1953. Stenogramma iiul’skogo plenuma TsK KPSS i drugie dokumenty. 11 Valentin Khaustov, ed., Delo Beriia. Prigovor obzhalovaniiu ne podlezhit. Dokumenty (Moscow, 2012); Oleg Mozokhin, ed., Politbiuro i delo Beriia. Sbornik dokumentov (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnyi Fond “Demokratiia,” 2012); Oleg Mozokhin, ed., Delo Lavrentiia Berii (Moscow: Kuchkovo Pole, 2015) and several others. 12 Tõnu Tannberg, Politika Moskvy v respublikakh Baltii v poslevoennye gody (1944–1956). Issledovaniia i dokumenty (Moscow: Rosspen, 2010).

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that was to be run by Lavrenti Beria. The merger of the two ministries was extremely complicated, since a new cadre and a new structure had to be put in place quickly. In all union republics the merger took place on the basis of the former ministries of state security, and in most union republics, the former minister of state security was appointed minister of internal affairs. The same was done in Estonia. The first ordinance issued by the USSR minister of internal affairs on March 16, 1953 appointed former Minister of State Security Valentin Moskalenko the Estonian SSR’s new minister of internal affairs.13 He officially began his term on March 21.14 Estonian SSR Minister of Internal Affairs Johan Lombak handed the entire management of the ministry’s affairs over to Moskalenko on March 24, when the corresponding instrument of delivery and receipt was drawn up.15 Moskalenko’s task was to carry out changes of a practical nature stemming from the reorganization of the security organs into a unified Ministry of Internal Affairs: putting the new structure into place and implementing the necessary changes in cadre in order to ensure the successful startup of the new institution. Yet Moscow intended Moskalenko to be only a temporary minister; his term in office was actually a preparation for more comprehensive changes. He was no doubt aware of the Kremlin’s ­political objectives, since he participated, for instance, in the April 20 meeting at the Ministry of Internal Affairs in Moscow, where the gathering of information on the Lithuanian SSR and the preparation of the corresponding memo was discussed at Beria’s initiative.16 The question of replacing the leadership of the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs rose to the agenda at the Lubyanka in late May 1953. Moskalenko was dismissed from his position along with his deputies on May 23, 1953. No further use was found for him in Estonia, and in June, he was placed at the disposal of the Cadres Administration at the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs.17 Several former high-ranking non-Estonian officials from the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs were also sent out of Estonia to work elsewhere immediately after the merger of the ministries. For instance, the former USSR 13 Moskalenko became the ESSR minister of state security after the dismissal of B. Kumm in February 1950. 14 Eesti Riigiarhiivi Filiaal [ERAF] f. 17, n. 1, s. 54, l. 46. ESSR Minister of Internal Affairs Moskalenko’s ordinance no. 01, March 21, 1953. 15 Moskalenko’s and Lombak’s reports to Beria, March 24, 1953, ERAF f. 17/1, n. 1, s. 229 (not paginated). 16 Delo Berii, 156. 17 Moskalenko was relieved of his duties as a member of the ECP CC Bureau at the Sixth ECP CC Plenum in August 1953.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

deputy minister of internal affairs, Major General Mikhail Svinelupov, was given a new position in the gulag system.18 Beria appointed Lieutenant Colonel Mikhail Krassman as the new minister of internal affairs on May 23.19 Born in Leningrad oblast in 1909, Krassman had been associated with the security organs and the Red Army as of 1931. He worked at the Estonian SSR Ministry of State Security starting in 1950.20 The ministers of internal affairs of the Latvian and Lithuanian SSRs were also replaced simultaneously with Moskalenko’s dismissal. The replacement of the top leadership of the Ministry of Internal Affairs signaled the beginning of a comprehensive change in cadre throughout the ministry’s apparat. The purpose of this was to promote Estonian operatives in the security organs to leading positions in both the ministry’s central apparat and in local ­branches.21 At the end of May 1953, the Ministry of Internal Affairs also had to deal with the cadre problems brought on by the elimination of oblasts in Estonia.22 The administrations for internal affairs in the oblasts were done away with, by specially formed liquidation commissions. The cadre that was freed up as a result had to be placed at the disposal of the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs Cadre Department. “Dismissal due to reduction in staff ” awaited those persons who were released and could no longer be used.23 The changes in cadre and structural changes that began with the appointment of Krassman as minister of internal affairs were carried out within three weeks. An ordinance issued by the minister on June 15, 1953 approved the new structure and staff of the ministry.24 Appointments in the ministry’s municipal and raion departments were also approved on the same day.25 A session of the ECP CC Bureau was held on June 16, at which most of the Ministry of Internal Affairs operatives promoted to leading positions received the Party’s approval.26 Two features emerge from an analysis of the staff of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. First, it is conspicuous that Estonians were placed in leading positions in the Ministry’s central apparat. Nearly two-thirds of the heads of 18 May ERAF f. 17, n. 2, s. 27, l. 128, 142. 19 USSR Minister of Internal Affairs Beria’s ordinance no. 362, May 23, 1953, ERAF f. 17, n. 3, s. 6, l. 170. 20 See Krassman’s personal file, ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 6507. 21 May ERAF f. 17, n. 2, s. 27, l. 180–182, 186. 22 After Stalin’s death, the decision was adopted to do away with oblasts in the Soviet Union’s smaller republics. 23 May ERAF f. 17, n. 1, s. 51, l. 97. 24 June ERAF f. 17, n. 2, s. 27, l. 253–295. 25 June ERAF f. 17, n. 2, s. 27, l. 298–330. 26 Minutes of a session of the ECP CC Bureau, June 16, 1953, ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 1536, l. 198–201.

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structural units in the central apparat of the Ministry of Internal Affairs were Estonians. As a rule, non-Estonians were their deputies and also the heads of smaller structural units. Previously the opposite was the case: in the ministries of  both state security and internal affairs, the heads of structural units had been mostly non-Estonians. The fact that the overall proportion of Estonians in the ministry’s central apparat was slightly over 20%, or approximately one-fifth, is also noteworthy. There simply were not enough cadres of local origin to fill other official positions who would have met even the minimum requirements (in terms of rank and professional skills). At the same time, however, Beria’s “new nationalities policy” gave many Estonians who worked in the state security organs the opportunity to rise rapidly on the career ladder precisely due to their ethnic origin. This also applied to the minister of internal affairs himself: as a rule, security operatives who ranked lower than colonel were not appointed as ministers in the republic before 1953. Second, the new staff of the Ministry of Internal Affairs was considerably smaller than before. Normally, the ministry employed 715 people in its ­central apparat and 494 in its municipal and raion departments. Thus the ­ministry (excluding the Estonian SSR’s Militia Administration) consisted of 1,209 p­ eople.27 By comparison, the normal size of the staff of the central structural units of the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs in March 1953—­immediately before the merger of the ministries—was 1,725.28 No data is available concerning the size of the Estonian SSR Ministry of State Security. All in all, the optimization of the structure of the state security organs and the significant downsizing of their cadres, which was achieved primarily by channeling non-Estonian operatives elsewhere, did indeed accompany the merger of the two ministries in March 1953. The optimization of the state security organs in the union republics was in harmony with Beria’s (as well as Malenkov’s) ­general policy, which aimed at downsizing the state apparat.29

THE WEAKENING OF MOSCOW’S CONTROL: THE DEPARTURE 27 ERAF f. 17, n. 1, s. 51, l. 128, 140. 28 ERAF f. 17/1, n. 1, s. 229, l. 3–4. 29 Pikhoiia, Sovetskii Soiuz, 235–236. Beria also had clear plans to significantly reduce the apparat of the merged Ministry of Internal Affairs. In mid-May 1953, the central apparat of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs employed nearly 20,000 people. In early June, Beria issued an ordinance that prescribed the downsizing of the central apparatus by 8,704 positions. The ministries of internal affairs in the union republics also could not overlook the aforementioned optimization of structure and staff reduction. For more on this, see Lubianka, 77.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

OF ECP CC SECOND SECRETARY VASSILI KOSSOV The ECP leadership could not overlook the Kremlin’s first “nationalities policy” decisions concerning Ukraine and the Lithuanian SSR. The decision adopted on May 26 by the CPSU CC Presidium concerning the Lithuanian SSR was discussed as the 58th item on the agenda at the ECP CC Bureau session held on June 3. As a result of that discussion, the Bureau decided to hold an ECP CC Plenum in June to discuss measures for enhancing work in promoting ethnic cadres in accordance with the Kremlin’s guidelines from its d­ ecision on Lithuania. Central Committee Secretary Ivan ( Johannes) Käbin was to present a report on the matter.30 It should be noted that Käbin himself was not in Estonia at that time. The minutes of the Bureau meeting were signed by the ECP CC Second Secretary Vassili Kossov. Käbin was officially on sick leave and was staying at the Barvikha sanatorium near Moscow. It seems quite likely that Käbin’s health started “faltering” precisely because the “new nationalities policy” had become an issue in the Kremlin. Käbin must have sensed a clear threat to his own power as well. He replaced Nikolai Karotamm as Party leader in the Estonian SSR after the Eighth ECP CC Plenum, held in March 1950. The Kremlin’s political elite was aware of his written complaints against Karotamm and of the key role he played in preparing the Eighth Plenum. It was very easy to accuse him in light of those events, since the “Estonian Case” of 1949–1951 and the repressions that followed were quite clearly in contradiction with the Kremlin’s new course after Stalin’s death. As leader of the Estonian SSR, Käbin had good reason to be fearful, and this is probably why he hurried away from Estonia in order to follow events as a bystander. The extreme caution that Käbin exercised in his communications with Moscow supports this assumption. Cadres began to be gradually replaced in the ECP CC apparat and at other levels of power in late May and early June 1953. As noted above, this process had already started during the merger of the former ministries of state ­security and internal affairs, when many state security operatives who had been left without work were sent out of Estonia in the early spring of 1953. In midJune 1953, however, the authorities in Moscow phoned Estonia and ordered all Russian top Party officials to leave the republic without delay. While recuperating in Barvikha, Käbin learned about this order from Chernikov, the head of the ECP Cadres Department. According to Käbin’s brief published m ­ emoirs, 30 ECP CC Bureau decision, June 3, 1953, ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 1509, l. 117.

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Chernikov called on a special telephone line and informed him: “Kossov asked me to come to his office and told me that Beria, in the name of the CC, had ordered that all Russians working in Estonia’s Party, soviet, and economic apparat were to be fired and had to leave Estonia.”31 Chernikov also informed Käbin that ECP CC Second Secretary Kossov had already packed his suitcases and left Estonia. Indeed, Kossov was told to leave Estonia in accordance with the decision issued on June 13 by the CPSU CC.32 Käbin told Chernikov to remain in Estonia until “I come back and clarify matters.”33 Kossov’s hurried departure from Estonia was highly significant. The position of Party Central Committee second secretary was an important lever for Moscow to exercise control over its union republics. This position was ­established in the Estonian SSR at the end of 1944. The second secretary was sent to the republic from the hub and acted as the closest assistant to the republic’s Party leader, in other words, as a kind of advisor, while simultaneously controlling his actions and transmitting and explaining guidelines sent from Moscow. As a general rule, Moscow adhered to the principle that the union republic’s Party leader was from the majority nationality (Byelorussia and the Ukrainian SSR were exceptions during the postwar years).34 In Moscow’s eyes, the republic’s Party leader was the local ruler. Nikolai Shatalin rightly noted in a memorandum sent to Georgi Malenkov in 1952 that the first secretary’s ruling role in the republic was defined by his tasks, which were actually connected to running all spheres of activity, including maintaining contact with the state security organs.35 Even so, Moscow did not completely trust the Party leaders of the union republics. As a result, a second secretary sent from elsewhere was put in place to supervise them, and the leadership of the republic had no say in his appointment. The republic’s leadership simply had to put up with the ­emissary sent there. He became “Moscow’s eyes on location.”36 31 Õhtuleht, August 3, 1990. 32 RGANI f. 5, op. 98. Kossov’s dismissal from the position of second secretary “due to his recall to the disposal of the CPSU CC” was formulated at the Sixth ECP CC Plenum held on August 20, 1953 (, ERAF f. 1, n. 6, s. 6467). 33 Õhtuleht, August 3, 1990. 34 For further information on the institution of the second secretary, see Tannberg. Politika Moskvy, 37–45; Saulius Grybkauskas, “Imperialising the Soviet Federation? The Institution of the Second Secretary in the Soviet Republics,” Ab Imperio 3 (2014): 267–293. 35 Nikolai Romanovski, Liki stalinizma (Moscow: Rags, 1995), 132. 36 Olaf Kuuli. Stalini aja võimukaader ja kultuurijuhid Eesti NSV-s (1940–1954) (Tallinn: O. Kuuli, 2007), 67. The dispatch of Moscow’s emissary was not, in fact, limited to the Party apparat. The same principle was also applied in supervising the executive and legislative

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

Until Stalin’s death, the second secretary was one of the main figures in the Sovietization of all three Baltic republics. The hurried recall to Moscow of such an influential Party functionary was a clear sign that the Kremlin’s policy had changed. It is worth noting that as VKP(b) CC inspector, Kossov had actively prepared the Plenum of March 1950 and the replacement of the Estonian SSR’s former leadership. After that, he was the one who became the ECP CC second secretary in June 1950. Kossov’s departure did not merely mean the departure of a high-ranking non-Estonian Party functionary from Estonia. It also meant a fundamental change in relations between the union republic and the hub. Beria and other members of the “collective leadership” thought it best to also give the position of second secretary to the local cadre. From that point onward, individuals of Estonian origin were also acceptable to Moscow as second secretary in the Estonian SSR. Leonid Lentsman was appointed to that position in June 1953 and remained there until 1964. It was only in 1971 that Moscow’s preeminent right to appoint the second secretary was restored when Konstantin Lebedev was sent to Estonia. Thus the elimination in 1953 of the custom of appointing the second secretary from Moscow reduced control over the republic’s leadership.

CO-OPTING “PROMINENT NATIONALISTS” Beria believed that one possibility for suppressing resistance was to cooperate with persecuted politicians from the periods of independence who had participated in the resistance movement. For the Kremlin it was important that this be done under the control of the authorities. What was needed was an institution that the population would accept and start to trust. Thus Beria proposed the creation of a “nationalist” front organization that would operate underground under the authorities’ control, prominently featuring people who were known and respected by the public in Western Ukraine and Lithuania.

branches of power. It was quite common for the first deputy of the heads of the governments of the union republics to be a special representative sent from Moscow. This principle was also often in effect for the heads of the KGB in the union republics, to say nothing of the commanding officers of the military units deployed in the republics—most often, it was a military man or authoritative figure appointed from outside the union republic. The managing directors of USSR-wide enterprises were ordinarily also appointed by Moscow. The same model of advisors, so to speak, was implemented in the Eastern Bloc countries that had come under Moscow’s control after the war.

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The implementation of such plans progressed particularly far in Western Ukraine, where, in order to pacify the region, it was decided to create a “nationalist” front organization under the control of the state security organs. A far-reaching plan to this end was drawn up at the initiative of the new Ukrainian SSR Minister of Internal Affairs Pavel Meshik, and comprehensive preparations for its implementation also began.37 The decision was made to use an individual living in Lviv who was respected among local intellectuals and had collaborated for twenty years with the state security organs. The individual selected was most likely Mykola Shrag (1894–1970),38 who was the deputy prime minister of the Central Rada of the Ukrainian People’s Republic in 1917 and was also a member of Russia’s Constituent Assembly. He was arrested by the NKVD in 1931 but was released before the war. He was sent to Lviv oblast in 1945, where he worked as a water management official and was also a lecturer at institutions of higher learning in Lviv and Kharkov. Meshik assigned him to draw up a memorandum highlighting Galicia’s role in the history of Ukraine and indicating both how to make the communist regime more attractive and which of the local intellectuals could help stifle the resistance movement. Thereafter the heads of the Fourth Administration of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, Lieutenant General N. Sazykin and Major General G. Utekhin, met with Shrag in the capital city at the Hotel Moskva. They spoke openly about the plans for creating the front organization, emphasizing that “Comrade Beria” was behind it all.39 The main tasks of the planned front organization were supposed to be as follows: - to take control of the leadership of the resistance movement and to fundamentally alter its tactics; - to bring the active leaders of the resistance movement out from their underground activity; - to infiltrate centers of the resistance movement operating abroad with a network of state security agents, to take control of their leadership, and to impede all types of anti-Soviet actions; 37 Dmitri Vedeneev, Ukrainskii front v voinakh spetssluzhb (Kiev: K.I.S, 2008), 161–178; Dmitrii Vedeneev and Iurii Shapoval, “Byl li Lavrentii Beriia ukrainskim natsionalistom,” Zerkalo nedeli, July 13, 2001. 38 Timofei Strokatch, who had been dismissed in March 1953 from his position as head of the Ministry of Internal Affairs Lviv Oblast Administration but, after the fall of Beria, rose with Khrushchev’s support to become minister of internal affairs of the Ukrainian SSR, mentions his name within the framework of Beria’s “case.” See Andrei Suhomlinov, Kto vy, Lavrentii Beriia? Neizvestnye stranitsy ugolovnogo dela (Moscow: Detektiv-Press, 2004), 334. 39 Vedeneev, Ukrainskii front v voinakh spetssluzhb, 172.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

- to lure leaders of the resistance movement operating abroad to Ukraine; - to take control of all the major channels of communication. Thus the primary task of the front organization was the subjugation of the resistance movement by instilling the idea among the resistance that they should shift from armed combat to propaganda, focus on young people and ­intellectuals, and seek compromise with the authorities. Similar preparations for involving “nationalists” in suppressing resistance proceeded in other union republics as well. For instance, when the authorities finally succeeded in 1953 in arresting one of the leaders of the “forest brothers” (nationalist partisans) in Lithuania, Jonas Žemaitis-Vytautas,40 Beria met with him personally in his office and conducted “negotiations.”41 Beria planned to use the captured leader of the forest brothers to neutralize the resistance movement in Lithuania. According to Antanas Sniečkus, the head of the Lithuanian Communist Party at that time, after interrogating Žemaitis, Beria proposed creating an underground organization in Lithuania with his assistance.42 It is worth noting that the state security organs had already started working on identifying Lithuanian “nationalists” in penal institutions in March and April 1953. Thus an overview of postwar deportations in Lithuania and a separate list of “prominent figures from the former Lithuanian bourgeois” with whom the Soviet regime could cooperate (included on this list was former prime minister of Lithuania Antanas Merkys) were drawn up in April in the Eighth Department of the First Chief Administration of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs.43 Preparations to involve nationalists acceptable to the regime in implementing the “new nationalities policy” were made in Estonia as well. In early March 1953, the state security organs of the Estonian SSR arrested Ferdinand Rei, the brother of August Rei, a prominent politician in the prewar Republic of 40 For further information on him, see Nijole Gaškaite-Žemaitiene, “Jonas Zemaitis during the Resistance 1944–1953: The Fourth Lithuanian President,” in The Baltic Countries under Occupation, Soviet and Nazi Rule 1939–1991, ed. Anu-Mai Kõll (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2003), 74–75. 41 Nijole Gaškaite-Žemaitiene, “The Partisan War in Lithuania from 1944 to 1953,” in The Anti-Soviet Resistance in the Baltic States, ed. Arvidas Anušauskas (Vilnius: Du Ka, 1999), 43; Resistance to the Occupation of Lithuania: 1944–1990 (Vilnius: GRLRC, 2003), 19. 42 Izvestiia TsK KPSS 1 (1991): 208; A. Sniečkus’s speech at the CPSU CC Plenum, July 3, 1953. 43 Vytautas Tininis, Komunistinio režimo nuskialtimai Lietuvoje 1944–1953, vol. II (Vilnius: Lietuvos karo akademija, 2003), 160–162. Statement from Lieutenant General Zhukov, head of the Eighth Department of the First Chief Administration of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, April 14, 1953.

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Estonia and a leader of Estonians in exile. Ferdinand remained in Estonia and naturally ended up under the watch of the state security organs at the end of the war. In 1947, Department 2-N of the Estonian SSR Ministry of State Security started keeping a file on him, because Ferdinand Rei reportedly planned to contact his brother August, who lived in Sweden. Ferdinand Rei’s exact location was identified by agent “Aleksandrov,” who actually worked for the state security administration in Lviv oblast and was in close contact with the Rei family. Aleksandrov was on assignment in Estonia in 1953 and also met with Ferdinand Rei. Agents of the Estonian SSR Ministry of State Security found out from Aleksandrov where Rei lived, and Rei was arrested there on March 2. A week later on March 10, Rei confessed during his preliminary investigation that he had previously participated in anti-Soviet activity.44 Rei’s arrest did not go unnoticed in the altered political conditions in Moscow after Stalin’s death. In April 1953, Moscow sent a telegram to Estonia that required the state security organs in the Estonian SSR to continue working on the Rei case in order to prove his connection to British intelligence and emigrant circles. Yet the same telegram added that in the “positive instance,” the case should be resolved in such a way as to involve Rei in implementing counterintelligence measures. This telegram was sent to Estonia by none other than Pavel Sudoplatov, who at that time was one of Beria’s closest assistants in implementing the “new nationalities policy” in the union republics.45 At the same time, Moscow also started taking an interest in which of the “­prominent nationalists” the union republic’s state security organs had succeeded in recruiting as agents. An overview drawn up in the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs in April 1953 found that there were ten such people in all, only one of whom was considered impossible to use in ­manipulating “nationalists.”46 Beria most likely also considered replacing the Estonian SSR leadership of that time, and preparations were made to that end. A mysterious meeting took place at the Palace Hotel in June 1953 between Moscow’s representative, an officer of the Ministry of Internal Affairs without insignia, and an “incontestably nationalistically disposed” man. Moscow’s representative allegedly ­proposed that the man draw up a list of those currently in gulag camps who could be used in ruling the Estonian SSR. They agreed to meet again on 44 March ERAF SM, f. 131, n. 1, s. 256, l. 72–74. 45 ESSR Ministry of Internal Affairs statement, April 14, 1953, ERAF SM, f. 131, n. 1, s. 256, l. 75. 46 ERAF SM, f. 131, n. 1, s. 256, l. 401.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

July 10, 1953.47 The mysterious man whom the state security agent from Moscow met was Georg Meri, who was apparently handpicked to become the new leader of the government of the Estonian SSR, or at least one of the key figures in the Estonian republic’s political elite.48 Georg Meri had been an official of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Estonia and a diplomat stationed in embassies in Berlin and Paris in the 1930s.49 He had been deported to Siberia in June 1941, along with the families of many other renowned public figures and officials who had been in the civil service of the Republic of Estonia. He was imprisoned in Sevurallag and then sentenced to death in February 1942 by an NKVD Special Council, but the carrying out of the sentence was halted by an order from Beria p ­ ersonally. Meri was taken to Butyrka Prison in Moscow, where he was interrogated for months on end (his interrogators were particularly interested in Germany), forced to collaborate with the state security organs, and finally released in October 1945.50 He was arrested again in 1952 but was allowed to return home in the spring of the following year. As far as Beria was concerned, Meri was in every respect a suitable candidate for implementing Moscow’s policy. Meri’s son Hindrek has written in his memoirs that at the meeting with the state security agent from Moscow in June 1953, his father was presented with a proposal to “undertake the work of a statesman” and that his father later “went to the hotel at the agreed time [for the second meeting with the agent], but nobody was waiting for him there, and no meeting or phone call followed later either.”51 The meeting could no longer take place, because by that time Beria had already been arrested in Moscow. On July 10, the day Georg Meri was supposed to meet again with the state security agent from Moscow, the Soviet public learned from the daily newspapers that the all-powerful Beria had been arrested and declared an enemy of the people. Consequently, the project for a new “nationalist government” in Estonia also got no further than the preparatory stage. Yet the events that took place in Estonia coincided to a great extent with what had happened in Western Ukraine. This is logical in every respect, because there is no real doubt that, 47 Kaido Jaanson, “Baltikum, Beria ja Hruštšov,” Tänapäev 46 (1990): 1; Hindrek Meri, Tagasivaateid veerevast vagunist (Tallinn: Eesti Päevaleht, 2010), 181. 48 Virkko Leppassalu, Süümepiinadeta. Georg ja Lennart Meri sidemed eriteenistustega ja selle tagajärgedest (Tallinn: Jaan Isotamm, 2005), 81–82. 49 For more information, see Meri’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs service file, Eesti Riigiarhiiv [ERA] f. 957, op. 8, d. 1834. 50 Indrek Jürjo, Pagulus ja Nõukogude Eesti. Vaateid KGB, EKP ja VEKSA arhiividokumentide põhjal (Tallinn: Umara, 1996), 125–126. 51 Meri, Tagasivaateid veerevast vagunist, 178, 181.

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in Ukraine and the Baltic republics alike, the authorities tried to implement more or less the same kind of model for involving “nationalists” in cooperation with the Soviet regime. Beria’s aim in involving those people was to broaden the base of support for the regime and to give it greater legitimacy in the eyes of the people. Yet this kind of approach, in the end, was supposed to neutralize meaningful resistance to the regime both domestically and abroad.

NEW METHODS FOR SUPPRESSING THE ARMED RESISTANCE MOVEMENT The end of the war in 1945 did not bring domestic peace to the Soviet Union. Armed and underground resistance to the new regime continued in several regions of the empire, primarily in Western Ukraine and the Baltic republics. The Kremlin’s political elite was interested in quickly suppressing the armed resistance in these regions but could not do so until the early 1950s. The ­continuing resistance was one of the primary obstacles to the final Sovietization of the Soviet Union’s western territories. The last major joint operation that Moscow coordinated to suppress armed resistance in the territories annexed in 1939–1940 was undertaken in the first months of 1953. The basis for this action was a decision adopted by the CPSU CC on 30 December 1952 that required the leaders of Ukraine, Byelorussia, and the Baltic republics to quickly deliver the final blow to the armed resistance and the nationalist organizations. On 24 January 1953, the USSR Ministry of State Security issued “Ordinance No. 0062 Concerning Measures for Liquidating the Nationalist Underground and Its Armed Bands in the Western Oblasts of Ukraine and Belorussia and the Lithuanian, Latvian, and Estonian SSRs,” which provided the state security organs in the union republics with specific guidelines for action.52 On the basis of these orders, the state security organs in these union republics launched large-scale attacks against the forest brothers in February 1953. The primary method for suppressing resistance remained what were known as “military-Chekist operations.” The action undertaken did not destroy the resistance movement, but the blow was clearly palpable. The state security organs killed a total of forty-three forest brothers in the Estonian SSR in February and March 1953. The state security organs had ­operated just as lethally in Estonia’s forests in 1945 and 1946.53 52 V.M. Chebrikov, Istoriia sovetskikh organov gosudarstvennoi bezopasnosti. Uchebnik (Moscow: RGGU, 1977), 522, 612. 53 For more on the fulfillment of the USSR Ministry of State Security order of January 24, 1953

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

After Stalin’s death, the regime began adjusting the methods used to suppress the resistance movement, since relying only on violence and ­military-Chekist operations had not achieved the desired results. From the outset, the Kremlin’s change of course meant replacing mass terror with selective repressions. Terror was not abandoned, but pressure on the armed resistance movement abated considerably in the spring of 1953. The statistics on repression tactics gathered from the union republics on orders from Beria proved the pointlessness of the methods previously used against the resistance movement. Memoranda on the situation in the Lithuanian and Ukrainian SSRs, drawn up in the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs in the spring of 1953 and sent to the CPSU CC Presidium for review,54 clearly indicate that the struggle against the “nationalist underground” and its terrorist “gangs” was in an “unsatisfactory situation.”55 These memoranda also provide specific examples to explain the ineffectiveness of the “military-Chekist operations,” and condemn the mass violence against the population that accompanied those operations. Data like those on Lithuania and Western Ukraine started being gathered on other union republics as well. At the end of the memorandum concerning Lithuania, Beria noted that since the situation in Latvia and Estonia in the struggle against the resistance movement was “almost the same” as in Lithuania and Western Ukraine, the Ministry of Internal Affairs had started gathering data concerning those union republics, along with reorganizing the work of the local ministries of internal affairs. The ministries of internal affairs of those union republics in turn gathered data on repressions.56 The new methods for the struggle against the armed resistance movement were introduced in the Estonian SSR after reorganizations carried out by the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The central apparat of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs inspected the work of the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal in the Estonian SSR, see Tannberg, Politika Moskvy, 63–80. 54 For further background on the composition of this memorandum, see the testimony of the former Lithuanian SSR Minister of State Security P. Kondakov at the trial of Beria in December 1953 (A. Sukhomlinov, Kto vy, Lavrentii Beriia?, 343–344). 55 Leonid Maksimenkov, “Priznaniia Lubianskogo marshala. Neizvestnyi memorandum Lavrentiia Berii o polozhenii v Litve v 1953,” Nezavisimaia Gazeta, August 5, 2005, accessed August 4, 2015, http://www.ng.ru/printed/ideas/2005-08-05/5_priznania.html; Leonid Maksimenkov, “Neuslyshannoe preduprezhdenie. Memorandum Lavrentii Berii o polozhenii na Zapadnoi Ukraine v 1953 godu,” Nezavisimaia Gazeta, December 3, 2004, accessed August 4, 2015, http://www.ng.ru/printed/ideas/2004-12-03/11_beria.html. 56 Data on the extent of repressions that was sent to Moscow by the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs has been published: Tannberg, Politika Moskvy, 360–371.

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Affairs in the summer of 1953. Proposals for improving the work of the Estonian ­ministry were signed on June 10, 1953, at the end of the inspection raid. Estonian SSR Minister of Internal Affairs Mikhail Krassman and the assistant to the head of the Supervisory Inspection Office of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, Colonel Voronin, signed the document. This document highlights the need to increase the effectiveness of the operative work of the network of agents in order to obstruct the activities of foreign intelligence. Only thereafter does it turn its attention to the need to identify and liquidate antiSoviet underground formations and “gangs.” Thus counterespionage work and making that work more effective were the main focus. Regarding the struggle against the resistance movement, which was ­primarily the responsibility of the Fourth Department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, more effective work in recruiting agents was prescribed, along with working out specific “agent measures” to expose the hostile activities of exiles and exile organizations. The formation of operative groups was prescribed for the liquidation of existing units of forest brothers (six active units are referred to). An operative group was assigned to keep tabs on the activity of each particular unit and to liquidate that unit. Agent-operative measures for discovering individual forest brothers and illegal persons were to be made more effective, and Soviet and Party organs were to engage in more active explanatory work to convince forest brothers to come out of hiding and legalize themselves.57 After this sort of high-level inspection, the Ministry of Internal Affairs in the Estonian SSR had to start implementing the principles that had been laid out. On June 19, 1953, Krassman issued an order to stifle the armed r­ esistance movement. The order stresses that the guidelines set out by the Party on December 30, 1952—to complete the liquidation of the resistance movement in the first half of 1953—had not yet been fulfilled. As a result, it was recognized that the “liquidation of banditry once and for all is the most important political task of the MVD and the republic’s militia.” The formation of groups consisting of experienced operatives from the ministry and the local Ministry of Internal Affairs, and the attachment of one such group to “each gang until their complete and utter liquidation,” was prescribed in the most troublesome regions.58 The network of state security agents was also required to be utilized more effectively to capture the “bandit elements.” Additionally, every opportunity was to be taken to “disintegrate the gangs,” and Soviet organs of power 57 ERAF SM, f. 131, n. 1, s. 257, l. 91–99. 58 June ERAF SM, f. 17, n. 1, s. 51, l. 143–149.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

were to secure public confessions of guilt from forest brothers. Efforts to bring “bandits” out of hiding and legalize them were also not to be neglected. In that regard, people who had come out of hiding in the woods were to be worked over by agents and used, if possible, to liquidate other forest brother units. Fulfilling this Ministry of Internal Affairs directive was nevertheless not easy, because the forest brothers intensified their activity in late June 1953. For this reason, Krassman issued another order on July 3, 1953 that recognized that agents from both the central apparat of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the departments in the raions were not sufficiently active in organizing the struggle against the armed resistance movement and explanatory work aimed at convincing forest brothers to emerge from the woods and legalize themselves.59 The order required that the armed resistance movement in the republic be liquidated within two to three months and that all illegal persons be legalized. In addition to the operative groups, it was hoped that success would be achieved by making the work of agents more effective (in infiltrating forest brother units).60 It was also hoped that destruction battalions would be made more effective in the struggle against the resistance movement.61 Ultimately, however, none of these plans were implemented. The methods that had been used to combat the resistance movement were largely restored after Beria’s removal. In September 1953, USSR Minister of Internal Affairs Sergei Kruglov issued a separate order expressly stating that the struggle against the resistance movement had weakened in recent months in several regions, particularly in Ukraine and Lithuania. It referred specifically to the inactivity of internal forces in those union republics but also applied to the other Baltic republics and Byelorussia. In order to improve the situation, however, the ministries of internal affairs in all the union republics listed above were expected to ensure that operative-Chekist operations be carried out to “liquidate once and for all the remnants of the bourgeois-nationalist underground.” Yet the need to make absolutely certain that “socialist legislation” would not be violated in these efforts was separately emphasized.62

59 July ERAF SM, f. 17, n. 1, s. 58, l. 36. 60 Ibid., 37. 61 ESSR Minister of Internal Affairs Krassman’s order no. 13, July 3, 1953, ERAF SM, f. 17, n. 1, s. 58, l. 38–40. 62 USSR Minister of Internal Affairs S. Kruglov’s order no. 111, September 9, 1953. Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Rossiiskoi Federatsii (GARF) f. 9401, op. 1a, d. 521, l. 309.

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THE PREPARATION OF THE ESTONIAN DECISION IN THE KREMLIN The recall of Kossov from Estonia in mid-June 1953 was a clear sign that the Kremlin was making preparations for its decision on Estonia. That was indeed the case, because after the adoption of the Byelorussian and Latvian decisions on 12 June, Estonia and Moldavia were next in line. This is also indicated by the fact that both Beria and Nikita Khrushchev contacted Käbin while he was at the sanatorium, and both men wanted to meet with him. Käbin himself recalls that Khrushchev called him first and that Beria phoned later. Both of them gave him the same order: “When your treatment is completed, come see me.” After his treatment, Käbin went first to speak with Khrushchev in Moscow, who recommended that he go to a kolkhoz near Moscow and see how potatoes and corn were grown there. Instead of visiting the kolkhoz, however, Käbin claims to have gone in the afternoon to see Beria, who reportedly only asked him a few s­ tandard questions. The condition of the railways in the Estonian SSR was allegedly also briefly discussed.63 Beria himself stated at his interrogation on July 10 that “I received Secretary of the Estonian CP CC Käbin at the MVD” and discussed with him issues involving the cadre of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.64 According to Käbin, this conversation took place two days before Beria’s arrest. When Käbin arrived back at the mission of the Estonian SSR, Khrushchev telephoned Käbin again and scolded him for going to see Beria instead of ­visiting the kolkhoz. Beria had also met the Party leaders of the Lithuanian and Latvian SSRs at the Lubyanka. From Beria’s perspective, the purpose of the meeting was to make Käbin’s acquaintance, so to speak, and it can be said that in all likelihood, if Beria had been allowed to continue on his course, Käbin would also have had to relinquish his position. His role in p­ reparing the EC(b)P CC Plenum of March 1950 was well known in the Kremlin. Within the context of the “new nationalities policy,” however, the figure who carried out the purge of 1950 could not possibly continue as Party leader. But Khrushchev’s interest in the Party leader of the Estonian SSR is entirely understandable, because it was Khrushchev who was preparing the Estonian decision in the Kremlin. Thus Beria worked hand in hand with Khrushchev in implementing the new directions of the nationalities policy. Khrushchev was the person responsible for implementing that policy in the Party a­ pparat. While Beria dealt with preparing the decisions concerning Lithuania and 63 Õhtuleht, August 3, 1990. 64 Politburo i delo Beriia, 77; Delo Beriia, 47.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

Ukraine, responsibility in the Kremlin for the decisions concerning Byelorussia and Latvia went to Khrushchev.65 Naturally, sole responsibility for implementing the new course in the Soviet Union’s peripheral republics did not rest with Khrushchev. The Central Committee supervised the union republics through the Party, Komsomol, and Trade Union Organizations Department, where all the important “nationalities policy” decisions were prepared in the spring of 1953.66 This was done at the initiative of Yevgeni Gromov, who had become the head of the department in the spring of 1953 precisely due to Khrushchev’s support. Thus Gromov was clearly on Khrushchev’s “team.” Naturally, Khrushchev also possessed information gathered through Beria’s institution— the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Directive materials concerning the Estonian SSR were also worked out under Gromov’s direction: the memorandum characterizing the situation in the republic and the CPSU CC Presidium’s draft decision. Gromov sent the memorandum concerning the Estonian SSR to Khrushchev for review on June 20, 1953.67 The text of this memorandum is similar in principle to the ones that had been drawn up concerning Western Ukraine, Western Byelorussia, Lithuania, and Latvia, each of which pointed out mistakes and shortcomings in the work of the republic’s leadership. The memorandum identified the scant attention paid to the local cadre and the insufficient promotion of Estonians to leading positions as the main shortcoming in the work of the republic’s leadership. It acknowledged that the proportion of Estonians in the republic’s organs of leadership—68% in the Party apparat and 74% in Soviet organs of power (executive committees)—was altogether unsatisfactory. Additionally, the large proportion of foreigners in the apparat that ran health care, in the courts, in the Prosecutor’s Office, and especially in the state security organs was noted. Thus it was primarily non-Estonians who carried out the struggle against resistance in the Estonian SSR.

65 Zubkova, Pribaltika i Kreml’, 324. 66 This department was one of the most important departments in the Central Committee apparat: Yoram Gorlizki, “Party Revivalism and the Death of Stalin,” Slavic Review 54:1 (1995): 1–22. 67 See this memorandum in greater detail: RGANI f. 5, op. 15, d. 445, l. 267–273; Tannberg, Politika Moskvy, 385–391.

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The insufficient preparation of the new cadre with regard to higher education and the errors committed by the republic’s leadership in the struggle against bourgeois nationalism were also criticized. The fact that people who had lived in Estonia during the German occupation were often indiscriminately branded “bourgeois nationalists” was highlighted as an important problem. People were often fired from their jobs purely because of their social origin, not because they had done anything anti-Soviet. The memorandum also emphasized the weakness of the political explanatory work done among the population (since it was done primarily in Russian), which had generated “justified discontent” among the people and intensified mistaken notions of the Soviet people and the Soviet Union as a whole. The strengthening of administration in the work of the organs of power, the unwillingness of officials to solve people’s p­ roblems, unjust economic policy (primarily among the rural population), and the shoddy condition of the kolkhozes also intensified the population’s discontent. Moreover, it was noted that livestock farming, the leading branch of agriculture in the Estonian SSR, fell short of the level that it had previously attained in the Republic of Estonia in every respect. The last part of the memorandum was devoted to the resistance movement. It expressed dissatisfaction with the measures the leadership of the Estonian SSR adopted in this field and declared that the previous policy of repression had not produced the desired results. It also indicated the extent of postwar repressions (see Table 2).68 The memorandum recognized that the repressions had not produced their intended effect, since the resistance movement had still not been liquidated: units of forest brothers continued to ­operate, anti-Soviet leaflets were being circulated, and nationalist organizations (particularly among young people) persisted. The fact that the Party and the Soviet apparat had entrusted the struggle against the resistance movement to the state security organs alone was a serious mistake, since those organs waged the struggle brutally (for example with raids), thus exacerbating the population’s discontent.

68 The information provided by Gromov coincides (with minor discrepancies) with the data gathered by the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs in the spring of 1953 and ­forwarded to the Lubyanka.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

TABLE 2  The Extent of Repressions in the Baltic Republics and Ukraine in 1944–1953 Type of repression / Estonia Latvia Lithuania Ukraine proportion % Arrested 45,056/66.8% 72,975/61.3% 130,337/47.2% 134,467/27.4% Killed as “bandits” Deported Total

1,495/2.2%

2,321/2.0%

20,005/7.2%

153,259/31.2%

20,919/31.0% 43,702/36.7% 126,037/45.6% 203,737/41.4% 67,470/100% 118,998/100% 276,379/100% 491,463/100%

The memorandum concluded by acknowledging that the Estonian SSR Party and Soviet organs needed to devise specific measures in the near future to improve the situation in the republic and eliminate the previous mistakes in the “Leninist-Stalinist nationalities policy.” It also stated the most important guideline for subsequent action: to switch decisively to “the promotion of Estonian cadres to leading positions.”69 The memorandum also included the CPSU CC draft decision “Concerning Serious Shortcomings in the ECP CC and Council of Ministers.”70 The main points of the Estonian SSR draft decision were in principle similar to the decisions already ratified by the CPSU CC Presidium concerning the situation in Western Ukraine, Lithuania, Western Byelorussia, and Latvia. In order to r­ ectify the situation in the Estonian SSR and to correct the mistakes made in carrying out “Leninist-Stalinist nationalities policy,” the ECP Central Committee and the Estonian SSR Council of Ministers, had, in short, to implement the policy of promoting “Estonian cadres” (including noteworthy intellectuals) to leading positions as their main task while placing the cadres dismissed from those positions at the disposal of the CPSU Central Committee. Their other assignments were to liquidate the resistance movement rapidly, to do away with the practice of appointing Russians to the post of second secretary of the ECP CC, to end violations of Soviet legislation and the groundless suspicion directed at people who had lived in Estonia during the war (in other words, during the German occupation), to improve political explanatory work among

69 For more detail on the ethnic composition of the Estonian SSR’s leading cadres as of June 1953, see ERAF 1, n. 307, s. 129, l–5; Tannberg, Politika Moskvy, 307–315. 70 RGANI f. 5, op. 15, d. 445, l. 274–276; Tannberg, Politika Moskvy, 391–393.

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the population and to do so in Estonian, to end repressions of the church, and to ­eliminate ­shortcomings in the structure of the kolkhoz system.

THE NEUTRALIZATION OF THE “NEW NATIONALITIES POLICY” The draft decision concerning Estonia nevertheless remained on paper only. The CPSU CC did not get around to approving or implementing it, since more pressing issues were on the Kremlin’s agenda. Beria, the initiator of the “new nationalities policy,” was tied up with crushing the uprising that had erupted on June 17 in the German Democratic Republic. The members of his retinue, led by Malenkov and Khrushchev, exploited Beria’s preoccupation with the events in Berlin and conspired to remove the Marshal of the Lubyanka from power.71 On June 26, 1953, Beria was arrested in the Kremlin at a meeting of the CPSU CC Presidium.72 The arrest caught him completely by surprise. It was probably not until that same evening, when Beria was jailed in a bunker at Moscow’s air defense headquarters, that he realized the hopelessness of his situation. Since he knew his former associates, Beria surely understood what awaited him—trumped-up charges and execution. Still, he tried to salvage the situation by writing several letters of repentance immediately after his arrest to Malenkov and other former companions.73 Beria’s letters went unanswered. At a session of the CPSU CC Presidium on 29 June 1953, it was decided to conduct an investigation of Beria’s crimes against the Party and state. This task was assigned to Roman Rudenko, who had been appointed at that same session as the new chief prosecutor of the Soviet Union.74 He was to begin carrying out his duties at once “considering the provisions received at the session of the CC Presidium.”75 The CPSU CC Presidium continued to curate this court case to the end. Thus the conclusions of the investigation and its final result were clearly predetermined. As is 71 For more on the development of the conspiracy against Beria, see Pikhoiia, Sovetskii Soiuz, 111–113. 72 Beriia: konets kar’ery, 262–295. See also newer treatments of the topic: Aleksei Toptygin, Neizvestnyi Beriia (St. Petersburg: Neva, 2002), 284–352; Sergo Beriia, Moi otets Beriia (Moscow: Olma-Press, 2002), 339–351. To this day, the minutes of the session of June 26, 1953 have not been found. Only a rough draft drawn up by Malenkov has survived. For more, see Lavrentii Beriia, 69–70. 73 Lavrentii Beriia, 71–79. Beria’s letters to the CPSU CC, June 28, 1953, July 1, 1953, July 2, 1953. 74 Aleksandr Zviagintsev, Rudenko. General’nyi prokuror SSSR (Moscow: Olma Media Grupp, 2012), 172–179. 75 Lavrentii Beriia, 72. Decision of the CPSU CC Presidium, June 29, 1953.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

known, the “independent” investigation hastily carried out under the guidance of the men in power at the Kremlin ended with Beria and his closest associates being executed by firing squad in December 1953.76 The overthrow of Beria brought the implementation of the Kremlin’s “new nationalities policy” to a standstill. The decisions adopted concerning the Ukrainian SSR and the western oblasts of the Byelorussian SSR, as well as the Lithuanian SSR and the Latvian SSR, were revoked and removed from the minutes of the CPSU CC Presidium. The CPSU CC Presidium adopted this course on July 2 on the grounds that those decisions contributed to the “activization of bourgeois-nationalist elements.”77 After Beria’s arrest, control was hurriedly established over the ministries of internal affairs in the republics. This was done most vigorously in Ukraine, where Beria’s “new nationalities policy” had been most thoroughly implemented. Soldiers of a mechanized motor-division arrived at the Ukrainian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs on June 27, 1953, and the officers of that division confiscated all service weapons from ministry staff. At noon a meeting was held in which Timofei Strokatch, who had been named the new minister of internal affairs of the Ukrainian SSR, gave a speech.78 He announced that the “enemy of the Party and the Soviet people” Beria and his henchmen (Meshik and others) had been arrested. Strokatch asked everyone to maintain order and discipline, because a state of emergency had been declared in the Ministry of Internal Affairs and all transgressions were to be punished with extreme severity.79 An altogether different attitude emerged towards the people with whose help Beria and his close associates wanted to implement the “new nationalities policy.” Many people in Ukraine were sent into exile (such as I. Slepyi) or imprisoned. Mykola Shrag had to prove that he was not guilty of anything but rather that he had drawn up “hostile” plans under the orders of Beria’s henchman Meshik. Despite his association with Beria, Shrag was not put behind bars, and he died in Lviv in 1970. Beria’s arrest also ended tragically for Lithuania’s “underground president” Žemaitis; he was shot in Butyrka Prison on November 26, 1954 based on the decision of a military tribunal.80

76 “Prigovor okonchatel’nyi i obzhalovaniiu ne podlezhit,” Istochnik 6 (2002): 74–89. 77 Lavrentii Beriia, 401. 78 He also became one of the key figures in putting together the charges against Beria. 79 G. Sannikov, Bolshaia okhota. Razgrom vooruzhennogo podpol’ia v Zapadnoi Ukraine (Moscow: Olma-Press, 2002), 152–153. 80 Gaškaite-Žemaitiene, Jonas Zemaitis during the Resistance 1944–1953, 75.

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A CPSU CC Plenum was held in Moscow from July 2 to 7 in order to “expose” Beria’s activities and also to inform the Party apparat.81 Malenkov gave the Plenum’s keynote address, followed by a speech from Khrushchev, the second ringleader of the conspiracy against Beria. It is worth pointing out that criticism of the “incorrect nationalities policy” carried out by Beria and his blunders in foreign policy were at the core of Malenkov’s speech. Khrushchev, on the other hand, mentioned nationalities policy only in passing in his speech, because as we saw above, he was one of Beria’s closest collaborators in ­implementing this policy. Significantly, the Party leaders from the Lithuanian, Ukrainian, and Byelorussian SSRs took the floor at the plenum and “exposed” Beria’s distortions in nationalities policy. Thus the union republics involved here were those where “nationalities policy” decisions were adopted in the Kremlin on the basis of memoranda signed by Beria. The Party leaders from the union republics where Khrushchev oversaw the composition of analogous memoranda (the Latvian, Moldavian, and Estonian SSRs) were not given the opportunity to speak.82 Based on the decision of the CPSU CC Plenum in Moscow that ended on July 7, the discussion of Beria’s “case” and his denunciation within the Party, so to speak, had to be carried out throughout the Soviet Union. To this end, oblast and union republic Party plenums were hastily convened immediately after the CPSU CC Plenum. The public at large in the Soviet Union found out about the toppling of Beria from the July 10 issue of Pravda, which published an announcement on the CPSU CC Plenum and an editorial on the same topic noting that Stalin’s former close associate had been exposed as an “agent of international imperialism,” cast out of the Party, and put on trial. This same editorial was published on the following morning in the daily newspapers of the Estonian SSR, and on the afternoon of that same day, the Fifth ECP CC Plenum convened in Tallinn to assess Beria’s “crimes” on behalf of the Party.83 Käbin, who had attended the CPSU CC Plenum in Moscow, delivered the keynote address. According to Käbin, Beria’s anti-state actions “already began while Comrade Stalin was still alive and became particularly extensive after Comrade Stalin’s death.” The Estonian SSR’s Party leader characterized Beria as a “Tito-type fascist” whose aim was to “seize power and go as far as 81 The official documents from the plenum are found in Lavrentii Beriia, 83–376. 82 Käbin had actually signed up to give a speech but did not deliver it because the speeches were interrupted before his turn came (Lavrentii Beriia, 84). 83 Rahva Hääl, July 10, 1953. This was not an ordinary Party plenum for members only; instead, quite a few guests were invited. A total of 450–500 people participated at the plenum.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

the r­estoration of capitalism in order to please the imperialist states.” Käbin recognized that “Beria also managed to do a great deal of damage” in nationalities policy by pitting nationalities against one another. Käbin did not deny that Beria’s activity found support in the Estonian SSR. According to him, “the struggle against bourgeois nationalists who reared their head in connection with Beria’s ­provocative acts” had to be continued. He informed the plenum that there were recent signs of “nationalist elements” trying to exploit the situation.84 On the basis of Käbin’s speech, a total of sixteen speakers took the floor over the course of the plenum. Most of their speeches conveyed little in terms of content and were filled with the catchphrases of the nomenklatura. The speakers generally restricted themselves to generalities and simply reformulated the information from Käbin’s speech. However, the speech given by Mikhail Krassman—who had become the Estonian SSR Minister of Internal Affairs thanks to Beria’s endorsement—is noteworthy. He also did not hold back in exposing Beria’s “crimes.” Yet at the same time Krassman sharply criticized the work of his predecessor, Moskalenko, and the ministry’s previous cadre policy favoring non-Estonians. In conclusion, Krassman pledged that the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs would strengthen Party work and vigilance and that it “would not allow dissension of the kind that emerged in Moscow to develop within its ranks.” The audience, however, demanded he explain his last remark: what sort of dissension was the minister referring to? Krassman replied it was “dissension that emerged in the central apparat headed by Beria,” adding that perhaps he had not made himself clear.85 This remark proved to be fateful for Krassman. The reference to discord in Moscow particularly irritated Käbin, and the republic’s Party leader declared that this sort of speech from the minister “did not satisfy anyone.” Trying to salvage the situation, Krassman asked for the floor for another three minutes, during which he asserted that the “leadership of the ESSR Ministry of Internal Affairs had already changed its course” and operated under the guidance of the Party organs.86 The draft decision approved at the plenum tasked Party organs with “eliminating the consequences of Beria’s detrimental actions in the republic in the sphere of ethnic relations” as quickly as possible.87 The final decision of the ECP CC was formulated later (without any essential changes). In late July, the 84 85 86 87

Käbin’s speech at the ECP CC Plenum, July 11, 1953, ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 1466, l. 13–14, 18. Ibid., l. 51–52. ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 1466, l. 76. Ibid., l. 8–9.

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CPSU CC and ECP CC decisions were introduced at the raion committee and municipal committee plenums. Thereafter, secret Party meetings were held in the Party’s elementary organizations. The text of the CPSU CC decision of July 7 always had to be read aloud at these meetings before ­discussing this question.88 Minister of Internal Affairs Krassman’s repentance at the ECP CC Plenum no longer helped him. His personal fate was discussed separately at a session of the ECP CC Bureau held on July 13, in which his speech at the ECP CC Plenum was criticized as “confused, politically incorrect, and detrimental.”89 After Beria’s removal, the minister who had compromised himself did not remain in office for long. He was dismissed from his position as Estonian SSR minister of internal affairs by an ordinance issued by the USSR minister of internal affairs on September 2, 1953. The petition to dismiss Krassman from his position as minister was formally submitted by the ECP CC, but it is quite likely that an order to this effect was received from Moscow. An overview of changes in cadre in the Ministry of Internal Affairs after the overthrow of Beria sent by USSR Minister of Internal Affairs Sergei Kruglov to Malenkov and Khrushchev on August 22, 1953 stresses that Krassman was not qualified to be the Estonian SSR minister of internal affairs and proved to be a “politically immature” official.90 This voluminous document does not mention the name of the minister of internal affairs of any other Baltic republic. The Beria era in the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs ended with Krassman’s dismissal as minister,91 but Krassman’s departure did not lead to any extensive change in cadre in the ministry. The changes in cadre that had been c­ arried out were acknowledged as being partially erroneous. An ECP CC Bureau decision issued on 13 July 1953 assigned Central Committee Secretary Otto Merimaa to deal with this question in detail and to present his proposals to the Bureau for approval.92 Admittedly, the Ministry of Internal Affairs carried out several changes in cadres in the summer and autumn of 1953, but these were i­solated 88 ECP CC Presidium decision, July 10, 1953, ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 1536, l. 79. 89 ERAF f. 1, n. 4, s. 1536, l. 79–80. 90 Istoriia stalinskogo Gulaga. Konets 1920-h–pervaiia polovina 1950-kh godov, vol. 2: Karatel’naiia sistema: struktura i kadry (Moscow: Rosspen, 2004), 441. 91 Replacing Krassman as minister of internal affairs was Johan Lombak, who held the ­position until March 1953. A characteristic feature of that period was that after Krassman was removed from his post, no sanctions were imposed on him. He did not suffer the fate of Beria’s closest associates. He was reappointed head of the Estonian SSR Militia Administration and later served as the head of the republic’s railway militia. Krassman died in Tallinn in 1976. 92 ECP CC Bureau decision, July 13, 1953, ERAF f. 1, n. 5, s. 50, l. 226.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

changes, not massive renewals of cadres. Actually, the toppling of Beria was also the beginning of a transition period in the Estonian SSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, which lasted until the reorganization of the system of security organs and the ­establishment of a new institution, the Committee for State Security (KGB), in 1954.

CONCLUSION In the “new nationalities policy” there was nothing substantially new. The more extensive use of ethnic cadres was talked of from the early years of the Soviet regime onward. This “ethnicization” (korenizatsiia) policy was vigorously implemented in the 1920s and early 1930s in Ukraine, Byelorussia, and other Soviet republics of that time.93 The policy was abandoned in the late 1930s but not forgotten.94 Thus the “new nationalities policy” of 1953 was largely an old policy that had been temporarily set aside. Yet in the situation of that time, the Kremlin’s new course regarding the union republics nevertheless meant a sharp turn that occurred in a matter of months. This new course indeed “ethnicized” the power structure in the union republics, incorporated the local language into official business, softened repressions, changed anti-resistance tactics, and so on. This policy differed altogether from Moscow’s previous approach in the Baltic republics, which had not experienced the “ethnicization” of the 1920s, and the policy was applauded locally. Beria and Malenkov had surely thought previously of promoting local cadres more extensively, if only for practical reasons. But it was difficult to find competent cadres for the Party and for structures of state power in the Baltic union republics, because most of the local population had one or another “black mark” against them in the regime’s eyes: people had belonged to a political party during the period of independence, or worked in the rural municipal government during the German occupation, or had relatives abroad. This 93 For more on this topic, see Terry Martin, The Affirmative Action Empire: Nations and Nationalism in the Soviet Union, 1923–1939 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001), 31–210; Elena Borisenok, Fenomen sovetskoi ukrainizatsii. 1920–1930-е gody (Мoscow: Evropa, 2006). 94 See also Elena Borisenok, “Ukreplenie stalinskoi diktatury i povorot v natsional’noi politike na Ukraine (1930-e gody),” Otechestvennaiia istoriia 1 (2003): 162–170; TsK VKP(b) i natsional’nyi vopros. Kniga 1. 1918–1933 (Moscow: Rosspen, 2005); TsK VKP(b) i natsional’nyi vopros. Kniga 2. 1933–1945 (Moscow: Rosspen, 2009); Sovetskie natsii i natsional’naia politika v 1920–1950-e gody. Materialy VI mezhdunarodnoi nauchnoi konferentsii. Kiev, 10–12 oktiabria 2013 g. (Moscow: Rosspen, 2015).

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problem could not be solved with the help of cadres from Moscow, because local residents had to be involved as well in order for the regime to function. The Kremlin (Malenkov and others) had previously also pointed out the need to promote more local cadres.95 Thus Beria was no pioneer in this question. His role in 1953 lay in the fact that he did not confine himself to words but began vigorously implementing the policy as well. Beria hoped that promoting ethnic cadres would help bind the peripheral regions more firmly to the empire than the previous policy of violence. The question of local cadres was particularly acute in the state security organs. By the early 1950s, the situation in the territories that had been incorporated into the Soviet Union from 1939 to 1941 was such that most of the operatives in the state security organs (especially those in the leading positions) remained foreigners. The predominance of cadres who did not speak the local language was also surely one of the reasons why a policy of violence was primarily used to neutralize the resistance movement. Beria realized that by promoting local cadres, the work of the state security organs could be made more flexible and they could be better integrated into society. The ­promotion of local cadres in the Party and soviet apparat was also supposed to serve largely the same objectives. Beria was convinced that the mass repressions and ­“military-Chekist operations” had to be stopped in order to “pacify,” once and for all, the Soviet Union’s western regions. He saw cooperation with people who had participated in the resistance movement and persecuted politicians from the era of independence as one way to suppress the resistance movement. By involving such people, he sought to expand the base of support for the regime and to provide it with greater legitimacy in the eyes of the people. Yet this sort of approach was also ultimately supposed to neutralize all significant resistance to the regime, both domestically and abroad. Another important objective of this policy was gaining control over exile circles.96 The adoption of a more humane approach in the Soviet Union’s peripheral republics was supposed to help bind these recently captured territories more closely to the empire and to ensure that they were administered according to Moscow’s interests. But naturally, Beria was also seeking to entrench his own

95 Elena Zubkova, “Malenkov i Khrushchev: lichnyi faktor v politike poslestalinskogo rukovodstva,” Otechestvennaia istoriia 4 (1995): 106–107. 96 These plans in turn bring to mind the clandestine organization “Trust,” which operated successfully in the 1920s and through which Moscow controlled Russian emigrant circles to a significant extent.

After Stalin: The Kremlin’s “New Nationalities Policy” and Estonia in 1953

positions in the Kremlin’s political elite. To this end, he needed the support of the local elites in the peripheral union republics. Regarding Beria’s nationalities policy in 1953, an important question is what plans he had for the Estonian SSR and, more broadly, for all the Baltic Soviet republics. Did he intend to give the western regions the status of ­“people’s democracies” according to the example of Eastern Europe,97 or did he have other possibilities in mind? Giving the Baltic republics a status similar to that of the Eastern European satellite states was definitely not on the agenda. Beria did not see the Eastern European regimes as any sort of model; in 1953, he considered the political system of Eastern Europe to be a failure. This is illustrated by Beria’s proposals concerning the German Democratic Republic, for instance, and by his unprecedented criticism of Hungary’s Stalinist leadership in the June 1953 negotiations between the two “fraternal parties” in Moscow.98 However, this cannot be taken as antipathy towards socialism or communism as a whole. The notion that Beria intended to restore capitalism, which Khrushchev disseminated with particular zeal, remains decidedly in the realm of fantasy. There is currently no evidence that Beria wanted in any way to change the mainstays of the communist regime in the Soviet Union. It seems that the overall aim of his policy was to improve the existing regime and to make it more effective. The Baltic republics were necessary for the “Red Empire.” It was prudent to integrate those territories as they had been in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when the provinces of Estland and Livland had special status within the Russian Empire (baltische Landesstaat, status provincalis),99 within the framework of a new, Soviet version of the Baltic Landesstaat. Beria considered the nationalities policy of the Russian Empire’s central government to be more flexible and effective than the policy of the Soviet regime. Most importantly in the given context, he considered it a worthy model for the peripheral regions.100 In summary, if Beria had remained in power, it may

  97 Several authors are of this opinion. See, for instance, Mart Laar, Lauri Vahtre, and Heiki Valk, Kodu lugu II (Tallinn: Perioodika, 1989), 77–78; Jüri Lina, Skorpioni märgi all. Nõukogude võimu tõus ja langus (Stockholm: Referent, 1996), 306.   98 For more on the Kremlin’s plans concerning the GDR, see Gerhard Wettig, Bereitschaft zu Einheit in Freiheit? Die sowjetische Deutschland-Politik 1945–1955 (Munich: Olzog, 1999), 235–292; Gerhard Wettig, “Berija und das Problem der deutschen Einheit im Früjahr 1953,” Deutschland-Archiv 4 (2003): 599–614.   99 For more on the Baltic Landesstaat, see Mati Laur, Eesti ala valitsemine 18. sajandil (1710–1783) (Tartu: Kirjastus Eesti Ajalooarhiv, 2000), 15–16, 203–223. 100 RGANI f. 5, op. 15, d. 445, l. 74.

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indeed have led to the establishment of a new Baltic Landesstaat in the Baltic republics, but certainly not the introduction of the Eastern European model. Despite the official condemnation of Beria’s actions and the ­nullification of the Kremlin decisions that formed the basis of his “new nationalities policy,” some of these principles remained in effect later on. For some years to come, Moscow no longer sent ethnic Russians to fill the post of second secretary of the communist parties in the union republics. While the Kremlin sent second secretaries to Latvia and Lithuania in 1956, in Estonia it waited until 1971. Instead, Moscow accepted local candidates. Even after Beria’s removal, Moscow took the local differences in the union republics into account and gave them greater latitude in their actions.

Doubly Marginalized People: The Hidden Stories of Estonian Society (1940–1960) Aigi Rahi-Tamm Tartu University

O

n September 24, 1955 the prominent Estonian theatre director Voldemar Panso (1920–1977) wrote in his diary: “The amnesty law was published in the papers yesterday, now many chaps will come back. This probably has to do with the release of German war criminals that foreign policy requires. You cannot release the big ones and keep the local small guys locked up. By the way, a whole gang of bourgeois nationalists already arrived in Tallinn, headed by Andresen.1 I guess some men who cursed them behind their backs may feel rather uneasy.”2 According to the official statistics, 5,188 persons had returned to Estonia from Soviet camps by 1955 due to various amnesties.3 The former prisoners looked forward to reunions with their families, relatives, a­ cquaintances, colleagues, friends, and neighbors. This article focuses   1 Nigol Andresen (1899–1985) was vice-chairman of the Supreme Soviet of the ESSR when he was fired on 6 August 1949, accused of bourgeois nationalism, and expelled from the party. He was arrested on March 24, 1950 and sentenced by the war tribunal of the USSR Supreme Court to prison camp for twenty-five years under Criminal Code § 58-1a, 58-10 section 2 and 58-11 with confiscation of property and deprivation of rights for five years. Andresen was released from the camp in 1955, and in 1961 rehabilitated and reinstated into the party.  2 Merle Karusoo, ed., Voldemar Panso päevaraamat, vol. II (Tallinn: Eesti Draamateater, 2007), 333. The quotation refers to the intensified liberation of political prisoners in 1955, including the amnesty of party members, whose repression in Estonia was related to the eighth plenum of the Central Committee of the ECP in 1950.   3 Jüri Ojamaa, Jaak Hion, ed., Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 4. osakonna tööst 1. IV 1954–1.IV 1955 ja 1955. aastal (Tallinn: Umara, 1999), 73.

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on the issues surrounding the return of the inmates and the deported to their ­homeland. The amnesties of the repressed that started in 1953 were a sign of the era of changes after Stalin’s death. Yet the developments people had hoped for did not take off quickly; in reality, their return turned out to be a rather long and, at times, very painful process. Even before the more extensive release of p­ risoners started after the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party in February 1956, the Committee for State Security issued a number of directives to strengthen agency and operative work among those who had been sentenced for anti-­Soviet activities and were now waiting to return to their homeland. As a result, many of those released still remained under the watchful eye of the security services back in Estonia. The local authorities of the Estonian SSR viewed the returnees with suspicion, disfavoring their quick return, and fostered a hostile public attitude toward them.4 Many arriving in their native land did not experience a warm welcome, finding instead negative attitudes and even rejection. Their ­disappointment was perhaps nowhere more clearly expressed than in the f­ ollowing: “We were more free in Siberia than here, in our home in Estonia.”5 In a number of cases, those who were deported from Estonia as heroes had become o­ utlaws or sources of potential problems during the years spent in isolation.6 The Estonian society from which they were taken was not the same one they encountered upon their return. Conformism had gained ground, and silent irreconcilability had given way to pragmatic collaboration with the Soviet system.7 In conseqeunce, reunions after years apart could cause tensions and discomfort. This was especially complicated in the case of people who had given false testimonies. How could you communicate with people who had slandered you and your family? It was necessary to deal with such situations, but in what way? Generally, instead of being discussed, these topics were ignored, and this has been the case ever since.8 Those released became, in a way, doubly-marked citizens. They were   4 Amir Weiner, Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Getting to Know You: Soviet Surveillance and its Uses, 1939–1957,” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 13:1 (2012): 35–39; Tõnu Tannberg, ed., Behind the Iron Curtain: Soviet Estonia in the Era of the Cold War (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2015).   5 Memoirs of Eda Antoni (manuscript at the author’s disposal).  6 Amir Weiner, “Robust Revolution to Retiring Revolution: the Life Cycle of Soviet Revolution, 1945–1968,” Slavonic & East European Review 68:2 (April 2008): 225.   7 Olaf Mertelsmann, Everyday Life in Stalinist Estonia (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2012), 160–161.   8 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Our Untold Stories: Remembering the Soviet Time from a Historian’s Viewpoint,” in Acta Universitatis Tallinnensis. Socialia/Humaniora: Cultural Patterns and Life Stories, ed. Kirsti Jõesalu (Tallinn: Tallinn University Press, 2016), 77–103.

Doubly Marginalized People: The Hidden Stories of Estonian Society

first branded as enemies during Stalinism and, although circumstances had changed and they were allowed to return to normal life, they still had to carry the burden of that mark in the years to follow. A contemporary view of those events, given by pianist and musician Leelo Päts-Kõlar (born 1927), gives insight into the depth of the problem: “It is interesting that on the one hand I have always wondered why they keep talking about that [Soviet time], how it actually was, digging up everything… But on the other hand, the people who know nothing about it do not even realize that there was something. They do not have the experience of fear and cannot grasp it even if it is talked about. […] A terrible dissimulation was going on. This has left its traces. I remember one thing ‒ the whole time, the whole Soviet time we wondered how it was possible that we could bear this [life], we were in this mess and nobody dared to do anything. How did we get that far, how did we get involved so deeply?”9 This article examines aspects related to the return of the imprisoned to their homeland. Many authors stress that the returnee question is one of the keys to understanding the nature of de-Stalinization.10 Several ­researchers of the Gulag have given a survey of the problems and restrictions the released people had to face,11 while also examining the complicated process of r­ ehabilitation.12 Most studies dealing with the coping and adaptation of the repressed conclude that returning to the native land was difficult for  9 Leelo Kõlar, “Häid ja kehvemaid mälestusi,” in Muutuste kümnend. EV Tallinna Konservatooriumi lõpp ja TRK algus, ed. Urve Lippus (Tallinn: Eesti Muusika- ja Teatriakadeemia muusikateaduse osakond, 2011), 182. 10 Miriam Dobson, Khrushchev’s Cold Summer: Gulag Returnees, Crime, and the Fate of Reform after Stalin (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009); Polly Jones, ed., The Dilemmas of De-Stalinization: Negotiating Cultural and Social Change in the Khrushchev Era (London: Routledge, 2006); Jeremy Smith, Melanie Ilic, ed., Soviet State and Society under Nikita Khrushchev (London: Routledge, 2009). 11 Nanci Adler, The Gulag Survivor: Beyond the Soviet System (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers, 2001); Nanci Adler, Keeping Faith with the Party: Communist Believers Return from the Gulag (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2012); Stephen F. Cohen, The Victims Return: Survivors of the Gulag after Stalin (London: I. B. Tauris, 2012); Viktor Zemskov, Spetspereselentsy v SSSR, 1930–1960 (Moscow: Nauka, 2005); Paul R. Gregory, Woman of the Gulag. Portraits of Five Remarkable Lives (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, 2013). 12 Sbornik zakonodatel’nykh normativnykh aktov o repressiiakh i reabilitatsii zhertv politicheskikh repressij (Moscow: Respublika, 1993); Reabilitatsiia: kak eto bylo? Mart 1953–fevral’ 1956. Dokumenty Prezidiuma TsK KPSS i drugie materialy (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnyi Fond “Demokratiia,” 2000); Reabilitatsiia: kak eto bylo? Fevral’ 1956–nachalo 80-kh godov (Moscow: Mezhdunarodnyi Fond “Demokratiia,” 2003); Pavel Poljan, Ne po svoei vole… Istoriia i geografia prinuditel’nykh migratsii v SSSR (Moscow: OGI, 2001); Nikolai Bugai, Problemy repressii i reabilitatsiia grazhdan: istoriia i istoriografiia XX v.–nachalo XXI vv. (Moscow: Grif, 2012).

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them; their vulnerability was exacerbated by several forms of discrimination, mostly in terms of restrictions set by the authorities, but also through additional ­problems hardly mentioned or not spoken of at all, like the fear of being stigmatized by fellow citizens.13 The loss of mutual trust among people and the fear of being compromised enabled the state to shape a negative attitude toward the repressed and treat them as a category dangerous to society for decades (a “special contingent”).14

THE POSSIBILITY OF RETURNING TO THE HOMELAND Around 70,000 people were sent to prisons and exile from the Estonian SSR between 1940 and 1953, most of whom were so-called nationalists. About 25,000 of them were killed or died there.15 After the first amnesty law of March 27, 1953 prisoners with lighter sentences (up to 5 years’ ­imprisonment), ­children, pregnant women, and invalids were gradually released from the Gulag camps and colonies. Those punished for political reasons in Estonia were mostly convicted of counter-revolutionary crimes, in accordance with Article 58 of the Criminal Code of the Russian SFSR, and consequently this amnesty did not apply to the majority of the convicted and exiled. Still, thousands of people returned to Estonia following the first amnesty. Without doubt a number of problems accompanied the simultaneous l­ iberation of a great number of people, including a rise in criminality, especially in bigger cities. This has raised the question: Were those who were released thieves and crooks? Although we should not look at the returnees in this manner, and they did not pose any threat to the public order, the general opinion towards those released with the “Voroshilov amnesty,” as it was called by the people, was

13 Emilia Koustova, Erina Megowan, “(Un)Returned from the Gulag: Life Trajectories and Integration of Postwar Special Settlers,” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 16:3 (2015): 616–620. 14 А. Suslov, “Sistemnyi element sovetskogo obshchestva kontsa 20-kh–nachala 50-kh godov: spetskontingent,” Voprosy istorii 3 (2004): 125–134; Steven Barnes, Death and Redemption. The Gulag and Shaping of Soviet Society (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2011), 246–253; Steven Barnes, “Trust and Distrust in the USSR”, The Slavonic and East European Review 91:1 (2013). 15 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Human Losses,” in The White Book. Losses Inflicted on the Estonian Nation by Occupation Regimes 1940–1991 (Tallinn: Estonian Encyclopedia Publishers, 2005), 25–46.

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rather hostile,16 and this early attitude gradually extended to those released in the years following. Since the majority of documentation concerning the release of those repressed for political reasons was not made public, people lacked a clear understanding of who the returnees actually were—criminals or political prisoners? The first amnesty laid the legal foundation for the process of liberation to follow.17 As Beria was removed from power, the pronouncement of s­ uccessive amnesties was delayed. Plans for a more massive liberation of people who had been sent to special exile were not realized, either; the amnesties began gradually and were distributed over several years. As with the repressions, the releases took place according to different categories. As the accounts kept on various categories of convicts were rather confused, people sometimes had to wait for years before they were released. Numerous regulations existed that dealt with the process of liberation, and as a result only some of these acts—those more directly concerning the Estonian prisoners—are mentioned in this article. In 1954, decisions to ­liberate minors, those under sixteen, were made. According to estimations, around 1,591 minors had been deported from Estonia in 1941. Among those deported in 1949, 6,607 were minors.18 A directive of the Ministry of the Interior from July 3, 1954 lifted restrictions of special settlement for children who were born after December 31, 1937. Pupils, including those older than sixteen, were allowed to study at any educational institution. After this ­opportunity opened up, families started to send children back to the homeland without their parents, yet this scheme depended on the relatives who agreed to take care of the returning children. Unfortunately, many parentless children were confronted with difficulties upon coming home, and some of them soon went back to Siberia. The next, larger category to be released were those convicted for collaborating with the German occupiers during the Great Patriotic War, who furthermore had been sentenced to a maximum of ten years in prison, and had already 16 Tõnu Tannberg, “1953. aasta amnestia: kas ainult varaste ja sulide vabastamine?,” Tuna, Ajalookultuuri ajakiri 3 (2004): 37–51. Since the chairman of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR K. Voroshilov had signed the law issued on March 28, 1953, people mistakenly started to call it the “Voroshilov amnesty.” 17 Reabilitatsia: kak eto bylo? Mart 1953–fevral’ 1956. Dokumenty Prezidiuma TsK KPSS i drugie materialy; Sbornik zakonodatel’nykh normativnykh aktov o repressiiah i reabilitatsii zhertv polititicheskikh repressii, 104. 18 Aigi Rahi, 1949. aasta märtsiküüditamine: Tartu linnas ja maakonnas (Tartu: Kleio, 1998), 119.

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been given amnesty in March 1955. Their cases were to be closed, and those who had already done their time were acquitted and had their rights restored. This amnesty was connected to the establishment of diplomatic relations between the Soviet Union and the Federal Republic of Germany.19 In May, the amnesty was extended to party members, member candidates, and their families.20 In September, a great number of those who had been members of the Home Guard (Omakaitse) during the German occupation (except those convicted for killing or torturing a Soviet citizen), leaders of Home Guard, and members of nationalist organizations were released. As indicated above, however, people could not ­generally distinguish between these different waves of liberation. From 1954 to 1956 at least 10,000 political prisoners from Estonia were released.21 On August 4, 1956 the Presidium of the Central Committee of the CPSU changed the Criminal Code. At the same time, the punishment of family ­members of those convicted for treason was abolished in all cases where they were not accomplices to the crime. A more extensive liberation of the deported began in 1958. Still more influential was the May 19, 1958 decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, which liberated the family members of those convicted for treason, including: members of the underground national movement and their families; former kulaks and their ­families; and the families of former estate owners, manufacturers, merchants, and members of bourgeois political parties, anti-Soviet organizations, and former bourgeois governments. This decree was amended on January 7, 1960, liberating a group of “bandit nationalists” who had been among those longest imprisoned. As of 1961, the number of individuals from Estonia who remained in special settlements was 117.22 According to data of the Ministry of Interior of the Estonian SSR, the liberation from special settlements affected 27,837 people from 1954 to 1960. Table 1 presents an overview of the institutions that made the resolutions of liberation.23 19 Steven Barnes, Death and Redemption. The Gulag and Shaping of Soviet Society, 245; Meelis Maripuu, “Cold War Show Trials in Estonia: Justice and Propaganda in the Balance,” in Behind the Iron Curtain: Soviet Estonia in the Era of the Cold War, ed. Tõnu Tannberg (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2015), 146–149. 20 Meelis Saueauk, “The ‘Estonian Affair’ in the Context of Late-Stalinist Party Purges,” in Behind the Iron Curtain, ed. Tõnu Tannberg, 117–118. 21 Tõnu Tannberg, Politika Moskvy v respublikakh Baltii v poslevoennye gody (1944–1956). Issledovaniia i dokumenty (Moskva: Rosspen, 2010), 344–349. 22 Eesti Riigiarhiivi Filiaal [ERAF] 17SM-5–15, 34. 23 Aigi Rahi, 1949. aasta märtsiküüditamine, 124.

Doubly Marginalized People: The Hidden Stories of Estonian Society

Legal basis for liberation from a special settlement Resolutions of the Ministry of Interior of the Estonian SSR, Prosecutor’s Office and the Supreme Court Resolution of the Council of Ministers of the Estonian SSR Resolution of the commission of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Estonian SSR Attested to be deported without proper cause According to decrees of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR made on May 19, 1958 and January 7, 1960 According to other decrees and regulations of the government of the USSR and other liberations Total sum

Number of people released 9,047 2,029 2,010 1,256 2,265 11,228 27,837

OBSTACLES BACK HOME The most typical characteristics of the post-Stalinist era are: the substitution of mass terror with more liberal attitudes, the liberation of prisoners, and their subsequent return home. Much less attention has been paid to the resulting tensions among these different social groups, restrictive measures implemented at that time, and the continuing discrimination of citizens, as well as their unequal treatment. As a rule, new restrictive measures are mentioned after the Hungarian crisis at the end of 1956. Yet for some deported from the Baltic states, the possibility of returning home had already been restricted earlier. According to a December 2, 1955 directive of the Minister of the Interior of the USSR, their requests for liberation had to first be approved by the local Ministry of the Interior. For this, the deportees or their relatives had to file a request, only after which the local authorities would start to deal with their cases. All this meant an additional amount of time spent by the applicants, while it offered authorities the possibility to select returnees and prevent the release of undesirable persons. Since liberation took place according to the decisions of several different institutions (as seen in the table above), some of the released (mostly nationalists) did not have to apply for separate permission and were ­automatically allowed to return to Estonia, while others waited for their documents for years.24 24 Aigi Rahi, 1949. aasta märtsiküüditamine, 119–122.

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One of the strictest restrictions was formulated by the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Estonian SSR in its decree of October 12, 1957, which prohibited return to the Estonian SSR for those who had been convicted of especially severe state crimes, as well as for members of the former Estonian bourgeois governments, leading members of bourgeois political parties and nationalist organizations, police and state institutions, and active participants of the Estonian nationalist underground movement. Returning to Estonia without permission could be punished with the depriving of freedoms for one to three years and with removal from the territory of the republic.25 As far as is known, the prohibition returning to Estonia was applied to at least 2,627 persons sent to special settlements.26 Although during the 1960s most of the people under the ban were allowed to return to Estonia, for some these ­restrictions lasted for the duration of the Soviet Union’s existence. During the 1960s, several proposals were also made to annul the decree, but it remained in force until May 17, 1989.27 As a result, by 1956 and 1957 a somewhat peculiar situation had arisen, in which a part of the repressed—including political prisoners released from camps—were allowed a relatively easy return home. At the same time others, the majority of whom were deported family members, were still waiting for the moment when their liberation would be decided at the highest level. Therefore, many who were denied return to Estonia according to the October 12, 1957 decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the ESSR had already been released some time prior and arrived in Estonia. Besides, the all-Union law did not foresee prohibition of their return home.28 As a continuation of these ­processes, a new wave of expulsions from Estonia soon began. These and numerous other facts give evidence of the authorities’ increasingly hostile attitude toward the returnees. The events of 1956 in Hungary played an important role in this as well.29 Young people actively responded to these events, eagerly spreading leaflets supporting the Hungarians. It was 25 Hilda Sabbo, ed., Võimatu vaikida, vol. 2 (Tallinn: H. Sabbo, 1996), 1081–1083. 26 Aivar Niglas, “Early Release of Estonian Citizens and Residents Repressed for Political Reasons by the Soviet Authorities and their Rehabilitation from 1953 to the 1960s,” in Estonia since 1944. Reports of the Estonian International Commission for the Investigation of Crimes against Humanity (Tallinn: Estonian Foundation for the Investigation of Crimes against Humanity, 2009), 481. 27 ENSV Ülemnõukogu ja valitsuse Teataja 1989, 17, 201. 28 ERAF 1–5-101, 37–38. 29 Amir Weiner, “The Empires Pay a Visit: Gulag Returnees, East European Rebellions, and Soviet Frontier Politics,” The Journal of Modern History 78:2 (2006): 333–376; Tõnu Tannberg, Politika Moskvy v respublikakh Baltii v poslevoennye gody (1944–1956), 165–176.

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reported that, at amateur art evenings, students raised toasts “For free Hungary!” At that time, a delegation of Finnish students also visited universities in Tartu and Tallinn, adding to the anti-Soviet sentiments among students, which were already fostered by information heard from Western radio stations. All these signs showed a need to intensify anticipatory and preventive activities, and thus the Committee for State Security recommended measures to prevent the young from communicating with bourgeois-nationalist intellectuals and former ­members of bourgeois parties, so that the latter were not able to exert hostile­ influences on them.30 At the same time, people recently released from prison began to be rearrested. For example, in November 1956 Tõnis Halliste (born 1901), who had been released only that summer, was arrested again for threatening the chairman of a collective farm with the words: “Communists are our enemies, they need to be killed. In Hungary they are already being killed.”31 Restrictions on choosing a place of residence were used as a security measure for limiting dangerous contacts and for preventing returnees from clustering together. Local authorities were also involved in the enactment of these measures. According to a regulation of the Council of Ministers of the ESSR passed on October 1, 1957, those released from special settlements were allowed to live anywhere in Estonia except in Tallinn, border zones, or cities and districts from which they had been deported. Another clause stipulated that confiscated property was not to be returned. Later, the restrictions on choice of residence were also applied to inmates. At the same time, local authorities had the right to allow the elderly, disabled, and persons conducting themselves in a “positive” manner to return to their former homes. This right was used quite extensively. Accordingly, relations of convicted persons with local authorities and, on a larger scale, relationships at the local level—especially as manifested in the village—became the decisive link determining adherence to state restrictions and their persistence. Opportunities to find a job or continue one’s studies also largely depended on the will and courage of the director of an enterprise to employ the repressed or enroll them in school. As such, the strictness of restrictions imposed by the state in practice depended primarily on people’s mutual relations. Hostility toward returnees in turn spread negative perceptions of them as second-rate individuals and troublemakers. By the second half of the 1950s, strategies of adapting to Soviet rule and looking for compromises had 30 Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. ja 4. osakonna tööst 1956. aastal, 87–97. 31 Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. ja 4. osakonna tööst 1956. aastal, 45. In 1957 the Supreme Court of the ESSR again sentenced Tõnis Halliste to six years in a prison camp, from which he was released in 1962.

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gained ground in Estonian society as a whole; people were tired of facing old worries, and therefore some in society regarded the r­ eturnees as a kind of a risk to the stability that had been achieved.32 Unequal treatment of released persons raised lots of questions, especially among the released themselves, and prompted a wave of letters and references to higher governmental institutions asking for help to solve various situations.33 Whether people succeeded in fighting for themselves and their families—and to what extent—depended on several factors. Most significant among them were the courage to cope with difficult bureaucratic procedures and the ability to rely on suitable supporters while solving problems. Therefore, the people returning home had to first face the attitudes and fears present in their native land, whether held by authorities or their fellow citizens.

REPEATEDLY DEPORTED Although the return home should have been an augur of happiness, it could instead become the most painful part of one’s punishment. Eda Anton, born in 1944 and deported in 1949, has described such a situation: “I call the f­ ollowing period the second deportation, the second Siberia. When we arrived in Estonia [in 1958], my father found a job in a collective farm near Väike-Maarja and went to the passport office to register. The official’s answer was very short—your family has no right to live in the ESSR and you have to take off in three days or else… For my father that was like a blow to the head, all his hopes and efforts had failed. Everybody was at fault. […] Still, father heard from his former fellow-­ Siberians in Valga that our family was not the only one to be turned down and that the others had settled in a collective farm six kilometers to the east of  Valga. So we became residents of Latvia. Three Estonian families were already living in the farmhouse where we found a place to stay, they worked on the same collective farm. […] Then the year 1962 arrived, when the deported were allowed to return to Estonia by special decree of the ­government of the Estonian SSR.”34 This recollection characterizes the path of people who were prohibited from living in their homeland. Usually they tried to establish residence in 32 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, Irēna Saleniece, “Re-educating Teachers: Ways and Consequences of Sovietization in Estonia and Latvia (1940–1960) from the Biographical Perspective,” Journal of Baltic Studies (2016, in press). 33 Miriam Dobson, Khrushchev’s Cold Summer. Gulag Returnees, Crime, and the Fate of Reform after Stalin, 50–78. 34 Recollections of Eda Anton, annotated on March 21, 2011 (at the author’s disposal).

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neighboring areas—in the Latvian SSR or near the Pskov oblast of the Russian Federation. When possible, people resided in two places at once, outside the ESSR according to the official address registration, while in actuality often living with relatives in Estonia. Yet some people who felt offended by such treatment even returned to their former camp or settlement. In 1956 Otto Tief,35 who had been nominated in September 1944 as the last prime minister with the duties of president of the Republic of Estonia, was released from prison and arrived in Estonia as an invalid. In the eyes of the authorities he was an “especially dangerous state criminal” who was denied to right to live in the homeland due to the decree of 1957. At first, in a more liberal period, he was allowed to register his address at the home of his nephew, but soon, at the recommendation of the militia, he moved in with his sister in the countryside. Tief ’s wife and children had fled to Sweden in 1944, but through friends and companions he, soon after his release from prison, managed to establish correspondence with them. As a man who had lost his health, Tief applied for a higher disability pension. Yet a motion by the Minister of Social Security followed in which paying pension to a person like Tief was unjustifiable. In March 1957 the Council of Ministers of the Estonian SSR made a secret decision to cease monthly pension payments to Tief and recommended that, in case he was unable to manage his affairs, he be moved to an invalids’ nursing home where it would be easier to keep an eye on his activities. Tief still decided to find a way out of the situation and even got a temporary job as a land-use manager, until the KGB lost patience with him and ordered his dismissal. Otto Tief almost immediately became a target of interest for the Fourth department of the KGB, which handled nationalists returning from detention. Establishing surveillance over these persons was the most effective method for identifying anti-Soviet activities. In 1956, sixty-three files were opened for ­persons whom the KGB wanted to recruit as agents.36 Repatriates, people who had lived abroad before June 1940, people with correspondents abroad,37 and 35 Otto Tief (1889–1976) was prime minister of the Estonian government formed in September 1944. Only some members of the government were able to escape to the West at the last moment, while most of them were captured in the next few months. Tief was arrested in December 1944, and the Court-Martial of the Supreme Court of the USSR sentenced him to ten years. 36 Jüri Ojamaa, Jaak Hion, ed., Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. ja 4. osakonna tööst 1956. aastal (Tallinn: Umara, 2000), 80–82. 37 In 1955 the State Security Comittee of the ESSR had enlisted 10,640 persons with correspondents in England, 22,500 with Western Germany. Jüri Ojamaa, Jaak Hion, ed., Aruanne Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. vastuluureosakonna tööst 1954–1955 (Tallinn: Umara, 1997),

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those returning from detention who had been convicted of spying and intent to commit treason38 were considered most suitable for recruitment. The KGB was obviously alarmed, since they could not sufficiently check the contacts of these returnees, especially in the cases of intellectuals and young people, the categories most receptive to recruitment.39 Through the mediation of agents, the persons and residences where the released met were fixed. It was also known that returnees usually came together to share recollections and discuss job opportunities.40 Several agents were involved in influencing Otto Tief. By the end of 1956, the KGB set up a plan to coax Estonians living abroad into returning to their native land and thus “disintegrate the emigre community.” The KGB wanted to involve Tief in these activities, but he categorically refused.41 As a means of influence agents “Samler” and “Täht” were sent to Sweden as tourists, where they met with Tief ’s children and acquaintances as his “representatives.” After being dismissed from work and under pressure from the KGB, Tief decided to leave Estonia and settled in Donetsk, Ukraine, where one of his relatives worked as a mining engineer. He lived there for seven years, spending summers with relatives in Estonia. However, the secret service repeatedly tried to persuade him to cooperate. In 1959 he was even invited to Moscow for this purpose, where he was housed in a good hotel and introduced to the sights, alternating with overtures from state agents. In 1965, as an elderly man, he moved closer to home, to Latvia. Confined to his sickbed, he was finally taken by his relatives from Ainaži in Latvia to the small hospital of Ahja in Estonia, where he died of a cerebral stroke.42 Many of the convicted remained under KGB supervision and were ­subjected to various manipulations for years after having served their sentence. Prohibitng them from living in their homeland was a means for keeping these persons at a distance and for pressuring them.

38 39 40 41 42

19. Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. ja 4. osakonna tööst 1956. aastal, 7. Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. ja 4. osakonna tööst 1956. aastal, 124–125. Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 4. osakonna tööst 1.IV 1954–1.IV 1955 ja 1955. aastal, 78. Aruanded Riikliku Julgeoleku Komitee 2. ja 4. osakonna tööst 1956. aastal, 61. Indrek Paavle, Õigluse ja omariikluse eest Otto Tief (1889–1976) (Tartu: Rahvusarhiiv, 2014). Tief ’s wish was to be buried in Tallinn, in the cemetery of Metsakalmistu beside his longtime friend and prison camp companion as well as minister of education in his government, Arnold Susi. The burial service was interrupted by the KGB, and Tief was taken to another cemetery, Pärnamäe, to be buried. On April 4, 1993, Tief ’s remains were reburied in Metsakalmistu, thus his last wish came true.

Doubly Marginalized People: The Hidden Stories of Estonian Society

TENSIONS IN THE VILLAGES The imposing of restrictions and classification of people into categories of suitable and unsuitable were most apparent in the villages. Situations in which some persons were allowed to return to their former homes despite strict ­prohibition while others were driven out with abuse and threats, did not go unnoticed but rather provoked public outcry. Consequently, villagers were divided, too— some tried to support and help the returnees, while others, especially those afraid to lose their farms or other property, began inciting new fears in the villages. Many contradictions arose as a result. Those convicts whose families had remained in Estonia were in a somewhat easier situation—they had a place to go or at pass through for some time. But many homes were destroyed, devastated, and plundered, or even turned into collective farm offices. Some people gave up the wish to return to their homes to avoid reopening old wounds. By the time those convicted as kulaks started to return home, the kulaks as a class had been liquidated,43 although the fight against kulaks had not ended but merely acquired a new shape. Lists of kulak households still existed, and the influence of such lists remained powerful. In order to reclaim former dwellings that were confiscated and typically given to collective farms after a family was deported, the former owners first had to get their farm removed from the list of kulak households. As a rule, these attempts failed. Tensions in the villages dating from collectivization had not cooled by the end of the 1950s. The practice that was used for the identification of kulaks and enemies of the people was still applied.44 Local authorities still had to present characterizations of people to the Council of Ministers, on the basis of which it was decided whether or not to remove their farms from the list of kulak households. People were asked to testify against and report on their neighbors, acquaintances, relatives, and so on. If necessary, evidence for proving guilt was collected until there were more accusations than arguments in defense. As people started to return from Siberia, another group began returning to their former residences. These were internal refugees, people who had abandoned their homes in fear of arrest, moving from one place to another for years, trying to hide from the repressions in this manner. But the property of the fugitives was also subject to confiscation. Now they faced problems similar to those of the repressed. 43 Jelena Zubkova, Baltimaad ja Kreml 1940–53 (Tallinn: Varrak, 2009), 138. 44 Anu-Mai Kõll, The Village and the Class War. Anti-kulak Campaign in Estonia (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2013), 91–96.

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For example, in 1958 Daavet and Emilie Vaiga, an elderly couple, returned home and received permission from the chairman of the collective farm there to use the rooms of  what had once been their farm. The family of the collective farm’s brigade leader lived in the same house. Problems soon arose. In 1961 the party organization of the collective farm discussed the issue of the Vaiga family and decided that the old couple had to vacate the rooms and move out of the farm. According to party members, the tensions were caused by the Vaiga family’s attempts to behave as masters of the farm. The anti-Soviet attitudes of the couple’s daughters added to the tensions. The family was also blamed for having a garden that was 0.15 hectares larger than the 0.6 hectares permitted, and for feeding their domestic animals at the expense of the collective farm. To resolve this situation, the board of the collective farm dismissed David Vaiga from his duties as stableman. The stable was also located in Vaiga’s former farm. In 1962 the family applied for help to the Council of  Ministers of the ESSR. The local Executive Committee of the district’s Workers’ Deputies’ Council suggested that the Council of Ministers not return the farm buildings to their former owners and not remove the farm from the list of kulak households.45 As in the case of the Vaiga family, local relations appeared to play a decisive role. If the attitude towards the returnees was largely negative, there was no hope for a positive decision from the Council of Ministers, which relied first of all on the recommendations of local authorities. In cases of contradictory opinions, the Board of Affairs of the Council of Ministers could send an official to examine the situation in person and ensure that a suitable decision was taken. For example, in 1962 comrade Antson arrived from Tallinn as an official of the special sector of the Council of Ministers to make enquires in the Haaslava area. Hilda Kalpus (born 1904) had, after being released from Siberia in 1957, requested the return of confiscated property and the removal of her farm from the list of kulak households. Marie Pukk (born 1894), who had lived under the care of the Kalpus family for decades owing to her mental illness, became the key person in this case. The neighbors confirmed that the family had taken care of Pukk without relying on any outside labor (such reliance was a ­characteristic of kulak households). Yet comrade Antson, after an hour-long conversation with Marie Pukk, reached a different conclusion—that the person who “looked like an exhausted slave” did not show sufficient grounds for doubting her sanity, and thus that the case should be considered as the exploitation of outside labor. Relying on this opinion, the Council of Ministers denied Kalpus’s 45 Eesti Riigiarhiiv [ERA] R-1–5-609, 112–113.

Doubly Marginalized People: The Hidden Stories of Estonian Society

request. However, the decision seems to have been motivated not so much by mutual tensions between the villagers—the neighbors’ testimonials were more supportive than disdainful—as by the fact that the confiscated house had been given to the Consumers’ Cooperative and housed a shop. Since Hilda Kalpus’s brother owned a house in Tartu, she was advised to continue living there.46 An analysis of decisions made by the Council of Ministers in 1962 reveals that the majority of applications from citizens requesting the removal of their farms from the list of kulak households were denied. Those who asked for permission to return to their former places of residence were more fortunate. Although in this matter the Council of Ministers also made more negative than positive decisions, some applicants managed to secure good recommendations from some party member or official, for example, on the basis of whose opinions the local militia station took a positive stance.47 Still, even in the 1960s the lists of kulaks had not lost their actuality. Only a few families were able to return to their once-confiscated homes,48 and for that, smooth relations with both officials and villagers were necessary. Although restrictions were generally valid, their application depended on several factors, primarily on interpersonal relations.

APPLYING FOR REHABILITATION Many returnees found themselves caught in a vicious cycle at home. In order to get a job, address registration was required. At the same time, the choice of residence was limited and many homes had been destroyed. A person’s address had to be registered with the militia, and the absence of registration meant an obligation to leave the area. Violation of this regulation could result in criminal penalties.49 In securing a residence, one could mainly rely on the help of acquaintances who offered shelter or helped one to find it, in order to fulfill the requirement necessary for looking for a job. On the other hand, at work serious problems with trust arose; the administration was afraid to employ former convicts and people’s attitude toward them was strongly biased, and as a result 46 Eesti Ajalooarhiiv [EAA] T-168-1-329. 47 ERA R-1-5-609. 48 On how farms were bought back by subterfuge in the 1960s, for example, selling a farmhouse to its former owner as firewood, see Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Homeless for Ever: the Contents of Home and Homelessness on the Example of Deportees from Estonia,” in Narratives of Exile and Identity in Soviet Deportation Memoirs from the Baltic States, ed. Violeta Davoliute, Tomas Balkelis (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2017). 49 Indrek Paavle, “Ebaühtlane ühtne süsteem. Sovetliku passisüsteemi rakendamine Eesti NSV-s,” Tuna, Ajalookultuuri ajakiri 2 (2001): 43–67.

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it was usually possible for hem to get only unskilled jobs. The sole possibility for escaping these restrictions and widening opportunities for oneself and one’s family members was to apply for rehabilitation. This was an advisable step both for making a career and retiring.50 Although amnesty for a political prisoner should have included the annulment of the punishment and the rehabilitation of that person, in the Estonian SSR this was not understood in a clear and unambiguous manner. Rehabilitation did not mean acquittal of the repressed, compensation for their damages, or the prosecution of those responsible. The people who had been punished wished to get rid of the “stain” and the restrictions, to restore their former good reputation and personal rights. As a rule, rehabilitation was ­limited to a confirmation that the original sentence was ungrounded, and a ruling that the contested criminal case was to be closed “due to lack of evidence of a crime.” Such a solution left the sufferings and restrictions caused by the repressions unsolved. Still, some exceptional examples can be found where a person managed to achieve rehabilitation along with compensation for their confiscated property. In 1966, fifteen rehabilitated persons sent a request to the Ministry of Finance of the ESSR to recover their property. Six of them received compensation. For example, Veronika Koldre, who was rehabilitated in May 1966, requested 30,000 roubles as compensation for three houses confiscated in 1940, with inventory including a sewing machine, bicycle, and radio receiver. Happily, her request was taken under review. However, it was eventually denied as new facts became evident.51 Nevertheless, information about positive outcomes motivated others to make similar requests. In the second half of the 1960s, issues of rehabilitation became topical on both the republican and state levels. People who did not get help from the authorities of the ESSR sent their requests to Moscow, reflecting the general confusion in these matters. Officials of the party, security service, prosecutor’s office, and court all agreed that the concept of rehabilitation had remained unclear and that a common stance on the issue was needed. In February 1967, the ECP CC reached the conclusion that the Supreme Court of the ESSR and the Prosecutor’s Office had made mistakes resulting in the ­rehabilitation 50 For those retiring it was important that the years they had worked in special settlements, which usually were counted out, would also be included in calculating their length of employment. Most people did not have any documentation of these years. Võimatu vaikida, vol 2, 1038-1043, 1071-1076. 51 ERAF 1-5-101, 16–20.

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of unsuitable persons. For example, Helgi Päts—the daughter-in-law of the former president of the Republic of Estonia, Konstantin Päts—had been deported to Ufa with the president and his family on June 30, 1940. A special trial of the NKVD later convicted Helgi Päts as a socially dangerous element on October 12, 1941, and sentenced her to prison for five years. In 1946 she came back to Estonia and worked as a nurse, but was arrested again in 1950 and sent to a special settlement for ten years on the same charge; she was released in 1955.52 But more than a decade later, on February 23, 1966, Päts obtained a certificate of rehabilitation. The following year, in February 1967, the ECP CC included Päts’s rehabilitation among the mistakes made during the rehabilitation process. To have rehabilitated someone so close to Konstantin Päts was, in the view of the ECP CC, an obvious error. On May 29, 1967 a session of the Bureau of the ECP CC took place for which representatives of all institutions involved in rehabilitation were present, including Gennadii Terekhov, a member of the Prosecutor’s Office of the USSR and the head of the Moscow department responsible for supervising investigations of security institutions. At this session, it was stated that each erroneous rehabilitation decision gave ground to pretensions and provoked a chain reaction. Citizens had filed many complaints, and claims for the return of property were the most troublesome. Robert Simson, head of the Supreme Court of the ESSR, argued that a new law was needed to allow for nonpayment of compensations. Another focal point under discussion was the question of which categories of persons could be liberated from restrictions. It was stated that from 1957 to 1958, many people—including a number of kulaks, to whom most of those present at the session were extremely hostile—had been allowed to return to their native places of residence and had begun pursuing the restitution of their property or compensation for its loss. At the same time, it was noted that many children of the deported—or those who had been deported as minors—had grown up, and with some of them even becoming decorated communists, but the restrictions imposed on them and their parents often hindered their careers. For that reason, several regional party committees were of the opinion that the farms of such families could be removed from the list of kulak households. However, this would give them the right to recover their property. Drawing on different examples, the session reached a consensus that restrictions should not be lifted under general 52 Poliitilised arreteerimised Eestis 1940–1988, vol 2 (Tallinn: Eesti Represseeritute Registri Büroo, 1998), 395.

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order by category, but only on a strict case-by-case basis. To avoid mistakes it was decided that similar procedures should be applied to rehabilitation, so that investigation by the security apparatus would make controlling people and collecting evidence more effective. However, as recently as that same year, both the Prosecutor and Minister of the Interior of the Estonian SSR had repeatedly called for the simultaneous rehabilitation of all persons deported in 1941 and 1949. On March 15, 1965, Terekhov had sent a similar proposal to Anastas Mikojan, Chairman of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR. The proposal referred to an investigation carried out in the Baltic states that catalogued erroneous deportations based on formal criteria. Several senior officials of the Lithuanian and Estonian KGB had also expressed the opinion that women and those deported as children could be rehabilitated, unless they were personally involved in anti-Soviet activities.53 The Prosecutor’s Office of the USSR had blamed republican prosecutors for their indecision concerning the non-rehabilitation of certain categories.54 By 1967 these steps had not produced any results. The session of the ECP CC Bureau on May 29 concluded with the statement that restrictions must not be applied to those returning from deportation, but the question regarding rehabilitating these and other categories had to be solved in an individual manner. According to the conclusive opinion of Johannes Käbin, party leader of the ESSR, it was necessary to continue ­consultations with the CC of the CPSU in these matters.55 The events in Prague in 1968 led to new intensification of ideological pressure, and mentioning the consequences of Stalin’s crimes or discussing these issues once again became grounds for condemnation.56 By 1966, 840 families and 284 individuals—altogether 2,280 persons, or 8% of the deported—were rehabilitated. Those sent away as enemies of the people (nationalists) were the most frequently rehabilitated. The percentage of rehabilitated kulak families was only 3.4%, or eighty-three families. There were remarkable cases where the arrested head of a family was (posthumously) rehabilitated and his criminal case closed due to “lack of factual evidence,” yet the rehabilitation of his family members was denied because there was no 53 54 55 56

ERAF 1-5-101, 53–58. ERAF 1-5-101, 39–47. ERAF 1-5-101, 1-6, 60–61. Amir Weiner, “Deja Vu All Over Again: Prague Spring, Romanian Summer, and Soviet Autumn on Russia’s Western Frontier,” Journal of Contemporary European History 15:2 (2006): 159–194.

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evidence available; this occurred even in cases where the main reason for the family members’ deportation was not their social status or economic standing but simply the fact that the head of the family had been arrested.57 Notwithstanding the low percentage of successful rehabilitation requests, many people continued to pursue it. The negative image of the convicts, constantly strengthened by the restrictions still in force, was slow to disappear. Terekhov admitted as much in his letter to Mikojan, arguing that the stigma of the convict was recognizable not only in the workplace but also in the family.58

THE PAIN OF REOPENING OLD FILES For those convicted, a request for rehabilitation meant reopening the investigation that had led to the original conviction, along with a mental return to those prior events and circumstances. In order to get the case reopened, the person requesting acquittal (or a family member acting on his or her behalf) had to write a detailed statement explaining the counts of the indictment, describing the procedure of the interrogation, and so forth. Then, after verifying old and new claims and facts, the collection of additional evidence and interrogation of witnesses followed. The rehabilitation procedure and return from captivity to normal life of composer, conductor, and pedagogue Riho Päts will be analyzed in the following pages.59 Although his case reached a positive resolution, this example reveals a hidden side of the rehabilitation procedure—how remembering bitter moments of the past revived old conflicts. In 1968, when Päts filed his request for rehabilitation, he also began writing his memoirs, enabling an analysis of the case from different perspectives. The recollections of his daughter, Leelo Päts-Kõlar, provide additional material. Comparison of these different materials gives greater insight into the tragic nature of these types of situations. Riho Päts belonged to the group of people granted amnesty in the summer of 1955, when, by a verdict from the Kirov oblast, he was released from his sentence with the restoration of all rights. He said, “I shook down the camp dust from my feet, throwing the soup spoon that was kept in my boot ‘over the fence,’

57 ERAF 1-5-101, 21–32. 58 ERAF 1-5-101, 56. 59 Riho Päts (1899–1977) was arrested as a “bourgeois nationalist” in 1950 with two of his ­colleagues—Tuudur Vettik and Alfred Karindi—in the period when attacks against Estonian intellectuals intensified.

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meaning, in camp slang, that you would never return there!”60 He was not subject to any restriction of residence either in 1955 or later, and so could return to his hometown of Tallinn. As his first task, he began to restore u­ nfinished compositions and texts on music pedagogy left unfinished before his arrest in 1950, which had been confiscated and then destroyed after his conviction. As a pleasant surprise, he found support from students who had carefully taken notes on his lectures at the conservatory, and, relying on these notes, was able to begin restoring his manuscript entitled “Musical education at school.” Although Päts’s re-adjustment to his native land went seemingly smoothly compared to that of many others, he was soon hit by a setback. The initial promise to restore his position at the conservatory was not fulfilled. Instead, Päts was sent to work at the Tallinn Pedagogical Institute, where a department of music had been established to prepare music teachers. In 1961 the Higher Attestation Commission of the Ministry of Higher Educational Establishments of the USSR confirmed his appointment as a professor at the institute. Yet he was soon beset by health problems. In 1966 he began suffering from chronic inflammation of the joints, which restricted his mobility.61 Riho Päts died in 1977. Ten years earlier, he had sought rehabilitation. According to the decision from the Supreme Court of the ESSR, his criminal case was closed due to “lack of a criminal matter,” and the property confiscated during his arrest was allowed to be returned.62 However successful, this process also had its dark sides, which are clearly revealed in Päts’s memoirs. These included ruined relationships that could not be restored even decades following his return from exile. The style of Riho Päts’s memoirs is generally calm and balanced, yet in some places the tone changes, giving evidence of his complicated inner anguish and reflecting the severity of blows he experienced in the past. Several of Päts’s colleagues and students from the conservatory were summoned as witnesses at his trial in 1950. “It seemed that some of them were somewhat frightened but still tried to remain objective (E. Noormaa, H. Voore), while others (B. Lukk, H. Kõrvits, N. Goldschmidt, student E. Johanson) showed their ‘courage’ by 60 Riho Päts, Oh seda endista eluda… Meenutusi möödunud aegadest, ed. Leelo Kõlar, Airi Liimets (Tallinn: TPÜ Kirjastus, 1999), 165. 61 Riho Päts, Oh seda endista eluda, 164–182. 62 ERAF 130sm-1-6501, 251-258. After the decision of the session of the Supreme Court on July 3, 168 Päts filed a request for compensation of confiscated property, including a concert grand piano, three suits, gold pocket watch, and also state loan obligations, etc. He received amends in the sum of 1,772.50 roubles that, according to the victim, was only a fraction of the real damages and did not correspond to the real value of the property. After several ­disputes he received an additional sum of 1,522.50 roubles.

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blaming me with invented and unfounded allegations.”63 The testimony of Päts’s close family friend and colleague Bruno Lukk affected him most ­painfully. Lukk was also the piano teacher of Päts’s daughter, Leelo, and director of the conservatory (1948–51). Both the employer’s certificate of character and the testimony given to the court by Lukk confirmed Päts’s “criminal activities.” Eighteen years later, such behavior still remained incomprehensible for Päts. “I cannot understand at all how witness B. Lukk, who was director of the conservatory at that time, could testify against me, claiming that I had tried to spread bourgeois-nationalist views among the students, although, shortly before my arrest, he specifically praised my pedagogical work at a general meeting of the faculty members.”64 After Päts was arrested, Lukk also fired his wife Made Päts,65 who chaired the choral department, and his brother-in-law Valfried Jakobson, who taught brass band conducting. Päts’s daughter Leelo was also not allowed to sit her final examinations and was expelled from the university. The fact that Lukk expelled his own student, whom he had known since she was a child, weighed on the hearts of many of his colleagues.66 According to Päts’s daughter, imprisonment had made her father more tolerant: “he was now much calmer in his attitude towards things and people, […] now he tried to understand everything and everybody. He was content with everything because he had once lost it all. It seemed as if he had no hard feelings or ill will towards anything,” but this attitude did not extend to everyone. In his letter to the Prosecutor of the ESSR, Päts tried to explain Lukk’s behavior as “some inertia of labelling that flourished in such cases at that time and manifested here as well,”67 but these two old friends who had once spent long hours discussing world matters never made peace again. Leelo Päts-Kõlar has characterized her teacher Bruno Lukk as a constantly changing personality: “as a person and as a musician Lukk changed all the time, until his death, […] his whole manner of teaching and attitude towards music, all this changed all the time, very quickly and radically. […] When I finally came back from the settlement in Siberia,68 and finally got a job at the music 63 Riho Päts, Oh seda endista eluda, 152. 64 Helju Tauk, Muusikast võlutud (Tartu: Ilmamaa, 2010), 377. 65 After being dismissed, Made Päts could not find a job anywhere. She finally found a temporary job at a sauna, and later began knitting caps for a weaving factory; she died in May 1953 of food poisoning. 66 Urve Lippus, Muutuste kümnend. EV Tallinna Konservatooriumi lõpp ja TRK algus (Tallinn: Eesti Muusika- ja Teatriakadeemia muusikateaduse osakond, 2011), 181. 67 ERAF 130sm-1-6501, 207–213. 68 Leelo Päts’s husband Erich Kõlar was arrested during a tour of the stage orchestra of the

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school, the mutual understanding between us started to improve in some ways. […] But I wonder why we never talked about that, even when we were among ourselves. […] Anyway, Lukk was very much afraid of my father, he always ran away somewhere to avoid meeting him.”69 The feeling of discomfort among the staff of the conservatory that Päts’s return to work would have caused was yet another reason why the doors of his former workplace remained closed to him. The circumstances described above raise the question of why Bruno Lukk, one of the best-known and most-beloved Estonian pianists, behaved in such a way toward his friend and his friend’s family. Was it out of fear? In order to answer that question, we must examine Lukk’s party file. Readers of his numerous biographical questionnaires have always underlined the same fact—namely, that Lukk’s sister and three brothers had followed Hitler’s call in 1939 to leave Estonia (their grandmother was German). And although Lukk confirmed in all questionnaires that he had had no contacts with them since 1940, and was not even interested in their life, this fact was a “stain” on his record.70 From 1928 to 1938, Lukk himself had also studied and worked in Germany and travelled extensively with his musical ensemble. Naturally, these experiences strongly influenced Lukk’s behavior. The Stalin years were a time of incredible upheaval and abrupt changes in human relations. In the course of constant official accusations people became more vulnerable and relations became more tense—poisoned by denunciation, open stigmatization, and all sorts of campaigns for catching “enemies,” not to mention the pressure of agents seeking to recruit informants.71 People were embarrassed to acknowledge the fears and dangers that accompanied any social interaction with those disgraced and arrested during that time. People often protected themselves by appealing to a double standard, maintaining their old values within the Soviet system.72 For the authorities, such broken

Estonian Philharmonic in autumn 1951. He had avoided the deportation of 1941 but was deported ten years later. Leelo followed her husband to Kirov oblast with a newborn daughter. 69 Leelo Kõlar, “Häid ja kehvemaid mälestusi,” in Muutuste kümnend, ed. Urve Lippus, 171–181. 70 ERAF 1-6-7076. 71 Sheila Fitzpatrick, Robert Gellately, “Introduction to the practices of denunciation in modern European history,” in Accusatory Practices: Denunciation in Modern European History, 1289–1989 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), 1-21; Geoffrey Hosking, ed., The Slavonic and East European Review, 91:1: Trust and Distrust in the USSR (2013). 72 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, Meelis Saueauk, “Nõukogude julgeolekuasutuste Stalini-aegseist ülekuulamisprotokollidest: Allikakriitiline ülevaade,” in Eesti Ajalooarhiivi toimetised, 23/30: 218–243.

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relationships were a good means of keeping society under control.73 The files of the rehabilitation process sometimes give quite detailed accounts of marred human relations, also illustrating that, in most cases, these relations could not be improved. As a result, the aftereffects of the Stalinist era could still be felt in the 1960s and beyond. This was primarily made manifest in a stance of mutual avoidance among the people who had been in conflict with each other (which, considering the small size of Estonia, was sometimes difficult to achieve), and in the worst cases even resulted in disdain, ridicule, or persecution.74 Although most of the information needed to build a case for rehabilitation was collected from archives or through enquiries and reports from institutions, in a number of instances witness testimonies were also used. Here, questions concerning a person’s membership in certain organizations were quite typical. Investigators had difficulties establishing the actual activities of a person, especially if he or she had categorically denied involvement or was dead by that time. As in earlier times, the explanations given in the 1960s to support ­rehabilitation cases largely depended on the courage of the witnesses. It was often difficult to find living witnesses who directly remembered the events in question, and therefore recourse was also made to interrogations of persons very indirectly connected with the events, who often could only repeat information obtained thirdhand. Consequently, the new testimonies were often rather vague. Still, ­acrimonious testimonies that directly harmed the person under consideration were also given in certain instances, once again raising questions about the origins of deeply-rooted conflicts. Relying on cases already analyzed,75 it can be argued that the tone of the testimonies given at that time was most strongly influenced by the profession and party membership of the witnesses. Even family members, sensing a danger to their careers and trying to distance themselves from said danger, have given accusatory statements. These testimonies simultaneously reflect long-lasting fears, the spread of official disdain into people’s behavior patterns, and the inability or unwillingness to find reconciliation. 73 Amir Weiner, Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Getting to know you: The Soviet surveillance system, 1939–1957,” Kritika: Explorations in Russian and Eurasian History 13:1 (2012): 5–45. 74 See, for example, Aino’s story in the volume She Who Remembers, Survives. Interpreting Estonian Women’s Post-Soviet Life Stories, ed. Tiina Kirss, Ene Kõresaar, Marju Lauristin (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 2004), 226–241. Aino (born 1925) was deported twice. In her story she describes the emotions of returning to Estonia in 1947 and 1958, and, among other things, recalls the disdainful insults of a woman involved in her family’s deportation who had met her in the street and called out: “Is our Siberian princess back?” 75 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Vabadussõjalased tšekistide haardes,” Tuna, Ajalookultuuri ajakiri 3 (2009): 98–116.

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Some cases show an especially strong dependence on official attitudes toward certain categories of people. This concerns in particular members of the League of Participants in the War of Independence, the Pro Patria League, and the Defense League and their families, whose rehabilitation requests were usually denied. The understanding that, in their cases, the system had not erred was one which persisted for a long time.76 Sometimes the accordance of a particular provision of the Criminal Code with the nature of the crime was put into question and suggestions were made to revise that provision; however, contesting a provision after the sentence had already been served was typically not considered advisable, especially if the person was regardless not subject to complete rehabilitation. Renewed investigation and the collection of fresh evidence and ­testimonies, which uncovered many latent problems in peoples’ mutual relations in the process, nonetheless usually ended with denial of rehabilitation. For a positive outcome, a person needed the strong support of his or her present or former employer, as well as good contacts with colleagues, acquaintances, and family members—and, furthermore, a certain amount of luck.

CONCLUSION The release and return of the repressed is usually spoken of in a positive tone to describe the changes of post-Stalinist society, attesting to receding political violence. Often left unnoticed, however, the prisoners’ diverse ways of readaptating to normal life, as well as the reactions and attitudes of society toward the returnees. The restrictions concerning place of residence, job, and study opportunities have often been discussed, but the tensions caused by meeting family, friends, colleagues, neighbors and acquaintances have tended to be mentioned in passing. In his memorandum of March 26, 1953 to the Presidium of the CPSU CC, Lavrenti Beria mentioned that re-establishing contacts between people kept apart would not be easy: “Longterm stay in the prison camp, away from family and common everyday life, puts the convicts and their family members in an extremely difficult situation, often causing the break-ups of families and leaving a negative mark on a person’s entire later life.”77 Release from prison was an emotionally longed-for moment. But, in many cases, 76 Nikolai Bugai, Narody stran Baltii v usloviiakh stalinizma (1940-е – 1950-е gody). Dokument irovannaia istorija (Stuttgart: Ibidem, 2005), 243–244. 77 Tõnu Tannberg, “1953. aasta amnestia: kas ainult varaste ja sulide vabastamine?,” Tuna, Ajalookultuuri ajakiri 3 (2004): 37–38.

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the returnee’s health did not withstand the stress, and casualties among those who had recently arrived back home were frequent. In these instances, the joy of freedom turned into another painful loss. For the authorities of the ESSR, amnesties signified a number of problems, leading to an instability that they tried to resolve by imposing new restrictions on the released persons, including KGB-surveillance and other preventive measures. Those who were simply too troublesome, or whose influence on fellow citizens was considered especially dangerous ideologically, were forbidden to live on Estonian territory—an injunction called “the second deportation” by the ostracized persons themselves. The decree issued by the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Estonian SSR on October 12, 1957 that prohibited the released persons from returning to the place of arrest or sent them to special settlements, meant, in fact, prolonging their punishment and declaring thousands of people homeless.78 At the same time, it amplified society’s rejection of the returnees, forcing them into the position of second-class citizens. However, there was space for some exceptions, and compromises could be reached if a person behaved in a positive manner. The unequal treatment of different groups and individuals among the released created much confusion and uncertainty among them and in the wider society. Alternating between strict adherence to restrictions and relative leniency enabled authorities to manipulate the system and put pressure on people, which in turn augmented tensions in society and in human relations. Including local municipal officials in decisions of whether to allow returnees to go back to their former places of residence and whether to remove their farms from the lists of kulak households was a suitable means for dividing the returnees. As a result, contacts considered to be troublesome or dangerous by the authorities could be avoided and unsuitable people kept away from their homes well into the 1960s. Over the years, regulations concerning the repressed became more ­flexible, but this did not change the status of stigmatized persons and their families. Hostile attitudes and restrictions imposed on the convicted by the state had also gained ground among the people. The convicted had become doubly marginalized, shunned, and avoided. Consequently, a number of  those released decided to return to Siberia or looked for jobs in other parts of the USSR.79 78 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Homeless for Ever: the Contents of Home and Homelessness on the Example of Deportees from Estonia,” in Narratives of Exile and Identity in Soviet Deportation Memoirs from the Baltic States, Violeta Davoliute and Tomas Balkelis, eds. (in press). 79 John Round, “Marginalized for a Lifetime: the Everyday Experiences of Gulag Survivors in

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In order to avoid the distrust and other obstacles surrounding them, people sought to prove their innocence, requesting the reconsideration of their cases. Only roughly 10% of the convicts succeeded in rehabilitation. The personal files opened in the course of investigations caused old accusations and the tensions involved to resurface. Wounds inflicted among those involved had not healed even decades later. Usually these topics were buried in silence; silence, together with dissimulation, became a general behavior and coping strategy during Soviet times. However, this does not render what happened insignificant. Feelings of discomfort, embarrassment, shame, and weakness arose in these situations, prevent those involved from making things clear. The breakdown of social relations was a tactic programmed into the ­strategy of the authorities.80 By not discussing or analyzing this strategy, we allow the Soviet era to persist.81 Normalization of broken relationships has proven to be an extremely arduous process. As times change and the years pass, relationships take precedence over what was done by the authorities, and ­therefore start to play a more important role in descriptions of that era. Speaking about ruined relationships is a delicate—and, in many respects, difficult—task that demands, on the one hand, a more detailed study of state measures and mechanisms and, on the other hand, a deeper knowledge of distinct individual strategies.82 In order to understand people’s actions, we have to go back to the starting points of many disparate processes, and examine a great deal of material concerning the cases. The aftereffects of political repressions carried over into the 1960s and later decades. The condemnation of Stalin’s cult of personality, which found wider resonance among the general public after the twentieth and twenty-second congresses of the CPSU (held in 1956 and 1961) and incited hopes for freedom, nevertheless did not release society from the nightmares of the past. The atmosphere of fear was replaced by a mentality of adaptation; the learned feeling of angst had taught people to avoid those who were Post-Soviet Magadan,” in Geografiska Annaler 88 (2006): 15–34. 80 Jan T. Gross, Revolution from abroad. The Soviet Conquest of Poland’s Western Ukraine and Western Belorussia (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002), 114–122. 81 Aigi Rahi-Tamm, “Our Untold Stories: Remembering the Soviet Time from a Historian’s Viewpoint,” in Acta Universitatis Tallinnensis, Socialia/Humaniora: Cultural Patterns and Life Stories, ed. Kirsti Jõesalu, Anu Kannike (Tallinn: Tallinn University Press, 2016). 82 Vladimir Shlapentokh, Public and Private Life of the Soviet People: Changing Values in Post-Stalin Russia (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989); Oleg Kharkhordin, The Collective and the Individual in Russia: A Study of Practices (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1999).

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uncompromising or problematic, and double standards became dominant. The danger of being compromised by associating with the wrong person persisted for a long time. And the attitudes of the fellow citizens ensured that those made culprits by the authorities were still considered “guilty” for a long after their release. In the context of the era known in several memoirs as the “Golden Sixties,” the treatment of the repressed acquires special significance. The events of 1968 in Prague, and the new campaign of ideological homogenization, put an end to the alternative and more flexible attitudes that had begun to reemerge in certain circles, especially among the young, i­ ntellectual, and more open-minded people.83

83 Vladimir A. Kozlov, Sheila Fitzpatrick, Sergei V. Mironenko, ed., Sedition: Everyday Resistance in the Soviet Union under Khrushchev and Brezhnev (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011), 9–15, 20–23 etc.

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Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura (1940–1990) Daina Bleiere Stradiņš University and Institute of Latvian History at the University of Latvia, Riga

N

umerous studies in history and the social sciences from the 1970s to the present certify that the officially declared policy of women’s equality in the Soviet Union led to rather inconsistent results.1 Despite ideological claims that the “women question” had been resolved, “gender parity remained as an abstract dream throughout the life of the Soviet Union.”2 Undoubtedly, ­women’s involvement in production and their level of education were both fairly high, in part as a result of  the state ideology and policy. Still, these trends can be explained mainly by the economic and demographic situation. In addition, despite the relatively high level of education (in 1987, more than 62% of specialists with higher and secondary education were female), women earned less than men, because they held managerial positions much less frequently than men and were employed in less remunerated spheres (such as education, health care, and light and food

This research was made possible by the financial support of the Latvian State Research Program “Letonica: Research on History, Language and Culture.”   1 See, for example, Gail Warshofsky Lapidus, Women in Soviet Society: Equality, Development and Social Change (Berkeley, CA.: University of California Press, 1979); Mary Buckley, “Women in the Soviet Union,” Feminist Review 8 (1981): 79–106; Mary Buckley, Women and Ideology in the Soviet Union (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1989); K.B. Usha, “Political Empowerment of Women in Soviet Union and Russia: Ideology and Implementation,” International Studies 42:2 (2005): 141–165.   2 Choi Chatterjee, “Ideology, Gender and Propaganda in the Soviet Union: A Historical Survey,” Left History 6:2 (1999): 24.

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

industries). Thus, for instance, a majority of employees in the field of education were women, but most often the position of headmaster was held by a man. Political activity was also lower among women than among men, and women did not enjoy the same levels of career and political mobility. This might be explained by women’s double workload as both employees and family guardians, and also by the paternal political culture, where successful nomenklatura women were faced taunts and a lack of appreciation. The archetypal concept of the woman-manager is wonderfully reflected in films popular in the Soviet Union (and in Latvia) in the 1970s and 80s, such as “Moscow Doesn’t Believe in Tears” and “Office Romance.” The protagonists of these particular stories were successful managers, but failures in their personal lives. When Western scholars study Soviet women, most often they examine the situation of women in the Russian Republic or in the three Slavic r­ epublics (Belarus, Russia, and Ukraine). As such, trends characteristic of these Republics are often attributed to the Baltic Republics as well. Although many researchers admit that differences between the various regions are not explored enough and should be taken into consideration,3 there are still not enough studies carried out on non-Slavic Republics (with Central Asia being an exception, perhaps due to a specific interplay of its cultural background with the Soviet ideology). The role of women in the life of the Soviet Baltic Republics has not attracted much interest from the Western research community, most probably because general trends there looked rather similar to trends in the Slavic Republics. Nevertheless, in publications addressing gender problems in Central and Eastern Europe and in the post-Soviet realm, some attention has been given to the situation in the Baltic States in general and in Latvia in particular.4 During the last two decades, gender studies research in the Baltic States has seen considerable developments, focusing on the impact of transitioning from the Soviet political and economic system to the Western one.5 The ­situation of women under the Soviet regime was studied, meanwhile, mainly   3 Yulia Gradskova, Soviet People with Female Bodies: Performing Beauty and Maternity in Soviet Russia in the mid 1930–1960s. Doctoral Thesis in History (Stockholm: Stockholm University, 2007), 11–12.   4 See, for example, Mara Lazda, “Family, Gender, and Ideology in World War II Latvia,” in Gender and War in the Twentieth-Century Eastern Europe, ed. Nancy M. Wingfield and Maria Bucur (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006), 133–153;   5 See Mary Zirin, Irina Livezeanu, Christine D. Worobec, June Pachuta Farris, ed., Women and Gender in Central and Eastern Europe, Russia, and Eurasia. A Comprehensive Bibliography (New York: Routledge, 2007); Mara Lazda, “Women, Nation, and Survival: Latvian Women in Siberia 1941–1957,” Journal of Baltic Studies 36:1: Special Issue: Baltic Life Stories (Spring 2005): 1–12.

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in relation to the display of Soviet propaganda in the press, visual arts, and so on; changes in the system of values and the corresponding influence of Soviet ­propaganda on women; the destructive impact of Soviet repressions on the family and on women’s lives; and women’s participation in the resistance to Soviet power.6 The dominating aspect in these studies was the representation of average people’s life stories under the Soviet regime. Much less attention was paid to the ones on the other side of the barricades. Discovering aspects of life that were “hidden and forbidden” under the Soviet regime has been prevalent in the research so far, part of a general tendency to perceive Latvians as victims of the Soviet system, or as living somehow in parallel with the system, rather than as its active participants and followers. The aim of this article is to investigate the involvement of women in the power structures of Soviet Latvia, especially at the top levels – women in the highest offices of the Communist Party apparatus and government. So far there is only one academic publication on the political role of women during the Soviet regime. Short and based on fragmentary data, this publication focuses on the biographies of Latvian women who were elected to the Supreme Soviet in 1959.7 Since all women holding important offices automatically became deputies of the Supreme Soviet, analysis of only a single convocation of the Supreme Soviet does not provide a full picture of the dynamics and patterns of women’s involvement in the Party and government structures. The current study is based on analysis of data related to all the women who were members of the Latvian Communist Party Central Committee (LCP CC) between 1940 and 1990. Because all the women who held the highest positions in the Party and government apparatus were included in the CC as full or candidate members, analysis of available data and of these women’s biographies gives valuable insight into the dynamics of women in positions of political power, their level of political activity, and their career patterns and ­ethno-political backgrounds. Status as a member or candidate of the CC did not automatically mean real power. A certain number of people employed  6 See, for example, Dovilė Budrytė, “Experiences of Collective Trauma and Political Activism: A Study of Women ‘Agents of Memory’ in Post-Soviet Lithuania,” Journal of Baltic Studies 41:3 (2010): 331–350. An impressive book on the above-mentioned aspect, which has been issued recently in Latvia, is a collection of interviews with twelve women who were involved in armed resistance to the Soviet regime in 1940s and 50s–Sanita Reinsone, Meža meitas: 12 sievietes par dzīvi mājās, mežā, cietumā (Riga: Dienas Grāmata, 2015).   7 Gatis Krūmiņš, “Sievietes loma valsts pārvaldē padomju okupācija periodā,” in Sieviete Latvijas vēsturē, ed. Kaspars Zellis (Riga: LU Akadēmiskais apgāds, 2007), 156–164.

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

in a­griculture, production, health care services, and culture were “elected” to the CC in order to demonstrate that Party policies were created by rankand-file Party members. There were essential differences between this elected ­nomenklatura and the so-called staff nomenklatura,8 which was formed by employees of the Party apparatus. The most important members of the staff nomenklatura with real power had secured places in the elected CC: positions such as secretaries and heads of the CC departments, members of the ­government and leadership of the Supreme Soviet, leaders of the Komsomol and trade unions, and the first secretaries of Party Committees. At the same time, although the first secretaries of rural districts were guaranteed nomination to the CC, their election to full membership or candidacy depended not only on the importance of a p­ articular district, but also on their personal reputation; this was a kind of unofficial assessment of their real place in the Republic’s nomenklatura h­ ierarchy. For ordinary people (industrial and farm workers) who were elected to the CC, election meant belonging to the elite of the Republic. It did not, however, grant real power. In general, Soviet Latvia did not differ significantly from either the rest of the Soviet Union or the other Baltic Republics with regard to women’s roles and political activity. The level of employment for women was very high. From the 1960s onward, around 54–55% of the workforce was composed of women. This was due to both the demographic situation, characterized by a large number of unmarried women and single parent families, and the low income level, which made it impossible for larger families to survive on a single salary. There were several professions where women prevailed. In 1987, 57% of engineers were women, as well as 76% of doctors, 92% of economists, 96% of bookkeepers, 98% of librarians, and 79% of those employed in education and culture.9 Stereotypes formed in society, still alive now, that portray the jobs of k­ indergarten teacher, school teacher, and shop assistant as “women’s professions.” Nevertheless, the level of women’s employment and education did not automatically translate into higher managerial positions for women, nor did it guarantee their involvement in real power structures. Because the Party membership card was, in a majority of cases, a precondition for holding a leading position, one of the factors influencing women’s positions in the power structures was their respective involvement in the Communist Party. The proportion of women in the Latvian Communist Party (LCP) was   8 Mikhail Voslenski, Nomenklatura (Moscow: Zakharov, 2005), 151.  9 Latvian SSR National Economy in 1987. Statistical Yearbook (Riga: Avots, 1988), 203.

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always lower than their proportion in the overall population. At the end of 1945, only 25% of all the Communists were women.10 Although the proportion of women Party members gradually grew, the increase was very slow. In the beginning of the 1960s, women still represented less than 29% of all Party members.11 The proportion of women in the LCP started to increase more significantly in the 1960s and 1970s, reaching almost 35% by the beginning of 1976,12 yet growing only slightly in the next decade to reach 38% by the end of 1985.13 Besides traditional obstacles to political activity such as prioritizing family at the expense of career, the low level of women’s involvement in the Communist Party can be explained by the fact that fields where women were predominantly employed belonged to so-called non-production spheres or less important industries. Therefore, their quotas for admission to the Party were smaller. As the proportion of women in the LCP was always smaller than their proportion in the population as a whole, some parallels can be drawn to the representation of ethnic Latvians in the LCP, which developed according to the same pattern. Despite tending to increase (from a little more than 32% in the beginning of 1946 to almost 40% in the beginning of 1986),14 the ­representation of ethnic Latvians in the Party was always less than the proportion of Latvians in the population of the Republic (itself diminishing quite considerably). In both cases this was a reflection of real policies set by the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). From the mid-1950s the LCP leadership made an attempt to ensure higher participation of Latvians in the Party, but the defeat of so-called national communists in July 1959 put an end to the efforts to increase the proportion of ethnic Latvians in the LCP. From 1940 to 1941, as well as in the first post-war years, propaganda in Soviet Latvia knitted together the promotion of women to leading jobs and the augmentation of their role in the workforce. A typical example of this kind of reasoning can be found in an article written in 1952 by Ella Ankupe, Head of the LCP CC Department on work with women, in which she spoke of transforming “housemaids deprived of any rights and semiliterate countrywomen” into “innovators, celebrated stakhanovites, heroes of labor, commanders of production, [and] prominent state, culture, or art personalities.”15 Comparing 10 11 12 13 14 15

Latvian State Archives [LSA], PA-101-9-36, p. 204. LSA, PA-101-22-471, p. 101. LSA, PA-101-39-93, p. 16. LSA, PA-101- 55-154, p. 10. LSA, PA-101-8-50, p. 34; PA-101-55-154, p. 10. Ella Ankupe, “Aktīvās komunisma cēlājas,” Cīņa, March 8, 1952.

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

the depravity of the past with the bright present was a demagogic tactic, and equally demagogic was the connection drawn between becoming a prominent Stakhanovite and making a political or professional career. As will be described below, the career paths of women in power did not develop according to the pattern indicated by Ankupe. Celebrated Stakhanovites, members of the LCP CC, and deputies of the Supreme Soviet most often continued their work in industry or agriculture. If they were promoted to a position with more responsibility, it rarely exceeded the level of shop or enterprise trade union committee or a position as the Party secretary at the workplace. The aim of this propaganda was not promoting women to senior jobs but filling in the gaps in the labor force caused by repressions and the war. Putting women in executive positions usually meant posting them as kolkhoz brigade leaders and chairpersons, but never, for example, as the CC secretaries or the first secretaries of a district. In this respect, general policies under Stalin and in later periods were c­ onsistent throughout the Soviet Union: “the transformation of the status of women under the Soviet-style Communism has been largely limited to increased labor force participation and its accompanying benefits…”16 In Latvia propaganda espousing liberation from the oppression of household work did not have much sense, because huge population losses during World War I had already led to a level of employment in independent Latvia much higher than in many European states. Even before the war, the internal reserves necessary for extensive development of industrial production according to a model of socialist industrialization were rather small; after the war, the mobilization of women was not enough to resolve the workforce problem created by enormous population losses.17 The solution provided was to import workers from Russia and Belarus, which started immediately after the war.18 The number of working women also increased among the local Latvian population, though this happened not so much because of propaganda, but rather due to a rapid decline in standards of living. It was very difficult to support a family with only one wage earner, and as a result work in the public sector 16 Ellen Carnaghan and Donna Bahry, “Political Attitudes and the Gender Gap in the USSR,” Comparative Politics 22:4 ( July 1990): 381. 17 These population losses were a direct result of the Holocaust, war casualties, emigration and repressions before the war and in the post-war period, especially the deportations of June 14, 1941 and March 25, 1949, when more than 15,000 and 43,000 people, respectively, were sent from Latvia to Siberia. 18 Pārsla Eglīte and Ilmārs Mežs, “Latvijas kolonizācija un etniskā sastāva izmaiņu cēloņi 1944.-1990. gadā,” in Symposium of the Commission of the Historians of Latvia 7, 2nd edition (Riga: Latvijas Vēstures Institūta Apgāds, 2007): 405–443.

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War, Revolution, and Governance

became, except in very rare cases, inevitable for all women of working age. The fact that the Soviet system of social security and benefits discriminated against nonworking women was also of significant importance. Thus, the social and economic conditions created by the Soviet system made it necessary for women to work. This did not mean that propaganda was ineffective; on the contrary, it successfully managed to stigmatize the housewife. Such ­stigmatization was imposed even more fully in the 1960s with enhancement of ­repressions against so-called “people with a parasitic way of life,” when “productive work” was considered to be mandatory for every person of  working age. The results of Stalin-era politics with regard to the promotion of women to executive positions are reflected in statistics from that time. On January 1, 1954, there were 2029 executive (rukovodiashchii rabotnik) positions r­ egistered in Soviet Latvia, and 511 of them (25.2%) were occupied by women.19 This number represents an increase relative to early 1945, when 77 out of 519 executive positions (14.8%) were occupied by women, or 1946, when 110 out of 671 executive jobs (16.4%) were held by women.20 The increase was more rapid in the beginning of the 1950s because of the dissolution of Latvia’s former administrative system based on twenty-five districts (apriņķis) and the introduction of fifty-eight Soviet-type districts (raion). This change, accompanied by a substantial increase in the number of executive positions in the Party and in the administrative apparatus, opened some opportunities for women. An even bigger demand for executives was created in 1952 by the short-lived ­establishment of three oblasts in Latvia, but after the dissolution of those oblasts in 1953, there was a surplus of executives that had to be fixed. Starting in 1956, the number of Latvian raions was decreased to twenty-one, although in 1967 they increased to twenty-six. These perturbations had some, albeit very little, influence on the number of women in positions of CEO at the district level (see Table 1). In general, women were concentrated at the lower levels of executive jobs. For example, on the level of instructors (the lowest level of Party Committee executive) in District Party Committees, as well as in the Central Committee, at least 25% and at times more than 30% were women. During 1955–1959 approximately 25% of chairpersons for rural Soviets were women.21 19 LSA, PA-101-30-72, p. 1. 20 LSA, PA-101-30-6, p. 2. 21 LSA, PA-101-30-107, p. 38.

01.01.1955

01.01.1957

01.01.1959

38

246

38

29

Second secretaries of the Party Committees

Instructors of the City and District Party Committees

Chairpersons of the City and District Soviet Executive Commit-tees

Public prosecutors

-

1

62

2

3

Source: Latvian State Archives, PA-101–30-107, pp. 25, 28, 29, 32, 34.

38

65

72

682

72

72

8

3

228

13

5

37

56

633

56

56

3

1

179

11

2

33

56

567

56

56 

3

2

196

8

1

Number of Occupied Number of Occupied Number of Occupied Number of Occupied positions by women positions by women ­positions by women positions by women

First secretaries of the Party Committees

Position

01.01.1950

TABLE 1  Women in Executive Positions at the City and District Levels during 1950 to 1959

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

273

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War, Revolution, and Governance

A higher concentration of women in executive positions in local Soviet and rural districts was perhaps responsible for a slightly higher number of Latvians among women in executive jobs. However, in the 1950s, the attitude of Latvians towards collaboration with the Soviet authorities was p­ redominantly negative, and engagement in administrative structures was stigmatized as collaboration except in cases where the function under consideration did not have a clear political character. Lower administrative levels were viewed more leniently in this respect, although, for example, work in the Komsomol Party Committee even at the lowest level was considered a clear indication of political motivation and readiness to collaborate politically with the Soviet regime. Up to mid-1956 such a choice could endanger one’s physical safety, especially in rural districts, and as such implied some kind of ideological motivation in those who undertook it. In this environment, local women were much less willing to adopt a career-oriented path. Their involvement in executive power often began through jobs as teachers or bookkeepers, and it took some time to develop a pool of women ready and able to work in executive positions. However, an analysis of LCP policies shows that there was no deliberate plan for women’s career advancement. If women were appointed to senior posts, in most cases it was the result of a deficit in qualified male personnel. After Stalin’s death, substantial changes in Party politics followed. The most oppressive practices, including mass repressions, were gradually softened or abolished. During this period, social attitudes toward collaboration with the regime were also softened. During the mid-1950s, a generation of people who were educated in the Soviet environment came to the forefront, and they were more prepared to play according to the rules of the regime. Engagement with the Soviet system became easier and more widespread in comparison with the Stalin era. Ideological motivation was still important, but simple ­careerism became more typical. The changing political environment also influenced women’s behavior. Yet the Party policies regarding women’s career advancement did not change substantially. In comparison with the problem of ethnic Latvians’ representation in the nomenklatura, which came to the foreground in 1953 and was considered to be important for the Party and the state leadership in the Republic until 1959, it seems that the problem of the gender gap in Latvia’s executive branch was of little interest. Changes in the number of women in the nomenklatura from 1950 to 1959, for example, were rather i­nsignificant and in some spheres even showed a tendency to decline (see Table 1). In 1958, only 8% of the LCP CC nomenklatura were women, and among the s­ ecretaries of  the

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

City and District LCP Committees, only 10%.22 Women were not represented at all in so-called power structures, such as executive positions of the Interior Ministry and KGB. Among thirty-three regional and inter-regional prosecutors only three were women. There were quite a number of women among people’s court judges, but this job was less prestigious than the position of prosecutor. In cases where specific appeals were made to facilitate the careers of women, they were often simply ignored. Thus, in February 1960 at the LCP Plenum, while discussing the First Secretary Arvīds Pelše’s report to the upcoming Party Congress, Alise Vīndedze, the Deputy Chairperson of the State Planning Committee and a member of the Soviet Women Committee, proposed to include a question in the report on women’s promotion to leading positions.23 However, this request was ignored by Pelše. His lack of interest in the issue was conditioned, perhaps, by the fact that there were no signals from Moscow implying a necessity to adjust LCP CC policies. Statistics on women’s representation among executives in Latvia stand in stark contrast to assertions that, in the Soviet Union during Khrushchev’s time, “women’s representation in the various organs of government and administration increased ­substantially.”24 It is indeed true that women were “elected” in larger numbers as deputies of the Soviets, and as members of Party committees at different levels representing the working class, peasantry, and intelligentsia, but their representation in positions of real power did not change significantly. At the same time, during Khrushchev’s rule, the rare women who held high positions were useful in the West as advocates of the Soviet lifestyle. Alise Vīndedze, for example, came to the USA as a member of the Soviet women’s delegation invited by the USA Peace League in April of 1962. Speaking in Sacramento, California, at a Unitarian church, she said that Soviet women were convinced the time had come for all nations to unite in one big family. A reporter from the Latvian émigré newspaper Latvija responded with the venomous comment that Vīndedze had kept silent about the fact that Moscow would be the “mother” of this big family, and that Khrushchev was making nuclear bombs to wipe the disobedient children of his “big family” off the face of the earth.25 22 LSA, PA-101-30-107, p. 45. 23 LSA, PA-101-23-13, p. 12. 24 Melanie Ilič, “Women in the Khrushchev Era: an Overview,” in Women in the Khrushchev Era, ed. Melanie Ilič, Susane E. Reid and Lynne Attwood (Houndmills and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), 5. 25 O.A., “Vīndedze aģitē Amerikas baznīcā. Amerikas ‘Miera līga’ brāļojas ar komunistiem,” Latvija, April 28, 1962.

275

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The situation at the top of the Party and administrative apparatus in the 1960s and 1970s did not change significantly, either. Nevertheless, during these decades the number of women on the lower rungs of the Party and administrative ladder increased quite substantially. Beginning in the 1960s, the education level of executives in general and women in particular also increased. Furthermore, generational changes in the 1970s within the nomenklatura resulted in an increasing number of local Latvians among the cohort of younger functionaries aiming for higher executive posts. Changes in policy related to the representation of women in the nomenklatura began only with perestroika. In the Plenum of the LCP CC in April 1984, when Boris Pugo was elected as First Secretary, Yegor Ligachev, then Secretary of the CPSU CC, criticized the Republic on several fronts: for the fact that women’s promotion to top jobs remained weak, that reserves of personnel were not being formed, that several Party Committees lacked any female secretaries, and that very few women held positions of leadership in the Komsomol.26 A year later, in March 1985, Pugo voiced virtually the same arguments in the CC Plenum, criticizing the fact that although women comprised 59% of all those employed with higher (tertiary) education, they were still insufficiently promoted to top offices.27 Thereafter, women were more actively promoted to leading offices but in a manner far from comprehensive. Women were well represented on some levels of the Party nomenklatura, for example as heads and deputy heads of Propaganda departments and instructors of District Committees, especially in rural districts. However, their promotion to higher levels remained an exception. The persistence of this situation can be explained by prevailing stereotypes that viewed women as unsuitable to hold high posts, a view that prevailed among nomenklatura officials and in society as whole, and furthermore was shared by women themselves. As already mentioned above, the context of conflicting attitudes toward political collaboration with the Soviet regime also had a great deal of influence on the career choices of women. At the same time, institutional constraints inherent in the personnel promotion system established in Soviet Latvia played a significant role in shaping women’s careers. The nomenklatura selection process was characterized by a multi-layered filter system. In its earliest phases the process of ­filtering ­candidates was blatantly subjective and undemocratic, because it took place 26 LSA, PA-101-53-5, p. 16. 27 LSA, PA-101-55-1, p. 16.

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

behind closed doors and was grounded in the personal sympathies and ­antipathies of senior officials at the respective level. A person whose candidacy to a particular post had been considered was often not informed about it. Even if he or she did know about deliberations, no information was released regarding why a particular candidacy was approved or declined, or whose opinion was the decisive one. The next set of filters in executive advancement followed internal principles and traditions of the nomenklatura themselves, contributing to the subjectivity of the process. In general, requirements for executives included organizational and working skills, political and ideological m ­ otivation, and a set of moral qualities that could be described in brief as “temperance.” Open careerists and those seeking material benefits were filtered out more or less consistently at this point. Although representatives of the Party nomenklatura personnel were dismissed only in rare cases, selfishness, violation of moral norms, and noncompliance with Party discipline were all offenses that could undermine one’s career, leading at best to retention in one’s current position, but more often to a transfer into less prestigious positions and spheres. While these principles of career advancement were common to all parts of the Soviet Union, implementation varied in particular areas due to differences in political culture and local traditions. In Latvia it seems that the nomenklatura selection and advancement process was significantly influenced by traditional “Protestant” values. Reserve and modesty were admired by society and considered necessary qualities for an official. Of course, there were numerous cases of transgression, especially in the first period of Soviet rule. Purification of the Party and administrative apparatus took place gradually. Even during Brezhnev’s time, when puritanism among officials was considered to be obsolete, “Protestant” attitudes continued to influence the behavior of officials in Latvia. Nevertheless, the selection process strongly opposed people showing initiative and extraordinary ideas. Those who in some way (positive or negative) differed from the norm could not hope for a successful career or for the chance to reach the highest echelons of the Republic’s administration. This helps explain why the Central Committee of the LCP lost its initiative quite rapidly when the national awakening began in the late 1980s. With few exceptions, the Party nomenklatura was very slow in adjusting to the new situation, and its behavior was reactive rather than proactive. It was unable to function in ­situations that demanded fresh, extraordinary solutions. The Republic’s nomenklatura was used to an environment in which policy-making was not their task, and defeat of the national communists in 1959 had demonstrated

277

278

War, Revolution, and Governance

how painful in that respect retaliation from Moscow could be for any attempt to exercise some independence. Facing a situation where independence and introducing political initiatives were a necessity, the leadership of the Latvian Communist Party was at best just able to keep up with the wave of changes. Filters of executive selection obviously also influenced the advancement of women in the system, albeit in conflicting ways. On the one hand, they reproduced patriarchal political culture and stereotypes. Due to these filters, women were able to advance in their career paths only on rare occasions and in particular spheres of activity. On the other hand, women were as a rule more inclined to temperance and stability in their behavior, and were more reliable and subservient in performing their jobs. This worked to their credit, but the overall strength of female candidates had to be proven in relation to other criteria less favorable to women.

WOMEN IN THE LATVIAN COMMUNIST PARTY CENTRAL COMMITTEE The Latvian Communist Party Central Committee (CC) can be considered a kind of puppet institution, similar to the Supreme Soviet. It did not have any real influence on policy-making, except for a very brief period from mid-1956 to mid-1959 when, under the influence of the Khrushchev “thaw” policies, members of the CC became bolder—and sometimes voiced more openly their arguments regarding particular problems or personalities. The most spectacular event in this respect was a “revolt” against the Second Secretary Philipp Kashnikov during the Fifteenth Congress of the LCP in January 1958, where 223 out of 653 delegates voted against him.28 In the subsequent plenary meeting of the CC he was not reelected to the post of the Second Secretary. This “revolt” was probably one of the factors that caused the purges of national communists in the top leadership of the Republic starting in July 1959. Until ­perestroika, the Central Committee functioned as a puppet for Moscow and the local leadership. Membership in the Central Committee was highly valued by the nomenklatura, as it provided greater influence than being a deputy of the Supreme Soviet. Thus, CC membership indicated a person’s position within the Party hierarchy. Regarding the representation of women in the CC, it should be noted that their numbers increased with the enlargement of the CC but remained 28 LSA, PA-101-23-1, p. 16.

86 (69+17)

98 (73+25)

104 (75+29)

110 (79+31)

118 (85+33)

128 (91+37)

133 (93+40)

150 (105+45)

170 (121+49)

180 (125+55)

196 (135+61)

202 (139+63)

206 (141+65)

206 (141+65)

Jan. 10, 1949

Dec. 11, 1951

Sep. 12, 1952

Feb. 13, 1954

Jan. 14, 1956

Jan. 15, 1958

Feb. 17, 1960

Sep. 18, 1961

Dec. 19, 1963

March 20, 1966

Feb. 21, 1971

Jan. 22, 1976

Jan. 23, 1981

Jan. 24, 1986

30 (16+14)

29 (14+15)

31 (16+15)

28 (17+11)

24 (17+7)

17 (13+4)

14 (7+7)

11 (4+7)

14 (8+6)

14 (10+4)

15 (10+5)

16 (8+8)

11 (6+5)

8 (4+4)

4 (3+1)

13 (8+5)

10 (7+3)

8 (7+1)

7 (4+3)

7 (4+3)

2 (2+0)

4 (1+3)

7 (1+6)

9 (3+6)

8 (4+4)

13 (8+5)

14 (7+7)

10 (6+4)

8 (4+4)

4 (3+1)

14.6

14.1

15.4

14.3

13.3

10.0

9.3

8.3

10.9

11.9

13.6

15.4

11.2

9.3

7.8

43.3

34.5

25.8

25.0

29.2

11.8

28.6

63.6

64.3

57.1

86.7

87.5

90.9

100.0

100.0

pp. 13–25, 33–41; PA-101-35-1, pp. 112–123, 132–139; PA-101-41-1, pp. 215–229, 267–270; PA-101-47-1, pp. 283–300, 338–340; PA-101-57-1, pp. 194–208, 216–218.

pp. 5–9, 11–14; PA-101-19-1, pp. 9–14, 17–20; PA-101-21-1, pp. 8–14, 16–19; PA-101-23-1, 5-10, 12-16; PA-101-24-1, pp. 9–17, 22–28; PA-101-26-1, pp. 11–23, 27–32; PA-101-29-1,

Source: Latvian State Archives, PA-101-1-2, p. 151; PA-101-2-108, pp. 17–21; PA-101-12-1, pp. 6–11, 13–16; PA-101-14-1, pp. 7–12, 14–18; PA-101-15-1, pp. 11–16, 19–23; PA-101-17-1,

51 (35+16)

Dec. 9, 1940

TABLE 2  Women Elected to the Latvian Communist Party Central Committee (LCP CC) between 1940 and 1986 (including candidate members) Number and All members and Women members Among them—women Percentage of Percentage of date of the LCP candidate mem- and candidate mem- in the nomenklatura women among all elected women Congress bers of the LCP CC bers of the LCP CC offices those elected to the holding offices in the LCP CC ­nomenklatura

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

279

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War, Revolution, and Governance

much smaller than the proportion of women in the Party overall (see Table 2). In Stalin’s time, the Central Committee was an institution of the Party’s highest nomenklatura. The number of factory and agricultural workers in the CC was very small, and all the women elected to the CC in December 1940 and January 1949 represented different levels of the Party’s executive power, from local to top levels. The number of women in the CC started growing gradually, but the number of women in nomenklatura positions did not increase accordingly. An increase in the 1950s was due to the inclusion of more women from lower executive levels, such as the Party secretaries at industrial enterprises, as well as by the fact that some small rural district Party committees were headed by women. The first half of the 1980s was another period when the number of women in nomenklatura positions increased, and in this case the shift was proof of small but significant changes in the gender composition of Party executives in Latvia. In its lower—and, to a lesser extent, middle—levels, the nomenklatura had become more feminized during the 1970s and 1980s, with some women having been promoted to first secretaries of district committees not only in rural districts but even in Riga. The chart above represents a generational change that might have progressed even further had Soviet power persisted. The change also reflects the fact that working conditions among the nomenklatura changed significantly since the 1940s and 1950s. Executive positions were more stable; people held their offices for longer periods, and there were fewer demands for mobility, as living and working conditions in provincial committees were rather comfortable and suitable for women. Despite the fact that more women held positions as district first secretaries, and in 1986 women headed five rural and one Riga district Party committees, their share was still very low given that there were twenty-six rural districts, six Riga city districts, and seven city Party c­ ommittees, that is, thirty-nine first secretary positions (see Table 3). Some increase of women in the Party offices in 1986 was probably due to efforts by Moscow to diminish the gender gap. The career trajectories of Party officials, both male and female, were often quite different in cities and rural districts. People who had started their advancement in rural district Party committees mostly continued in this orbit until ­landing at some governmental or soviet office. They were viewed as having some proficiency in agricultural issues or local industries but lacking the competency necessary to work in bigger industrial centers. In contrast, a majority of Party officials in the cities had a technical education. They often began their careers at industrial enterprises and as such were considered to be more c­ ompetent in industrial matters. This rural-urban divide also had an ethnic dimension. Since

7 7 8 6 6 6 26 26 26

First secretaries of the cities’ Party Committees (gorkomy)

Second secretaries of the cities’ Party Committees

Secretaries of the cities’ Party Committees

First secretaries of Riga districts’ Party Committees (raikomy)

Second secretaries of Riga districts’ Party Committees

Secretaries of Riga districts’ Party Committees

First secretaries of the rural districts’ Party Committees (raikomy)

Second secretaries of the rural Districts’ Party Committees

Secretaries of the rural Districts’ Party Committees

15

6

1

2

3

1

1

6

-

22

26

26

26

6

6

6

8

7

7

69

11

8

1

1

2

-

1

6

-

25

Women among them

01.01.1981 Total number of officials

Source: Latvian State Archives, PA-101-39-99, pp. 2-11; PA-101-47-154, pp. 8–17; PA-101-57-22, pp. 4, 8–15.

59

Women among them

01.01.1975

Total number of officials

Instructors of the LCP CC

Office

TABLE 3  Women Holding Party Nomenklatura Offices between 1975 to 1986

26

26

26

6

6

6

8

7

7

72

Total number of officials

14

8

5

2

3

2

3

4

-

18

Women among them

01.01.1986

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

281

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War, Revolution, and Governance

the 1960s, the rural Party nomenklatura consisted mainly of ethnic Latvians, whereas in big cities it was markedly non-Latvian. Professional and ethnic ­segregation was also evident in the career patterns of women. In rural districts a majority of women who reached the higher levels of Party offices had pedagogical or agricultural tertiary education. In cities their chances were better if they had a technical education, with some exceptions. Differences between rural districts and cities became evident during p­ erestroika, when most of the rural districts, with the help of “progressive” Party secretaries, became strongholds of the independence movement. Interfront (the pro-communist movement that campaigned for the preservation of the Soviet Union) had little chance of succeeding there. The number of women who ever managed to attain the highest offices of the Latvian Communist Party was rather negligible. Only one woman, Olga Auguste, ever occupied the post of Secretary of the Central Committee (on personnel matters), and only for a rather brief period, from January to April 1941. As she was a member of the underground Central Committee beginning in 1939, her high position in the CC just following the occupation was rather natural, but she was unable to keep that post for long, and in April 1941 was transferred to the post of head of the Personnel Department of the People’s Commissaries Council. It bears mentioning, however, that Auguste’s appointment to the position of the CC secretary even for a short period was rather unique in the CPSU, and also in the Baltic Republics, since no women ever held positions as Central Committee secretaries in Estonia and Lithuania. More women were heads of the Central Committee departments (see Table 4), but a majority of them headed departments in spheres considered to be appropriate for women. Thus, for instance, Ella Ankupe administered the Department on Work with Women from 1949 to 1956. Nor were women significantly represented in the CC Bureau, which in fact was the real government of Soviet Latvia. Only Olga Auguste was a member of the Bureau from August 1940 to January 1949. She was kept in the Bureau after her brief secretaryship, perhaps due to her previous services to the Party. Vera Ļeonova was a member of the Industrial Bureau that existed between 1963 and 1966. Schoolteacher Ludmila Kalinina became a candidate member of the Bureau in August 1989. Because she stayed in the pro-Moscow LCP after the Party’s split in April 1990, Kalinina was granted full membership in the Bureau. In November 1990 Malda Kvite, editor of the LCP newspaper Cīņa, was also appointed a Bureau member. Thus, women became full members of the CC

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

TABLE 4  Women Heads of Departments of the Central Committee of the LCP (in alphabetical order) Surname, Name Department/Field* Years Ankupe, Ella

Work with Women

1949–1956

Buša, Milda

Literature and Arts

1951–1953

Čabis, Zelma

Light and Food Processing Industry

1948–1951, 1953, 1954–1956

Kakstova, Nina

Light and Food Processing Industry

1976–1983; 1985–1989

Kalnbērziņa, Anna

Education

1951–1952

Kārkliņa, Mirdza

Science and Culture

1964–1969

Klibiķe, Valentīna

Science and Education

1980–1985

Lapina, Leontīna

Science and Education

1958–1963

Ļeonova, Vera

Industry and Transport

Novika (Cekuliņa), Emīlija

Education

Vīndedze, Alise

Trade and Public Catering

Seļivanova, Anna

General Matters

1969–1976 1940 Oct.–1941; 1944–1946 1947–1950 May 1990–August 1991

* Names of departments are provisional, as their official names were changed often, especially in the 1950s and 1960s.

Bureau only in periods of political turbulence, when there was a shortage of men suitable for those positions and when personal determination became an important factor. In the Central Committee, women were never promoted to positions as the heads of departments dealing with propaganda and Party matters. They were confined to such areas as work with women, culture, education, and light industry affairs. However, none of these spheres except work with women were considered to be the exclusive domain of females. Table 5 indicates that there was only one position in government reserved exclusively for women: Minister of Social Security. Other offices were occupied by women on occasion, as a result of a constellation of different factors. There was no correlation between the proportion of women employed in any particular sphere and their advancement to positions of ministers in those spheres. Although the medical profession was quite female-dominated, the post of Health Minister was never assigned to a woman. The same was true

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TABLE 5  Women in the Government of  Soviet Latvia Surname, Name Office Vīndedze, Alise

Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers; First Deputy Chairman of the Gosplan (State Planning Committee) at the rank of Minister

Years 1950–1958 1958–1970 (rank of Minister since 1959)

Deņisenko, Nina

Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers

1983–1988

Ļeonova, Vera

Chairman of the State Labour Committee

1976–1981

Paldiņa, Ieva

Minister of Social Security

1943–1961

Pihele, Valentīna

Minister of Social Security

1961–1983

Resne, Zinaida

Minister of Social Security

1983–1984

Luss, Guna

Minister of Social Security

1984–1990

Čabis, Zelma

Minister of Light Industry

1951–1952

Kuzņecova, Irina

Minister of Food Processing Industry

1965–1990

Kārkliņa, Mirdza

Minister of Education

1969–1984

Veinberga, Emīlija

Minister of Justice

1951–1959

Reimane, Ināra

Chairperson of the State Committee for Printing and Publishing Houses and the Book Trade

1978–1988

Dreibande Elvīra

Chairperson of the State Committee for Cinematography

1984–1990

for the Ministry of Culture. The post of Minister of Education was also mainly reserved for men, although women were often nominated to the office of the Deputy Minister. Even though three women during the Soviet period were nominated to be Deputy Prime Minister, it is difficult to find any regularity in these appointments. In each case it depended on special circumstances and the person’s own particular qualities.

THE ETHNO-POLITICAL ASPECT OF POWER IN SOVIET LATVIA It is surprising the extent to which a phenomenon that could be called “path dependency” was expressed in forming the Latvian SSR nomenklatura. The pattern established in the 1940s was still reproducing itself in the 1980s. The main feature of this model was that the top positions in the Party and government apparatus were reserved for so-called “Russian Latvians,” that is,

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

TABLE 6  Top Management of the Latvian SSR (secretaries, members, and candidates of the Bureau, as well as heads of CC departments) between 1940 and 1990, according to Nationality (percentage) Nationality Proportion Latvians

61.5

Russians

30.2

Belorussians

3.1

Ukrainians

3.1

Others

2.1

people of Latvian origin (or their descendants) who arrived from the Soviet Union in the 1940s to fill vacant positions. Although top leadership of the Latvian SSR was composed of ethnic Latvians according to passport data and surnames (see Table 6), almost 62% of them were “Russian Latvians.” They were very visible not only in the top offices, but also in all the layers of administration and the Party hierarchy, ­especially in the 1950s and 60s. Latvians from Russia were a heterogeneous group consisting of active ­communists who chose to stay in Soviet Russia after the Civil War; f­actory workers evacuated from Riga to Russia and Ukraine during World War I; and people whose ancestors had settled in Russia before the beginning of the twentieth century (peasant colonists, factory workers, and others). Many underground communists in inter-war Latvia, especially the leadership of the Party (for example, Jānis Kalnbērziņš and Olga Auguste), fell into this category, because they were Soviet citizens sent to Latvia by the Komintern. In June 1940, before the so-called People’s Saeima elections, this caused some concern, as many candidates to the Communist Party did not have Latvian citizenship. However, the problem was solved by expeditiously issuing them Latvian ­passports. There were several generations of “Russian Latvians.” The first, which arrived mainly in 1940 and 1941, comprised “old Bolsheviks,” with pre-1917 ­revolutionary careers and participants of the Russian Civil War who had ­managed to survive Stalin’s purges in the 1930s. A majority of them were born and raised in Latvia before 1917. Despite their high ideological motivation, many of them lacked adequate education and administrative experience and were therefore unable to maintain high administrative positions once they got to Latvia. This first generation remained active until the 1960s. The second generation was composed of people born in the Soviet Union, who received their education there in the 1920s and 1930s. They were better educated than

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the first generation and more reliable as bureaucrats. Among people from this generation, cultural and linguistic identities differed; some of them were ­thoroughly Russified, but the rest gravitated towards Latvian culture. The third ­generation were children of Russian Latvians who came to Latvia at a very early age or were born there. They were educated in Latvia, and some part of this generation reintegrated successfully into Latvian society; more often, however, the first language of people from this generation was Russian, and they identified themselves more as Soviet people than as Latvians. A characteristic ­example of this third-generation was Boris Pugo, a Latvian SSR and Soviet Union f­ unctionary and the son of first-generation Russian Latvians. The second generation was active from the 1950s to 1970s, whereas the third generation climbed to leading nomenklatura positions in the 1970s and 1980s. Despite all the differences among them, “Russian Latvians” were considered by Moscow to be more trustworthy than the local communists. They were familiar with the Party and administrative system in the Soviet Union, and almost all possessed proficiency in the Latvian language in addition to Russian. This largely denationalized group of party and administrative officials was typical not only to Latvia, but also to other Republics. They were the “glue” holding together the huge Soviet Union and facilitating the impression that in each Republic a decisive role belonged to the titular nationality. In this sense, Soviet Latvia was indeed a semi-colony, in which Russian Latvians were assigned to the most visible political positions while the Russians ruled behind the scenes. Until 1988, Russian Latvians held all the positions of First Secretaries of the LCP CC, Chairmen of the Supreme Council (the only exception being Vilis Lācis), as well the major part of the CC Secretaries. The ­dominance of Russian Latvians in the upper tiers of power started to change only in the 1970s, when local Latvians born in the 1930s and 1940s began to comprise an increasing proportion of the nomenklatura. “Russian Latvians” were best represented among the women who managed to reach the top of the Latvian SSR nomenklatura. Of the 12 women who ever held posts as Heads of Central Committee departments (see Table No. 4), eight were Latvians. However, only one of them was a local Latvian (­ underground CP activist Elza Ankupe). Out of 13 women ministers (Table 5) nine were Latvian and four Russian by origin, but four of the Latvians came for the Soviet Union. It was not until the 1980s that the proportion of local Latvians in top ­administrative positions increased, due to a larger number of local Latvian women in those positions. A look at the biographies of other women who held

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

responsible nomenklatura positions in Latvia during the post-World War II years, particularly district Party Secretaries, also shows a s­ ignificant proportion of “Russian Latvians” among them. Also noteworthy is the fact that no local Latvian woman managed to occupy the top position of the Party’s executive body during five decades of Soviet rule. The large role accorded to “Russian Latvians” was, admittedly, shaped by the fact that a majority of them arrived at the beginning of World War II or directly afterwards, when there was a huge lack of n­ omenklatura personnel. The particular circumstances of this period It opened up career opportunities to them, which helps explain why most of the “Russian Latvians” who occupied p­ ositions of power belonged to the generations that came of age from the 1940s to 1960s. Only one of them, Valentīna Klibiķe, started her party career in the 1960s and was active in politics until the early 1990s. She was among the USSR People Congress deputies who stood for the independence of Latvia. Klibiķe was an exception in this sense: a majority of “Russian Latvians” sided with the pro-Moscow LCP or simply kept a low profile. Another group of women active until the 1960s were the so-called “old underground communists.” The underground LCP was a small party which at the moment of the Soviet occupation counted, according to various sources, just 200–500 members. In general, the LCP comprised two groups: 1) underground activists who were Soviet citizens and usually ethnic Latvians, sent from the USSR by the Komintern; 2) local Communists. Komintern people, mostly Latvian, formed the LCP leadership. Latvians were also predominant among the local communists. There were also many Jews (mainly in Riga and Daugavpils) and local Russians (in Riga and the Latgale region of SouthEastern Latvia). Women were quite active among the underground c­ ommunists and Komsomol members. Hence they received important p­ ositions after the Sovetization of Latvia. Among them were the CC Secretary and Bureau member Olga Auguste, and first secretaries of the Party district ­committees Ieva Pliesmane, Ieva Paldiņa, and Milda Birkenfelde. From 1940 to 1941, women were very well represented in the leadership of the Komsomol. The CC Secretary for work with pioneers and school youth was Natālija Buse, an old underground activist who had been imprisoned several times. The secretary of the Valmiera district Komsomol Committee was Milda Kandāte, and the secretary of the Ludza Region Komsomol Committee was Anna Lomonosova, a local Russian by ethnic origin.29 29 LSA, PA-101-2-127, pp. 4, 68-73, 87–91.

287

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War, Revolution, and Governance

A relatively large number of Jewish women were represented in both Party committees and the Komsomol. However, with the exception of Hanna Skuteļska, who was Second secretary of the Ludza District Committee, none held leadership positions in Party Committees. As early as 1940 and 1941 there was a visible tendency to marginalize Jews, and following the war this tendency became even more pronounced. Jews were appointed to technical jobs where command of the Russian language was needed, or they received jobs in less important organizations like Red Aid (MOPR). After the war, marginalization of the underground communists and Komsomol members in power became systematic, in part due to g­ enerational change and in part due to the fact that underground activists often had their own views on how the Soviet state should operate and what its policies should be. Their independent stances resulted in the rapid loss of their positions after the war. Immediately after the war, three women—Ieva Pliesmane, Līna Zaļkalne, and Milda Birkenfelde—were appointed to lead Party district committees, but because of their vocal opinions, all of them quickly lost their offices and influence in the power structures and were shifted to less significant nomenklatura positions. They believed that the power base of the Soviet regime should be broadened to encompass the interests of all peasants who were loyal to the regime; they also demanded that the specific conditions of different regions should be considered and respected. All this was perceived as a confirmation of Stalin’s thesis that alongside the consolidation of Soviet power, the resistance of its opponents rises and class struggle intensifies. And still, despite the marginalization of old underground activists, they continued to hold moral weight in the Party apparatus through the 1950s. Their influence, however, was undermined by the 1959 campaign against national communists. The third quite influential group within the Soviet nomenklatura comprised women of Russian, Belorussian, and Ukrainian origin who had come to Latvia after World War II. Notably, there were only a relatively small number of local Russians and Belorussians in the highest positions of the Latvian SSR Party apparatus. And yet among women in executive positions, local Russians played quite a significant role. Regarding local Latvians, some of them had already managed to reach senior offices in the 1950s. Zenta Zariņa, for example, had been an active Komsomol member in 1940 and 1941 and was evacuated to Russia at the beginning of the Soviet-German War; she started her Party career after the war and from 1952 to 1953 was first secretary of the Gulbene district committee. A more palpable influx of local Latvians to the Party apparatus and other

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

offices started in the 1960s and manifested fully in the 1970s and 1980s. These decades marked the period when women became first secretaries of the Party at the district level more often than ever before. Ināra Reimane (1971–1978) and Mārīte Rukmane (1985–1990) were appointed first secretaries of the Riga Kirov d­ istrict, the central district of the capital city. Austra Štauberga was first secretary of the Cēsis district from 1985 till 1988. Ruta Matīsa occupied the same post in the Valmiera district from 1982 to 1988, as did Zinaīda Resne (1973–1983) and Janīna Āboliņa (1983–1990) in the Ogre district. Olga Jadzeviča was the first secretary of the Stučka district (1985–1989), and Regīna Bondareva of the Valka district (1983–1990). Among the women who gained these offices, a majority were appointed in the 1980s. At this time, the concentration of women in important positions in the Party apparatus was so high that their ­promotion to senior positions became inevitable. Their appointments coincided with the rise of Latvia’s national independence movement, but their reactions to developments of that time differed. Some of them (Rukmane and Āboliņa) became active supporters of those events, but others were unable to find their place in a transforming reality, or sided with anti-independence forces.

CAREER PATTERNS OF WOMEN IN POSITIONS OF POWER A career in the Party apparatus was obligatory in order to be appointed to such administrative positions as Deputy Prime Minister, Minister, or Head of a State Committee. Only on rare occasions could a career path leading to these ­positions be described as “professional.” Thus, Irina Kuzņecova, Minister of Food Processing (1965–1990) (see Table 5), had worked as a director of various factories, usually in food processing, during her previous career. All the other women who were later appointed to high “professional” posts had quite successful Party careers and had worked for at least some time as heads of Central Committee departments or secretaries of district Party committees. Women who had made successful Party or administrative careers were less mobile compared to men. Their careers often tended to be tied to one ­particular district or city, since the mobility of married women was constrained by the family. Cases of greater mobility were usually related to the husband’s profession (e.g., army officers). Biographies of unmarried women illustrate that their mobility was somewhat higher. It is difficult, however, to find a connection between marital status and a successful career. Mobility demands were very stressful for nomenklatura during Stalin’s time, when people were often

289

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transferred without their consent from one district to another. Even for people from Riga and other big cities, long missions related to different agricultural campaigns in the countryside were customary. Women, much like men, became involved in Party careers mainly through the Komsomol. It could be an activity at school or in the place of work, but very often these activities resulted in jobs on Komsomol committees and subsequent transfer to Party offices. It was extremely rare that people came to serve in Party offices straight from jobs in production. Pedagogical or agricultural higher education was typical for women who came to nomenklatura in the 1950s and 1970s. However, there seems to be no correlation between these women’s profession and their further advancement, except in cases when specialized technical knowledge was indispensable for a particular job. It is difficult to conclude from archival materials what role personal connections had in the nomenklatura careers of women. In certain cases there are grounds to assume that clan solidarity or an influential personal background played some role in advancement. However, analyses of biographies leads to the conclusion that personality traits and the organizational as well as ­bureaucratic skills of particular women were of considerable importance. Some kind of outside support could be useful or even necessary for embarking on a career path, but it could not help in maintaining the office over the course of many years if women did not have the necessary qualities.

CONCLUSIONS In her important book on the role of women in Soviet society, Gail Lapidus warned that “it is important to avoid equating participation with responsiveness to women’s needs.”30 Indeed, the presence of women in the highest ­leadership was not a sign of more pro-women policies and vice versa. However, the pattern of female representation that developed in the highest echelons of Soviet Latvia excluded any possibility of influencing the situation of women in the Republic in general. While women were represented quite substantially at lower levels of the Party apparatus and public administration, their representation at the top level was negligible, and limited almost exclusively to spheres considered marginal from the viewpoint of the Soviet political and economic 30 Gail Warshovsky Lapidus, Women in Soviet Society: Equality, Development and Social Change (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1979), 201.

Women in the Soviet Latvian Nomenklatura

system: culture, education, light and food processing industries, trade, and public catering. Real policy-making in a particular Soviet republic required control over the distribution and allocation of material and financial resources. Women in positions of power in Latvia were able to do something to solve problems in their own spheres of influence, but had little influence over the general redistribution of resources that would have been necessary to allocate more resources to the social sphere, improve living conditions, or reduce the wage gap between “women’s” and “men’s” jobs. The situation started to change significantly after 1987, when the s­ truggle to regain national independence began. The traditional system of personnel promotion and approval started to collapse, and energetic and motivated people, who earlier would not have been able to overcome established filters of personnel selection, got a chance to move upward; this tendency was ­visible among supporters of independence who were grouped around the Latvian Popular Front, as well as their opponents. Women such as Sarmīte Ēlerte, Sandra Kalniete, Ita Kozakeviča, Marina Kosteņecka, and Ruta Marjaša held visible roles in the Popular Front. Tatjana Ždanoka was active in the Interfront camp, while Ludmila Kaļinina and Malda Kvite became members of the anti-­ independence LCP Central Committee Bureau. Paradoxically, visible political activity of women was accompanied by a revival of traditional stereotypes surrounding gender roles, perhaps as a ­reaction to Soviet propaganda on women equality, or as part of nostalgia for pre-­Soviet times within the pro-independence camp. A study of gender discourse in the Latvian language press before the elections to the Supreme Council of the Latvian SSR in March 1990 concluded that “the role of women was positioned in the private sector. There was little or no support to the idea that women should be active in the public, i.e. the political sector.”31 These stereotypes were also reflected in the results of the elections, in which 200 men and only ten women were elected. Among the Latvian Popular Front faction the ratio was 123 men and nine women.32 There was a clear conflict between a perception of gender roles in which women in power were seen as deviations from the norm, and real-life practices where their increasing role was manifest. This conflict was experienced by women themselves. Sandra Kalniete, in her memoirs about the Popular Front, spoke about an unconscious feeling that the men from 31 Marita Zitmane, “The 1990 Election of the Supreme Council of the Latvian SSR: A Gender Discourse on Gender Equality and Involvement in Politics,” in Komunikācija. Dzimtes pētījumi. Latvijas Universitātes Raksti 655 (Riga: Zinātne, 2003): 74. 32 Ibid.

291

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the Front leadership with whom she fought shoulder to shoulder regarded her as their inferior, as well as her intuitive desire for their support, and a feeling of desolation when she did not receive it.33 Despite the continued influence of a political culture inherited from the pre-Soviet period, institutional practices and perceptions from the Soviet era must be credited both for preserving perceptions of women’s political inferiority and for creating economic and social conditions that facilitated a more active role for women in society and politics.

33 Sandra Kalniete, Es lauzu tu lauzi mēs lauzām viņi lūza (Riga: Jumava, 2000), 361.

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia: Second Secretary of the Central Committee, Nikolai Belukha, 1963–1978 Saulius Grybkauskas Lithuanian Institute of History, Vilnius

INTRODUCTION

T

he usual analyses of Soviet rule and the relations between the center and periphery (the Soviet Republics) have generally been satisfied with naming Sovietization and the activities of the most important institutions (the Communist Party, the KGB), that transmitted Moscow’s decisions to the republics. This article examines the case of the second secretary of the Baltic republics to illuminate the more complex unity of the institutional framework and the ideological discourse—that is, their mutual interactions. The center’s control of the periphery depended not only on the ­institutions introduced by the center, but also on ideological language. According to A. Yurchak, experiencing socialism in the late Soviet era often meant something different from the state-sanctioned interpretations provided in official ideological texts. That is why ideological events and actions acquired an ever greater meaning when those participating did not devote great attention to the content of the speeches.1 Though the Soviet ideological texts were marked by The research for this article is funded by the Research Council of  Lithuania (­ MIP-002/2012).  1 A. Yurchak, Everything Was Forever Until It Was No More. The Last Soviet Generation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005), 8.

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“wooden language” at the political level—especially within the apparatus of the CPSU CC—there were fierce fights over concepts and terminology.2 It is doubtful that the leaders of the Soviet republics were actively involved in the ideological battles taking place in Moscow’s Old Square. However, ­ideological language also affected the relationship of these “provincials” with the apparatus of the CPSU CC: it was necessary for them to follow intently the political fashions emanating from the center, to use the center’s precise words, and to anticipate how to respond to a new decision adopted by Moscow—to discuss it at a plenum of the republic’s CP CC, convene a party congress, or perhaps consider the question in a narrower circle, for example, in the Bureau of the republic’s CP CC. One can understand that over time local party functionaries developed the perception and skills to meet Moscow’s decisions properly and to present events in the republic in the light of CPSU CC resolutions. During the period of Stalin’s rule, the notes of Moscow functionaries contain numerous remarks about errors and inaccuracies of the local party organs that had to be repaired. Later, after the regional nomenklatura became more skilled, such literal control became unnecessary, although, as can be seen from the ­documents of the CPSU CC, the central apparatus followed closely how the republics responded to its resolutions and evaluated whether their measures were adequate. Of course, continuous consultations took place between the functionaries of the republics and the CPSU CC apparatus; the latter organized inspections and control, but one of the most important actors in this work was the second secretary, sent from Moscow and permanently residing in the republic. While second secretaries in Communist party committees had existed since the beginning of the 1930s, in this article I analyze the activity of only those second secretaries who were ascribed to the institution of the second secretary. The institution was introduced in the Soviet republics in the middle of the 1950s. The most important characteristics of the second secretary as a political institution were: 1) the second secretary was a non-native cadre (mostly Russian, and in rare cases, Ukrainian); 2) the republic’s first party secretary had to be a member of the local nationality, while the function of the second secretary was to supervise his activities; 3) the second secretary could not be a “homegrown” functionary of the republic’s nomenklatura.

  2 C. Humphrey, “The ‘Creative Bureaucrat’: Conflicts in the Production of Soviet Communist Party Discourse,” Inner Asia 10 (2008): 6, 7.

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia

SPREADING THE “LIGHT” OF THE CENTER’S DECISIONS The most important aim of the activities of the second secretary of the Soviet republic CC was to ensure that decisions in the republic complied with the Kremlin’s political line and corresponded to its decisions. As Nikolai Belukha, who worked as the second secretary of the Latvian republic from 1963 to 1978, expressed in the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, “one has to do so by analogy with the all-Union decision.”3 The second secretary acted not only as an observer and informer on behalf of Moscow, but also as an active participant, taking initiative and teaching the local functionaries. The second secretary was like the ambassador of the center, who had to explain to the local nomenklatura of the country where he resided why the center adopted one or another decision, and what Moscow expected from the leaders of the republic. Justas Vincas Paleckis, who had worked during the Brezhnev period as an advisor in the Soviet embassy to the German Democratic Republic, had the opportunity to observe the behavior of Moscow’s ambassadors and their relations with the East German Communist leaders. In his opinion, the activities of the embassy staff in coordinating the appointments of party leaders and personnel issues was in a certain sense reminiscent of the behavior of the second secretaries in the Soviet republics, although the status and behavior of the ambassadors could not be as emphatic as those of the second secretaries who were often referred to as “governor g­ enerals.”4 To understand the will of the CPSU CC apparatus, future second secretaries spent a long apprentice in the CPSU CC apparatus, generally in the CPSU CC Organizational Party Work Department; this department not only curated the affairs of the Soviet republics and regions, but also prepared proposals and draft resolutions on the republics and regions for the CPSU CC heads. The training in the department, also taught the second secretaries to draw on the case of their assigned republic to discover places of discourse there that could be brought to the attention of the center. Unlike their predecessors—first the plenipotentiary of the Central Committee of the VKP(b) and later the Bureau of the VKP(b) CC for the republic—the second secretaries of the republics were not above the republics’ party leadership. Instead, they were embedded in the leadership and operated inside of it so that they could better grasp the situation in the  3 Transcript of the Latvian CC buro meeting of January 4, 1973, Latvijas Valsts arhīvs [The State Archives of Latvia, LVA] fonds (collection) 101, apraksts (inventory) 37, lieta (file) 43, p. 73.   4 Interview of S. Grybkauskas with Justas Vincas Paleckis in 2014.

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republic. One can affirm that the boundary of Moscow’s control was the ability of the second secretary to understand the nuances of the local situation and the deep motives for the conduct of local leaders. One may ask, how could the second secretary, a single person, replace the entire structure of the plenipotentiary or Central Committee Bureau of the VKP(b) CC for the republic that existed before the second secretary was introduced in the 1950s as a political institution of the Soviet republics? Was such a substitution even possible? Given the abundance of resolutions spanning the economic, social, and cultural spheres of life, the question arises whether one representative was able to decipher all of Moscow’s messages and supervise their implementation in the republic. Earlier, when this work was the responsibility of the Central Committee Bureau of the VKP(b) for the republic, the chairman representing Moscow was joined by several functionaries directly related to the center,5 and the five members of the Bureau were assisted by a technical apparatus separate from the republican party CC. In contrast, the second secretary had to rely on the same administrative resources as the local nomenklatura, which in turn generated mistrust: there were no guarantees that the second secretary would not be bypassed, or that he would be informed about all the relevant information. The answer to this question lies in understanding and interpreting Soviet party discourse. In this discourse there was a significant political code that allowed the second secretary to look into any issue in any area, whether in ­politics, the economy, or culture. The granting of political significance to any problem, the capacity to look at everything from the party view was the venue that allowed the second secretary to decipher the meanings sent from Moscow, to help re-broadcast them to the local nomenklatura, and to follow how the local party and Soviet bodies implemented them. The second secretary, who himself had previously worked in the Department for Organizational Party Work of the CPSU CC and read the writings of the republic he now curated, knew from the inside which places drew Moscow’s attention; after becoming the second secretary of the republic, he screened, edited, and revised the main party documents of the republic so that they would meet the required political spirit in Moscow. For example, Second Secretary of the Central Committee of the Latvian Communist Party Nikolai Belukha was an attentive reader of the materials and messages prepared for the   5 For instance, the Central Committee Bureau of the VKP(b) for Lithuania, in addition to the technical apparatus consisted of five persons.

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia

Latvian Communist Party Congress and the Plenums of the CC. His attention to the Latvian Communist Party Congress annual report is revealed by a comment on the draft report prepared by local party activists: “it seems to me that this is solid material suitable for work on the report. I read the first version of the report, I read the current one—now it is much better than it was.” Nevertheless, the new variant did not satisfy him. As the main speaker at this meeting of the Presidium of the Latvian Communist Party Central Committee, he criticized those who prepared the speech and pointed out what was missing in the material for the upcoming Latvian Communist Party Congress. He criticized the authors’ “unflavored” text and their use of language that, according to Belukha, was “terribly difficult, overcrowded with numbers, many details.” He insisted that it was necessary to take into account for whom the text was prepared—a Congress report had to be different from the message for a plenum, or just a party meeting speech. He suggested fixing the style of the speech: “in one case, there should be some humor, in the second – something has to be made more clear, sharpened, in the third, some other things. It is a challenge for all the [CC] departments—think about it and slap on [Rus. vkrapit’] something interesting, clear, bright and good in each section. In some cases, this depends on the format and editing of the presentation. You need to work for yet one more week.”6 Belukha’s discussion of the Latvian Communist Party CC’s accounting report to the Congress was not the only instance in which he assumed the role of the most important critic and provider of suggestions. Even in small details and expressions, he tried to be precise and to use the appropriate formulations. On the basis of his remarks, the Latvian CP CC apparatus would not only modify the content of the party decisions, but would also change their titles. For instance, with regard to the situation of cinema in the republic, he prescribed: “in the project [resolution] the editorial layout needs to be changed to omit some of the measures, because they are not formulated clearly. The title should be ‘On the state of cinema in the republic and its further development’ [O sostoianii i nekotorykh merakh po dalneishemu razvitiiu kinoiskusstva v respublike]. This will be clear and true. There is no need to write ‘Soviet,’ just ‘cinema in the republic.’ In the content of the resolution you can name both the Latvian and Soviet status, and some of the measures in the draft have to be spelled out in a different way, while some measures can be omitted, because they are not

  6 Transcript of the February 8, 1966 meeting of the Presidium of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 29, l, 65, p. 406.

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very clearly formulated.”7 While discussing statistics on the composition of party members with the bureau of the Latvian Communist Party, he corrected: “one should not write ‘specify,’ but ‘draw attention.’”8 In fact, Belukha’s edits have not always saved the documents from errors or omissions. For instance, discussing the Komsomol, he suggested using not the term “military-patriotic,” but instead “military-international” education.9 However, “military-patriotic education” at that time had already been accepted in the ideological dictionary. Apparently, in Latvia, because it was a national republic, the phrase “military-patriotic” could have had somewhat negative connotations. For second secretaries, political discourse was the key to analyzing any kind of economic and social issues. When the Bureau of the Latvian CP CC discussed the work of the republic’s Ministry of Transportation and Roads in 1973, some reproaches were leveled against the Ministry’s representatives, but First Secretary Augusts Voss rushed to voice his support for Minister Avdjukevič. However, Belukha found a way for criticizing the ministry by raising the issue of the political education of the workers in this branch of the ­economy. He said: “We cannot put aside the issue of the management of the branch from the issue of the collective education of its members. This is a fundamental error in preparing the issue.”10 Voss had to agree with the comments of the second ­secretary and to demand that Belukha’s comments be included in the forthcoming resolution. The words and comments of Moscow leaders were the most important guidelines for the second secretaries which they sought to adapt to any situation and even to present the center’s opinions and positions as their own. For instance, while discussing the question of the repertoires of musical ensembles in the republic at a meeting of the Bureau of the Latvian CP CC, Belukha said: “I think that in cultural policy with respect to the repertoire one must maintain a very firm line. Why? Because in the repertoire of our ensembles there are many songs and many things that should not be there. In the last [CPSU CC]   7 Transcript of the February 9, 1973 meeting of the Presidium of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, p. 57, 58   8 Transcript of the February 1, 1966 meeting of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 29, l. 60, p. 8.   9 Transcript of the February 8, 1966 meeting of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 29, l. 60, p. 233. 10 Transcript of the January 23, 1973 meeting of Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 37, l. 43, p. 19.

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia

plenum, [Tikhon] Khrennikov [. . .] gave a very strict statement to this effect. He said that when our artists travel abroad, then it is the artists of the Bolshoi Theater, or of the Kirov, or of the Moiseev ensemble etc., we provide a production of the highest level, we are promoting our Soviet life, our folk art. At the same time foreign artists, who do not care about art, come to us and bring all sorts of questionable stuff. It must be said that a song sometimes not only comes from abroad, but also becomes popular here [. . .]. I do not deny that some songs are performed well. But if one goes to such shows as ‘Troubadour,’ ‘Chervonnye gitary,’ and similar ones in the Sports Center or the Sports Palace, he comes out with a headache. And not only adults, but also young people.”11 It is clear that Belukha’s statement was prompted not only by his ideological concerns but also by his personal aesthetic tastes. More importantly, he presented his personal aesthetic tastes as an expression of Party line in the realm of culture hinting at having support from the center. One of the key words of Soviet ideological discourse was increasing the role of the primary party organizations. There was constant talk about this, but little was being done: the party committees of factories and institutes worked in the shadow of the directors, obediently carrying out their instructions. And yet the call for an increased role of the primary organizations allowed the second secretary to meddle in the enterprise’s activities. The party secretaries of factories and institutes were subordinated to the CC Organizational Party Work Department of the republics, a department usually under the direct supervision of the second secretary whereas directors and senior engineers reported to the CC Industry and Transport Department that was under another CC secretary.

NATIONALISM: THE MOST IMPORTANT CHALLENGE FOR THE SECOND SECRETARIES Nationality policy was the most important area within the second secretaries’ purview. The view of what constituted nationalism varied according to the individual. Where one saw an expression of patriotism and respect for tradition, another sensed ethnocentrism and national egoism. Nationalism could be seen as an ideological error and a hostile stance. Interestingly, in the ­dictionaries of that time nationalism is defined as “national insularity, the overestimation of national specifics, the distrust of the proletariat of the great nation”—­categories more meant to criticize the ruling and cultural elite of the republics than to attack 11 Transcript of a meeting of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f.101, ap. 37, l. 47, p. 31.

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the organizers of anti-Soviet protests. This is understandable: such actions could not be mentioned in the press of a “mature” Soviet society. But in their daily lives the danger of “nationalism” was one of the main concerns of second secretaries. Even a conversation among local functionaries that was conducted in the indigenous language could raise the second secretary’s suspicions of a plot by the locals. During his tenure he usually did not learn the local language, and its very use in his presence was perceived as an intentional insult. Tensions between the local government and Moscow was the result of numerous factors: cultural heritage; the impact of national myths or the cult of old eras; tales of economic prosperity and peaceful existence under the czar; the economic and social achievements during the period of independence, which, though publicly criticized by the nomenklatura of the republics, nonetheless continued to serve an informal basis for comparison as well as firmly held stereotypes about national character. The second secretary looked with distrust at local circles, because these “closed groups” were suspected of distancing themselves from Moscow, and because they posed a direct threat to him personally, making it possible that he would find himself isolated from the party and social life of the republic. In the presence of the second secretary speaking Russian was mandatory, even if he was not involved in the conversation and the situation was unofficial. Vladimir Semichastny, who was the second secretary of the Azerbaijan CP CC from 1959 to 1961, recalls: “Sometimes curious cases would occur. It happened, for example, that members of the Bureau of the CC during lunch would shift into the Azerbaijani language. The general and I would only look at each other: ‘You are gossiping about us here?’—‘Why? Are you keeping secrets from us?’—‘Oops, sorry, we simply forgot and started in Azerbaijani.’ We joked about it, and that was all. We felt that this was not done purposely.”12 To speak only Russian in the presence of the second secretary was a must not only for the republic’s highest echelons but also for the heads of the district organizations. The secretary for agriculture of the Lithuanian CP CC Vytautas Astrauskas recalled that First Secretary of the Kretinga district Valerijonas Kubilius delivered his report in Lithuanian at the Bureau of the Lithuanian CP CC because he spoke Russian poorly. This displeased the second secretary Kharazov, but not because he did not understand the speech—interpreters were present, and the 12 Vladimir Semichastnyi, Bespokoinoe serdtse (Moscow: Vagrius, 2002), 116, 117. Semichastny probably had in mind the commander of the Caucasus military district, who, like other Soviet commanders of military districts, was incorporated into the highest party authorities of the republics—he was a member of the bureau of the republic’s CP CC. For instance, the commander of the Baltic Military District as a rule was a member of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC.

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia

participants had the opportunity to put on headphones and hear a ­translation into Russian. Speaking to Astrauskas, Kharazov reproached Kubilius for nationalism, saying that he could have spoken Russian but chose not to.13

NIKOLAI BELUKHA’S NOTION OF NATIONALISM While working as the second secretary in Soviet Latvia (1963–1978), Belukha was annoyed that the stops on the bus running from Riga to Jurmala were announced only in Latvian even though the majority of the passengers were people who did not speak Latvian.14 It would seem that everything Russian was of special concern for the second secretaries. However, Belukha had sufficient wisdom and ability to maneuver in the complex nationality question without sharpening ethnic strife, providing a pretext for hatred, or projecting an image of an outpost of Russian chauvinism. He called for dual-language publications and public inscriptions, written in both Latvian and Russian. On the nationality question Belukha remained well-­ balanced and, one could say, practical. For instance, he opposed the wishes of the Riga Appliances factory, the majority of whose workers were Russians, to publish the factory newspaper only in the Russian language, saying that “there is no need to create a cause for slander.” In the absence of opportunities to publish a newspaper in two languages, he suggested: “let us return to this issue later,”15 which meant that the Bureau opposed the proposal to publish a newspaper only in the Russian language. The transcripts of Belukha’s speeches at meetings of the Bureau of the Latvian CP CC allow us to discover what he perceived as nationalism and what place this concept had in his hierarchy of negative phenomena. He considered nationalism more dangerous than anti-Soviet manifestations. (Of course, at that time the latter were relatively rare and isolated events.) In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the KGB prepared the documents that became the basis for the party apparatus to adopt the strategic line in the field of party ideology and culture.16 For instance, in 1972 the KGB presented a detailed statement for a 13 Interview of S. Grybkauskas with V. Astrauskas. 14 Transcript of the January 23, 1973 meeting of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 37, l. 43, p. 19. 15 Transcript of the February 8, 1966 meeting of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 29, l. 60, p. 28. 16 Kul′tura i vlast′ ot Stalina do Gorbacheva. Apparat TsK KPSS i kul′tura 1961–1972. Dokumenty (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 2009), 7.

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lecture prepared by the apparatus of the CPSU CC entitled “Criticism of the Bourgeois Falsifications for the Main Directions of CPSU National Policy,” in which it presented not only selected operational materials, but also suggestions on how to interpret the causes of nationalist anti-Soviet manifestations.17 After criticizing “the weak ideological work of some party and Soviet organizations,” the KGB statement tried to answer an important question for ideologists and agitators: why, “in the developed socialist” political system, “nationalist elements” still appeared. According to the KGB, even Lenin had stated that “petty-bourgeois nationalism” was a resilient “superstition,” and that the more subtle operation of the “nationalist elements of the new conditions” involved changed methods and ways of conspiracy.18 In Belukha’s understanding, nationalism was in accord with the Latvian past, particularly with the enrollment of some young people in the Nazi SS division, which for him was the most reprehensible manifestation of nationalism. Hence he attached nationalism to Fascism, giving it the nature of ­military resistance. Belukha was the member of the Latvian leadership who fought hardest against the appointments of people with “unsuitable” biographies. “We have a great pollution of personnel. We will not use this term, pollution, but such are the facts in the Madona district where there is a full nest of SS men. In this transportation organization everyone is from the German Division. And despite the fact that the party committee of the district is aware of this state of affairs, it does not take any measures […] the [situation is the] same in the Dobele, Saldus [districts].”19 In this statement one can obviously feel the intensity of Belukha’s hatred; in the heat of his speech he utters the phrase “the pollution of the personnel,” which is a clear reference to the repressions carried out in the Stalin era. Belukha was not a Stalinist, and apparently for this reason he realized that in his excitement he had crossed a line, and he immediately retracted the Stalinist catchword by saying “we will not use this term.” Belukha understood anti-Sovietism not as an anti-systemic manifestation, as with nationalism, but as an insufficient faith in the Soviet system and its achievements. One can understand Belukha’s use of “anti-Soviet” as “not completely Soviet”: equivocating, vague, and hence unacceptable for a c­ ommunist. 17 Report of USSR KGB Deputy Chairman G. Tsynev of 14 July 1972 to the CPSU CC, RGANI, f. 5, ap. 64, b. 99, l. 28. 18 Ibid. Report of USSR KGB Deputy Chairman G. Tsynev of 14 July 1972 to the CPSU CC, RGANI, f. 5, ap. 64, b. 99, l. 61. 19 Transcript of the February 8, 1966 meeting of the Bureau of Latvian CP CC, LVA, f. 101, ap. 29, l. 55, p. 406.

Moscow's Eyes in Latvia

For instance, criticizing the poem “Potemkin Village” by the Latvian poet Ojaras Vacietis, which, even though it was presented as a criticism of the still-­ existing bureaucratism, was seen by the government as smearing Soviet r­ eality; Belukha said: “Here is an obvious anti-Soviet manifestation, it is partially [an expression of] nationalism, and one should fight against these ­manifestations with full force.”20 Thus, for Belukha, the appearance in the press of Vacietis’s poem and others like it constituted anti-Sovietism, but only to a degree, since it was less dangerous than nationalism. Nevertheless, despite his fierce attacks on nationalism Belukha did not intervene in the subtleties of national policy. As opposed to Valerii Kharazov, his counterpart in Lithuania, Belukha used to rely on and to defer to the CP CC secretaries for ideology, perhaps because in Latvia they were promoted to the first secretaries. Thus, after the 1959 purge of Latvian national communists, the chief ideologue of the party, Arvids Pelše became the first secretary as was later his successor Augusts Voss. In Lithuania, in contrast, the LCP ­secretaries for ideology were not fully trusted, and Moscow did not have nearly as much confidence in Vladas Niunka and his successors, Antanas Barkauskas and Lionginas Šepetys, as it had with their counterparts in Latvia. None of them was appointed first secretary. In Latvia, the chief ideologues took a surprisingly more hostile stance toward nationalism than their colleagues in volatile Lithuania. Therefore, Belukha’s relative nonintervention in the ideological matters was quite a rational strategy. Being an outsider to the republic he tried to avoid taking on those areas where his lack of knowledge could be unmasked. Officially, the Sovietization of the national republics was completed before World War II, and in the newly occupied countries—the Baltic States and Moldova—during the late Stalinist era. It would follow, then, that the second secretaries, whose very appearance marked Sovietization’s apparent success, did not have to care about anything besides the supervision of the local nomenklatura. In fact, we can see Sovietization as a process stretching over the entire Soviet period and the second secretary acquired the status of a special interpreter of the position and statements of Moscow leadership. In this light, it comes as no surprise that local functionaries tended to ascribe to him ­enormous, almost mystical power.

20 Ibid., p. 405.

303

Index Note: Page numbers followed by ’n’ denotes notes

A Āboliņa, Janīna, 289 Akuraters, Jānis, 38–39 Albrecht, Conrad, 136 Alnis, A., 67n44 American Red Cross Mission, 19, 24–25, 27 Bulletin of the Red Cross, 28; See also Ryan Edward American Relief Administration (ARA) mission, 19, 21–22, 25, 27 Andresen, Nigol, 239n1 Ankupe, Ella, 270–271, 282–283 Ansip, Andrus, 179, 187 Anton, Eda, 248 Apsitis, Hermanis, 64 Ast, Karl, 90 Astrauskas, Vytautas, 300–301 Auguste, Olga, 282, 285, 287 Auškāps, Jūlijs, 34, 67, 69, 70

B

Balkelis, Tomas, 1 Balodis, Jānis, 58n3, 60, 119, 125 Baltrušaitis, Jurgis, 116 Baltušis-Žemaitis, Feliksas, 9–10, 15 Baráček-Jacquier, Pavel, 125 Barkauskas, Antanas, 303 Barons, Krišjānis, 31 Beck, Józef, 113, 115 Belukha, Nikolai, 293–303 Beneš, Eduard, 103 Beria, Lavrentii, 207, 209–212, 214, 216–223, 225–227, 230–232, 236, 238, 243, 262 Bermondt-Avalov, Pavel, 5, 18–19, 23–24 Bērziņš, Alfrēds, 59, 62, 64–65, 74, 104, 120 Bērziņš, Andrejs, 58n8, 61 Bērziņš, Rihards 74n69 Bīlmanis, Alfrēds, 156, 160

Birkenfelde, Milda, 287, 288 Birznieks, Jānis, 49 Bleiere, Daina, 266 Blomberg, Werner von, 135 Bokalders, Janis, 58 Bondareva, Regīna, 289 Bonin, Reimar von, 111–112 Bortnowski, Władysław, 118 Brizgys, Vincentas, 195, 198, 202–203 Budinas, Domas, 9–10, 15 Burinskaitė, Kristina, 194 Buša, Milda, 283 Buse, Natālija, 287 Butulis, Ilgvars, 74

C

Cabalsar, L., 57n3 Čabis, Zelma, 283, 284 Čakste, Konstantīns, 158, 162 Carlsson, Harry, 159 Česnulevičius, Jonas, 8, 10 Chamberlain, Neville, 127 Chernikov, 215–216

D

Dambītis, Roberts, 119 Damušis, Adolfas, 195 D’Annuncio, Gabriele, 57n3 Dekanozov, Vladimir, 153 Deņisenko, Nina, 284 Dreimanis, Pāvils, 71, 72f60

E

Eenpalu, Kaarel (Einbund, Karl), 92, 94–95, 98 Ehala, Martin, 175 Ēlerte, Sarmīte, 291 Elvīra, Dreibande, 284

Index F

Farský, Oldřich, 119 Feuchtwang, Stephan, 167–168 Foschini, Vittorio, 57n3 Frohwein, Hans, 111, 121

G

Gade, John, 24 Göring, Hermann, 110 Greene, Warwick, 20–22 Grigaliūnas-Glovackis, Vincas, 11 Gromov, Yevgeni, 227, 228n68 Grundherr, Werner von, 112–113 Grybkauskas, Saulius, 293 Gudelis, Petras, 10 Gulbis, Fridrihs, 33 Gylys, Vytautas, 159

H

Haberland, Christoph, 72 Wood, Edward Frederick Lindley (The Earl of Halifax), 127 Halliste, Tõnis, 247 Hanovs, Deniss, 73 Hollyday, Worthington Thomas, 24 Hoover, Herbert, 21 Hynninen, Paavo, 120

I

Igenbergs, Eriks Pauls, 112–113 Ignatavičius, Zenonas, 203 Ilmjärv, Magnus, 101 Impulevičius, Antanas, 200–202 Ivinskis, Zenonas, 142

J

Jadzeviča, Olga, 289 Jakobsen, Ludvig, 112 Jakobson, Valfried, 259 Jalakas, Karl-Arnold, 98 Jałbrzykowski, Romuald, 143 Jēkabsons, Ēriks, 17 Johnson, Herschel, 159

K

Käbin, Ivan ( Johannes), 215–216, 226, 232–233, 256 Kakstova, Nina, 283 Kaļinina, Ludmila, 291 Kalnbērziņa, Anna, 283 Kalniete, Sandra, 291 Kalniņš, Bruno, 162

Kalniņš, Eduards, 43 Kalniņš, Pauls, 160 Kalpus, Hilda, 252–253 Kandāte, Milda, 287 Kārkliņa, Mirdza, 283–284 Karotamm, Nikolai, 215 Kasekamp, Andres, 76 Kashnikov, Philipp, 278 Kasparavičius, Algimantas, 104 Kattago, Siobhan, 165, 182 Kaubrys, Saulius, 129 Kaupas, V., 136 Kharazov, Valerii, 300–301, 303 Khrushchev, Nikita, 207, 226–227, 230, 232, 234, 237, 275, 278 Klibiķe, Valentīna, 283 Klimas, Petras, 128 Klinklāvs, Aleksandrs, 71n56 Kohl, Johann Georg, 33 Koldre, Veronika, 254 Kõresaar, Ene, 165 Kossov, Vassili, 215–217, 226 Kosteņecka, Marina, 291 Kozakeviča, Ita, 291 Krassman, Mikhail, 213, 224–225, 233–234 Krastiņš, Jānis, 72n62 Kruglov, Sergei, 225, 234 Krupavičius, Mykolas, 151 Kubilius, Valerijonas, 300–301 Kundziņš, Pauls, 71 Kurelis, Jānis, 162 Kurzemnieks, Kārlis, 38 Kuzņecova, Irina, 284, 289 Kvite, Malda, 282, 291

L

Laar, Mart, 188 Labs, Eric J., 102 Laidoner, Johan, 88–90, 95, 99, 111–112, 118, 120, 122–124 Lapainis, Pēteris, 26–27 Lapidus, Gail, 290 Lapina, Leontīna, 283 Lapiņš, Jānis, 48, 75 Laretei, Heinrich, 159 Larka, Andres, 88–91 Lebedev, Konstantin, 217 Leonavičius, Jonas, 10 Ļeonova, Vera, 283–284 Ligachev, Yegor, 276 Līgotņu Jēkabs, 33–34

305

306

Index Lipša, Ineta, 30 Lombak, Johan, 212, 234n91 Lomonosova, Anna, 287 Lotman, Iurii, 169n12 Lozoraitis, Stazys, 108–109, 113, 116, 128, 130–132 Lukk, Bruno, 258–260 Luss, Guna, 284

M

Mäe, Hjalmar Johannes, 88, 91 Malenkov, Georgi, 207, 214, 216, 230, 232, 234–236 Marjaša, Ruta, 291 Matusas, J., 7 McKibbin, Alexander, 159 Megerle, Karl, 110–111, 134 Meierovics, Zigfrīds Anna, 37 Meri, Georg, 221 Meri, Lennart, 176–177 Merimaa, Otto, 234 Meshik, Pavel, 218, 231 Mikojan, Anastas, 256–257 Molotov, Viacheslav, 152–153 Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, the, 101, 104, 138, 169–170, 172, 175 Moskalenko, Valentin, 212–213, 233 Munters, Vilhelms, 58, 108–109, 112, 116, 125–128

N

Navakas, Jonas, 13 Neiburgs, Uldis, 154 Neurath, Konstatntin von, 135 Niedra, Andrievs, 21–22 Niunka, Vladas, 303 Nolte, Ernst, 77 Novika (Cekuliņa), Emīlija, 283 Nugiseks, Harald, 190–191

O

Orbison, Thomas, 24–25, 28–29 Orde, Charles Wingate, 125–126 Österman, Hugo, 114

P

Paldiņa, Ieva, 284, 287 Paleckis, Justas Vincas, 295 Paleviča, Milda, 52 Palin, Eduard Hjalmar, 129, 132 Panso, Voldemar, 239 Parts, Juhan, 182

Päts, Helgi, 255 Päts, Konstantin, 76–78, 83, 85, 88–100, 124, 255 Päts, Riho, 257–260 Päts-Kõlar, Leelo, 241, 257, 259 Paul-Boncour, Joseph, 116–117 Pelše, Arvīds, 275, 303 Petersen, Carl, 159 Pihele, Valentīna, 284 Pīpiņa, Berta, 43, 48 Plechavičius, Povilas, 6, 8, 10 Pliesmane, Ieva, 287–288 POW (Polska Organizacja Wojskowa), 5–6, 23n6 Pozdniakov, Nikolai, 153 Pugo, Boris, 276, 286 Pukk, Marie, 252 Pusta, Kaarel Robert, 103

R

Raeder, Erich, 135–136 Rahi-Tamm, Aigi, 239 Raštikis, Stasys, 130, 146, 152, 195 Rei, August, 124, 219 Rei, Ferdinand, 219–220 Reimane, Ināra, 284, 289 Reinys, Mečislovas, 204 Reiznieks, Voldemārs, 40 Remarque, Erich Maria, 39 Resne, Zinaīda, 284, 289 Ribbentrop, Joachim von, 110, 113, 132–133; See also Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, the Rubenis, Roberts, 162 Rudenko, Roman, 230 Rukmane, Mārīte, 289 Rukšėnas, Alfredas, 202 Ruškevics, Jēkabs Rūdolfs, 119 Rusteiķis, Aleksandrs, 42 Rüütel, Arnold, 186 Ryan, Edward, 24, 28–29 Rydz-Śmigły, Edward, 118

S

Šalkauskis, Stasys, 150 Salnā, Milda, 44 Salnais, Voldemārs, 158–160 Sandler, Rickard, 58, 108 Sazykin, N., 218 Schack, Eckhard von, 127 Schroeder, Paul, 102 Sēja, Ludvigs, 162 Šejnoha, Jaroslav, 120–121

Index Seļivanova, Anna, 283 Selter, Karl, 109–110, 113, 117, 122, 124 Semichastnyi, Vladimir, 300 Šepetys, Lionginas, 303 Sepp, Leo, 110 Shatalin, Nikolai, 216 Shrag, Mykola, 218, 231 Siliņš, Leonids, 158 Simson, Robert, 255 Sirk, Artur, 86, 88, 94, 95 Skalický, Jan, 128 Skipitis, Rapolas, 10 Škirpa, Kazys, 131, 195 Skujenieks, Marģers, 50 Skuteļska, Hanna, 288 Skvireckas, Juozas, 203 Slávik, Juraj, 119 Šleževičius, Mykolas, 4, 132n122 Smetona, Antanas, 140, 142, 144–145, 148–150 Snellman, Aarne, 135 Sniečkus, Antanas, 219 Stachiewicz, Waclaw, 113 Stapulionis, Antanas, 9 Starkauskas, Juozas, 201 Štauberga, Austra, 289 Staugaitis, Justinas, 203 Stehlin, John, 25 Stranga, Aivars, 56 Strokatch, Timofei, 218n38, 231 Sudoplatov, Pavel, 220 Švābe, Arveds, 73 Svarauskas, Artūras, 140 Svinelupov, Mikhail, 213

T

Tamm, Marek, 168, 182 Tannberg, Tõnu, 207 Taylor, Charles, 167 Teraudkalns, Valdis, 73 Terekkhov, Gennadii, 255–257 Tief, Otto, 184, 249–250 Tõnisson, Jaan, 79, 84–85, 90–91, 94, 98 Trotsky, Leon, 15

U

Ulmanis, Kārlis, 20, 22, 25, 28, 34–35, 37–38, 41, 49, 52, 56–75, 97 Uluots, Jüri, 180, 184 Urbšys, Juozas, 132–133 Utekhin, Georgii, 218 Uustalu, Evald, 103

V

Vacietis, Ojaras, 303 Valters, Miķelis, 32, 119–120 Veermaa, Richard, 125 Veidnieks (Veitmanis), Kornelijs, 66 Veinberga, Emīlija, 284 Veitmanis, Kornelijs, 66n39 Venclova, Tomas, 195 Vilums, R., 59n8 Vīndedze, Alise, 275, 283–284 Virza, Edvarts, 39, 58n3 Voldemaras, Augustinas, 145–147 Voss, Augusts, 298, 303

W

Walt, Stephen M., 102 Warma, Aleksander, 103, 132

Y

Yurchak, A., 293

Z

Zāle, Kārlis, 71 Zālītis, Jānis, 119–120 Zaļkalne, Līna, 288 Zariņa, Zenta, 288 Zariņš, Kārlis, 155, 160 Zariņš, Richards, 41, 54–55 Ždanoka, Tatjana, 291 Zelče, Vita, 69n48 Žemaitis-Vytautas, Jonas, 219, 231 Zemgals, Gustavs, 43 Zotov, Ivan, 120, 125

307