The Weekly Crier
News highlights from Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia.
Updated every Monday.

News Highlights from February 12-February 19, 2001

Riga's city council has voted to donate a bronze statue of Russian Czar Peter the Great to the city of St. Petersburg in an apparent bid to get rid of what has become a hot potato at home. 
       Some members of Latvia's large Russian minority said the two-meter tall monument, first erected in Riga in 1910 when Latvia was part of the Russian Empire, was an integral part of Latvia's historical heritage and should be put up somewhere in Latvia. 
       But many ethnic Latvians bitterly disagree, saying the statue symbolizes Russian expansionism. They say presenting it as a gift to St. Petersburg, founded by Peter the Great in 1703, was the most appropriate option.
       The sculpture was taken down during World War I and then lost at sea when a ship ferrying it to Russia for safekeeping was torpedoed by a German submarine. It was retrieved by Estonian divers in 1934 and shipped back to Riga. 
       Latvia, which was independent at the time, planned to restore the statue, but the 1940 invasion by the Soviet Union made that impossible. It has remained in storage since Latvia regained independence ten years ago. 

Mad-cow disease made front-page headlines across the three Baltic states for the first time as fears arose that the disease that ravaged beef industries across Western Europe may have struck here. 
       The bleakest news came from a European Union report released on February 12 warning that mad-cow disease has probably already spread to Lithuania because of imports of live cattle and meat-and-bone meal from EU countries.
       Mad-cow disease, or BSE, is believed to be spread by feed containing the ground tissue of other mammals. Some scientists believe people can contract a fatal human variant of BSE, called Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, by eating infected beef. 
       German veterinary service head Werner Zwingmann said in Riga on February 13 that all three Baltic states also may face risks from imported milk substitutes, which contain animal fat, that were fed to calves starting in 1997. 
       Zwingmann said the incubation period for BSE is four to six years, so, until now, the Baltics probably wouldn't have detected the disease in cows weaned on contaminated milk substitutes. 
       The Agriculture Ministries in all three countries were quick to announce that tests have so far turned up no signs of mad-cow disease. But observers said people should face up to the possibility that some local cows might be infected.
       "Without wanting to scare the reader, we have to realize that we no longer can claim for sure that Estonia is not in danger," Estonia's Postimees newspaper wrote in an editorial. 
       The EU's report, which did not name Estonia and Latvia as high-risk areas for BSE, has already dented beef sales in Lithuania, with reports that beef consumption quickly dropped by some 20 percent. Chicken and pork sales were way up. 
       Any economic impact of a BSE scare could be particular severe in Lithuania, where the agricultural sector accounts for around 10 percent of economic growth. In Latvia and Estonia that figure is under 5 percent. 
       While the Baltic states are considered post-communist economic successes, they remain relatively poor and wouldn't be able to compensate farmers affected by a BSE crisis to the extent Western European countries have. 
       Baltic food safety laws are said to meet West European standards, though the required money, know-how and diligence to make those laws work as they're supposed to have been questioned.
       Latvian, Lithuanian and Estonian food safety officials say they will step up checks of their livestock and feed. They have asked for additional government money to do more testing.

Judges ruled on February 14 that a 93-year-old Nazi war crimes suspect was guilty of participating in the murder of Jews during World War II—the first such finding since Lithuania regained independence in 1991.
       But the Vilnius District Court did not sentence Kazys Gimzauskas, who served in the Nazi-backed Vilnius security police during the 1941-44 German occupation, because doctors said he has Alzheimer's disease and is too ill to go to prison.
       Defense lawyers have 20 days to appeal the verdict on behalf of  Gimzauskas, who lives with relatives in a Vilnius apartment and did not attend any of the proceedings. His lawyers didn't say whether they would appeal. 
       After breaking with Moscow, Lithuania vowed to pursue participants in the massacre of over 200,000 Lithuanian Jews. But critics complained Lithuanian officials moved too slowly and, until now, no alleged Nazi had been convicted.
       Prosecutor Rimvydas Valentukevicius said the verdict showed officials were sincere about their pledge to convict Nazi war criminals. 
       "Historical justice has been done," he said. 
       Other Lithuanian officials said the decision proved Lithuania, despite complaints to the contrary, was willing to confront its tragic past under Nazi rule. 
       The head of the U.S. Justice Department's Nazi investigation wing, Eli Rosenbaum, also reportedly praised his Lithuanian counterparts, saying the Valentine's Day ruling was an "important victory." He has been a sharp critic of Lithuania.
       "If somebody had told me last year that Lithuania would hand down verdicts in these trails this year, I and other people outside Lithuania working on these cases would have said it would never happen," he was quoted as telling Lithuania's Lietuvos Rytas daily.
       Nazi suspect Aleksandras Lileikis, who was Gimzauskas' boss in the security police, died of a heart attack in Vilnius last year before a court could pass final judgment on him; he was 93. 
       Efraim Zuroff, of the Nazi-hunting Simon Wiesenthal Center in Jerusalem, said in a faxed statement that the Gimzauskas ruling was "a positive step." But he decried that convictions weren't secured years ago.
       "Both Lileikis and Gimzauskas arrived in Lithuania while they were well enough not only to be prosecuted, but also to be punished," he said. "Yet Lithuanian authorities only began their investigations when it was clear that neither could actually be brought to trial, let alone bear the consequences of their bloody deeds." 
       Gimzauskas emigrated to the United States in 1956 and lived in St. Petersburg, Florida. In 1994, he returned to Lithuania after a U.S. court sought to strip him of his citizenship for lying about his wartime record.
       He was charged a few years after returning to Lithuania. His trial began in 1998 but was repeatedly delayed, then suspended because of his health.
       The trial restarted late last year after a new law was adopted permitting trials in absentia for war crimes suspects who are deemed too ill to appear in court.
       Lithuania's in-absentia law allows a lawyer to represent a mentally incapacitated war crimes suspect at trial. 
       Defense lawyers said Gimzauskas was innocent, claiming he actually worked secretly for the anti-Nazi resistance and never took part in killing Jews. They also said the prosecution presented no conclusive proof of the charges. 
       But prosecutor Rimvydas Valentukevicius said the evidence against Gimzauskas was definitive, pointing to Nazi-era documents presented in court that directly implicated him in the arrest of at least five Lithuanian Jews.

Estonian Prime Minister Mart Laar remained under scrutiny after reports he shot at a picture of his bitter rival for target practice, but most observers now say he should survive the scandal. 
       News that Laar fired at a photo of leftist opposition leader Edgar Savisaar at a military school in 1999 first provoked hearty laughter, but the story quickly snowballed into a major political crisis.
       The 40-year-old Laar eventually apologized for the affair but said he wouldn't heed opposition calls for him to resign. Even his allies have criticized him, but none of them seemed prepared to abandon Laar, who has otherwise been seen as an effective government leader. 
       The scandal, including coverage of it in the local press, has died down. Several investigations about the incident were ongoing, but few expected any new revelations that might renew pressure on Laar to tender his resignation. 
       At least until this week, however, the scandal was a major distraction and embarrassment for the Laar government. Most critics focused, not on the incident per se, but on whether the prime minister lied about it having occurred. 
       His approval ratings have slipped, though not drastically. Most average Estonians also seemed most disappointed in the initial denials and hair-splitting about what happened.
       When leading newspapers first reported the incident on February 8—citing ex-Tallinn Mayor Robert Lepikson, who was there—government spokesmen flatly denied it had occurred. 
       But as the story started dominating headlines, Laar admitted it, though he said he couldn't fully recall the two-year-old events in detail. 
       "When I take into account Lepikson's statement...and my boyish frame of mind at the time, I regard it as a very serious fact that I may have done it," he told a press conference. "My conduct in any case was reproachable and I offer my apologies." 
       Savisaar's populist Center Party has attempted to keep up the pressure, saying Laar's explanations still have been incomplete and that his initial denials called his trustworthiness into question. They have called on Estonian President Lennart Meri to assess the affair, with apparent hopes that he will also call on Laar to resign; most observers say that's unlikely. 
       Laar's three-party coalition controls 53 of 101 legislative seats. It includes his center-right Pro Patria party, the center-right Reform Party and the centrist Moderates. 
       His government took power following 1999 elections and has been praised for imposing financial discipline and spurring new growth after an economic slowdown triggered by the 1998 financial crisis in neighboring Russia. 
       Savisaar, an irascible self-declared champion of Estonia's poor and dispossessed, is deeply disliked by many Estonians. His left-leaning party is parliament's largest, with 27 seats, but other major parties have always ruled out allying themselves with him.

News Highlights from February 5-February 12, 2001

A silly two-year-old prank has snowballed into a deadly serious political scandal in Estonia after reports Prime Minister Mart Laar all-too-literally put the country's main opposition leader in his sights—using his picture for target practice. 
       The story, which at first prompted hearty laughter when it broke, was now expected to culminate in a no-confidence motion later this week. While that vote is expected to fail, the scandal has been a major distraction and embarrassment for the government, with most critics focusing, not on the incident itself, but on whether the prime minister lied about it having occurred. 
       The country's leading newspapers first reported the incident on February 8, saying  it took place during a visit by Laar and other government officials to an Estonian military school in 1999, just after he'd come to power following elections. 
       Former Tallinn Mayor Robert Lepikson, who was with Laar at the time, was quoted as saying that the prime minister and other government officials set up a small glossy picture of Center Party leader Edgar Savisaar and then took turns shooting at it. Lepikson alleged that as they lined up to shoot, Laar said, "He who misses is a friend of Savisaar's." 
       After the prime minister's office explicitly denied the story for several days, saying it was a Center Party fabrication, Laar admitted at the end of the week that the incident had in fact taken place, and he apologized.
       He questioned details of the the ex-mayor's account however and suggested that it was Lepikson, a controversial politician-businessman who has belonged to several different parties over the years, who took the lead in placing the photo in front of the gun-wielding officials. Laar said it was getting dark at the time and he couldn't remember if anyone actually shot at or hit the photo.
       "I feel deeply embarrassed over failing to call Lepikson to order, prevent his action and take an immediate stand on it from an ethical point of view," Laar said in a written statement on February 9. 
       Backers of the prime minister said Lepikson and the Center Party exposed the incident to discredit and even blackmail Laar. They said the target shooting may have been in bad taste, but was now being blown out of proportion for political ends. 
       But Center Party leaders said they took the matter very seriously and signaled that they would call for a motion of no confidence in Laar. They didn't appear to have the votes to approve it, however. 
       Savisaar, himself a former prime minister, was quoted as telling the Ohtuleht newspaper that the incident was unprecedented.
       "I don't think there's another nation in Europe where the premier organizes shootings at the opposition leader's photo," he said. 
       The incident dominated Estonian media coverage for days. Many commentators said the target shooting shouldn't otherwise have been a major scandal, but that the Laar's government's initial equivocation and outright denials tarnished its credibility. 
       Up to now, Laar's government has generally received positive reviews; it's credited with helping to stabilize the budget and spur new growth  following a 1999 economic slowdown. His three-party coalition, which controls 53 of 101 parliamentary seats, has also been considered one of the most stable since Estonia restored independence ten years ago.
      "I believe the ones having the most reason to be annoyed with the prime minister are his coalition partners, who now must deal with all this nonsense instead of all the other, much more serious problems of state," analyst Juhan Kivirahk was quoted as telling the Päevaleht daily. 
       Savisaar and Laar have long been bitter rivals. Laar has accused Savisaar of dictatorial tendencies and Savisaar, in turn, has blasted Laar for ignoring poor Estonians and for selling off the nation's main power station to American investors.  
       Savisaar has been described as Estonia's Richard Nixon, in reference to his apparent fondness for dirty tricks. He was forced to resign as interior minister several years ago amid charges he secretly tape recorded his fellow politicians; the scandal was dubbed the Estonian Watergate and Savisaar's political career at the time was thought to be over. 
       But the savvy, heavy-set politician has remained a major player on the political scene with his overt, finely tuned populism, championing the cause of mostly elderly Estonians who feel market reforms have left them in the dust.
       Savisaar's left-leaning Center Party won the most seats in 1999 parliamentary elections, but just failed to win enough to take power. The mainstream parties refused to enter a coalition with him. Laar's center-right Pro Patria went on to form a coalition government with the center-right Reform Party and the centrist Moderates.
       (Also on this site, see Second Time Round, an interview with Prime Minister Laar.)

The presidents of Latvia and Russia met for the first time in a hastily arranged summit on February 11, raising hopes for an improvement in what have been frosty relations between the two neighboring states. 
       The 90 minute meeting occurred after Russian President Vladimir Putin issued a surprise invitation just a day or two earlier to Latvian President Vaira Vike-Freiberga to fly to see him in Austria, where he was on an official visit. 
       The two leaders had never met before, and it was a rare encounter between top-ranking Latvian and Russian officials. 
       During the summit in the Austrian resort town of Saint Anton, the two reportedly discussed some of the touchy bilateral issues that have strained relations ever since the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union. 
       "The meeting with the Latvian president was very important," Itar-Tass quoted Putin as saying later. "I think it is the worst to keep silent and grumble at each other. We are ready to solve any problems no matter how difficult they might be. We are open for negotiations." 
       The Latvian president echoed that assessment, saying "this is a first step of a process that hopefully will be followed up."
       Upon her return from Austria, Vike-Freiberga confirmed that the two heads of  state spoke about long-standing Kremlin allegations that Latvia discriminates against its large Russian-speaking population.
       But while Vike-Freiberga said Putin appears to understand Latvia's desire to protect its culture, she said he was misinformed about the nature of Latvian language and citizenship laws.
       The two also reportedly discussed Latvia's prosecution of elderly former agents of Stalinist repression, proceedings which Russia has strongly criticized.
       The contentious issue of the Baltic drives to join NATO did not come up, according to Vike-Freiberga. The Latvian president said she and Putin decided to broach the issue later.
      She hastened to add that Latvia had no intention of ever abandoning its stated goal of full alliance membership.
       "We are a sovereign country and there's no other state that will tell us how we'll handle our defense," she said. 
    (See Latvia’s Iron Lady for an account of some of the tensions between Russia and Latvia.)  

Lithuania's economics minister tendered his resignation on February 6 amid complaints he'd acted improperly by traveling to Moscow for an unofficial meeting with directors of Russia's Gazprom oil conglomerate.
       Gazprom says it may participate in the upcoming privatization of Lithuania's main gas utility, Lithuanian Gas, and critics said the recent visit by the minister, Eugenijus Maldeikis, constituted a a clear conflict of interest.
       The 42-year-old minister denied any wrongdoing and investigators cleared him of ethics violations; Prime Minister Rolandas Paksas also backed him. But Maldeikis said the affair threatened to distract the government, so he decided to step down.
       President Valdas Adamkus has to accept the resignation before it becomes official. He's expected to do that when he returns from vacation next week.
      The resignation is the second by a leading minister in as many weeks, though analysts say the government, which only took power following parliamentary elections last October, doesn't appear to be in immediate jeopardy.
       Transportation Minister Gintaras Striaukas resigned two weeks ago following allegations he'd engaged in unethical behavior before joining the government. The specific allegations by the state ethics commission were never made public.
       The ministers both belong to the same center-right Liberal Union as Prime Minister Paksas. Paksas, who pledged to slash red tape to reinvigorate the economy, also said he wouldn't tolerate unethical behavior by officials.
       Questions about the propriety of Maldeikis' trip to Russia did
appear to dent the prime minister's popularity. Several surveys indicated his approval ratings fell from nearly 70 percent to below 60 percent for the first time.
       The Liberal Union is in a coalition with the center-left New Union, the smaller Center Union and Modern Christian Democratic Union. They have a slim majority in the 141-seat Seimas, controlling just 71 seats.

Latvia's Supreme Court on February 6 ruled that a Stalinist-era police agent sentenced to prison for deporting scores of people in the 1940s is too ill and won't have to go to jail. 
       Yevgeny Savenko, 86, was given a two-year jail term last year for ordering the arrest of 60 Latvians who were later deported to Siberia, where many of them were shot or died in harsh prison camp conditions. 
       Savenko admitted that he took part in the deportations, but said he was only following orders and never intentionally harmed anyone. 
       The court did not overturn Savenko's conviction, but reduced his sentence to one year and three months. It then released him, saying he had already served this amount of time in pre-trial detention and under house arrest. 
       The court said it was taking into account that Savenko has Parkinson's disease. 
       Savenko hold a  Russian passport and Moscow has openly championed his cause, saying his conviction amounted to revenge against a dying man. Russian diplomats attended his hearings. 
       Estonia and Lithuania have also prosecuted former agents of Stalinist repression.
     (See the upcoming CITY PAPER No. 51 for a report on jailed ex-agents; also see  Stalin's Agent, on this site.)  

Latvia and Lithuania will face increasingly stiff competition, including against each other, in the quest to keep Russian transit oil flowing through their ports, business news agency Bloomberg recently reported.
       Some 1-2 percent of Latvia's and Lithuania's annual economic growth comes from handling Russian oil, which passes through their ports en route to buyers in the West. Both nations say they'd like even more Russian oil to come their way.
       The partly U.S.-owned Mazeikiai Oil, which controls Lithuania's transit port, said it wants to double the amount of Russian oil it handles to 15 million tons a year, or over 10 percent of total Russian oil exports. 
       But the fly in the ointment could be what Bloomberg said were increasingly realistic Kremlin plans to divert some of that oil from the Baltic states and to ship it instead through new Russian ports now being built. 
       Moscow is also overseeing the construction of a 450-million-dollar pipeline to carry oil drilled in Siberia to the new ports, including one at Primorsk, on Russia's Baltic Sea coast. 
      Russian President Vladimir Putin, who says he has taken personal charge of the projects, complained that his country currently loses as much as 2 billion dollars a year in shipping duties to the Baltic states.
       Some analysts say that with world demand for oil as high as ever and with Russia trying to increase its oil production capacity, there may be plenty of oil to go around for Baltic and other ports outside Russia. 
       But fears are that Latvia and Lithuania, and also Estonia, will end up vying for pieces of an ever smaller oil-transit pie. 
       (Also on this site, see related story, Mazeikiai Oil; also see Power Play, about the controversial sale of Estonia's power generation plants to U.S. investors.)    

News Highlights from January 29-February 5, 2001

Lithuania's government on January 31 approved a plan to shut down one of two reactors at the nation's Soviet-built Ignalina nuclear power plant—regarded by many as a major environmental threat.
       The endorsement of the plan, which was initiated by an earlier government, sets out a detailed timetable for closing the first reactor at Ignalina, located some 130 kilometers north of Vilnius.
       It would be permanently switched off by no later than 2005, though the process of dismantling the reactor and then safely storing radioactive materials would take as long as 80 years, according to the plan. 
       International donors, mostly from among the 15 members of the European Union, have pledged some 200 million dollars to help pay for project. That's roughly the amount Lithuania said it needed to close the one reactor. 
       Lithuania hasn't yet committed to closing the second reactor, though the EU, which Lithuania wants to join, has urged it to. The EU has said failure to close the whole plant could complicate Lithuania's membership bid. 
       Ignalina's two reactors are the same type as those at Chernobyl, Ukraine—site of the world's worst nuclear accident in 1986—though they have had safety upgrades since 1991.
       The two-decade-old facility currently generates over 70 percent of Lithuania's electricity and does so more cheaply than other forms of power, allowing the country to keep its energy costs to consumers relatively low.
       Many Lithuanians worry that closing Ignalina completely and developing alternative energy sources would cost billions of dollars, raise electricity costs to consumers and undermine the national economy.
       (Also see Ignalina: In the Belly of the Beast, an archive report from the power plant.)

Doctors are examining a former Stalinist-era secret police agent to determine if he's too ill to keep serving his term inside a cramped cell at Matisa Prison in Riga. 
       Mikhail Farbtukh, 84, was convicted in 1999 for deporting scores of Latvians in 1941 and given a seven year prison term—though that was later reduced to five. He began serving his sentence in May of last year. 
       He and 76-year-old Karl-Leonhard Paulov in neighboring Estonia are the only men known to be serving jail time specifically for repressions carried out during Josef Stalin's iron-fisted reign in the Soviet Union. 
       Doctors could present their findings within the week. If they determine he is seriously ill, Farbtukh could be moved from his cell to the more spacious, comfortable prison hospital. But, according to Latvian law, he can't be released from prison. 
       In October, Farbtukh, who has difficulty walking, appealed to President Vaira Vike-Freiberga for a pardon; a presidential pardon is his only recourse for early release. But Latvian law requires that inmates serve half their terms before they become eligible for clemency. 
       Farbtukh became chief of the NKVD, the precursor to the KGB, in the Latvian city of Daugavpils after the Soviet Union occupied the three Baltic states in 1940. He was accused of deporting 31 families, including children, to Siberia.
      (See the upcoming CITY PAPER No. 51 for a report on jailed ex-agents; also see  Stalin's Agent, on this site.)    
 
Defense lawyers claimed on February 2 at the closing of the absentia trial of alleged Nazi Kazys Gimzauskas that their client belonged to the anti-Nazi resistance and never took part in murdering Jews. 
       The 93-year-old, who suffers from Alzheimer's disease, is accused of sending Jews to their deaths when he served in the notorious Vilnius security police, known as Saugumas, during the 1941-44 Nazi occupation. 
       The claim by lawyers echoed memoirs written by Gimzauskas before he fell ill in which he says he says his position in the Nazi-backed police force was a front. The memoirs were entitled "I Loved You Like a Mother."
       Gimzauskas' boss in the security police, Aleksandras Lileikis, died last year of a heart attack before judges could rule on war-crimes charges against him; he was 93. He made similar claims about working for anti-Nazi movements.
       But prosecutor Rimvydas Valentukevicius said the evidence against Gimzauskas was unassailable, pointing to Nazi-era documents presented in court that directly implicate him in the arrest of at least five Lithuanian Jews. Jewish groups also balked at the claims Gimzauskas and Lileikis secretly sided with anti-Nazi forces.
       Prosecutors Friday took what is considered a procedural step of asking the judge to stop the trial, a move that acknowledges Gimzauskas is too ill to serve a sentence. Normally, prosecutors would now ask for a specific sentence. 
       The formality, dictated by law when the accused is ailing, means the judge will only declare Gimzauskas' innocent or guilty, and not hand down a sentence. Judge Regina Pociene said she'll announce a verdict on February 14. 
       Gimzauskas emigrated to the United States in 1956 and lived in St. Petersburg, Fla., until 1994, when he returned to Lithuania after a U.S. court sought to strip him of his citizenship for lying about his wartime record.
       He was charged a few years after returning to Lithuania. His trial began in 1998, but was repeatedly delayed and then suspended because of his health. It restarted after a new Lithuanian law was passed last year that allows trials in absentia for war criminals deemed to ill to appear in court.
       (See related articles on this website: A Forgotten Yiddish Past, about the pre-war Jewish life of Vilnius, and War Crimes Case Stirs Bitter Memories.)   

News Highlights from January 22-January 29, 2001

A major oil company in the Baltic states says it is installing blue lights in its gas station toilettes to dissuade growing numbers of drug addicts from using the facilities to inject narcotics.
       The Norwegian-owned Statoil, a leading gasoline distributor in the region, said intravenous drug users had difficulty finding veins under the low, bluish light and so began avoiding places with such specially fitted bulbs.
       Before they restored independence in 1991, narcotics use in the Baltic states was rare. But as Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania have opened up to the rest of the world, illegal drug use has risen sharply.
       Statoil said the problem was dramatically highlighted when an employee at a gas station in Latvia recently pricked herself with a needle that had been discarded in the bathroom. It was found to be infected with the HIV virus that causes AIDS.
       Statoil has some 90 stations across the region, but only those near large cities, where narcotics use is more common, were putting up the blue lights. Several outlets already installed the lights and others will do so soon.
       Spokesmen for the oil company said some Western European nations have already put blue lights in airport bathrooms and at other public places. They said the scheme had already proven effective at dissuading addicts.

Some 40 dissidents from Belarus began a five-day seminar in the Lithuanian capital on January 26 to learn how to conduct a nonviolent resistance movement against the authoritarian regime in their homeland. The gathering reportedly infuriated leaders in Minsk, the capital of Belarus. 
       The gathering was organized by human rights groups in Lithuania, a strong critic of Belarus' President Alexander Lukashenko. The Lithuanian criticism has sometimes strained bilateral relations. 
       Lukashenko, who is openly nostalgic about the Soviet past, has arrested opponents, suppressed the media and ordered police to break up political rallies. Dissidents have been forced into exile, several fleeing to Lithuania.
       In a press statement released on the day the conference opened, Belarus' embassy in Vilnius bitterly denounced the seminar, saying it was "aimed at destabilizing the present social situation in Belarus...."
       A renowned theorist on using nonviolence techniques to bring about political change, American Gene Sharp of the U.S. Einstein Institute, was a keynote speaker at the conference. 
       The meeting is shrouded in secrecy, apparently to prevent retribution against those who traveled to Lithuania from Belarus. The names of attendees and even the exact location of the event were not disclosed.
       Those taking part in the seminar will receive papers certifying that they're qualified to teach nonresistance methods to others, organizers said.

Lithuanian Transport Minister Gintaras Striaukas tendered his resignation on January 22 following allegations he had engaged in unethical behavior before he joined the government late last year.
       "My resignation is the best way out of this difficult situation," the 40-year-old Striaukas, a member of the center-right Liberal Union, told journalists. "I don't want to be a burden to this hard-working cabinet."
       No details about the allegations were made public, though a state ethics committee earlier provided a full report to Prime Minister Rolandas Paksas, also a member of the Liberal Union. Paksas then asked the minister to resign.
       As the transport minister resigned, the ethics spotlight also fell on Economics Minister Eugenijus Maldeikis, who recently traveled to Moscow on an unofficial visit to met with directors at Russia's Gazprom oil conglomerate.
       Gazprom has expressed interest in participating in the privatization of Lithuanian Gas, the Baltic state's main gas utility, and critics said the minister's visit constituted a clear conflict of interest.
       The government ethics committee said it would look into the affair. Prime Minister Paksas said he would consider asking Maldeikis to resign if the investigation finds he acted unethically.
       The Liberal Union, the center-left New Union and the smaller Center Union and Modern Christian Democratic Union formed a government after elections last year. They have a slim majority in the 141-seat Seimas, with just 71 seats.
       The new government pledged to cut red tape to kickstart the economy. It also said it wouldn't tolerate corruption or unethical behavior by officials.

News Highlights from January 15-January 22, 2001

Estonia's parliament on January 16 set up a special committee to investigate why thousands of files belonging to the Soviet secret police were destroyed or withdrawn to Russia following the 1991 Soviet collapse.
       The body will also examine reports that a secretive deal was struck between Moscow and then-Estonian Prime Minister Edgar Savisaar granting sweeping immunity to KGB staffers.
       The current government says any such deal would be invalid. But the alleged agreement restored speculation about what the once-mighty KGB was up to here in final years before the disintegration of the Soviet Union.
       The KGB reportedly tried to infiltrate pro-independence groups in Estonia in the early 1990s. Others fear Moscow could use files in its possession to blackmail some politicians or to fabricate allegations of KGB collaboration.
       "We have an incomplete picture about what the KGB was doing," said Mari-Ann Kelam, a deputy who backed the establishment of the body. "So much of this past remains hidden, and you can't go forward without looking at the past."
       An estimated 13,000 KGB files were taken from Estonia to Russia in 1991; many included names of KGB informers and secret agents, Estonia's Postimees newspaper recently reported.
       Thousands of other KGB files were reportedly burned or shredded in the KGB's Tallinn headquarters in August, 1991 as it became clear the Soviet Union was quickly disintegrating and Estonia would soon restore its independence.
       KGB papers dating back to the 1940s stayed in Estonia and have been opened to the public. These files have also been used as evidence to prosecute Stalin-era agents accused of taking part in illegal arrests and deportations.
       Estonia's government this week also announced it wanted to slap a ban back on former KGB workers, barring them from jobs in the public sector. The ban, which officials say is a security precaution, expired late last year.
       All three Baltic states have grappled with the legacy of the Soviet secret police. Latvia and Lithuania have also placed restrictions on those who worked for or collaborated with the KGB.

Lithuania's central bank said on January 17 that Lithuania will peg its national currency, the litas, to the euro next year, abandoning the seven-year link to the U.S. dollar.
       The peg to the dollar, which has been strong against the euro, has made Lithuanian products pricier in the European Union, undercutting the competitive edge of local exporters. 
       The exact date when the dollar-to-euro shift will occur hasn't been decided—though it will probably happen early in 2002.
       Lithuania replaced the Soviet rouble with its own money in 1992, a year after independence from Moscow. In 1994, it fixed the litas to the dollar at an exchange rate of four to one; the rate has since remained the same and the currency has been stable.
       Like her Baltic neighbors, Lithuania is vying to join the EU within the next five years.
       "Given this, it makes sense for Lithuania to have a monetary system linked to Europe. A euro link will provide more stability for Lithuanian exporters and importers," said Maris Lauri, an economist at the pan-Baltic Hansapank.
       Estonia tied its currency, the kroon, to the euro early last year. Its exporters, unlike those in Lithuania, benefited when the euro plummeted against the dollar—making Estonian goods cheaper in the EU.
       Latvia hasn't yet said when it might fully link its currency, the lat, to the euro. It currently pegs its money to a basket of different currencies, including the dollar and the euro.
       Lauri said the Baltic states probably wouldn't fully adopt the euro as their currency until after they win full membership in the EU. With its euro peg, she said Estonia already operated as if it were in the euro zone.

Estonian Foreign Minister Toomas Ilves criticized Moscow on January 15 for what he said was Russia's steadfast refusal to accept any responsibility for atrocities committed during five decades of Soviet rule over the Baltic states.
       Among other examples, Ilves pointed to Moscow's recent adoption of the Soviet-era national hymn as Russia's new anthem. While words praising Soviet dictator Josef Stalin were changed, critics say the tune is inexorably associated with Stalinist crimes.
       "It appears the past has not passed...we see that the crimes of the past are not regretted, but in fact glorified," said Ilves, speaking to a gathering in Tallinn to commemorate Estonian diplomats who were arrested, deported and killed by Soviet forces in the 1940s.
       He complained that Russia laid claim to being the heir of Soviet assets, including pre-war Estonian embassy buildings in Western Europe, but wouldn't accept any moral responsibility for Soviet crimes.
       "The past is not a five-and-dime store where you pick and
choose...where one can select what to extol and what to deny," he said.
       Many Baltic officials have called on Moscow to issue a formal apology to the Baltic states for Soviet abuses. But Ilves suggested that Estonia wouldn't bother even asking.
       "We are told: Don't even think of asking for an apology from us. Frankly, we don't," he said. "Let each chose their own standards by which to proclaim their existence and nature."
       The minister's comments came as many people in the region are marking the 10th year anniversary of a Soviet crackdown. At the time, Soviet troops took over key buildings across the region in a bid to snuff out Baltic independence movements.
       Fourteen people were killed when Soviet troops stormed a television tower in the Lithuanian capital on Jan. 13, 1991. Five people died in Latvia a week later when Soviet forces fired on a government building.
       In a special parliamentary session commemorating the TV tower killings, former Lithuanian leader Vytautas Landsbergis said Russia should help bring 42 soldiers suspected of taking part in the attack to trial.
       "Our duty to those who died for their country includes the matter of justice, which stands above baser consideration," he said, brushing aside some concerns that pressing the issue could damage Lithuanian-Russian relations.

A Latvian town says it wants to establish itself as a model/cutting edge IT hub, and will seek funds to get virtually all government offices and private individuals connected to the Internet. 
       Officials in Valmiera, a town of 30,000 people located some 100 kilometers northeast of Riga, said that the multi-million dollar cyber plan would take some five years to complete. 
       Currently, less than 10 percent of 2.4 million Latvians are hooked up to the Internet, and that figure is even smaller outside the Latvian capital, the country's main business center. 
       But educators in Valmiera, who have taken the lead in drumming up support for the project, say their town could become a magnate for the fledgling IT industry in Latvia. 
       Neighboring Estonia has one of the highest rates of Internet
penetration in the ex-communist bloc, with over 30 percent of the 1.4 million population connected to the Internet. 

A Lithuanian playing basketball at Marist College in the United States was charged with stabbing another student and dismissed from the university. 
       The 23-year-old Marius Janisius said he had been attacked by three other students and was acting in self-defense. He reportedly stabbed one of one student in the buttocks with a steak knife. 
       He was forced to give up his passport pending trial.
       Janisius was a starter for Marist College. Scores of basketball players from Lithuania, considered a powerhouse in European basketball, play on college and professional teams abroad. 

News Highlights from January 8-January 15, 2001

Special Report: Mother, Nation Mark 10th Anniversary of 1991 Soviet Crackdown—By CITY PAPER editor Michael Tarm.

When cannon fire shook her apartment china and the light of tracer bullets flashed through her windows ten years, Stase Asanaviciene's first sensation was that a small war had broken out. What she didn't know was that her 23-year-old daughter Loreta had been fatally caught in the mayhem at the Vilnius television tower a few blocks away—crushed underneath the treads of a Soviet tank.
       On January 13, Asanaviciene and the whole of Lithuania solemnly marked the 10th year anniversary of the Soviet crackdown that cost the life of her daughter and 13 others; nearly 1000 people were injured.
       Moscow had hoped to halt the disintegration of the Soviet Union by snuffing out the independence drive in Lithuania, the most rebellious of the 15 Soviet subject states. 
       But the killings at the TV tower only emboldened the Lithuanians and hastened the collapse of the Soviet Union itself nine months later.
       "It was a last desperate act of an empire," said Algimantas Cekuolis, a leading commentator at Lithuanian state television. "It illustrated starkly to everyone, including the Kremlin, that this creature was in its death throes." 
       Soviet troops had already occupied other buildings in Lithuania's capital; the 300-meter, needle-shaped TV tower seemed a likely next target.
       Loreta Asanaviciute, who lived at her mother's apartment, was an avid backer of the movement to restore independence—lost when Soviet forces occupied Lithuania in 1940.
       So when thousands of Lithuanians began keeping a vigil at the tower, she enthusiastically joined them. The mood at first was festive, with people singing and dancing around bonfires.
       Loreta went to a nearby phone booth to call her mother. "I'm okay. I'm alive. Don't worry," recalled Stace Asanaviciene in an interview at her Vilnius apartment. Those were the last words she heard from her daughter. 
       Suddenly, just after midnight, tanks rumbled up belching smoke. Behind them were scores of armed soldiers, some shooting live rounds and others swinging iron rods, recalled Anatanas Sakalauskas, who was standing near Loreta Asanaviciute. 
       Aiming at the crowds, the tanks fired blanks—the reverberations shattering windows on the tower, raining glass on the protesters. 
       Sakalauskas, now 48, said the troops must have been shocked when the unarmed Lithuanians didn't immediately disperse. They only linked arms and held each other tighter, chanting "Freedom for Lithuania!," he said.
       The tanks started moving at them. Sakalauskas, Asanaviciute and others pounded in vain on the armored platting, hoping the tank drivers might hear their pleas to stop.
       Then one tank lurched forward, and Sakalauskas, Asanaviciute and two others got caught in its clawed treads. Sakalauskas dragged a mobile phone across a spoon to show how the tank hooked their bodies, then dragged them under. 
       "It was like that nightmare where you know you have to run to save yourself, but you can't move," he said, pulling nervously at a button on his coat as he described the scene, his hands trembling.
       The tank cut across his legs and Asanaviciute's midsection. A famous photograph, later wired to newspapers around the world, showed her falling under the tank 
       "Then it stopped on us for what was probably two minutes. But it seemed like an eternity," he said. "We were screaming with all our might." 
       When the tank finally drove off, Sakalauskas, his legs mangled, rolled frantically out of the way of other oncoming tanks. When he reached nearby ambulances, they were already full of injured, many with bullet wounds. 
       Film footage later showed Asanaviciute asking ambulance teams, "Am I going to die? Will I be able to have children?" She was engaged to be married in three months. She died hours later, the youngest fatality and the only woman to die.
       Soviet troops succeeded in taking the TV tower. But after a failed Kremlin coup late that year, Lithuania, along with Estonia and Latvia, did regain independence.
       "We lost the battle, but we won the war," said Sakalauskas, who walks with a limp, one of his legs still deformed. 
       Vytautas Landsbergis, Lithuanian president in 1991, said he holds then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev responsible for the deaths. 
       Barricaded inside Lithuania's parliament, fearing an attack, Landsbergis said he desperately tried but failed to reach Gorbachev by phone. 
       "His secretary said he was sleeping," recalled Landsbergis. "So I told her, 'You tell him that he's the only person who can stop the killing. If he doesn't stop it, then the blood is on his hands.'" 
       "Gorbachev couldn't have been responsible, right?" Landsbergis added wryly. "He was fast asleep—like an innocent child!"
       Landsbergis balks at claims Gorbachev may not have sanctioned the attacks. He has called on the former Soviet leader to be tried for the killings. 
       "But not a single Soviet official has ever even apologized...and they've offered no compensation to the victims," he said. "Their response was just to decorate the officers who took part in the massacre. Some even became generals." 
     Sakalauskas said most Russian officials he's heard continue to justify the killings in Orwellian terms, blaming the unarmed Lithuanians or even denying outright that it all happened the way witnesses say it did.
       "They say the photos of the tanks running over me and that girl were doctored—made in Hollywood. There's no hope of compensation or an apology. No way," he said. 
       Landsbergis dubbed all those who were killed or injured heroes. But he said Loreta Asanaviciute, because she was a young woman, has stood out as a symbol of Lithuania's independence struggle and the cruelty of the Soviet regime. 
       "She was like Lithuania itself: alone and defenseless in the face of this iron, soulless power," said Landsbergis, who also spoke at Asanaviciute's funeral ten years ago. "It is something even a child can grasp: If a tank runs over a girl—that's real evil."
       Asked what she'd say to Gorbachev if she ever met him face-to-face, Loreta Asanaviciute's mother paused, then suggested that she'd probably say nothing at all. 
       "I'd probably just smack him," she said with a short laugh. 
       Her apartment is now a virtual shrine to her daughter, with posthumous medals crowding the shelves; a painting depicts her daughter as an angel. The street in front of the apartment was named after her. 
       Mrs. Asanaviciene shudders when she recalls seeing her daughter's blood-soaked clothes at the hospital that fateful night. But she celebrates what she says was Loreta’s key role in securing Lithuanian independence and in bringing down the Soviet Union. 
       "It's men who should die in war, not pretty young girls like my daughter," she said, crying into a handkerchief. "But she was brave. She stood her ground, while some others ran. I'm proud of her."
       (For a detailed chronology of the January 13, 1991 events, see CITY PAPER's Crackdown, on this site.) 

An Estonian artist known for using pyrotechnics in his artwork apparently committed suicide on January 11 by pouring gasoline over his body and setting himself alight in front Tallinn's Art University. 
       Just hours before, the 26-year-old Laur Tiidemann, along with several artists from Finland, had fashioned discarded Christmas trees into sculptures and set them on fire on a nearby beach. 
       Witnesses said they saw Tiidemann running down a city center street engulfed in flames; rescue services extinguished them, but the man was soon after pronounced dead, police spokesman Indrek Raudjalg said. 
       A gasoline canister and a cigarette were found not far from the body, but no suicide note had yet been discovered.
       "Signs point to this being a suicide, but we're not yet ruling out that it was an accident or even foul play," Raudjalg said. 

A year after he was released from prison, Latvian prosecutors said on January 11 that they want to see former Soviet partisan Vasily Kononov back in court. The announcement drew heavy fire from Moscow. 
       Kononov, 78, was sentenced in early 2000 to six years in prison for allegedly ordering the execution of nine civilians, including a pregnant woman. 
       The killings occurred during the 1941-1944 Nazi occupation, when the young Kononov led a rag-tag band of pro-Soviet partisans. He pleaded innocent, claiming the victims simply got caught in the crossfire of a legitimate battle.
       A higher court later in the year questioned some of the evidence presented against Kononov and ordered his release from jail. It suggested there be a new trial. 
       After assessing the evidence again and gathering some new information, prosecutors said they would refile charges against Kononov—which should automatically trigger a new trial. 
       Moscow has angrily criticized the prosecution of Kononov, whom many Russians consider a war hero. To express his support for the accused, Russian President Vladimir Putin granted Kononov Russian citizenship last year.
       Russia's Foreign Ministry said in a statement on January 12 that it hadn't changed its position despite the claims of new evidence.
       "The case's earlier failure shows it is groundless and motivated by anything but justice," the statement said. 

News Highlights from January 1-January 8, 2001

A company in Latvia said it plans to turn proverbial swords into merry-go-rounds, announcing during the week that it would convert the once mighty Soviet military base at Skrunda into an amusement park.
       The complex, which would include a hotel, restaurants and a horseback ridding center, would cost tens of millions of dollars and take at least five years to complete, according to the Latvian firm spearheading the project, Kurzemei Fonds. 
       Skrunda, some 100 kilometers west of Riga, was home to one of the Soviet Union's key radars for decades. It was responsible for scanning the western skies for any incoming enemy planes or missiles.
       Russia gave up the base in 1998, seven years after Latvia regained independence. It was Russia's last military installation in a region that was once home to hundreds of Soviet bases.
    Kurzemei Fonds said it hoped to involve foreign investors.
       Some observers questioned the viability of  the project. The site is not close to any major population centers, and nothing on this scale has ever been attempted before in the Baltic states. 
       Soviet forces built scores of buildings and installations at Skrunda, but most of them were stripped bare and gutted as troops left. Few would be useable, except after extensive renovations. 

Tallinn officials on January 8 announced they were beginning discussions about constructing a large mosque in the capital, saying it will be Estonia's first and the largest in northern Europe.
       The country's tiny Azerbaijani community is taking the lead in raising the estimated 3-6 million dollars needed to build the mosque, usually the focus of religious life for followers of Islam.
       Estonia has just a few thousand Muslims—mostly people who immigrated here from Soviet republics in Central Asia, like Azerbaijan, during Moscow rule.
       Most of Estonia's 1.4 million population are Lutheran or Orthodox, though all forms of religious practice were officially outlawed during 50 years of Soviet occupation.
       Tallinn Mayor Jüri Mõis argued that the new mosque would add to the diversity of the capital, now dominated by several new skyscrapers and hundreds of German merchant houses built in the Middle Ages.
       “A mosque would enrich our city's outward appearance and also make it more attractive to tourists,” he said. He added that the project would pump large amounts of money into the local economy.
       Officials said the development was still in the early planning stages, and they didn't say when final approval for the project would be given or how soon construction could begin.
       The current draft plans for the Tallinn mosque were modeled after a mosque in Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan, in the southern Caucasus. 
       The mosque would serve the Islamic community in the 10 countries around the Baltic Sea, and it would welcome adherents of both major branches of Islam—Shiites and Sunni.

The Baltic states have expressed concern about reports Russia is moving tactical nuclear weapons into the nearby Russian enclave of Kaliningrad. But officials here also cautioned that they still didn't know enough to fully assess the potential threat. 
       According to media reports out of Washington on January 3, Russia is placing battlefield nuclear weapons, believed to be for use on a new missile with a range of about 70 kilometers, in the Baltic Sea coast enclave. 
       “We don't know whether it's true or not,” said Estonian
Foreign Minister Toomas Ilves. “But if it is true, it is regrettable, because it decreases the stability of the region.” 
       Lithuanian Defense Minister Linas Linkevicius echoed the Estonian minister. 
       “This sounds alarming, but I see no reason Russia should try to escalate the situation in Baltic region,” Linkevicius said.
       Latvia also said it was concerned and was seeking confirmation of the reports. 
       Russian officials were quick to deny the allegations, saying they had no military justification for moving nuclear arms back into Kaliningrad. 
       “This report can only be a political provocation,” Anatoly Lobsky, of the Russia's Baltic Fleet in Kaliningrad, was quoted as telling the AFP news agency.
       U.S. Pentagon spokesman Kenneth Bacon refused to say whether he thought the reports were true or not. But he also expressed his concern.
       “If the Russians have placed tactical nuclear weapons in Kaliningrad, it would violate their pledge that they were removing nuclear weapons from the Baltics, and that the Baltics should be nuclear-free,” he told The Washington Times.
        Kaliningrad, home to the Russian Baltic Fleet's headquarters, is located on the Baltic Sea between Poland and Lithuania. It is separated from Russia proper by Lithuania and Belarus to the east. 
       The apparent transfer of battlefield nuclear weapons to Kaliningrad followed threats several years ago to position such weapons outside of Russia's main territory in response to the expansion of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization.
       Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic became NATO members in 1999. After regaining independence following the 1991 Soviet collapse, the three Baltic states made NATO membership one of their highest priorities. 
       The Kremlin says that if the Baltic states become members of NATO, Kaliningrad, still a major Russian military outpost, would be encircled by its old Cold War enemy. 
       Other Baltic observers said the move to place nuclear weapons in the Baltic region was a blatant attempt by Russian President Vladimir Putin to frighten NATO from even considering the prospect of membership for the Baltic states. 
       Baltic analysts spent the week wondering aloud whether the controversy would, in the end, hurt or help the Baltic effort to join the alliance. Harri Tiido, of the Estonian Foreign Ministry, told AFP that it was a knife that could cut both ways.
       “It's an argument that both sides can exploit: those who say the Baltics should be admitted to NATO more speedily now, and those who say the Baltics should stay out forever,” he said. 

Unemployment in Lithuania has increased to over 12 percent, the highest rate since 1991, labor officials announced on January 5.  The 12.6 percent jobless rate is a percentage point higher than one year ago and double the rate of two years ago. 
       Unemployment is particularly severe in the countryside and
industrial areas. In the rural Druskininkai district, in eastern
Lithuania, unemployment stands at 27 percent, compared to 9 percent in Vilnius.
       Jobless rates started to soar after the August 1998 financial collapse in nearby Russia, one of Lithuania's key export markets. As orders from Russia tailed off, Lithuanian industries were forced to lay off workers.
       But the economy has seemed to turn the corner, with annual gross domestic product growth rising to 3 percent last year; in 1999, the economy shrank by 1 percent. 
       The new government of Prime Minister Rolandas Paksas, which took power late last year after parliamentary elections, said it's committed to making the economy more dynamic by lowering taxes and cutting bureaucratic red tape.
       Many Lithuanian analysts said the worst was probably over regarding unemployment, and that the jobless figure should start to come down by the middle of 2001. 

News Highlights from December 25-January 1, 2001

Officials in the Lithuanian capital have asked CNN to include Vilnius on the news channel's  TV weather map. The Lithuanians say including Vilnius will help boost the city's name-recognition around the world. 
       The appeal was made by Vilnius mayor Arturas Zuokas, who is a former war correspondent. He said some of his TV footage from the Gulf War was used by CNN, which he said might make the Atlanta-based station  more open to his request.
       Tallinn and Riga are also not included on the CNN weather map. But Minsk, the capital of nearby Belarus, and the Polish capital Warsaw are included. 
       The Baltic states have often fretted over a lack of awareness of their countries outside northern Europe, saying a lack of elementary knowledge about their nations sometimes inhibits efforts to woo businessmen and tourists. 
       Zuokas, who only recently took over as Vilnius mayor, said that raising awareness abroad about Vilnius and Lithuania as a whole would be one of his highest priorities in office.
       Other European capitals have also fought for inclusion on CNN's weather map. Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, was finally included last year after months of heavy lobbying by Danes. 

Analysis—Relations between the three Baltic states have never been extremely bad. But they’ve also never been extremely good: regional rivalries and mutual hang-ups about each other have always precluded the sense of pan-Baltic brotherhood and camaraderie some people had hoped for.
       But in recent months friction between the three countries has been as great as at any time in recent history as Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia race to integrate with Western Europe. All three say they share the common goals of membership in the European Union and NATO, and they insist they are pulling for each other. But they sometimes haven’t hesitated elbowing one another in the stampede to join those elite power blocs. 
       Lithuania is the acknowledged frontrunner vis-à-vis NATO. It complains, though, that Latvia and Estonia have done little, despite several good opportunities, to help advance Lithuania’s cause. Vilnius says Latvia and Estonia have adopted the position that if they can’t get invitations to join the alliance at NATO’s next summit in 2002, they’ll be damned if Lithuania’s going to get one. Riga and Tallinn deny dragging their feet at Lithuania’s expense. 
       Estonia makes roughly the same accusation when it comes to winning membership in the EU, a race which Estonia is said to be leading. Some Lithuanian and Latvian officials have said the Baltics should enter the EU door at the same time; it only makes sense, they argue, given the nations’ proximity and similar levels of development.
       Such suggestions have prompted roars of disapproval from Tallinn, which says Estonia shouldn’t be held up in line if its neighbors don’t happen to be as ready to go through the EU door. The Estonian argument, which Brussels seems to broadly accept, is that if a candidate meets the membership criteria, it should be let in—no matter how far along the EU road its neighbors might or might not be. 
       Underlying recent ill feeling among the three countries has been a sometimes awkward, unconvincing effort by Estonia to disassociate itself with the notion of even being a Baltic state. Estonian Foreign Minister Toomas Henrik Ilves has beat this drum the loudest, making frequent declarations in public that Estonia is a Nordic state—not, thank you very much, a Baltic one. 
       In a recent speech to parliament, Ilves expressed frustration about repeated questions concerning Baltic cooperation; he said it had worked extremely well when it came to military matters, but far less well in other areas—especially regarding EU-expansion issues.
       “I’m tired of all the noise about so called Baltic cooperation,” he said in reply to one deputy’s query from the floor.
        Some say associating itself more closely with the Nordic region—with its progressive, clean-cut image—has boosted Estonia’s status abroad, at least in the eyes of some Brussels bureaucrats who are otherwise fuzzy on just what or where Estonia is. But others wonder whether the Nordic label— which can also conjure up images of a high-cost, rigid and slightly boring place—is really as attractive to investors and tourists as Minister Ilves seems convinced it is. 
       Whatever the case, his comments have clearly irritated many Latvians and Lithuanians, who say they only go to prove what they’ve suspected all along: that Estonians really are too arrogant and too prone to looking down their noses at their southern neighbors.
       It’s not only Latvians and Lithuanians who’ve complained.
       Many Estonian businessmen have also been horrified by Estonia’s effort to so aggressively exert a new, non-Baltic identity. They say the foreign minister’s we’re-not-a-Baltic-state rhetoric is needlessly inflammatory and seriously encumbers their efforts to develop their cross-Baltic businesses. 
       “When we Estonians say we are so much better, wiser and more beautiful than Latvia and Lithuania, it certainly doesn’t have a positive affect,” Madis Võõras, a leading Estonian industrialist, told the Äripäev business newspaper. “I believe we can orientate ourselves towards the West without also spoiling relations with countries elsewhere.”
       Estonia’s Eesti Ekpress weekly reported that the heads of the Estonian Chamber of Commerce and Industry and the Small Business Association also recently met with Prime Minister Mart Laar to complain that his chief foreign envoy was making life unnecessarily difficult for Estonian firms with business interests in Latvia and Lithuania. 
       Many Estonian companies, including leading banks, say that breaking into the Latvian and Lithuanian markets is critical to their future business success. They say the Nordic nations simply aren’t viable options for Baltic firms hungry to expand— given the costs of setting up shop in more developed, saturated markets like Sweden and Finland. 
       According to Eesti Ekspress, “the Estonian businessmen told their government to understand that Minister Ilves would do well to keep his mouth shut, and think first before he decides to say something.”
       (The above analysis first appeared in CITY PAPER No. 50 January/February 2001.)

Letter from Moscow; by Moscow-based Boston Globe correspondent Brian Whitmore; the following first appeared in CITY PAPER No. 48 September/October, 2000—Recently I rode to Tallinn from St. Petersburg with a Russian journalist, Vadim Nezvishsky, a longtime friend of mine who covers the Baltics for the Russian daily Segodnya. 
       In Russia, Vadim drove fast and aggressively. He changed lanes wildly and sped past any vehicle in his way, eventually earning himself a speeding ticket about an hour shy of the border. 
       But as soon as we crossed the border into Estonia, Vadim slowed down, carefully observed the speed limit, stayed in his lane and drove carefully. 
       The change was so stark that I gave him a puzzled look.
       “In Estonia the state respects the peoples’ rights, so when I am here I strictly obey the law,” he said, without a trace of irony.
       But in Russia, Vadim’s respect for Estonia is the exception that proves the rule. 
       Most other Russians—from taxi drivers to politicians—I have spoken to about the Baltics over the years, express opinions as far from Vadim’s as Tallinn is from Siberia. 
       Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, they say, repress their Russian minorities. Their economic success is due to “speculation” on Russia’s natural resources, or charity from the West.
       “How else have they gotten so rich,” a Russian taxi driver once told me. “They have no natural resources, no industry.”
       These opinions contrast sharply with my own reporting in the Baltics, where I have seen a strong sense of the rule of law, sound macro-economic policies and a business-friendly investment climate. 
       A short visit to the Baltics should give any thinking person a good idea why the three countries have done so well. 
       And Western charity? Estonia paid off its World Bank loans before they were due.
       But never mind. Why let a few mundane facts spoil a carefully cultivated stereotype.
       A Russian official also once told me in private conversation that the Baltics were committing “genocide” against Russians and setting up an “apartheid regime.”
       Really? Russians I spoke to in the Baltics, in the course of my own reporting, said they were doing a lot better than their ethnic kin to the east. When pressed, they said they were happy that fate landed them on this side of the border.
       So where do these attitudes come from? 
       Last year, several Russian media carried reports that the Estonian government was closing down Russian schools. Seeing a possible headline-grabbing sob-story about Estonian nationalists depriving Russian children of an education, Vadim’s editors told him to check it out.
       “So I called Estonia’s education ministry and asked if they’d closed any Russian schools,” Vadim said. “They said yes, they had closed a couple Russian schools. But they also closed many more Estonian schools. Enrollment was down and both Estonian and Russian schools were being closed accordingly.”
       Unlike many colleagues, Vadim actually did some reporting and wrote a story with the facts about all the school closings. It wasn’t a tear-jerker, but it was accurate.
       Unfortunately, it was the deceiving half-truth of other reports that were picked up by the nation’s television stations—and which influenced public opinion. A stereotype of vengeful Balts picking on their helpless Russian minority—however incorrect—was reinforced.
       Such biased coverage is indicative of the Russian media’s reporting of larger—more emotional—issues related to the Baltics. 
       TV reports here on the war crimes trial of Vasily Kononov in Riga was an example. A Soviet partisan during World War II, Kononov was convicted of killing nine civilians, including a woman in her final month of pregnancy, in the Latvian village of Mazie Bati in 1944. 
       The Russian reports claimed—incorrectly—that Latvia was planning to arrest hundreds of Soviet veterans. The Kremlin accused Latvia of “resurrecting fascism” and conducting a “witch hunt” against Russians. The reports also claimed Latvia was happy to prosecute Russian war heroes, but less enthusiastic about arresting Nazi war criminals.
       Absent from the reports on the Kononov case were many important facts that I easily dug up in a few days in Riga. For one thing, of the eight Soviet-era officials prosecuted in Latvia for crimes against humanity, four were ethnic Latvians. 
       Prosecutors in Riga have been trying to build cases against two Latvian-born Nazi war criminals, Konrads Kalejs and Karlis Ozols, who now reside in Australia. 
       It’s not surprising that Russian attitudes on the Baltics are so negative given such biased news coverage in the Kremlin-controlled media.
       The good news is that the stereotypes are not shared by all. Before I left for Tallinn recently to report a story on the opening of Estonia’s KGB files, I spoke to Ruslan Linkov, a human rights activist who heads the St. Petersburg branch of the political party Democratic Russia.
       “The Estonians have opened their KGB files?” asked Linkov, whose mother spent years in prison for anti-Soviet activities.
       “Yes, they opened them years ago and now they are prosecuting former KGB officials who ordered arrests and deportations,” I said.
       Ruslan’s response was as encouraging as it was expected given his background.
       “Molodtsi!,” he said in Russian. “Well done!” 

Brian Whitmore has reported from Russa for seven years. He was recently reassigned to Prague.

News Highlights from December 18-December 25, 2000

A 76-year-old ex-secret police agent in Estonia began serving an eight-year jail term for crimes against humanity on December 19, becoming one of the only men ever to serve time for Stalinist repressions. 
       Karl-Leonhard Paulov was convicted earlier in the year. Estonia's highest court in December refused to hear an appeal to have his prison sentence overturned, opening the way for his arrest. 
       Estonian police spokesman Indrek Raudjalg said Paulov was detained in Tallinn after a court issued an arrest warrant. He said Paulov was then taken to the city's Central Prison. 
       "When he was arrested, he was calm as far as I know," the official said. "It was routine police work." Photographs in local newspapers showed him climbing out of a paddy wagon lined with wire and bars, and entering the Tallinn prison.
       In a public appearance last year, Paulov, looking tired and clutching a cane, told journalists he dreaded the prospect of prison. 
       "This has all hit me very deeply," he said. "I can't sleep at night."
       Defense lawyers argued in court that Paulov has cancer and is too ill to go to prison. The refusal of the Supreme Court to hear their appeal signaled that lower courts had acted according to the law.
       As a young Soviet agent, prosecutors said Paulov was ordered to kill three members of the Estonian resistance hiding in the forest from Soviet forces, shooting two in the back. He pleaded innocent, saying he acted in self-defense.
       Thousands of people in the Baltic states, including Latvia and Lithuania, took refuge in the region's dense forests when the Red Army invaded in 1940. Many sought to avoid deportation, while others took up arms.
       His only option now would be a pardon from Estonian President Lennart Meri. Epp Alatalu, the president's spokeswoman, said no request for clemency had yet been received and she wouldn't say whether Meri might be sympathetic. 
       "There are usually only four pardons a year and it is a fairly long process," she said. She added that in order to be considered for a pardon, Paulov, according to the law, would first have to admit his guilt. He has so far steadfastly maintained his innocence. 
       Meri, himself deported by Stalinist agents in 1941 when he was just 12 years old, said in a recent interview that shedding light on Stalinist repressions was more important than punishment.
       "We should not have an emotional relationship with our past, but a rational one, where, after suspects have had their day in court, we will also have the chance to forgive," he said.
       While several other ex-agents in Estonia have been convicted, Paulov is the first to actually be jailed under tough crimes against humanity laws. The other convicted agents received suspended sentences.
       Millions of people were arrested, deported and executed across the Soviet empire during the long reign of Josef Stalin. But only the Baltic states vowed to bring his agents of terror to justice after the collapse of the Soviet Union. More than a dozens cases have gone to trial.
       Moscow has criticized the trials, saying the Baltics are exacting revenge on ailing, elderly men.
       (For a recent story about the Baltic war crimes trials, see Stalin's Agents.)

Two Christmas shoppers were killed and four injured on December 22 when construction equipment plunged through several floors of a Riga building, collapsing the ceiling of a small grocery store on the ground floor.
       The mishap occurred in the mid-afternoon in a 61-year-old building that was under renovation; the sixth floor appeared to give way under the weight of the construction tools and piles of rubble. Most of the building, except for the ground-floor store, was empty at the time. 
       Witness said they initially thought a bomb had exploded after hearing a loud bang as the debris cashed down on ceiling supports, causing them to snap and cave in. Many shoppers ran from the building carrying baskets of food and toys. 
       The two fatalities were both women, one in her twenties and one in her thirties.
       Police opened an investigation into the accident and suggested that criminal negligence charges could be filed. 

See the Baltics Worldwide's special feature for this Christmas, The Christmas Bell of Emmaste.

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                                          —CITY PAPER-The Baltic States