The hunt for President Pats

Konstantin Pats: born of peasant stock, hero of the Estonian War of Independence, ruler of independent Estonia for nearly two decades and the first president of the Republic.  He was arrested by Soviets in 1940 and carted off to Siberia, eventually dying in a Russian mental hospital in 1956.  Seems like a character to me – so WHY CAN’T I FIND ANY BOOKS ABOUT THIS MAN???

Some say he sold out Estonia, permitting the Soviet army to enter in the first place and establish bases, collaborating with the communists to the ruin of his nation.  Others say he was an autocrat who suppressed free speech and imprisoned political opponents, and thus was really no better than his successors.  And then there are those who say he was a hero, a champion of his people during their struggle for independence after centuries of foreign rule.  He did what had to be done, and many of the peasant class saw their lives improve under his policies.

The spectrum of criticism and praise is what one would expect to fall upon any leader risking greatness – my own Thomas Jefferson is certainly due his share of both.

Yet while countless books and sites and articles and paintings and journals allow me to study Jefferson, Pats remains elusive, even, it would seem, within his home country.  Beyond the basic biographical data, I can’t find much more details about the man.  No writings or recordings of his speeches  Here is someone who ruled his world for a generation, and inspired so many passionately differing opinions among local politicians and citizens.  So how can history be so silent?  Surely there is some Estonian who loved this man, and wrote poetry in his honor, enumerating the virtues of the young nation’s first president.  Surely, also, there is an Estonian who believed Pats was a fool or a demon or both, and sought to reveal him in stirring prose.

I can find no such missive, save a few brief articles written through the lens of extraordinary hindsight….and other articles, encyclopedia nuggets, and small notations in other books, all quoting one another, repeating the same information again and again, an infinite current of sparse information, as if standing in the center of an 8-sided mirrored room.

Are Americans simply more prolific when it comes to self-promotion?  As a resident of the Washington area, I am well aware of Americans’ love affair with our national history.  I find myself constantly discovering new specialty museums every month.  Our bookstores are brimming with biographies of 44 presidents, their appointees, cabinet members, opponents, mistresses, spouses, sons and daughters.

Yet in Estonia, I can’t find a single volume devoted to President Pats, in English or Estonian.  I cannot help but wonder if this is another example of Soviet cleansing of history.  Were the texts I seek among the 17,000 burned at Tartu?

It’s not a far stretch of the imagination.  Certainly the occupying forces did all they could to erase pre-Soviet society, initially focusing on those connected with the government.  They arrested the man, and packed him off to a place he would die.  All of his ministers – save one, who happened to be out of the country at the time – met their death by Soviet hands.  It’s easier, I think, to dispose of a book than a body.

I try to imagine what America might be like – if, for instance, the War of 1812 had not quite gone so well.  Now obviously that would have altered much in our collective histories on both the European and North American continents, and we must be careful lest we slide too far down that rabbit hole…My reason for mentioning such a possibility is this:  Imagine a world wherein the words of one such as Jefferson had not been saved. What if his letters and journals and papers had been erased?  Thinking back through my life, and all the inspiration that came from reading my favorite political poet, my heart aches at the thought of living without such treasures.

The grace of a free society, then, lies not merely in the here and now, in the unhampered comings and goings, dreamings and schemings of the citizenry.  Freedom is also expressed through history:  the liberty to explore, to preserve, to investigate and to record.  The glory of being able to open a book and converse with a man who lived 200 years earlier is precious indeed.  The ease with which we can so readily discover the precise words said at Yorktown, and Gettysburg, and during FDR’s fireside chats, is a luxury that is not known in all parts of world.

Does it matter?  In the grander scheme of things, it probably does not matter if Pats preferred felines to canines, played the piano or tennis, was a teetotaler who despised broccoli, or an alcoholic sod with a penchant for Bavarian maidens, whether he hated his father or loved his mum, whether he liked to garden or preferred the solitude of the forest.  But still, it matters to me – it matters to all who would look back, and question, and wonder.

What is an Estonian like? ~ Fred Jüssi, nature photographer

What is an Estonian like? An Estonian is like a tree. His appearance is completely different when he is looked at from the west, the east or from other directions.  His various shapes cannot be discerned from under the shadow of the tree crown; they become visible at a distance. Throughout centuries, the reigning winds have shaped his crown, but not his roots.  They are fixed firmly in the ground following supreme laws, his own laws, his own wisdom. How forked the crown really is, becomes evident only when storms have stripped it bare. Only then do you see his broken branches, and twisted or withered twigs; some are visible from the west or east, others from the north or south. Near the tree trunk they can be observed clearest of all. Standing there, you can see his rough bark, with fresh and old welts.  Just like big or small knarls and burls indicate a tree’s health, these too tell the tree’s story. They speak about those who suck or have sucked the vitality from him and left their marks on him. They are evidence of the pain that can be felt by the tree alone and no one else. Here, you may hear the whistling of storms amongst the branches and the rustle of wind in the foliage. You hear the shouts of those who come and go, and the songs of those who stay. You begin to understand the whispers and silences of those present. Here, you perceive the circulation of life in this entity, one amongst others. And its words become your words, and you become somebody, so that you could be who you are.

Window on Estonia (thanks for leaving the blinds open)

I like to look at photographs from Estonia. I confess:  I have quickly become a sentimental voyeur.

It’s rather ridiculous.  But honestly, I just can’t get enough.

You’ve no idea how excited I get when I find photos with words.  I like to read the signs that are sometimes captured in the photos, and always the captions.  I’m disappointed when the translation has been done for me – I want the challenge of interpreting myself!  Even when they are the most mundane things in the world – I rejoice when I understand them!  For I am remembering again the language of my first home, and like most things of beauty, it is not easily attained.

And beyond the words:  the places.  Places of memory, places of import, and places that are just pretty.

I am drawn to a certain old church, and most especially, its door.  I need to stand there, and push open the door, pressing just where she must have pressed, and then go inside and sit just where she must have sat.  I look for it always in all the photos of Tallinn, and I smile when I find it.  The church is not the most glamorous in the city, nor the most famous, and certainly not the most photographed — but it is hers….it is mine.

Also:  there is a particular stream way, way, away in the country.  I need to go there and dangle my toes in it.  If I was very lucky, and I had a pole, I might catch a fish; if he was with me, it would be assured.

There are other places, too….not so nice places.  There is a cold door in a dark basement, an old grave for the undead.  It stands there sadly, holding the pleas and curses of a certain young boy and countless other martyrs.  I must go and tell the little boy that his prayers were answered.

And then, returning to light and life, there is the forest.  But my place in the forest is another love story in and of itself.

My favorite photographs, however, are those of people.   I find them fascinating, these glimpses of strangers across the sea.  I see photos of festivals and gatherings, and I eagerly begin to scan the crowds, searching, searching – and for what?

I like to look at the happy faces.  I need to look at happy faces.  I have been studying so much of the sad past for so long….and it gives me great joy to see people smiling, to know that life has gone on, has gotten better.  It is difficult to explain how deeply I need this.  My people are gone….But still, my own serenity seems to rest upon my knowing that there is a family living on the edge of the old wood, and that there is a choir singing in the church, and that they are happy.  I close my eyes and sleep easy, my faith vindicated:  love is yet alive in the world.

So I flip through photo after photo, taken by kind photographers who graciously share their art with me…But more than smiles draws me there.  What else? O reader…I embarrassed to tell you.  I fear you will laugh. But I have begun this confession, and I shall finish it.

I harbor this very childish hope – an impossible hope – a pure Christmas miracle brand of hope – that amidst  these random photos, I will suddenly, literally happen upon a one-in-a-million face… of one I know.

Yes!  There is a part of me that fully expects to find my grandfather’s ghost in the forest, leaning against a tree.….And in the old narrow walks in Tallinn, I immediately begin to look about for my grandmother’s shadow.  And there!  in the little country village – might that be my father?

Of course, they are never there – that would be crazy!  But yet – there could be a descendant, or a sibling or a cousin or a someone who survived.  If I look closely I might spot someone who smiles just so, or who gazes back at me with my own eyes…And so I look for them too.

Indeed, the more I look at the photographs, sometimes I fancy that an odd shadow falls here or there, and I begin to see myself, hiding among the trees and the doorways and the crowds.  There I am, little girl, little half-shadow, still ever on her quest for home.

Perhaps that is what I am searching for.  I am the daughter of a refugee, influenced largely by refugee grandparents.  While their message was always very positive, I have still, to a certain extent, inherited an abiding sense of homelessness, haunted by a hunger for a particular sort of comfort  and sense of belonging that has eluded me much of my life.  Here, amidst photographs of strangers and strange places I have never walked, I continue this search to define “home,” to define myself, as did my father, as did my grandparents.  These photographs are both fragments of an old story and elements of one yet unfolding.  They offer me a window to my past, and to my future as well.  What a miracle is this photography!  It has been my greatest lifeline, in the great cause of Remembering.

Thank heaven for Flickr.

A thousand times

A poem, by Arved Viirlaid.  Mr. Viirlaid, two years younger than my grandfather, was born in the same county.  During the war, he longed to fight the Soviets but could not bear to wear a German uniform, so like many others, he went to serve the Finns.  Afterward, he escaped to the west and eventually settled in Canada.  He wrote numerous poems and novels in Estonian.  A few have been translated into English, including Graves without Crosses; my grandfather was apparently interviewed as part of the research for the book.  One of the characters in the book is supposedly based on my grandfather’s brother-in-law. (He’s also in my book.)

I wish I knew more about the relationship between Mr. Viirlaid and my grandfather’s family!

Ah yes, the poem:

A THOUSAND TIMES

A thousand times the falling coffin lid
has tried to keep me underneath,
where the dove, my dream, has veered amid
warm ashes on the verge of death.

A thousand times my mouth was seared
by the hot hoofs of Death’s companion,
and all my bones have been divided
between his plague and famine.

A thousand times in a tangled history
my tongue cut off and lost without a trace:
the more it sings, the more the story
burns its scars into my face.

(From A Vagabond’s Gospel – Hulkuri evangeelium, 1948)

As I have been writing my own book, I have had to stop at moments and marvel at how many times my grandfather came so close to death.  And then I have a little moment of silence, and send up a prayer of gratitude.

Out of Russia – Caption this!

Help me caption this unfortunate snapshot of Josef Stalin’s grandson.  You know you want to.

Out of Russia – Caption this!,
originally uploaded by poet for justice.

A refugee’s child reflects on the 70th anniversary of the start of WW2: And now?

Polish.  Lithuanian. Estonian.

We sit around a table in a little café in a pleasant part of our old American city, where the waiters know us well enough so  that even when my friend realizes he’s forgotten his wallet, they smile and tell us to just pay the tab tomorrow.  Even though there are only three of us, we sit at the largest table in the restaurant, tucked in a corner in the back.  Our suit jackets are slung over the same chairs we use every day at lunchtime.

70 years ago, our grandparents were living their lives in Eastern Europe.  They lived hundreds of miles apart in various forests and villages along the Baltic Sea.  Each spoke an entirely different language, subscribed to a different religion, and might have lived their entire lives almost assuredly without ever crossing paths.

My comrades and I are lawyers, and our favorite things to talk about are the particularly stupid and outrageous deeds we’ve witnessed around the courthouse, the impossible clients and the even more impossible defenses.  We’ve got a code-name for all the regular players.  We tease each other unabashedly about our personal lives, and do our best to befuddle our intern.

And then, quite suddenly, a war erupted all around them.  The Nazis came.  The Soviets came.  And what of the people trapped in between?

Our job is to defend the little guy.  We bounce theories off of one another, we play both devil’s advocate and champion.  Sometimes it ends in a joke.  More often we get very much riled up.  At the end of every lunch we are always ready to head back to court and fight what we often call, “the evil empire.”

Millions upon millions upon millions of people died in that war.  Most were civilians.  By some odd luck, our grandparents and parents survived.

I am going to have a big trial, and my client is one of the littlest of little guys, the sort that most of the world has forgotten.  But I’m hopping mad about his case, and so are my friends.  None of us can BELIEVE what the evil empire is trying to pull with this one.  What about freedom?  What about the constitution?  What about truth and justice?

Our grandparents would not let us forget, no.  In a Wisconsin winter, on a New York mountainside, in an antique village in Maryland, they fed us memories, and gave us heroes.

As I reflect upon the 70^th anniversary invasion of Poland and the start of the second world war, I glance around my friends and consider us, we who have inherited the saga, we who through grace were born within the pleasantly dull boundaries of America.   I marvel how the three of us, the children and grandchildren of Eastern European refugees, were all drawn to this admittedly odd career:  we all suffer a fascination with serving the underdog, an obsession with fighting the good fight without any support and against all odds.  Is this an evolution of the old fighting spirit of our parents and grandparents?

Let us journey down the wondering path a little further.  Had it not been for that awful war, would we exist?  Perhaps we would still live – but would we truly be the same spirits we are today?  Would there have been a grandparent to make us so obsessively excited about freedom from our formative years?  And would I ever have found these friends, scattered hundreds of miles apart along the Baltic Sea? And as for the sad little man who waits for me in the courtroom, who would stand up for him?  Who would give him hope?  Does he owe the victory he’s about to obtain, in some small part, to that worst of wars as well?

I believe that we, the children of the abused, have inherited not only a righteous anger…not only a love of freedom…but also, the ability to do tremendous good.  It is Nature’s way to balance all things.  We are a part of the balancing, a part of the healing, after such an evil time. Not every refugee’s child or grandchild needs to take up public interest law.  But there are other ways, I believe, in which we can carry our ancestors’ dreams forward.  It is up to each of us to determine, for ourselves, what we will do with the torch we have been handed.

So as the anniversary passes, let us remember the victims, let us honor the heroes, let us condemn evil.  Let us also take the next step, and acknowledge that the story is still a work in progress.  We are the ones who are writing the succeeding chapters, with our own lives, building on the struggle, the loss, the despair, and the HOPE which has brought us into being.  This is our legacy. What shall we make of it?

Russia, didn’t I meet you in the bullpen?

A defense lawyer’s take on new and improved propaganda

As some of you know, I spend my days working in the criminal courts…where I meet many good people, many bad people, and many who can only be described as INTERESTING. After a day of particularly, um, INTERESTING cases, I arrive home and kick up my feet to read a little news of the day, and find my friends over at The Singing Revolution have posted a link to an absolutely awesome story out of Russia. (The use of “awesome” in this context should be construed as synonymous with “superbly ignorant of any sense of reality in a degree that would be shocking were it not so utterly consistent with prior nonsense.”)

Russia has apparently issued a statement blaming Poland for starting World War 2. Oh yes. See, it’s all Poland’s fault because the Poles refused to agree to the very modest requests of Nazi Germany. Really, did Hitler have any choice but to invade?

But wait – there’s more: Britain and France must also be faulted for the part they played in encouraging Poland’s “delusions of grandeur” by promising to help the Poles in the event of an invasion.

I will give you a moment to digest all that and climb back into your chair.

What immediately struck me was the odd similarity between Russia’s spectacular blame-the-victim attitude and that of some of my least pleasant clientele. I began to wonder how far I could carry this parallel….And the result is the following scene.

We’ll start by assuming Russia is our criminal defendant. You, dear reader, may step into my shoes as his appointed counsel. Your new client has been charged with a number of serious offenses against Poland, the Baltic States, and others. You cringe as you read the charging document, and for a second you seriously contemplate calling in sick so that maybe it can be reassigned to someone with less conscience. All of the witnesses have appeared in court and the prosecution is actually, for once, prepared. The situation is grim. Yet Russia is very adamant that his case should be dismissed because his co-defendant and former girlfriend (Germany) pled out ages ago. You, as defense attorney, try to explain that just because the co-defendant entered a guilty plea doesn’t mean that Russia’s charges are just going to disappear.

Against your instincts, you ask Russia to tell you his side of the story. Russia begins by telling you he was “messing with” this chic, Germany.

“You were dating?” you ask.

“No, just messin’ with her,” Russia responds, confused. He’d been messing with Germany for years. Russia says Germany had a lot of personal problems. He was trying to help her out but sometimes she just “acted out” and “started fussing.”

One day Germany started fussing with this dude from the neighborhood, Poland.

“She was dating him too?” you venture.

“NO!” Russia responds. “She wasn’t messin’ with Poland or anything, just fussin’.”

“Oh, I understand,” you lie.

So Russia came over to see what the fussin’ was about and then Poland “got all up in Russia’s face.” You, poor defense attorney, you hear that so often, but you’re still not sure what that really means. Russia can’t provide any description either. But there it is: Poland was up in Russia’s face and then Germany came in and was up in Poland’s face AND Russia’s face (you marvel at how many faces one can be in at once!) and Russia had to do what Russia had to do.

“And so,” Russia concludes, “It was self defense.”

You nod your head and pretend you follow the logic, then sigh, and attempt to explain that self-defense does include a duty to retreat…and that by coming out of Russia’s house, by chasing after Poland and the others across other countries’ properties, the jury probably isn’t going to buy the self-defense story.

“Well,” Russia says, getting frustrated, “What about those officers – Britain and France – yeah – I wanna take charges out on them.”

“What did the police officers do?”

“They blew the whole thing out of proportion!” Russia roars. “We was working things out ourselves -”

“It sounds like it.”

“Yeah! So we was working things out ourselves and then Britain and France roll up and they made Poland out to be the victim because he’s the little guy, and then Germany got mad at me. Yeah, those officers were just real unprofessional. I wanna file a complaint.”

“I can only help you with your criminal case,” you say with thinly disguised glee. “Let’s talk some more about the charges against YOU.”

“This whole case is BS,” Russia insists. “As for the Baltics, well, don’t worry about the charges involving them because they aren’t coming to court.”

“What makes you think they aren’t coming?” you ask, immediately regretting your question.

“Because they told me.”

“You’re under a no-contact order,” you remind Russia. “And actually, they are here.”

“Well, they don’t want to go forward with these charges.”

“No,” you sigh, “No, actually, they do. They’re rather upset about you being on their property without permission.”

“So what are they looking for?” Russia asks at last.

“The prosecutor did make a plea offer…They want an apology,” you say, thinking it’s actually a pretty good offer. “Just an apology.”

“Apology for what?!” Russia bellows. “Man, that’s B.S. This is stupid. I can’t believe they want me to apologize when the co-defendant already pled out. Man, I think I should get this case postponed and get a REAL lawyer.”

“OKAY!” you say with a veiled smile, and walk away, happily fired, and go find someone with a nice friendly 4th amendment violation to rally around.

In the course of human events: Estonia’s Declaration of Independence, 1918

More very old writings from the pre-war Republic.  I have ever been a fan of Mr. Jefferson’s most beautiful American Declaration of Independence, but the Estonian version enchants my freedom-loving spirit as well.  The words still carry their weight today; read the preamble and the closing if the middle logistics bore you.  It’s so damned optimistic, isn’t it – it makes me very sad to read this, as I write the story of a few years down the road, and think of all that was lost, not just the life but the dream.

My grandmother was just five years old when this was written; my grandfather was not yet even born.

—————————————–

MANIFESTO TO THE PEOPLES OF ESTONIA

In the course of centuries never have the Estonian people lost their desire for independence. From generation to generation have they kept alive the hidden hope that in spite of enslavement and oppression by hostile invaders the time will come to Estonia “when all splinters, at both end, will burst forth into flames” and when “Kalev will come home to bring his children happiness.”

Now that time has arrived.

An unprecedented fight between nations has crushed the rotten foundations of the Russian Tsarist Empire. All over the Sarmatian plains ruinous anarchy is spreading, threatening to overwhelm in its wake all the nations living in the former Russian Empire. From the West the victorious armies of Germany are approaching in order to claim their share of Russia’s legacy and, above all, to take possession of the coastal territories of the Baltic Sea.

In this hour, the Estonian National Council, as the legal representative of our land and people, has, in unanimous agreement with Estonian democratic political parties and organizations, and by virtue of the right of self-determination of peoples, found it necessary to take the following decisive steps to shape the destiny of the Estonian land and people.

ESTONIA,

within his historical and ethnic boundaries, is declared as of today an

INDEPENDENT DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC.

The independent Republic of Estonia shall include Harjumaa, Läänemaa, Järvamaa, Virumaa, with the city of Narva and its surroundings, Tartumaa, Võrumaa, Viljandimaa, and Pärnumaa with the Baltic islands of Saaremaa, Hiiumaa, Muhumaa, and others where the Estonians have settled for ages in large majorities. Final determination of the boundaries of the Republic in the areas bordering on Latvia and Russia will be carried out by plebiscite after the conclusion of the present World War.

In the aforementioned areas the only supreme and organizing authority is the democratically supported Estonian Salvation Committee created by the Estonian National Council.

The Republic of Estonia wishes to maintain absolute political neutrality towards all neighbouring states and peoples and expects that they will equally respond with complete neutrality.

Estonian military troops shall be reduced to the extent necessary to maintain internal order. Estonian soldiers serving in the Russian military forces will be called home and demobilized.

Until the Estonian Constituent Assembly, elected by general, direct, secret, and proportional elections, will convene and determine the constitutional structure of the country, all executive and legislative authority will remain vested in the Estonian National Council and in the Estonian Provisional Government created by it, whose activities must be guided by the following principles:

1. All citizens of the Republic of Estonia, irrespective of their religion, ethnic origin, and political views, are going to enjoy equal protection under the law and courts of justice of the Republic.

2. All ethnic minorities, the Russians, Germans, Swedes, Jews, and others residing within the borders of the republic, are going to be guaranteed the right to their cultural autonomy.

3. All civic freedoms, the freedom of expression, of the press, of religion, of assembly, of association, and the freedom to strike as well as the inviolability of the individual and the home, shall be irrefutably effective within the territory of the Estonian Republic and based on laws, which the Government must immediately work out.

4. The Provisional Government is given the task of immediately organizing courts of justice to protect the security of the citizens. All political prisoners shall be released immediately.

5. The city, county, and township local governments are called upon to immediately continue their work, which has been violently interrupted.

6. For maintenance of public order, people’s militia, subordinated to local governments, shall be immediately organized and citizens’ self-defence organizations established in the cities and rural areas.

7. The Provisional Government is instructed to work out, without delay, on a broad democratic basis, bills for the solution of the agrarian problem, and the problems of labor, of food supply, and of finances.

ESTONIA!

You stand on the threshold of a hopeful future in which you shall be free and independent in determining and directing your destiny! Begin building a home of your own, ruled by law and order, in order to be a worthy member within the family of civilized nations! Sons and daughters of our homeland, unite as one man in the sacred task of building our homeland! The sweat and blood shed by our ancestors for this country demand this from us; our forthcoming generations oblige us to do this.
May God watch over thee
And amply bless
Whatever thou undertake
My dear fatherland!
Long live the independent democratic Republic of Estonia!

Long live peace among nations!
The Council of Elders of the Estonian National Council
Tallinn, February 21, 1918

Time Machine: 1938 article on Independent Estonia

Came across this blurb from Time Magazine’s archives.  This March 7, 1938, article looks back on the War of Independence that came on the heels of the First World War, and gave birth to free Estonia.  That first War of Independence is really a remarkable story in and of itself, a hard-won freedom obtained against all odds.  The years that followed – in which the characters in my story were born and raised — were still filled with struggle, but overall, it was a time of optimism and national pride.  The flag – originally the colors of the students’ groups – became a beloved symbol.  Veterans of the War of Independence marched in parades and told stories of heroism to the younger generation.  It took several years to work out a constitution – just as it did in America – but things were really looking up.

Eerie, as the following year, the Estonians would find the old enemies knocking at the gates once again.
Eerie, also, how the article praises President Pats.  Two years later, his government would be overthrown and he would be among the first Estonians arrested and deported to the deplorable Siberian work camps.  He would never return.

ESTONIA:  20 YEARS LATER

During the War Estonians overthrew a native Bolshevik regime which had held their capital for five weeks. Next they fought off the Germans, who undertook to “police” Estonia after the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Finally they faced an invasion of the Russian Reds. From a prison camp, into which the Germans had flung him, emerged one Konstantin Pats, just in time to help lead Estonian forces which drove off the Red Army invaders. Last week, determined Konstantin Pats, now Acting President of the Republic, celebrated at Tallinn Estonia’s 20th birthday.

That arch-Republican Statesman-Educator, President Nicholas Murray Butler of Columbia University, signalized the occasion by announcing to the U. S.: “Step by step, during this 20-year period, Estonia has moved forward toward stronger and more clearly defined democratic institutions. [Estonians are] building their nation upon principles which the people of the United States so fully understand and heartily applaud.”

After 20 years of vigorous rule, Pats gave his country on Jan. 1 a new democratic constitution. It promises democratic rights to the nation’s 1,100,000 people (88% of them Estonians), guarantees minority rights to Russians (8%) and Germans (1½%), disestablishes the church (most Estonians are Lutherans).

Under Pats the number of new Estonian farms carved out of the estates of former German aristocrats has now reached 60,000. Some 40,000 small Estonian farmers have risen from tenants to full ownership. Last week, two days after celebrating Estonia’s 20th anniversary, Pats won, hands down, the first general election held under Estonia’s new constitution.

*Poet’s disclosure:  There’s been much ado about Pats recently.  Some have criticized his government of the 20s and 30s as authoritarian.  There’s evidence that elections were delayed, and he jailed political opponents too (namely, communists).  I’m not offering this article as an endorsement of Pats…only as a weird little window in time.  Personally, I have not decided yet whether or not he gets my vote.

History notes: Narva

This is pure history – not glorification of either side, as clearly, they both suck.

December 1943 – Although the front is still several miles to the east, nearer Leningrad, new divisions of the Waffen SS are sent to various positions between Estonia and Leningrad, near an area known as the Oranienbaum pocket, in anticipation of a coming Soviet “breakout.”

14 January 1944 – The Soviet offensive begins.  Within a few hours, a nervous German field marshall orders a withdrawal to the Luga* River, a decision that was seen as a gross over-reaction and secures the officer’s dismissal.  Although a new leader is quickly appointed, a gaping hole has been created in the German line.  It is decided that the only reasonable action is a complete withdrawal of the 18th Army of the Waffen SS to the river.  It will take sometime to get there, however.

The retreat creates mass confusion over the following days:  numerous groups attempt to take a stand at various points, and though they slow the assault, they are inevitably cut off and trapped by the Red Army.

*The Luga River runs north through Russia to the Baltic Sea.  The gateway to Estonia at Narva is perhaps 35 km from the river – and that is a generous estimate.

22 January 1944: The last of the III SS’ reserves are sent into the battle near the Russian town of Vitino, a vital point on the railroad. The Germans succeed in holding their position at Vitino for five days, while allowing other straggling divisions to effect their withdrawal.  They send supplies and “soft-skin” vehicles, and other items that may bog down the escape, westward to Narva on the railroad.

27 January 1944: The withdrawal is in full swing, a ‘fighting retreat’ as they are dogged all the way by enemy fire.

29 January 1944: The first of the retreating Germans reach the Luga line between the Russian towns of Jamburg and Keikino, and dig in.  They hold this position, barely, for only a couple of days.

1 February 1944: The retreat now lands at the banks of the Narva River.  The Germans dig in along the western bank.  As the Soviets follow, they begin a series of attempts to cross the water.

12 February 1944: Soviets establish a strong bridgehead just north of the city of Narva, which would allow them to flank the German troops.  German command felt it crucial that this bridgehead be stopped, and all possible strength was diverted to this area, including the call-up of reserve/emergency troops who were just arriving in the rear of the line.

Throughout the next week, the Germans succeed in preventing the further advance, but are unable to destroy the bridgehead.

14 February 1944: Soviets launch an amphibious attack aimed behind the German lines, in an effort to outflank their position at Narva.  Soviet marines disembark into the freezing, waist-deep waters of the Baltic Sea, and reach land at the coastal village of Merekula, in Estonia.  The beach was already guarded with plenty of barbed wire, but the fight ensues nonetheless, and eventually the Soviets consumed the town.  The Germans attempted an air raid on the town to chase them out, but ceased when German forces on land complained that they were also being hit by the bombing. The SS battle groups entered the town and weed out the invaders.

20 February 1944: Fresh Estonian “volunteers” arrive and are sent to the bridgehead.

24 February: Soviets again push their way toward the main railroad line inside Estonia, near the village of Vaivara, another attempt to flank the Germans..  This is the supply line, not merely by rail, but the main highway in the north of Estonia also runs through this section.  The germans are able to push them back, but with heavy losses.  However, skirmishing continued in this area

29 February 1944: Estonians succeed in capturing and destroying the bridgehead.

6 March 1944: Soviets bomb the heck out of the city of Narva for two days, raining bombs on the town for over 12 hours on the 7th of March alone.  This is followed by a barrage of artillery. The railroad bridge is destroyed, the center of the old city reduced to rubble, and all the civilians flee.  The German forces dig in about the ruins of the town, but have lost a LOT of their equipment and machinery.

On March 7th, after the bombing stops, the Soviets try to rush the bridgehead – but are still pushed back.

A few days later, the Soviets attack a little farther north, another bridgehead, this time near the town of Lilienbach.  This is closer to the main Estonian unit, and an “emergency” coalition of fighters are sent to deal with the problem at Lilienbach.  In close combat with Soviet tanks, the Axis forces are able to push back the Red Army once again.

13 March 1944. After days of this bloody give-and-take at Lilienbach, attacks coming so quickly after another that no one had been able to sleep, the commander decides to start withdrawing the troops at this area.  They are harassed by the Red Army the entire time.

Late March 1944: Another fierce battle in the area of Vaivara, centered on the town of Sirgala.  This time the Germans are able to capture the town of Sirgala and eliminate the threat.  When they enter the town, they find murdered civilians:  Estonian women, shot at close-range, who had apparently been used to carry supplies to the front.  When the Soviets left, they had no more use for them.

April 1944:  Troops begin consolidating at Narva, pulled from the South of Estonia.  Some liquidated regiments are divided and many sent back to Germany for “refitting.”

The situation stagnates for nearly two months with no major battles – simply a war between snipers and regular air raids.

7 June 1944: Soviets attack the southernmost outpost of the German line, known as “Sunshine.”  They are initially repelled but heavy artillery, including smoke bombs create confusion and weakness within the line.  The post is lost; hand-to-hand fighting ensues.

12 June 1944: Germans regain post “Sunshine.”

17 June 1944: Soviets attack Sunshine again, and continue to bomb numerous Estonian villages in the area.  Captured Russian soldiers testify that they are planning a major offensive soon.  The Germans decide Narva is too vulnerable to defend, and determine they will fall back 15 miles to the Tannenberg line.

22 June 1944: Far to the south of Estonia, Soviets break through a massive area of the German line.  Entire divisions are destroyed.  The line in Estonia is not really affected, but it is a sign of things to come.

19 July 1944:  Germans begin preparations for the withdrawal.

24 July 1944: Soviets launch a massive, two prong attack at Narva; the Germans begin to leave.

One prong of the attack focuses on the Estonian Division at Riigi-Hungerford.  As the main body of the army retreats across the primary Narva bridghead, (the others are clearly fighting off harassment of their own, let’s be fair!) the Estonians struggle to defend their position until they may also have an opportunity to withdraw.

They succeed in launching a successful albeit minimal counterattack, and stall the advance for the timebeing.

26 July 1944: The Estonians are at last overwhelmed and forced to give way, and the Red Army pours over the bridgehead into Estonia, flooding the main roads with soldiers.  On the Lipsu road, two Estonian groups face a fierce firefight with the wave of the Red Army.

German pilots attempt to buy time for the retreating forces by bombing the Soviet advance.

You’ve been tagged. You are supposed to write a note with the 3’s of YOU. At the end, choose 20 people to be tagged. You have to tag me so really you just need 19 more people. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you – but not in a creepy stalker kind of way.

(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 3’s of Me, tag 20 people – in the right hand corner of the app – then click publish.)

Three names I go by:
1. Tommy
2. Daddy
3. T-Bone

Three Jobs I have had in my life:
1. House painter
2. Deli worker
3. Communications maintenance tech

Three Places I Have lived:
1. Japan
2. New Jersey
3. Korea

Three Favorite Drinks:
1. Whiskey & ginger ale
2. Any sort of cranberry juice mix
3. Coca Cola

Three TV shows that I watch:
1. Law & Order
2. CSI
3. Entourage

Three places I have been:
1. Muscat, Oman
2. Amman, Jordan
3. Westport, County Mayo, Ireland

Three people who text me regularly:
1. My wife
2. Jay
3. Twitter (okay, so it’s not a person, but I get SMS updates from people on there all the time)

Three of my favorite dishes:
1. Baked ziti
2. Anything with steak
3. Bibimbap (Korean dish)

Three friends I think will respond:
1. Jay
2. Kristin
3. Mommy

Three things I am looking forward to:
1. Momma coming down next weekend.
2. Kristin’s Birthday (5 Aug)
3. Katrina finishing her teething.