For Lithuanians, the shock of the war in Ukraine resonated with their own experience of Russian imperialism, write Neringa Rekašiūtė and Indrė Bručkutė.
We were born just when our country took its independence back from the USSR. We are called ‘the generation of independence’. We are using “took” very consciously here, because the war in Europe reminds us that freedom is a right that you have to actively fight for. And our families did fight for it.
We were reminded of it every Christmas Eve at the dinner table, every election, every time a generational conflict occurred. We would be lying if we said that countless movies and poems that we had to memorise by heart didn’t make us scoff at some point.
We grew up in a privilege of freedom to criticise a romanticised view of heroic fighting, overuse of national symbols, populistic and opportunistic appeal to patriotism. One of us made a photography project critisising the re-introduction of military conscription in Lithuania, while the other has been advocating for a less traditionalist, more feminist-oriented school literature curriculum. And you know what? It’s easy to do that when you are safe, free, and not in a survival mode.
The war in Ukraine triggered an intergenerational trauma in Lithuania that was looming under our skin. While we enjoyed the whole package of democracy, unimagined even to the generation before us – voicing our opinions, protesting policies we disagree with, critiquing the government, exploring the vast world without borders – the pain was always there, buried deep inside. But now, it all came rushing to the surface.
Between the years 1940-1953, Lithuania lost 33 percent of its population. As many as 1.2 million people were deported, sentenced to death, incarcerated, murdered for political reasons, or forced to flee.
As Danutė Gailienė, professor of clinical psychology, has written, during the years 1990–2000, mortality in Central and Eastern Europe exceeded the predicted number of deaths by 4 million people.
In her book Life in Lithuania From the Point of View of Trauma Psychology, she explains that the cause of this was the prolonged psycho-social stress. While Germany admitted its wrongdoing in World War Two, Russia never took the responsibility for the terror the communist regime caused. And in trauma psychology, one thing is very clear – the perpetrator has to admit its wrongdoing or to make retributions for the victim to heal fully.
Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Ukraine, Belarus as we know it have always lived bordering Russia. Russia was always creeping somewhere deep in our political and cultural discourse. Even now, we can track down conversations we had when we were kids, teenagers, young adults. This hypothetical question “What would you do if we were occupied again?” has been appearing in playgrounds, in classrooms, during parties and in between intense dance sessions.
We’ve grown up with this image of the Kremlin as a mythological beast that was breathing down the neck of every child that dares to imagine anxiety-free existence.
"We live and breathe the same ideals and the same inner conflicts. Our generation can’t imagine a world where we’re not free. Same as yours."
And now we saw its face. And now it all falls into place. And it’s appearing before us as flashbacks of history we’ve already lived through as a country.
The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact in 1939 between Nazi Germany and the USSR gave Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia and part of Poland to the latter. After World War Two had ended, we were made into a “necessary sacrifice” and stayed occupied for another 50 years.
Our guerilla fighters, “the forest brothers” as we call them, were resisting the Soviet occupation until 1957 when their last leader was killed.
Everyday acts of bravery were also a proof of a great desire to decide our own way of living, to have our own culture and country in our hands. And today, the war in Ukraine also reminds us of a feeling of being forgotten, left alone, abandoned by the Western world.
Even as a member of the EU and NATO, Lithuania has been trying to prove its existence to Western countries: we are not the monolithic “Eastern bloc”, we are not the exoticised or stereotypical version you show on your entertainment TV, portraying us as criminals and prostitutes.
We live and breathe the same ideals and the same inner conflicts. Our generation can’t imagine a world where we’re not free. Same as yours.
But the inner conflicts don’t matter anymore, because Ukrainians are fighting for something you all take for granted. And the former president of Ukraine, Petro Poroshenko, is fighting alongside his competitor Volodymyr Zelensky. Poets and ballet dancers are fighting alongside politicians. Because you can’t discuss feminism, equality, LGBTQ+ rights when you are being bombed by the enemy. You have to unite against it.
We here are rich in culture, technology, and great thinkers. Right now, to be divided or neutral is a privilege we cannot afford. A conflict is something that happens between two equal sides. It occurs when we debate how to name a street or whom to elect to a city council. What is happening in Ukraine is not a conflict. It is war. This war is between the oppressor and the oppressed. And this war isn’t just happening on a heroic battlefield where two armies are marching toward each other; the Russian military is destroying Ukrainian universities and hospitals, bombing the beautiful cities of Kharkiv and Mariupol to the ground.
The heart of Europe now beats in Kyiv. If they’re brave enough to fight for it and protect it, be brave enough to call this what it is – a war. And be brave enough to act as if your own people, ideals, and culture are being destroyed. Because it is.
We believe in the power of art to embolden and empower people. For those who are unfamiliar with the culture that is under attack right now, we provided a short (and definitely not conclusive) list that will struck a chord:
LISTEN: DakhaBrakha, Katarina Gryvul, Nikolaienko, Kalush, Alina Pash, Go_A, Vivienne Mort, Haydamaky.
READ: Ilya Kaminsky, Lyuba Yakimchuk, Serhiy Zhadan, Olga Bragina, Kolya Kulinich, Vasyl Makhno, Halyna Kruk, Kateryna Mikhalitsyna, Borys Khersonsky.
WATCH: Oxygen Starvation (1992) by Andrii Donchyk; My Thoughts Are Silent (2019) by Antonio Lukich; Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965) by Sergei Paradjanov; The Guide (2014) by Oles Sanin; Maidan (2014) by Sergei Loznitsa; Gamer (2011) by Oleg Sentsov; Julia Blue (2020) by Roxy Toporowych.
Indrė Bručkutė and Neringa Rekašiūtė are Lithuanian artists studying politics and media at Vilnius University's Institute of International Relations and Political Science.
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