Once in a while, I have an experience which causes me to break out of normal (often superficial, at least near-neighborhood) patterns of thinking, and ponder a larger scope that I am not fully capable of reconciling. I had such an experience a couple of weeks ago, and have found myself thinking about it many times since. I’ve been reminded that I’m part of a bigger whole, and that I share some responsibility for the well-being of that bigger whole.
Many months ago, I published a blog entry on “A Tale of Two Tallinns” in which I shared some thoughts on a country divided along a cultural-social border between the native Estonians and the remnants of the occupying (now ex-patriot) Russians. At that time, I was troubled to see forgiveness being applied only in such small circles as a local church congregation. I wished that they could get along despite their diversities. My perspective was limited to the Russian side of the story and my few (superficial) observations of the native Estonians. My perspective was nowhere near complete.
Recently I learned of a documentary film, “The Singing Revolution”, which chronicles the events leading to the regained independence of Estonia. I simply had to see it, and I’m so glad I did. This Estonian side of the story was powerful and moving. If you get a chance to see this film, do it, but be warned — this is not a popcorn movie. I still feel like I don’t understand all there is to understand of the conflict between the Estonians and the Russians, but this second perspective has enabled me to gain some more depth perception.
The wounds run deep among the Estonians. Humans treated other humans without humanity. Families were separated, lives were destroyed, the Estonian cultural identify was suppressed, and suffering with a long half-life came in the wake of the atrocities.
The photograph above depicts part of the great wall of Estonia, enclosing the historic Old Town of Tallinn. This wall is a mighty fortress, built to protect a people from the painful intrusions of neighboring but unneighborly forces. Today that wall has been deliberately breached by the Estonians in multiple places, and the Old Town has become a tourist attraction. But the austere exterior remains, symbolic of the defensive wall around the hearts of many Estonians. Such walls go up slowly, and come down slowly.
After having seen the documentary, my attitude has changed: I used to be critical of both the Estonians and the Russian ex-pats for not trying harder to integrate; now I’m seeing that it’s not that easy. Forgiveness can be a difficult virtue. In fact, it may take multiple generations for forgiveness to be fully realized.
My feelings are mixed and more complex now. What I am witnessing from my geographically, politically, and culturally isolated perch is still a very incomplete slice of the whole story; I’m realizing that more and more. I feel shame at having been so under-informed about the recent struggles in Estonia — they happened during the first few years of my marriage, while I was starting a family, while I was attending college and gaining an obviously too narrow education. I watched the news at night; why didn’t I hear about this then? Perhaps I did hear but did not listen, or perhaps I (and many of us) never heard.
It’s a part of my nature to want to mend the wounds and fix the problems. At the pollyanna end of the spectrum, it would be beautiful if everyone got along and achieved self-actualization on the Maslow tree of needs; at a more practical point in the spectrum, there could be great relief in shedding ourselves of the burdens of distrust, anger, and hatred. In Estonia, the problems are varied and numerous and, despite best intentions, overwhelming for any one person (particularly one who is so separated from the region). I hesitate to step into the vortex of seeking justice, because some of the wrongs cannot be undone through acts of retribution or penance — at least not in this life — and such “justice” would leave us with a profoundly empty feeling. While I don’t want to close the door on healing the wounds, it is possible that the best (or only) thing we can do at this point is attempt to understand and learn from the mistakes so that we don’t repeat them. If this were to be all we could accomplish, it would still be of immense value — even though we would have no way of measuring the loss prevented.
So, if you’ve made it through to this point in the blog entry, then perhaps you’ve gained a new or greater awareness into a set of problems in Estonia. And you may perceive that the problem I’ve put under a magnifying glass looks a lot like other problems that have been (or are now being) played-out in numerous places around our globe — perhaps even in your own backyard. How do we move forward? How do we fix the problems and heal the wounds? How do we really learn the needed lessons so that we don’t repeat such ugly history?
I think these questions are a good way for me to end this opening serve in what I hope becomes a volley of discussion. You may not care about Estonia. Fine — I didn’t until I went there. Maybe the recent military incursion into the nation of Georgia becomes a more actionable rallying cry. Or maybe you see parallels that hit closer to home. The exploration of these questions may help in dealing with other, more local and personal Estonias.
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