July 1995

Going through a drawer full of old papers recently I came across a note I had scratched to myself four years ago on SAS airline stationary. Representing thoughts and feelings I was having about the trip on which we were embarking, the words, in retrospect, seem somewhat haunting to me now:

“As we fly across the atlantic I cannot help but wonder if what we go to do will really help so many. We are so few. Is knowledge so powerful? I go with a great sense of apprehension. Will I be able to keep perspective? Can we be the catalyst for change people with disabilities in Lithuania have been crying for for so long?

“I go also with such anticipation. I want so badly to keep my heart and mind open to all that this experience, this adventure has to offer. I know that I will come home changed. How can one come away from a country which is experiencing such emotional and political turmoil without being truly altered in some tremendously spiritual way? The opportunity which lies before me surpasses my wildest dreams.”

THE COUP JOURNAL
August 19-26, 1991

It was August, 1991, and we were eleven people from America on an humanitarian mission to Lithuania. Our main purposes were to improve world peace through increased contact between peoples of different countries; focusing on our commonalties instead of our differences, and develop a rehabilitation model for Lithuania. We were to present a conference in Vilnius to help improve the lives of the over 200,000 persons with disabilities there. We were Dr. Bill Waring, a University of Michigan physiatrist specializing in spinal cord injuries and post polio; Dr. Christina Paregis, a Buchanan, Michigan physiatrist specializing in Traumatic Brain Injury who, as an American-Lithuanian, went also in search of her roots; Juraite Peciura, also American-Lithuanian, former language teacher and journalist, returning for her first visit since escaping the Russian takeover in 1944, a specialist on Senior citizen affairs; Regie Goebel, an American-Lithuanian special education teacher; Dr. Virginia Nelson, a pediatric physiatrist; John Galland, a Minnesotan adventure and recreation specialist and his wife, Maggie Klien, a physical therapist; Daniel Capouch, a Minnesota social worker and lawyer specializing in disability rights legislation, Arthur Humphrey, Director of the Detroit Area Center for Independent Living; David Newmeyer, a rehabilitation counselor specializing in services for persons with visual impairments; and myself, Daniel Wilkins, President of the NW Ohio National Spinal Cord Injury Association and a barrier-free design and independent living consultant.

Six of us have disabilities, three use chairs. We went knowing there would likely be no ramps, elevators, or accessible bathrooms.

We were met at the border by a Lithuanian band and many people singing Lithuanian folk songs. We were each loaded down with a most beautiful array of flowers. Several young ladies in traditional dress brought huge wooden cutting boards filled with cheese and fresh-baked black bread and large ceramic pitchers of home-made beer. This was a traditional and caring welcome that, except for the band, was to be repeated nearly everywhere we went for the next two-weeks.

The peace activist/humanist in me recognized and brought to my attention a small dose of reality as we enjoyed that first contact with the beautiful people of Lithuania: The border guards that danced and sang with us were not unlike the seven that were brutally assassinated two weeks before.

We saw 1500 miles of Lithuania over the next week as we took a scenic route to our final destination and conference sight in Vilnius, the capitol of Lithuania. Along with the scenery and points of interest we also visited many hospitals and medical facilities, nursing homes, restoration centers, and groups of people with disabilities. We were also the focus of rural town meetings along the way where people came to see the "American doctors." Sadly, many had come with false hopes of finding or receiving miracle cures for their children or spouses. One could easily see shoulders as well as spirits lower when these folks were told that America had the same disabilities as well.

All went according to schedule until the morning that our conference was to begin, Monday, August 19, the first day of the coup. What follows is a journal of sorts, the experiences of myself and a few of my fellow travelers through the week of the coup. It is based on information we received in Vilnius. While most is factual, there are small bits, founded on rumors, that deviate slightly from what actually happened. But it was the news we were getting and very real to us.

Monday morning

It has only been a few hours since John knocked on our door to tell us of the coup; when our mission of hope and peace became one of sobering apprehension. Here in Vilnius, there is now but one station on the television, run by the Soviet Russians, and it is praising the coup. We have spent most of the morning huddled around a tiny shortwave brought by John (always thinking) trying to catch valuable news from Voice of America, or better, BBC. We have heard of the takeover, Yeltzen's call for general strike and request for Moscovites to rally in protection of the Parliament. There have been rumors of Gobachov's death, increased activity in Siberian deportation centers and thousands of troops on the move.

Juraite, who has not been in Lithuania since her being shot and eventual escape from the Russian takeover in 1944, is understandably frightened. She feels we must flee immediately. Ironic isn't it that she must go through it all again. I will not soon forget the look of unbelievable horror on her face when she was told of the coup. Bill and I, having convinced her to come as part of our delegation, share some feeling of guilt about putting her in this position.

Our hosts, themselves members of the independent Lithuanian government and in fear for their own safety, feel we should sit tight a few days.

Monday afternoon

With news of the capture and shut down of the Kaunas radio and television stations, information is mostly by word of mouth now. Rumors are running rampant and to be expected with little except the BBC and VOA reliable. The only radio station in Lithuania not under Soviet control is on constantly in our bus. I really do not understand much other than the few words in English and those I have learned in Lithuanian. I do understand the somber, matter of fact monotone of the announcer as news is interspersed with patriotic Lithuanian folk music. This station is free now but for how long, no one knows. It is underground and constantly on the move.

Monday evening

It is now 8 p.m. here, 1 p.m. back home. It seems a million miles away. The Lithuanian phone system is occupied by the soviets. We have been trying to get a message out. Something short to our loved ones, to tell them that, so far, we are safe. Nothing is getting through. Our biggest worry is not so much for ourselves but for our families back home. There is talk that in two hours, at 10 p.m., soviet troops will start rounding up young Lithuanian men for service.

With a windy rain, it has turned quite cold and cloudy outside, as if fall has come with the coup. After short deliberation, we decide as a group to stay and continue with our conference on disability.

We have just heard of Yeltzen's bravery on the tank and the blockade of prostrate bodies in the streets of Moscow. There are tears being shed by many Lithuanians yet, news of such bravery brings with it hope, hope for a quick recovery to a sense of normalcy. It is also comforting to know, or at least to believe, that the world will not stand for this.

Lithuania is no longer a far away and intangible place to me. It is now vividly real. The country is real, the people are real, the longing for independence and the fear of losing everything is quite overwhelming. Listening to their songs, mournful and passionate, I find myself crying easily for their pain.

Lietuva, (what Lithuanians call their country) is now in my heart and my heart is part of Lietuva.

Tension is running higher as news comes that Klipeda harbor has been closed by the Soviet navy. Christina and I, sitting alone on the bus sharing a cigarette, have just been threatened by an intoxicated man screaming in Russian. He climbed on board with his young dog, whom he immediately began kicking hard in the throat. As our driver told him in Russian that we were american and did not understand his drunken screaming, I voiced my anger in English at his treatment of his dog. He started to come down the aisle pointing at us and again began screaming. All the while Christina huddled close interpreting what she could. When he said he wanted to hang every Lithuanian by the neck like rats and that soon he would be able to, I sent Christina out of the back door for help from Ginteras and others who were inside a near by building. This coup had suddenly become very personal and I was beginning to feel quite vulnerable.

You know, we left home to try to save the world only to find that, perhaps, the world did not want to be saved.

It is very late now, the wee hours of Tuesday morning. Our families have surely just watched the evening news. It is a beautiful, starry night and we are sitting around the fireplace staring into the flames. Listening to Dave Brubeck and Ladysmith Black Mambazo, none of us are very tired or hungry. We've been drinking Glenlivett and Lithuanian Coniac. Though few of us smoke, we've all had a cigarette or two and we all miss our loved one's very, very much. Even the Lithuanians staying with us, their families tucked away in safe places, worry out loud about what tomorrow might bring. Everyone is coping in their own way.

Did I mention that Christina can say the list of states in alphabetical order in twenty-three seconds? Maggie can say the alphabet backwards in ten and Juraite, our Grand Lithuanian Dame, can blow smoke rings.

We have changed our name to “The 1991 American-Lithuanian, Soviet Coup Exchange Program.” If we get out of here, eleven shirts will be made.

We didn't need this. Lithuania didn't need this. No one needed this. Tomorrow we will try again to get a message out to our families. We are sure that someone back home is trying to reach us from that end. We give each other backrubs and sing old songs to help ease tension.

Tuesday morning

Leaving the relative safety of the facility we have been calling home, I cannot help but think, as we drive past the tanks and troops and move toward the center of the city, that we are “stepping into the mouth of the bear.” The Television tower, symbol of Lithuanian freedom and independence, stands shrouded in dark heavy clouds. Leaning against the window glass of the bus, I cannot help thinking how forboding and appropriate they look.

It astounds me how the people of Vilnius are going about their business in a relatively normal fashion and as I mention my observation to Christina, she simply says, “What choice do they have.”

Neringa, my Lithuanian neurologist friend, says, with the hospital on alert for possible casualties and tanks just outside, that she has been on call twenty-four hours. She is still as beautiful as when I first met her last summer in the states.

Tuesday, noon

So far there is still little news or activity. The short wave has been quiet. As we continue with our workshops it is very clear that many hearts and minds are elsewhere. The Lithuanians are a beautiful people and they are very gracious not to offend.

We will soon witness something, Juraite says, that few other westerners have as we drive by the blockaded parliament building later. Still one more hour until we can try again to get a message home. I hope everyone is fine there.

Until just before we arrived, there were five tanks in front of the hospital where we are presenting and a bus was shot at in Latvia. The violence, as well as the news, seems to be very sporadic. The one thing we are all very sure of is where our passports and plane tickets are.

Some of Christina's relatives have come to visit her despite the trouble. It is probably just what she needs.

Tuesday, 3:00 pm

Good news! Christina, by virtue of her name being the same as the wife of some Lithuanian physicist, was able to access the information center and get a message to her husband, John. By now, our families know we are safe and that is a great relief to us all. It is good also to know that the state department knows who and where we are.

The late news of the day is that Yeltzen called all involved criminals and that they should stand trial; fifty thousand demonstrate outside the winter palace in Leningrad; soviet elitist paratroopers are defecting; Leningrad KGB and Parliament refuse to acknowledge the state of emergency as does Moldavia and Armenian Georgia. Tanks have turned their turrets in protection of the Parliament in Moscow. These all offer hope, yet the continued lack of Lithuanian communication and the presence of tanks, troops and barricades are still very real to us.

I am glad that Christina got to speak with her family but I think I would have loved to talk to mine as well; to tell them how very sorry I am that I have caused such worry and that I love them very much.

Wednesday morning

Again clouds, accompanied by an on again-off again drizzle, shroud the Television tower. Again, our bus drove through the checkpoint of tanks and Soviet soldiers. Again, they were busy with other cars. Everyone on the bus just gets kind of quiet and introspective as we pass the big guns. God, is it grey here.

Wednesday, 2:00 pm

Juraite has just run up to me saying, “It's over, it's over! We win! Yeltzen has won!” The woman chef we have come to know at the hospital ran into our lunchroom screaming ecstatically,arms waving in the air, “My mind is a salad!” (She is also a poet but speaks very little english.) She said it seems that the army has, for the most part crossed over. She asks for a moment of silence for the injured and the dead.

As our conference day ends, everyone heads for the Parliament in Vilnius. As we arrive, there are already many people cheering and joyous. There is a sense of heady expectation; of something more to come. It was a happening! Many are listening to incoming news over loudspeakers. People mill about waving signs and flags and a large group of women and men stand before a makeshift shrine to the Virgin Mary which leans against the monstrous concrete barrier blocking the Parliament steps. They are singing “Maria, Maria”, a very old Lithuanian tear jerker Christine says is usually sung at funerals. It asks Mary for assistance.

Guards dance with their girlfriends, or whoever happens to be in the way. Signs of patriotism and praise litter walls and barricades. Everyone is happy again.

Wednesday evening

As we drive out of the city, it is getting very dark. Suddenly, as if a confirmation of all we have heard, we begin to pass a column of Soviet tanks retreating from the city. At first we are joyous and animate, hollering wildly from behind the relative safety of closed windows. With tiny Lithuanian and American flags stuck to the windows, we honk at them as they lumber along with their turrets and canon turned at a 45 degree angle away from us. My eyes sometimes meet with those locked in the smileless faces of the men on the tanks, some seem filled with relief, others malice.

The mood turns somber and quiet though as we pass one tank with a big red soviet flag flowing defiantly in the breeze. And as the number of tanks pass 20, 30, 40, to near 50, we begin to think about how easily it could have gone the other way. The column went on and on and on, until the point was well made.

Back in the woods, at our Lithuanian home away from home, Champagne is opened, and those who know the words, as well as most who do not, begin singing Lithuanian folk songs. Happy songs. We are all so happy that Bill and I have decided to do laundry in the tub. Bill, with his pants rolled up, is stomping the dirt out of everything. Our trip to Lithuania is turning out to be an real adventure... and it seems that it will end happily after all.

Fifteen minutes later, the news:

It has only been two hours since we left the festive atmosphere of the Parliament and now we hear that Soviet renegades have broken through the barricades there and have apparently killed two of the Lithuanian guards. I wonder if it was two I had spoken with. Life is so damn fragile here and I wonder how the people of Lithuania find the strength to keep going.

Details are sketchy but it seems the attacker was killed as well. Rumors say he was a professional and that his papers boast of places he has killed before: Vilnius, Riga, Moldavia, Estonia, Moscow. Many seem glad he is dead, yet, they mourn his death anyway. Like most things, it seems death and life hold more value here than they do at home.

Friday afternoon

The past twenty-four hours have passed at a tremendous pace as news and activity accelerates with the sense of impending freedom here. I stand looking at a piece of red granite lying in my hand. Not large, it looks like so many other stones I have picked up throughout my lifetime. But this is a piece of Lenin's statue. I cannot believe that we are watching hundreds of people pounding out years of frustration on Lenin's symbol of communist doctrine and rule. The emotion must equal that of the downing of the Berlin wall.

Though I do not pretend to think that my feelings and senses equal those of the people around me, I cannot help but to cry along with them.

Friday evening

It is now nearing 8:00 pm and I stand with my fellow travelers, caught up in the swell of righteous rebellion. We are less than twenty feet from the bonfire which in moments will start a chain of bonfires across the Baltics. These will send a signal to Moscow and to the world of undying unity and patriotism. I wonder, as many, many people come to shake our hands and to give us candles, we seeming the only Americans present, how Russia cannot see that the Baltics would serve them better as free and compliant allies than as unwilling serfs. Here, in the shadow of the television tower, symbol of independence in Lithuania, only yesterday surrounded by tanks, in the light of the setting sun of one of the brightest days in Lithuania's recent past, I am filled with an overwhelming sense of humble accomplishment. Below, I see a group of Lithuanians in wheelchairs. Following our lead, practicing new-found assertiveness, they fight to reach the top of this forty foot hill to join us in this most inaccessible and honorable spot. People without disabilities ran to assist as they realized that these folks were setting aside their personal struggle for the greater struggle: the insatiable need for recognition and independence that is in the very hearts and throats of all Lithuanians.

On my right are people signing to each other and David stands locked, arm and arm, singing his lungs out. . .in Lithuanian! It is impossible to hold back the tears as history unfolds before our very eyes; as a thousand souls lift as one voice. Reporters from Finland Office AP and Kaunas seek us out because we are from “the states.” Christina cries to me that she has found more than her roots here the past two weeks. We swap American flags for Lithuanian flags as the sparks and flames of freedom soar toward the heavens. Fly free and far, little sparks, for you carry a message so large and loud that the world cannot help but hear: Lithuania will be free!

Tuesday Afternoon

Over the past two days, France, Denmark, and others have recognized the Free Baltics. Now, as we pass through customs and on past grim faced Soviet soldiers, news comes to us of Australia's recognition as well. It is a fitting end to a sometimes frightening, sometimes wonderful rollercoaster of emotions and experiences that was two weeks of our lives. I will not forget.

The songs of Lithuanian children sing of a time when the birds will return to Lithuania. As I look at the land of the Free Baltics falling away below, I hope with all my heart to return as well.

Lietuva mano Lietuva.

Epilogue

After I returned home, I had time to recollect my thoughts about what I felt was the most significant moment of the trip: the night of the bonfire. I felt, though the whole trip was one big `human thing', with regard to personal growth and the difference an individual can make in the lives of others, the experience of the bonfire needed told more completely:

After the three days of driving through barricades of soviet tanks and troops to do our job, we were blessed with the opportunity to share in the Lithuanian people's euphoria as freedom, after 50 years, was again theirs to cradle like a long lost child.

On the Friday after the coup, there was a hastily scheduled activity called “Bonfires Across the Baltic”, a series of watchfires, 2 miles apart, sending a message of Baltic unity to Moscow and the world. The first fire was to be lit as the sun set at the TV tower in Vilnius. This tower is reminiscent of the CNN tower in Toronto and a symbol of freedom in the Baltics; where the thirteen freedom fighters were killed by tanks and gunfire six months earlier. It sets high on a berm which is characteristic of the grassy sides of a highway overpass. When we Americans arrived, there were about three thousand people milling around the top of the berm, where the bonfire pier waited for dusk. At the bottom of the hill, some distance away, there sat several Lithuanians in wheelchairs looking up at the crowd. With no real accessible transportation, how they got there remains a mystery to us. They did appear resigned that the bottom of the hill was as close as they would get to participation. Being Americans, we seem to have this egocentric belief that we can do whatever the hell we want to. We attacked the hill. We were assertive. When we needed assistance we asked for it. As we reached the top, I looked down, both amazed and humbled to see the Lithuanians with disabilities attacking the hill as well. People from the top of the hill suddenly came to their aide; seemingly without question. I believe that something happened there on the side of that hill; something marvelous; something spiritual. A cord was struck in their very core ... instant empowerment.

As we joined the crowd, word spread that we were Americans. We were greeted and pushed toward the front. There were Lithuanian flags and patriotism everywhere. The people who used wheelchairs sought us out. Out of the blue, my shoulder was tapped. I turned to look into the tear-filled eyes of a woman and man, both in ancient, broken down wheelchairs. They kept say to me, “Âchoo, Âchoo” Thank you, thank you. They gave me a small Lithuanian flag on a stick to wave. I gave them some buttons, and a smile no one could erase. Through my interpreter, Jurate, I told them that they already possessed within themselves, in their heads and in their hearts, all they needed to achieve independence and a sense of dignity. We hugged, and they sat near us throughout the evening.

As I looked around, immediately in front of me was this beautiful women signing to another with her hands. A young blonde haired child who was with this deaf women gave me her candle. Tears welled as I was caught up in the moment, in the humanity of it all.

A short distance away, in the quiet anticipation of what was to happen soon, my friend John, another American chair user, began to whistle the Lithuanian National Anthem, a song banned by the Soviet government, until now. Suddenly, the crowd began to sing. Everyone began to sing. Even those of us who did not know the words. As I looked about through eyes blurred, I could not help but believe that Life was basically good in the world this night, and that these people, oppressed all but twenty years of the last two hundred and seventy, were going to make it.

As the huge orange sun set, and the fire lit, and the people sang, and our thousand candles flickered, I looked up at stars beginning to show, the same stars that hang over my house each night and the world got suddenly small. As I took it all in, I thought about how I had come to Lithuania with an open heart and open mind, seeking change and growth on a human level, not just for others but for myself as well. I got more than I ever bargained for. I also remember thinking that I wouldn't have wished to be anywhere else in the world at that moment in time.

Sometimes awareness, understanding, and empowerment come to us in the most serendipitous of ways. It is at precisely these times that, if we are lucky enough to still possess a childlike sense of wonder, we can recognize these moments for what they truly are: rare and magical glimpses into the very heart and soul of the human spirit. And hopefully... hopefully, we come away changed.

There is a quote by Margaret Mead that became a spiritual reality for me on that hill. I believe it now more than ever. She said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world, indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

I now challenge you to seek your destiny and make your impact on the world.

Lithuania is so very hungry for knowledge and technology. They want so much to improve their situation. Now with freedom in their grasp, they need our assistance more than ever. Our mission to improve world peace through increased contact will continue. We currently have plans for the next two years. Should you or someone you know wish to help with a donation of current textbooks on medicine, technology, education, or equipment, especially prosthetic devices and limbs, please contact the "The American-Lithuanian Disability and Rehabilitation Exchange Program”, care of Dr. William Waring, 150 N. Calhoun, Brookfield, WI 53005. or call 262-796-8561