The infamous hall maja, or the Grey House in Tartu.
Photo: Peeter Bush
Photo: Peeter Bush
I thought that here had been an oil spill somewhere, given the horrible stench, but it turned out that there was a kilometre long train of tanker cars from Russia sitting on the siding. It seems that the Russians simply keep filling until the oil flows over the side of the tanker car. Perhaps this is Mr. Putin’s crude but effective way of showing his customers that they have not been cheated of full measure, ecological impact be damned. I was surprised that the city authorities would allow such a potentially devastating fire hazard right into the city centre.
Most museums in Estonia seem to be staffed by retirees that quietly sit in a corner and keep an eye on things. They are usually older women, who supplement their meagre pension income which is currently about $300 a month. They are paid the minimum wage which they told me amounted to about $300 a month net, so they manage to somehow get by on $600 a month. Even with current Estonian prices this is not a lot of money. Most of them own their apartments and many have their adult children with families living with them.
I was the only visitor, and as soon as she discovered I could speak Estonian, the custodian acted as my personal guide and took me through what can only be described as a dank dungeon. By this time my rusty Estonian had improved to the point that she was quite surprised to find out I was from abroad. It seemed that my Saaremaa dialect covered up my English accent and later this was confirmed by my cousin in Tallinn.
Entrance way to a 1941 Soviet murder site.
Photo: Peeter Bush
Photo: Peeter Bush
(I could not fool the people on Saaremaa, however. The night desk clerk at the hotel said right away that I had either a Swedish or English accent. Surprisingly, given his command of what was to my ears perfect Estonian, it turned out he was a Russian who had lived in Estonia for more than 30 years. When I complimented him on his Estonian he laughed, and said that when he went to Tallinn people would tell him right away he was a Russian from Saaremaa.)
One of the more chilling exhibits was a life-sized effigy of the jail guard in full uniform in the back corner. I was told that it was a remarkable likeness of the actual person whose lair it was. He apparently was such a miserable man that when he left for local civilian employment he had to change jobs for several years when people found out who he was. Another interesting exhibit was a photograph of three smiling very self-satisfied men. They were very important persons judging by the crowd standing respectfully behind them.
It turned out that this smug “troika” were the top Estonian communists of 1940 (the so-called juunikommunistid ). They were photographed either leaving themselves, or seeing off the delegation on its way to Moscow to plead that Estonia be incorporated into the Soviet Union. The “troika” concept was a tried and proven Soviet method of having no one person in charge and everyone keeping an eye on the others. I learned that one of them was the father of the wife of the current president of Estonia, formerly head communist functionary in charge of the country. Another was the father of a prominent university professor.
It seems that having parents who were members of the so-called former Soviet “Nomenklatura” had not in the least harmed the prospects of their offspring in Estonia. Perhaps it shows how tolerant Estonians have become under the new regime. Certainly, under the old Soviet system the supposed sins of the parents were held against the children in spades. I was informed that fate had not dealt kindly with these three men - notwithstanding their high positions in the communist hierarchy. Stalin must have been one tough boss to work for!
I was invited to sign the guestbook, and after doing so I leafed through to see if anyone else from Canada had visited recently. It turned out that somebody whose family we shared an apartment with during those first few months in Toronto had visited just a few weeks before. I had not seen him for at least 40 years. Strange, how your past sometimes comes back at the oddest times and places.
I left the museum and went to Jaani Church to find the old Tartu prison which the custodian had told me was very close by. On the way I wondered why nothing such as this KGB museum had been set up in Tallinn, or at least a sign could have been erected to mark the site of the former KGB building on Pagari Street.
It may just be a lack of funds, but perhaps it has something to do with people currently holding high government office who do not wish to be reminded of their own role, or that of their family’s in the past. In any event, the past, warts and all, is something that should not be hidden in a free democratic society.
