Ina Bertulyte Bray

God’s Little Birds

Ina Bertulyte Bray is a current member of the Board of Directors of the Lithuanian-American Community Inc.

No Title — by Henrikas Blyskis

"NKVD" -- "Gulags" -- "Soviets" -- "Stalin", all symbols of total subjugation, of constant terror. A lifetime has passed since the summer of 1944 when the reality of these words had driven our parents or grandparents, along with hundreds of thousands of other Lithuanians, from their homes.

Bundles in hand, babes in arms, overpowering their fear of the Nazis, defying bombs and unimaginable hardships; they headed West to Germany. Germany, for all practical purposes, was their only choice, their only "safe haven". Yes, Germany accepted the fleeing masses, but they entered as "Untermenschen" – sub-humans, experiencing the horrors and deprivations that that designation implied. They bent their heads, they accepted, and they survived.

It was not surprising then that an almost palpable bond developed among these survivors. I will never forget an extraordinary Catholic Mass, somewhere in Graz, Austria, in August of 1944. Miraculously, it was a Mass for our Lithuanians, ending of course with "Marija, Marija." A more heart-wrenching hymn probably had never filled that cavernous church. As it soared to Heaven, every note carried the pain as well as the gratitude of the congregation. I was a child then, but to this day, "Marija, Marija" takes me misty-eyed to that church on that sunny Sunday morning. We were alive, we were in the West, and we were with fellow Lithuanians.

The end of the War created a curious category for humanity: "DP" -- Displaced Person (affectionately known as "Dievo Paukšciukai" -- "God's little birds", who never sowed only reaped). From an intense struggle just to survive, thousands suddenly became "warehoused" in camps, suspended in animation, removed from their matrices of normal life, waiting for a most uncertain future. In contrast to the welcome that the world rolls out today for the Kosovo refugees, it took until 1949/1950, amid stringent restrictions and qualifications, and at times with bondage akin to slavery (e.g. Australian alligator farms, plantations in the American South or in Brazil) before release would come for most of these "DP's". A few never would pass the innumerable tests and had no choice but to remain in devastated Germany.

Thousands of our Lithuanians came to the United States, the celebrated "land of milk and honey," and as best they could started a new life. For years, however, they sustained the covert or overt dream to return home, and this deep-seated attachment to their homeland created a powerful back-drop in the very core of their being. It made it easier to accept "pushing the broom" for a living or sacrificing for their children. In memories or on weekends they could have an existence among their compatriots that was psychologically far more satisfying. Sustained by this psychic energy, they succeeded in creating socially, culturally, and to some degree politically ebullient communities, juxtaposed with those of the earlier immigrants.

In time, however, the concept of "returning home" turned into mystical symbolism. Although these parents and grandparents were patriotic "true believers", they also were pragmatic realists. Their lives had to be lived here and the only security that they could provide for their children's future spelled "education." Thus, attaining education became paramount.

I can still see my mother's wagging finger: "What you put into your head, no one ever will be able to take away!" It is only necessary to look at the honor roll Bronze Tablets in the library of the University of Illinois or the lists of students at top flight American universities (Yale, Harvard, Princeton, Berkeley, etc.) to see the impact of such collective "finger waggings" of that time.

The contributions of anthropologist Marija Gimbutiene, zoologist Birute Galdikas, science fiction writer Algis Budrys, computer scientist Algis Avižienis, Lithuania’s President Valdas Adamkus, and so many, many others from those "DP" ranks have enriched the world.

Iliustracija — by Paulius Augius

Those heroic "DP's" left an indelible legacy in all of us. They nurtured a commitment to a cause, Lithuania, which had sustained them through all the hardships, even depravity, of their exile. They imbued their own capacity for sacrifice for others. Thus, even before the "Wall" fell, a legion of volunteers who had matured or even aged in the civil society of the West, enthusiastically if not passionately flew to the aid of their beloved "homeland." The exodus of our parents and grandparents in 1944, the deportations to Siberia, and particularly the Soviet occupation have reshaped the character of the remaining population in Lithuania. The evidence of that came clearly into focus with the reestablishment of independence. Yet the reaching back and reaching out to those "back home", particularly by the "DP's", continued almost unabated.

In 1999/2000 it will be 50 years since the final migration of the "DP's". Sadly, except perhaps in academic literature, that epoch increasingly seems to be drifting into not much more than personal reminiscences or the occasional statistic in our publications. At best, it is becoming relegated to a footnote on the pages of history. And yet, what stories of that time period lie as yet dormant: stories of heroism, of indescribable pain, of survival against all odds and life suspended, and of lives rebuilt! There are also stories exposing the all too human, more sinister nature of humanity -- these also are an integral part of the historic fabric of our people, the collective psyche of our community.

Fifty years have passed. The time has come to allow those stories, and the significance and residue -- positive and negative -- of those pivotal events to surface again. Who are they who had the strength to overcome almost unimaginable physical and psychological adversities to start life again? What were the wellsprings of this life force: love for ones roots? faith in ones religion? belief in ones future? or the primordial instincts in protecting ones progeny?

Who are we, the refugee children, whose physical and emotional security had vanished overnight, our identities eliminated, who had known starvation, who had woken in the morning aware that the day might bring death to our parents, or to us from a well-placed threat, an arrest, a pointed pistol, a bomb? How can we possibly not stand apart? This history needs to be acknowledged, gathered, listened to and recorded, examined, and time is running out.

So where does one start? By necessity, on a national and international level. By joint effort, all Lithuanian organizations, as well as the government of Lithuania, should accept the year 2000 as the "Year of the DP." Such a declaration would create an umbrella for a myriad of activities in every community, nationally and abroad.

Within the rubric of that theme, possible activities are limited only by the availability of implementers. For starters: programs, symposia, lectures, papers, exhibitions, and most definitely articles or publications should be on every organization's agenda. Much of this raw material by default is or will be in Lithuanian, but if it is to reach the wider, particularly academic readership, the English language becomes a must.

Academic institutions should be encouraged to offer this theme for theses or dissertation topics and for public events, such as conferences or lecture series. A wider, non-Lithuanian community would thus be exposed to that neglected facet of history.

It is also time to emulate the Jewish communities and honor those heroes of whatever nationality who risked all to rescue our Lithuanians. The Lithuanian American Community is to be commended for having established a program to collect reminiscences as oral history or in written form. Such a program should be strengthened and should reach every community, no matter under whose auspices.

A treasure trove of icons of the "DP" era (diaries, publications, certificates, photographs, pamphlets, etc.) no doubt exists in attics or chests and will be tossed unless repositories are established and those that do exist are well publicized.

The Vytautas Magnus University in Kaunas has established a center, Išeivijos Studiju Centras, for the study of the refugees of that time period. Ways need to be found for wider-reaching collaboration with this Center or Western centers with similar interests. And, it might be fitting to receive Congressional recognition for that group of immigrants to the United States and their value and contributions to American society. (Compared to more recent immigrants, the monetary cost alone of integrating those newcomers from Eastern Europe was minimal indeed!)

There is a history to capture, a story to tell. Before it is too late, let's start. This may be our last chance to record that part of American-Lithuanian history, which has never been seen by most of the American population.