Edward W. Baranauskas

Lithuania: A Witness to Change

Edward W. Baranauskas has contributed to BRIDGES in previous publications. Mr. Baranauskas traveled to Lithuania during the summer of 1998 bringing back with him many new memories of today’s Lithuania.

Mr. Edward Baranauskas stands with Ausra, a salesperson, at a General Electric appliance store.

Photo from E. Baranauskas

I visited Lithuania many times during the Soviet era, and also in the years following the collapse of the Soviet Empire. The conversion from a state controlled economy to a free enterprise system seemed almost impossible after fifty years of occupation by a ruthless power. The rigidly controlled police state did not encourage much hope for a free and democratic society, either. But, like the old saying goes, nothing is forever.

I was a witness to the past, and would like to mention some of the changes that have taken place since independence was restored, and that are still going one today.

Going to Soviet Lithuania

How difficult those days were for the tourist. A travel agency made the itinerary and all arrangements, including obtaining a Soviet visa. Tourist groups were limited in number, and if there were not enough reservations in any group, that particular tour was cancelled. With the exception of the Christmas and New Year’s Day holidays period, no tourist groups went to Lithuania from October to March.

I recently discovered a memorandum sent to me, about twenty years ago, by a travel agency arranging one of my tours. Among the reminders stressed, was the importance of filling out the Currency Declaration Form correctly when arriving in the USSR. There was no limit to the amount of foreign currency, in cash or traveler’s checks, being brought in, but the exact amount had to be entered on the form. Each time money was exchanged at an approved state agency, the entry had to be noted on the form, too. The exact amount of money had to be declared when leaving the USSR. If the figured didn’t add up when, and if, the Customs officer decided to examine the form, then the tourist was faced with a problem.

All of these rules were obviously meant to discourage anyone from giving dollars to relatives and friends. Soviet law strictly forbade citizens to have any foreign currency in their possession. If caught, a train ride to Siberia and the gulag was most likely.

We take religious freedom so much for granted. It may be difficult to believe, but the Soviet Constitution actually guaranteed it. In reality, however, government policy of atheism prevailed and all aspects of religious life was discouraged and not tolerated.

Tourists were affected as well; for they were permitted to bring in only one prayer book and one rosary for personal use. I will always remember the year I tried to go through Customs in Moscow with three prayer books and three rosaries. They went through my luggage thoroughly and took away two prayer books and two rosaries. They didn’t notice the extra rosary around my neck. I was surprised to see some in my group who didn’t want to bring anything religious in nature for fear of getting into a hassle with Customs.

The Soviets had a phobia not only about religion, but also about anyone attempting to bring in printed matter; such as books, magazines, and newspapers. I visited Lithuania seven times during the Soviet years and know what some of my fellow tourists had to go through during a Customs search. Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction and what I am about to tell you is not fiction – for it could only happen in a Communist controlled society.

A friend of mine bought a copy of Time magazine in Helsinki while waiting for the connecting flight to Moscow. After landing, he tucked it into his jacket pocket, and a Customs officer found it during a search. He was asked why it was not written on his Customs Declaration Form, as the instructions stated. The magazine was taken away from him, and he was asked to step aside and wait. An hour later he was permitted to rejoin the group, and the magazine was given back to him. Apparently nothing slanderous about the Soviet Union was found mentioned in the magazine.

On another trip, a gentleman was going to take two Lithuanian-language newspapers published in the United States to give to his relatives. I told him that it would be foolish to even try it, but he insisted "they had a right to know what is going on in the world". Sure enough, Customs found them, and he was asked to go into a separate room for questioning. The rest of the group and I, who had already cleared Customs, waited for about an hour in the bus that was going to take us to the hotel. Finally, he joined us. He confided to me that he warned not to try it again; for if he did, he would be put on the next flight back to Helsinki.

Visitors to Lithuania were more closely scrutinized by Soviet Customs than those going elsewhere, from what I observed. On the flights from Helsinki and Stockholm to Moscow that I was on, for example, I noticed that most passengers seemed to breeze through Passport Control with very little, if any, baggage inspections. On the other hand, the story was different for those going to Vilnius.

In December of 1981, I was going to visit my relatives during the New Year’s holiday. I was sitting in the lounge near the Finnair boarding gate at JFK waiting for the flight to Helsinki. Relaxing with me were about twenty students from two universities, Texas and Oklahoma, going to the Soviet Union for a two-week tour during their winter school break. Accompanying them were two professors and one of them stood up to advise them not to bring any books or magazines. The previous year, he went on to say, there were about the same number of students. All of them passed through Customs without any luggage inspection, except for the last one. He, unfortunately, had a book on Soviet Jewry. Customs then called back all those who previously went through to have their luggage opened and examined thoroughly. I guess those college students received an education on how the Soviet system operated.

The quality of Soviet-made goods, from what my relatives told me, was not that good. Imported products from Western countries were not available locally, and the only place to get them was at the state owned and operated store known as the "Dollar Store". Purchases could not be paid for with Soviet rubles, but only with money from western countries, which became known as "hard currency". The other option was "plastic money", the credit card issued by Visa or American Express, as examples, with a limit of no more than 300 dollars, as I recall. I had to keep every receipt just in case Customs wanted to know where and how much money was spent.

Private ownership of any business was illegal. There were no state-operated automobile dealerships. Without going into detail as to how and where a Soviet citizen could get a car, the most convenient place was, once again, the "Dollar Store" -- provided if some fortunate Lithuanians had relatives from the West. I remember a gentleman from Canada presenting the saleslady with a stack of traveler’s checks in front of two, smiling, young ladies. I later learned that their uncle was buying each one a car.

Foreigners were not permitted to travel outside the city limits of Vilnius unless with a tourist group and if apprehended by the police, would be escorted back and fined. This had happened to two tourists during one of my trips, and for that reason I was a little concerned when my relatives insisted on taking me for a ride around the countryside one afternoon. I noticed that practically every freshly painted farmhouse was the same color, brown. I thought this was rather unusual, and I asked why this color was so popular. I t was the only one available at the local store, they told me. I did breathe a sigh of relief when I was returned back to the hotel without incident.

Leaving the Soviet Union was sometimes more nerve-wracking than entering, as I found out more than once, and so did others. One year, my relatives asked me to take a glass jar of honey to my mother as a surprise gift, and I agreed. In addition, I was given two Lithuanian silver coins from the prewar years as souvenirs. I would always treasure them, I told my relatives who were fierce Lithuanian patriots.

Leaving the workers’ paradise by way of Leningrad was memorable. Customs demanded to know what was in the glass jar, and I replied, honey. Because it was not clear and transparent, but a cloudy white in appearance, it was taken away from me to be x-rayed. In the meantime, my luggage was thoroughly searched, and my silver coins were found hidden inside. I was then invited to go into a room where I faced an Army officer and was told to sit down. He demanded to know where I got the coins and who gave them to me. I thought fast and told him that I received them from a young man outside the Hotel Lietuva in Vilnius in exchange for a pair of blue jeans.

"You’re lying," he snapped. "Tell me the truth." I told him I was telling the truth. After an hour of questioning, I stood by my story. I asked him if he was going to send me to a prison camp in Siberia for telling the truth. He gave up and let me rejoin my group. My silver coins were confiscated, but the glass jar of honey was returned.

Going to a Free Lithuania

All of these stories are now a part of history. Going to Lithuania today is relaxing and only an American passport is required. I can fly directly to Vilnius without first landing in Moscow or Leningrad (now St. Petersburg), and without being subjected to stressful searches by Customs. What a difference – like night and day.

Mr. Baranauskas stands by a store sign reading — "A summer gift for you! Special prices on washing machines!".

Photo from E. Baranauskas

Times have changed dramatically since I was there two years, and will probably keep changing. New car dealers now sell and service such imports as Ford, Toyota, Chrysler-Jeep, and a new showroom was being built for the popular Audi. I didn’t see many Soviet-built automobiles, at least not as much as I used to. They appeared to be like an endangered species. My relatives told me that the Russians come over, buy them, and drive them home. They buy them mostly for spare parts. Automobiles now clog the streets of Vilnius and its adjacent highways. Rush hour traffic is a headache. Parking space is another problem for the apartment dwellers.

Visitors have no concern now in obtaining either Kodak or Fuji film, including processing, at the many photo stores scattered throughout Lithuania. I remember Soviet days when tourists were advised to bring enough film to last the entire tour. Unfortunately, some underestimated their needs, took a chance, and bought some Soviet film. After returning home, they were disappointed to see that nothing came out. Apparently, only Soviet chemicals are compatible with Soviet film.

Life in Lithuania under the Soviet regime in 1983 was frozen at a stand still. Horse drawn carts and Soviet-made Zhigulis mingled in the streets of Vilnius.

Photo from R. Ardys-Juska

I was walking along Zemaites gatve in Vilnius with one of my relatives when I was amazed to see a sign in one of the store windows advertising General Electric products. I retired from GE fourteen years ago, and just had to see what my former employer was selling. I introduced myself to a charming young saleslady named Ausra. She was surprised to know that I was a GE pensioner from the United States.

I was invited to browse around the showroom and noticed two appliances made in the USA (at Appliance Park, Louisville, Kentucky). Both were "Side-by-Side, No Frost" refrigerators and one was priced at 5,200 litai (1,325 US dollars). I couldn’t help but wonder how the average Lithuanian could even afford it. I noticed that the other appliances, complete with the General Electric monogram, were made in Great Britain, Denmark and Sweden. Apparently the company must have some sort of a working agreement with those European manufacturers, whereby they share in the profits if they use the GE label.

From what I learned, a popular item is the combination washer-dryer, about three feet in height. It can fit nicely in a small apartment and was priced at 3,199 litai (800 US dollars). Before leaving, Aura was very kind to give me a catalog showing GE products described in English and printed by GE Appliances Europe, Brussels, Belgium.

I never thought that I, during my lifetime, my children and grandchildren would ever see the collapse of the mighty, powerful Soviet Union and witness the emergence of a free and independent Lithuania. But, it did happen. As the people of Lithuania are about to face the challenges of the new millennium, I am confident that even more changes for the better will be in store.