Ladies and Gentlemen,
Let us observe a minute of silence to commemorate those who did not
return to Lithuania and perished under torture in exile.
It is only natural to be at a loss for words at the commemoration of the
Day of Mourning and Hope.
Inscribed in the national collective memory is the early morning of 14
June 1941, the day when the first train echelons with nailed up doors and
windows started to move from Naujoji Vilnia Train Station. The trains moved
eastwards, to the Great Unknown, carrying thousands of innocent people. This
was the day when the repressive bodies of the Soviet Union embarked on mass
deportations of Lithuanias inhabitants. The mid-20th century bore witness to
the most atrocious offence committed against our nation.
The key objective of the mass deportation of Lithuanias inhabitants was
obviously to oust the spirit of national identity and the active people who had
taken either direct or indirect part in the process of establishment and
consolidation of the independent Lithuanian state. Deportation was a common
destiny to people from all social strata. Registered on the Black June lists
were teachers and priests, doctors and military officers, farmers and
blue-collar workers, public servants and officials, socially and politically
active individuals, and ordinary industrious inhabitants.
The ranks of the deportees equally included Mr Aleksandras
Stulginskis, former President of the Republic of Lithuania; Mr Konstantinas
Šakenis, former Speaker of Parliament; former ministers, Mr Pranas Dovydaitis,
Mr Jonas Masiliūnas, Mr Jonas Sutkus, Mr Juozas Papečkys, Mr Jokūbas
Stanišauskas, Mr Juozas Tonkūnas, Mr Stasys Šilingas, Mr Voldemaras
Vytautas Čarneckis; as well as writers, journalists, and researchers.
Apart from ethnic Lithuanians, families of local Russians, Jews, and
people of other nationalities were also deported.
The Lithuanian nationals were banished in an effort to destroy the
Lithuanian state once and for all. One in three adult Lithuanians fell victim
to genocide and terror perpetrated by the occupants. Two thirds of the victims
were women and children. 70 percent of the children under the age of two died
in deportation. The appalling imprint from Rešotai, Usolag, Krasnojarsk, and
Norilsk labour camps warps the Lithuanian collective memory. The remains of our
compatriots now rest near the Laptev Sea, on the slopes of the Altai Mountains,
on the banks of the Ob River, in the deepest mines of Vorkuta, and in the
ice-cold locations of former labour camps in Abez and Inta.
Yet neither the cattle wagons cased with barbed wire, nor the distance
amounting to thousands of kilometres away from home could obliterate the
memories of and affection for Lithuania.
The memories and affection for the home country remained untarnished in
the hearts of the deportees. Nurtured by human blood and suffering during the
horrendous years of exile, carefully protected from the Siberian frosts and
bullying of the torturers, the affection for Lithuania remained vivid and
strong. It made a comeback together with the surviving deportees to give us
hope, support, and inspiration in our efforts to re-establish the historical
destiny of our statehood.
Therefore, apart from being the Day of Mourning, 14 June is also the Day
of Hope, that of survival, and homecoming. The hope alone had lent vital
support to the deportees in times of harshest adversity, giving them power and
perseverance. In life or in death, they eventually came back for eternal rest
to their native land.
The deportation to the East, the emigration to the West, and the
underground resistance are notions implying thousands of victims, thousands of
lives in ruins, and thousands of destinies in shambles. These notions describe
the painful history of our country and encapsulate the names of those who will
never return, eternally remaining our common grief.
