My friend Viktor (Viki) was born the year Stalin died – 1953. From that point forward, the fear-factor among Soviet citizens diminished substantially. Nonetheless, it would be several decades before Viki would know freedom the way his father once did.
Estonians have a long and storied history of subjugation dating to the Vikings in the 9th century followed by the Danes, Swedes, Germans and Russians – sometimes in rotating fashion. But, by the late 19th century a national consciousness emerged. Education gave rise to literacy while the yoke of repression loosened. Soon, preparation would meet opportunity.
From 1917 to 1923 Russia was embroiled in a bloody revolution. While this ultimately proved fatal to the Tsar and his family, the turmoil provided an opening for Estonia to escape centuries of dominion. In February 1918, sovereignty was declared for the first time. It was a bumpy road at first. But freedom lasted slightly over two decades, basically linking the World Wars. This was the liberty Viki’s father experienced as a boy growing up in Tallinn. Born in 1926, Uno knew no other life.
By the early 1940s Europe was, again, engulfed in chaos. Estonian sovereignty was dead and life itself was in peril. Russia and Germany had taken turns occupying Estonian soil since late 1939. Havoc reigned supreme as Stalin and Hitler played tug-o-war with the local population. Private property was confiscated or destroyed while thousands of Estonian citizens were imprisoned, deported or summarily executed. These were the prevailing conditions in 1943, the year Uno turned 17.
At this point in the war, Hitler was taking his turn as top-dog in Estonia. The tug-of-war continued as locals were conscripted into the German Army for duty on the Eastern front fighting against Stalin’s Red Army. In late 1943, the call-up was extended to young men (boys, really) born in 1926. This group included Uno.
These were complicated times for a small country literally caught in the middle of a firefight between two great powers. Neutrality was declared, but not observed. For Estonians, being associated with one side or the other – whether by force, choice or accident – was treacherous given the war’s uncertain outcome. Nonetheless, many Estonians fought in opposition to the Red Army as it was hoped that Germany would honor Estonia’s pre-war sovereignty. It was fait-accompli that Russia would not.
However, for thousands of young Estonian men, fighting under German command was not a tenable option. Instead, they chose to embark on a dangerous crossing of the Gulf of Finland to join the Finnish Army’s battle with the Soviet Union to reclaim territory lost in the Winter War of 1939. Uno crossed the Gulf in December of 1943.
The aura of 1944 Estonia was filled with anguish. These were perilous times. Estonians were vanishing – victims of deportation, execution or battlefield casualty. So, the life expectancy of a young man carrying a soldier’s weapon was considered poor, to say the least. Given dreadful circumstances, Uno’s parents were convinced they would never see their son again. The likelihood of losing a second son was agonizing.
To be young and free at the dawn of Estonia’s first independence must have been glorious. Certainly, 1923 was a wonderful time for new parents to welcome a first-born son into a bright new world. Yet, Karl and Alma suffered the worst, most cruel, loss any parent can experience. Their son Helmut lived only a single day.
Twenty-one years later, faced with the prospect of another tragic loss, they made an extraordinary – yet rational – decision. In October of 1944 Karl and Alma welcomed a third son into an uncertain world. He was born to a mother who was three weeks shy of her 44th birthday. This is remarkable, even by contemporary standards. Their new baby boy was, presumably, healthy as he would go on to be an exceptional athlete and renowned basketball coach. But, the story of Viki’s Uncle Allan is for another time. As it turns out, Karl and Alma had good reason to be concerned about their second son’s welfare.
Uno returned from Finland in the spring of 1944, only a few months ahead of the Red Army’s return to Estonia. In July the Soviets launched intense combat operations in a resolute effort to permanently expel the German Army from the Baltics. By November of 1944, Stalin had succeeded. So, after a three-year hiatus, the process of Sovietizing Estonia resumed. The terror, executions and deportations accelerated.
As Soviet authorities re-established primacy in Estonia throughout the latter part of 1944, they didn’t waste any time rounding up local members of various opposition forces. Those who were not shot outright were loaded, like cattle, onto trains for a toll-free trip deep into the heart of Russia. These journeys always ended at a work camp. Being young and strong probably saved Uno from suffering a more immediate fate much closer to home.
As a teenager my taste in music was heavily biased toward bands like the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Who – a genre typically known as Hard Rock. Yet, occasionally, an outlier would sneak into my musical consciousness. Such was the case with the 1973 song “Roads to Moscow” written and performed by Al Stewart. There was something special about its haunting melody and storybook lyrics, even if I didn’t fully understand the tale being told and the protagonist’s ultimate jeopardy.
In fact, it was not until I was in my 40s that serendipity facilitated a deeper appreciation of the song’s historical significance and lyrical nuance. Even a cursory understanding of Soviet history, particularly Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s account of the gulags, affords the listener a much better understanding of Stewart’s epic story.
So now, when I hear the last six lines in the final verse, I think of Viki’s father:
I’ll never know, I’ll never know why I was taken from the line and all the others
To board a special train and journey deep into the heart of holy Russia
And it’s cold and damp in the transit camp, and the air is still and sullen
And the pale sun of October whispers the snow will soon be coming
And I wonder when I’ll be home again and the morning answers “Never”
And the evening sighs, and the steely Russian skies go on forever
As the lyric suggests, many never made it home again. Being sent to a labor camp was often tantamount to a death sentence. Long days, hard work, harsh conditions and minimal nourishment punished the weak, as Solzhenitsyn expertly documented in his masterpiece The Gulag Archipelago 1918-1956.
Over the course of 12 years, Uno was bounced from one Siberian labor camp to another. But, despite his parents’ fears, he managed to survive. His final camp was near Krasnoyarsk, approximately 3,000 miles (5.000km) from his home in Tallinn. It was here he met his wife, a Russian girl by the name of Nina. In May of 1953 they welcomed a son, Viktor, into a hopeful world.
There truly was reason for hope as it was only five weeks earlier that Stalin died thus closing a dark chapter in Soviet history. Two years later Uno and Nina gave Viki a baby brother, Jüri. Then, in 1956, Uno was finally allowed to leave Siberia with his family. Boarding the train in Krasnoyarsk, they looked forward to a better life in Tallinn. But, despite Khrushchev’s thaw, it would be another 35 years before Estonia would be free again.
After a half-century of illegal occupation, Estonia declared its second independence on 20 August 1991. Technically, it’s a restoration of the independence first declared in 1918. And like the first time, the opportunity availed itself only as a result of turmoil within Russia. Also, like the first time, the road to sovereignty – known as the “Singing Revolution” – was fraught with peril. But that, too, is another story.
As for Viki’s father, Uno lived to be 64 years old. He passed away only five months ahead of Estonia’s second liberation. Hopefully he saw it coming.
