The Baltic Way

It's August 23rd, 1989. Just another regular day, except it’s not. The people of Riga have woken up with the early morning rooster cry. Anticipation in the air is palpable though suppressed in fear of agitating the governing forces. There is a false sense of calm and ordinariness to the day. This plan has been carefully crafted for months and is still set to go ahead, though fear weighs heavy that the ruling forces will prevail and shatter the people's hope for peaceful and united resistance.

Zelma has woken up early like the rest in her neighbourhood. She has set out to finish all her daily work early so she can prepare for the event that lie ahead. The pigs and chicks are fed, flowers watered and kitchen scrubbed. She makes herself a strong cup of coffee, for the nerves. She paces back and forth with the radio broadcasting in the background. Occasionally stops to peak through a small opening in the curtains.

Finally mother arrives.

‘I have waited for you all morning, where have you been?’ Zelma says in frustration.

‘Calm yourself, child.’ Retorts her mother, Velta, ‘I had to patch up the hole, it’s been a little while since this flag has been used. Had to air it out and iron it, but here… It’s all ready.’

Velta gently takes out the red and white flag and gives it to Zelma, gently as if passing a fragile glass sculpture.

Zelma’s eyes glisten with excitement, looking on at the delicate fabric of the flag.

‘Was anyone around you suspicious when you came this morning?’

‘No,’ Velta said, ‘Everyone is too busy hiding their own plans for the day I suspect.’

‘I suppose it can’t be stopped now, not when so many are involved and determined to see this through.’

Zelma gives Velta some fresh bread with a generous dose of fatty butter to enjoy while she changes into her favourite Sunday dress and touches up her face with a bright red lipstick.

‘Come mother, it is time’.

They make their way to the capital. People now seemingly crawling out of every corner. Before the hour was over there were thousands of people gathered across the capital. Calm, collected, resolved. The elders gently holding the hands of the younger ones who excitedly jump up and down. Tension is in the air, what if they prevent us from doing this? These thoughts echo across the gathered crowds but deter no one. The resolve is strong, people are united in their quest for freedom.

50 years ago today the Russians and Germans made a pact that would seal the fate of the Baltics leading to years of Soviet occupation and oppression. Today the people of the Baltics stand strong, the little people, those with no real power, only the sheer determination to stand united against this rule, insignificant and inconsequential as it may perhaps be.

Zelma and Velta hurry to the clocktower just a stone throws away from the Freedom Monument, a place they designated to meet the rest of their party - Zelma’s sister, brother in law and three children.

No one spoke anything, what is there to say, everyone is pre-occupied with their own anxious thoughts.

They move as one towards the gathered crowd of people and obediently join the line that is now rather rapidly forming.

Suddenly a hush falls on the crowds and in the distance they hear voices rise up. A tune that everyone recognises, a tune of the land, a land they want back. One by one people begin to join in, everyone knows the lyrics, the sound. It cuts deep, even the most hardened of souls can’t help but be pained by the words, eyes watering up. The flags go up, Zelma rustles through her bag to hold up theirs. Velta takes the other edge to stretch out the flag, large and proud. The colours of the land, red white red. All those standing in the line now lock their hands to form a uniform line.

There is an incredible energy in this, a sense of unity and a common shared goal. For once everyone is as one, all quibbles set aside, all conflict, all misunderstandings. All are united for the most important fight. A non-violent fight for freedom.

Like Zelma, thousands upon hundreds of thousands of people across Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia had decided to join in a long, continuous human chain in protest of the rule of the Soviet Union, in determined action to become independent again, to become unshackled from their powerful rulers. 2 million people in total joined hands in a 420 mile long human chain connecting the capital cities of Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius.

Weapons they had not, but the ordinary man, woman and child, when provoked and united in action, fuelled a political revolution that tumbled the powerhouse of the Soviet Union and liberated the small but stubborn little nations of the Baltic Sea.

Now, almost 33 years on, one could ask if we have learnt anything at all. It seems that once again Eastern Europe’s peaceful and simple life is being attacked. Once again one man seeks to control and intimidate another. But fear not, the power of the little man, always underestimated, will shine through, determined and resolved to fight for freedom once again.