From Wilsonian and Leninist moments to decolonization

To conceptualize national self-determination predominantly through the lens of a “Wilsonian moment” would be to adopt a narrow North Atlantic perspective (Weitz Reference Weitz2020). Alfred Zimmern (Reference Zimmern1918, xxiii) was not much off the mark when he noted that self-determination was “not a principle of liberalism, but of Bolshevism.” Zimmern himself was sure that a true liberal would oppose a Bolshevik slogan like “no annexations” and favor instead the “Good Samaritan” and “Christian principle” of trusteeship (see also Eagleton Reference Eagleton1953). Despite critics like Zimmern, the Bolshevik and indeed social democratic roots of national self-determination have long been neglected — exemplified in the influential yet misleading work of Alfred Cobban (Reference Cobban1945) (see also, Prott Reference Prott2016 and Liebich Reference Liebich2022, but see Rolf Reference Rolf and Núñez Seixas2020, Rowe Reference Rowe2024).

Knudsen (2020, 13) aptly emphasizes that there was not a singular decisive moment but rather a series of moments, each adding new layers of meaning to an already multifaceted concept. She is also correct in observing that pure iterations of self-determination never existed, even among the concept’s foremost advocates, Wilson and Lenin. Knudsen (37) herself overlooks the significance of Austro-Marxists Otto Bauer and Karl Renner, who as early as 1899 advocated for a blend of territorial and non-territorial cultural autonomy to address national aspirations within a single multiethnic state (Davis Reference Davis1967; Zimmerman Reference Zimmerman2004; Bari Reference Bari2023). Lenin and Stalin developed their approach to self-determination in opposition to this democratic ideal of decentralization and national federalization (Duin Reference Duin2009, 121). The Bolshevik approach constituted, to borrow from Cobban’s (Reference Cobban1945, 114–115) critique of Versailles, not self-determination but “national determinism,” as the people concerned were not in fact to be consulted, either through elections or referenda, and the nationality principle applied if it served the goals of socialist revolution.

Wilson’s invocation of self-determination in early 1918 was received through a perspective shaped by decades of debate and political struggle, particularly within the Social Democratic Movement (K. Piirimäe Reference Piirimäe2012), but also the invocation of the “nationality principle” by almost all sides in the Great War (Núñez Seixas Reference Seixas, Xosé and Seixas2021). Wilson’s vision, which did not regard all peoples as equal — as the Austro-Marxists did — nor affirm a universal right to secession, as the Bolsheviks promised, came as a surprise to Eastern Europe (Kalmo Reference Kalmo2020, E. Piirimäe Reference Piirimäe2022) and the colonial world alike (Manela Reference Manela2007). Some scholars have tried to dissect the intentions of Wilson and the way they were interpreted and enlarged on by some of his advisors. Arens (Reference Arens2024) argues that the latter were more consistent Wilsonians than the former, but this is reading too much into Wilson’s original ideas. Although Hobsbawm (Reference Hobsbawm2000, 40) has equated Wilsonianism with Leninism, in fact Wilson never thought the right to secession and independence applied to all peoples equally in an international order made to preserve racial hierarchy (Getachew Reference Getachew2019, 37–52).

Cobban (Reference Cobban1945, 84) was certainly right in 1945, when he warned against the banal conclusion, which condemned the Versailles peace settlement because it was based on self-determination, and self-determination that led to the ultimate failure of the peace. Unfortunately, it was precisely this conclusion that the peace planners hastily made during the Second World War (K. Piirimäe Reference Piirimäe2014, 81–92). The Atlantic Charter promised self-determination in principle (though not literally), but the British immediately excluded the colonial world from its application while the Soviets stuck to their usual formula about political expediency (Gardner Reference Gardner, Brinkley and Facey-Crowther1994, 45–82). When faced with the dilemma of championing decolonization, which it tended to support, or siding with its European allies who were determined to keep their empires, the USA chose the latter (Hearden Reference Hearden2002, 92–118). The same was true for the post-war debates in the United Nations: in key votes, Washington sided with European allies even as it alienated liberation movements in the colonial world (Knudsen 2020, 151; Heiss Reference Heiss2015).

The Baltic states, which are the focus of this article, were one of the reasons why the Atlantic Charter was announced in 1941 (K. Piirimäe Reference Piirimäe2014, 49). The US wanted to commit the British to the principle of no annexations, but by the war’s end, Washington was also resigned, as was London, to the tacit acceptance of Bolshevik self-determination in Eastern Europe. The Soviet understanding of self-determination, which was elaborated after the annexation of the Baltic states, fell back on the Soviet conception of democracy. While bourgeois democracy was nothing but a sham, masking the slavery of the working people, Communism promised real emancipation of all working people, according to Stalin (Reference Stalin1936); (see also Barghoorn Reference Barghoorn1964, 3–30; Kaelas Reference Kaelas1947; Kristian Reference Kristian1952). Admirers of the Soviet system in the West, like E.H. Carr (Reference Carr1946, 54), emphasized the economic well-being and, most importantly, the ownership of the product of labor, which outweighs bourgeois concerns about representative democracy. It was equal participation in the execution of the five-year plan, not in the political process, that Moscow emphasized in post-war propaganda on the Soviet Baltic republics (Piirimäe Reference Piirimäe and Tannberg2015).

The end of the war can be seen as a low point for self-determination. Austro-Marxist self-determination was discredited by the Nazi weaponization of minorities and the resulting Western disappointment and withdrawal of their support for minority rights (Mazower Reference Mazower2004, see also Smith and Hiden Reference Smith and Hiden2012, 106). Moreover, the reimposition of empire by the victorious European nations and the continuation of mandates through trusteeships was very much a return to Wilson’s original principles, a truly Wilsonian moment, as it rejected the Bolshevik notions of equality of peoples and the right to secession, and tied progress toward self-determination to notions of viability and civilizational standard (Getachew Reference Getachew2019, 71).

For colonial peoples, Wilsonian, Austro-Marxist, and Leninist variants of self-determination were possible, but there was also the option of self-determination through human and civil rights, encouraged by the UN Charter and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (Moyn Reference Moyn2010, 95). For anti-colonial activists of the 1940s and the 1950s, the fight for human rights and anti-colonial emancipation was a “commingled freedom struggle” (Burke et al. Reference Burke, Duranti, Moses, Moses, Duranti and Burke2020, 20; Getachew Reference Getachew2019, 74). Eventually, after independence, postcolonial regimes would be anything but exemplary in their human rights record, giving rise to Western liberal concerns but also to a much narrower concept of human rights, advanced since the late 1960s (Moyn Reference Moyn2010; Cmiel Reference Cmiel1999; Iriye et al. Reference Iriye, Goedde and Hitchcock2012; Keys Reference Keys2014).

Stalin had been wary of Lenin’s idea of supporting bourgeois nationalists in the colonies and insisted that the proletariat should strive toward hegemony in the liberation movements. This remained the official line despite disappointments, as in China, where nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek nearly crushed the Communist wing of the Kuomintang (Filatova Reference Filatova2012, 511). Only after the Bandung conference of 1954, which launched the Non-Aligned Movement, Khrushchev’s visit to India, Burma, and Afghanistan in 1954, and the opportunities opened up by the Suez crisis of 1956, did the USSR return to the Leninist idea of seeing national-liberation movements as natural allies, whatever their class structure was presently (Filatova Reference Filatova2012, 515, 518).

The United Nations became an important arena where the Leninist version of self-determination — a sort of “Khrushchev moment” — was promoted, and a clash between the Leninist and Wilsonian versions of self-determination played out. Paradoxically, in 1945, self-determination was inserted in the UN Charter on Soviet initiative, with the support of China (Russell Reference Russell1958, 810–813),Footnote ¹ but in the latter half of the 1940s, the USSR seemed not to take much interest in it. If the Soviet objective was to plant a Trojan horse in European empires while continuing empire-building at home (Edis Reference Edis1992, 38), the emphasis was on the latter (see also Mälksoo Reference Mälksoo2017; Beissinger Reference Beissinger2015). In the UN, the initiative was taken by Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan only in 1950, setting off a decade-long re-conceptualization of self-determination that culminated in the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples in 1960 (Getachew Reference Getachew2019, 71–106; Knudsen 2020, 134).

From a Western liberal perspective, Bolshevik self-determination was always a sham; it appeared reasonable to expect that with a little bit of information work, the Global South would recognize Soviet duplicity. In the “Red Colonialism” propaganda, launched by the US in 1952, the Soviet annexation of the Baltic states was an important point alongside the “captivity” of the Warsaw Pact countries (Heiss Reference Heiss2015). Whenever the USSR promoted issues, such as non-aggression, self-determination, non-interference, or disarmament, the US and its allies referred to the Soviet aggression against the Baltic states to undermine the Soviet position as a voice for oppressed peoples.Footnote ²

The colonial world did not follow the USSR uncritically, but there were several aspects that were appealing (Katsakioris Reference Katsakioris, Babiracki and Zimmer2014). The USSR had seemingly created a society without racial discrimination and class oppression, as a South African Communist noted after his journey to Soviet Central Asia and Lithuania (La Guma Reference La Guma1978, 339). Soviet modernization with an emphasis on homegrown industry promised independence from the Western-centric capitalist system, whereas the federal set-up of the USSR was attractive for multiethnic states, particularly in postcolonial Africa. As part of the “politics of the Soviet federal structures” (Forestier-Peyrat Reference Forestier-Peyrat2021), in 1944 Moscow formally extended the rights of the republics in diplomacy and defense. The entry of Ukraine and Belarus as founding members into the UN augmented the impression, already widespread in European and colonial leftist circles, that the USSR was an association of free peoples.

Despite Moscow’s wartime bid to have the Estonian, Latvian, and Lithuanian SSRs accepted as member states of the United Nations, the Baltic republics would have almost no role in Soviet diplomacy until Khrushchev (Nichol Reference Nichol1995). It was only in 1962 that the foreign minister of the Estonian SSR appeared at a UN debate on decolonization, presenting a fiery response to Western “slanderous attacks” against his country. Tuned especially to the audiences of the Third World, Arnold Green emphasized that the self-determination of the pre-war bourgeois republic had been nothing but a façade for the control of the republic’s natural resources and finances by the “imperialist patrons.” Economic and indigenous cultural development could start only when incorporated into the USSR. Western propaganda about Soviet colonialism, Green pointed out, was a tactic to distract UN members from the real issue of decolonizing Africa and Asia.Footnote ³

While the West considered Green nothing but a stooge of the Kremlin, his narrative was certainly credible for many anti-colonial activists, who had heard similar stories from their partners in the USSR and the Warsaw Pact (Mark and Betts Reference Mark and Betts2022). The Third World was, anyway, largely immune to US propaganda, as well as wary of more radical Soviet rhetoric, because of the desire not to be drawn into what seemed an ideological struggle between the US and the USSR. As Tunisia’s UN representative, Mongi Slim, noted in 1960, “We do not want to give this debate” or, by extension, this whole process of decolonization, an “ideological character” (cited by Heiss Reference Heiss2015, 98).

Origins of BATUN

Unlike Arnold Green, the Foreign Minister of the Estonian SSR, supporters of the pre-war “bourgeois” republics, who were the majority among Estonians, Latvians, and Lithuanians, had no access to the chambers of the UN. But Baltic diplomats, who had remained in exile after 1940 (McHugh and Pacy Reference McHugh and Pacy2001), approached the UN during the first General Assembly in 1946. August Torma, the Estonian minister accredited to the British Government, presented memoranda about the Baltic Question (BQ) to the delegations of Member States.Footnote ⁴ The first joint Baltic effort to bring the Baltic case before the UN was made in 1947 by the three Baltic envoys in the USA. The note and an appeal extending to 32 pages, signed by prominent Baltic nationals in DP camps in Germany, was handed over personally to Dr Osvaldo Aranha, the President of the GA.Footnote ⁵ A few months later, when queries were made about the fate of the appeal, the document could not be found in any of the UN offices, so the envoys delivered a copy. The vanishing of Baltic appeals into a black hole would be characteristic of the operation of the UN for the rest of the Cold War. Publicity about the petitions in major US newspapers did not help.Footnote ⁶

The central theme in Baltic memoranda was the illegality of the takeover of the Baltic states by the USSR. For example, in 1952, Baltic envoys submitted memoranda to the UN while its sixth committee was debating, on Soviet initiative, the definition of aggression, and the Soviet representative Andrey Vyshinsky was forced to defend Soviet policies toward the Baltic states over which he personally presided in 1939–1940.Footnote ⁷ In addition to the violation of international and bilateral treaties concluded with the Baltic states, the Soviet Union was accused of committing acts of genocide, such as deportations and the mass influx of “colonizers,” and of the use of forced labor. As to international legal norms, the pre-war League of Nations convention prohibiting forced labor, as well as the genocide convention of 1948, were cited.Footnote ⁸ In a general way, these issues concerned what could now be defined as human rights, but the term, or the Human Rights Declaration, was not referred to in Baltic appeals at the time (see also Duranti Reference Duranti, Moses, Duranti and Burke2020, 69).

The first instance when the BQ was explicitly associated with colonialism occurred in 1960, when Baltic diplomats in the USA presented a note to Secretary General Dag Hammarskjold.Footnote ⁹ The occasion for the submission was the discussion at the UN on colonialism, initiated by the Afro-Asian group, and by the Soviet draft resolution presented personally by the Soviet General Secretary Nikita Khrushchev on September 23, 1960 (El-Ayouty Reference El-Ayouty1971, 208). The Baltic petition referred to “crimes of genocide” as well as exploitation. “Colonialism” appeared in the text just once: Soviet occupation was said to be a case of aggression and at the same time represented “the worst type of colonialism.” Interestingly, during discussions on various drafts, the Estonian consul general Johannes Kaiv told the Lithuanian chargé d’affaires Joseph Kajeckas that while referring to decolonization, they needed to drop the word “freedom” and references to “hopes of [] mankind for a better future.”Footnote ¹⁰ Indeed, by that time, the initial optimism about advancing human rights in the colonial world by way of anti-colonial self-determination had resulted in the first disappointments. Amnesty International, which spearheaded the human rights revolution, was born the next year, in 1961 (Burke et al. Reference Burke, Duranti, Moses, Moses, Duranti and Burke2020).

The almost twenty-year experience of petitioning had rendered Baltic diplomats sceptical about the international organization’s ability to act on the Baltic issue. The diplomats depended on the US government for their official status and access to frozen Baltic funds, so they had to be careful about not contradicting the US policy line. When the idea of renewing the petitioning of the UN either directly or through the US government was raised by Baltic activists, diplomats opposed it. Kaiv noted in October 1965, less than two months before his death, that bringing the Baltic case before the UN — whether before the Security Council, General Assembly, or a special committee — was not only futile but dangerous. He feared Baltic activists might damage the diaspora’s credibility by demanding actions the US deemed unreasonable. Furthermore, Kaiv considered it naïve to assume that the increase of the GA by more than fifty new states had improved prospects: “It would be the worst blow to our cause, if the General Assembly would justify the Soviet domination of our countries.” While he saw strategic value in linking the Baltic issue to colonialism, genocide, and human rights, he opposed doing so at the UN. Similarly, Latvian chargé d’affaires Arnolds Spekke advised UN action only after securing broad support.Footnote ¹¹

The founders of BATUN were undeterred by such scepticism. It helped that the successor to Kaiv as the Estonian consul general, Ernst Jaakson, was more open-minded. Speaking in 1967 at the first general meeting of BATUN, he noted that as a result of consistent petitioning since 1946, the UN was fully informed of the BQ. He considered this a success. The reason why the question about Baltic self-determination was shelved was the fundamental weakness of the UN, demonstrated most clearly in 1956 over the crisis in Hungary. Nevertheless, Jaakson considered BATUN’s efforts worthwhile: “as the only existing international organization, the UN still can serve as a forum for voicing the rights of the Baltic peoples.” Staff of UN missions changed constantly, and new diplomats coming to New York were often unfamiliar with the Baltic problem, especially since events of the Second World War were receding into the past. Jaakson also observed that the new ex-colonial countries entering the UN often had no knowledge of the BQ, so BATUN’s information work was valuable.Footnote ¹²

BATUN was embedded in US politics and society, especially the diaspora scene in the US, and can be viewed in the context of American anti-Communism (Zake Reference Zake2009, Reference Zake2017; L’Hommedieu Reference L’Hommedieu2011). The roots of BATUN lay in the diaspora tradition of engaging in political activities with the aim of restoring Baltic independence. Some groups became intimately involved with the CIA-run Assembly of Captive European Nations (ACEN), established in 1954; others remained more independent (Heikkilä Reference Heikkilä2021). BATUN’s success was rooted in the successful collaboration between various activist groups. In 1961, two joint Baltic organizations emerged that were able to transcend ethnic lines: the Joint Baltic American Committee (JBANC) was established as the central lobbying organization in Washington, DC, and the Americans for Congressional Action to Free the Baltic States (ACA) was founded the same year in California. ACA was the first to focus specifically on the UN, lobbying the US Congress to ask the U.S. President to bring the BQ before the UN (Kalm Reference Kalm2015).

BATUN grew out of the activities of ACA (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 8–10). ACA’s reasoning was simple: there needed to be an organization in New York because UN offices and missions were there. But the location of New York City played a large part in turning BATUN into a novel type of Baltic diaspora organization. BATUN assumed a youthful and cosmopolitan character that reflected the atmosphere of New York as a center of commerce, education, and of “mass internationalism” promoted by the UN with its diplomatic community of ca 25 thousand people by the 1970s (Fergie Reference Fergie2024). The cosmopolitan appeal of BATUN was unexpected and even annoying for some of the founders, but attractive for students and young professionals who were making a career in New York. In contrast to their parents of the first émigré generation, the Baltic youth were well integrated into American society. American students at Columbia were involved in the civil rights movement and anti-Vietnam War protests, while Baltic students had their own cause.Footnote ¹³ However, BATUN also continued to cultivate traditional national culture, for example, by organizing folk festivals to raise money.

BATUN was not only a political movement but also a form of socializing among like-minded youth. As to political goals, BATUN had inherited from earlier generations the will to direct their energies into what can be considered a conservative cause, which distinguished them from most of the progressive American youth at the time. But they also diverged from the conservative anti-Communism of the older generation (Keys Reference Keys2014, 104). Rather than arguing that the Baltic states were a special case of territorial conquest, they linked the BQ to the condition of oppressed peoples all around the world.

The founding of BATUN started in 1965, when a group of Lithuanian activists, who co-opted some Latvians and Estonians, organized a rally at Madison Square Garden in New York to mark the 25th Anniversary of the occupation of the Baltic states (Okas-Ainso Reference Okas-Ainso2024, 23–24). After speeches by Baltic activists and US politicians, involving a US senator, the rally culminated with a march to the Dag Hammarskjold Plaza next to the UN. A petition, signed among others by fifty-four Congressmen, was handed over. The demonstration attracted up to 14,000 Balts, mostly Lithuanians, making it the largest rally in Baltic American history (Bilinsky and Parming Reference Bilinsky and Parming1980).

The petition linked the BQ to decolonization. It did so more directly than earlier appeals. It was also more specific about the way the UN should proceed with applying decolonization to the Baltic case. It wondered rhetorically why the UN, which had overseen the end of Western colonialism, had not addressed the problem of “colonialism under the guise of Communism.” The appeal requested the GA and the Committee of 24 to discuss and take action “to implement the [1960] Declaration on [the] Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples in reference to Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania by restoration of their independence…” In addition, the petition appealed to the “universal right to self-determination” as set forth in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the UN Charter. Referring to Soviet policies toward the Baltic states in 1939–1940, it also cited the Charter’s outlawing of the threat or use of force. By suggesting that the establishment of diplomatic relations with the USSR by decolonized countries did not constitute recognition of Soviet annexation of the Baltic States, it argued that the BQ was very much an open one.Footnote ¹⁴

After the rally, the appeal and additional material were delivered by volunteers to the permanent missions of Member States. The “Memorandum on Soviet Colonialism in the Baltic States” had a prominent place among the material. The document included evidence to the effect that the Soviet Union was “guilty of colonialism and imperialism,” and suggested that the UN Charter allowed action to be taken.Footnote ¹⁵ Uldis Blukis (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 7–39), one of the leading BATUN activists at the time, notes that while focusing on legal argument, the document entirely ignored political objections to dealing with the BQ in the context of Cold War politics. But BATUN was established precisely for the need to understand and to go around those barriers and persuade the UN to tackle the Baltic problem.

Campaign for decolonization

By February 1966, when BATUN was formally established, activists had already visited fifty missions out of a total of 119.Footnote ¹⁶ According to Reverend Norbert J. Trepša, the Latvian activist and one of the leaders of BATUN until his death in 1972, delegations were not admitted into some missions for various reasons. He noted the reluctance of some diplomats to make commitments out of fear of “radicals” or consequences for themselves. On the positive side, some diplomats stated that “they would support Baltic claims, if someone else would bring up the problems before the UN.” The joint Baltic conference that discussed the results of the campaign decided that the new organization, BATUN, should continue the visits to UN missions.Footnote ¹⁷

At its founding, BATUN conceived its goals in terms of “working toward the self-determination” of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania.Footnote ¹⁸ According to Reverend Trepša, the purpose was to “call attention of all nations in the UN to the fact that the Baltic Nations are not free.” Among the activities of BATUN, the most important was to gather and distribute information, respond to activities within the UN that had some connection with Baltic problems, but also to plan and organize responses to urgent situations unconnected to the UN. Already in 1967, BATUN reacted to the decision of the Labour government in the UK to hand over Baltic gold to the Soviet Union with a global letter-writing campaign.Footnote ¹⁹

As to tactics, Trepša noted: “Baltic states have no ambassadors in the UN, but we can have friends.” Therefore, BATUN would invest in building relationships with sympathetic UN missions and individual diplomats.Footnote ²⁰ According to Rolands D. Paegle, a Latvian artist and professor of pathology, it was important to create “the psychological motivation to consider the Baltic question,” but pressure could also be applied through news media.Footnote ²¹ Throughout its history, BATUN was based on volunteer work — usually on the enthusiasm of young professionals who visited UN offices or missions during their lunch time — but there was also at least one paid official, usually female, who ran the offices and kept an eye on the activities of the UN as an accredited press representative (Okas-Ainso Reference Okas-Ainso2024, 30). BATUN never achieved the status of an officially accredited NGO, reportedly due to opposition from the Socialist bloc, and therefore had to be shrewd to find backdoors to the salons of power (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 5–10).

BATUN’s way of operating was flexible, allowing for different perspectives and the running of different operations at the same time. For example, John Balkunas, the first president of BATUN, had a slightly different emphasis than many others. He thought members of BATUN were “above all American citizens for whom the well-being and national security of [the] USA” was the top concern. Thus, the defense of the American way of life was the first objective, while supporting the Baltic “captive nations” came second. In order to restore Baltic independence through the UN, BATUN had to first mobilize American public opinion and, second, present the Baltic appeal to the UN to investigate Soviet genocide and religious and national persecutions in the Baltic states. This was a more conservative version of BATUN’s mission.Footnote ²²

BATUN linked its cause of self-determination tactically to decolonization. BATUN clearly wanted to ride the wave of decolonization; in fact, it spread decolonization from the white-dominated colonial world across the “color line” into Europe. It expected to find support among the many new countries that had benefited from anti-colonial self-determination. That expectation was not met by the first visits. Juozas (Joseph) Miklovas, who analysed the results of the visits of 1965, observed that the Latin American countries had been the most friendly, not Africa.Footnote ²³ At that time, most of Latin America was still allied with the US.

The British representative to the UN, E. Joude, whose report for the Foreign Office is preserved in the archives (cited by Zunda Reference Zunda, Caune, Bleiere and Nollendorfs2007, 23), had the impression that only the USA viewed BATUN with sympathy, while Asian and African countries were diplomatic and did not reject support directly. Joude was doubtful that Baltic activists would have any success in the foreseeable future, because Asian and African countries had little interest in colonialism outside their continents. Moreover, they were keen not to damage their relations with the Soviet Union.

From BATUN’s perspective, African nations were newcomers in international politics, only finding their way in the UN, and could still be persuaded to support the Baltic cause. Speaking at BATUN’s first annual meeting in 1967, Balkunas stressed specifically that BATUN should first of all visit African missions to garner their support.Footnote ²⁴ But how? First of all, BATUN made the strategic decision to support self-determination as a matter of principle. At the very first board meeting in 1966, it decided to decline an offer from Portugal to raise the Baltic issue at the United Nations. The offer was unique. It is not known that any other country throughout the Cold War volunteered to take the BQ officially before the UN, but the decision was clear: “Being a colonial power, not the best choice for an ally!”Footnote ²⁵

A principled position was supposed to establish BATUN’s credibility as an advocate of the right to self-determination. But BATUN also conceived of its relationship with Latin America, Africa, and Asia as reciprocal. The idea was not just to ask for favors but to establish long-term relations on the basis of mutual benefit. Since the first rally of 1965, BATUN had aligned with the official US policy of anti-Communism, coming out in support of South Vietnam and the war effort in Vietnam. According to BATUN activists, this assured modest publicity in the US press (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 6–39). In the context of the anti-war feelings spreading among the American youth, the positioning of the Baltic youth on the conservative side of US politics was noteworthy. BATUN’s branch organization, Baltic Youth for Freedom, which mobilized Baltic students in the New York era, continued to demonstrate in support of the regime in South Vietnam. To what extent it may have weakened the appeal of BATUN among progressive circles (not to speak of the Third World), including the press, particularly when anti-war protest became the mainstream, is difficult to gauge. But as we will see, BATUN had difficulty gaining the attention of the press.Footnote ²⁶

By supporting a regime like South Vietnam, BATUN hoped to gain allies among UN Member States. The Estonian member of BATUN, Rein Virkmaa, said openly that one should participate in demonstrations that supported the cause of African or Asian countries, to gain the support of the African bloc at the United Nations.Footnote ²⁷ In 1968, Baltic Youth for Freedom organized a demonstration in support of Namibia, with information about the event shared with African missions. It was later claimed that this expression of Baltic sympathy was reciprocated by African nations on several occasions, but quite how is not known.Footnote ²⁸ BATUN showed a particular interest in Namibia, drawing a parallel to the Baltic states as former members of the League of Nations: while the Baltic states had been annexed by the Soviet Union, Namibia remained under South African control. In 1968–1969, BATUN tried to draw the UN’s attention to the fact that while a council had been established to deal with issues concerning that former League Mandate territory, nothing had been done about the fate of the Baltic states (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 14–22).

BATUN put much effort into involving MS missions in their activities. From the second annual meeting of 1968, it invited diplomats from UN missions to address Baltic gatherings. The 1968 meeting featured the address by Kyus Neba Salorzano, ambassador of Nicaragua. Mario Aguilera, president of the Cuban Alliance in New York and vice-president of the Captive Nations Committee, gave a paper on “Cuba – a Soviet occupied country.” Representatives of Costa Rica, Ghana, and Lesotho had declined the invitation.Footnote ²⁹ At the third meeting in May 1969, the ambassador of Uruguay spoke to BATUN members, assuring his listeners that “justice may fall asleep for a while, but it never dies.” Vernon Johnson Mwaanga, representative of Zambia, who featured in the initial program, had declined. One can see that, although engaging Africa was the priority, BATUN had little success outside of Latin America.Footnote ³⁰ The association with the conservative, pro-American regimes of Latin America seemed unproblematic. Perhaps they were tacitly recognized as being part of the Third World and thus fitted with the idea of decolonization.

Rolands and Inta Paegle’s week-long visit to Kingston, Jamaica, in 1967 was another example of creating long-term partnerships across the color line. Explaining his mission to the board of directors, Rolands Paegle set it as an example of cultural exchange. In Kingston, he had presented the BQ not only at the Ministry of External Affairs but also at local radio stations, and exchanged Jamaican music for recordings of Baltic folk songs.Footnote ³¹ In the same year, Paegle organized an interview for the ambassador of Liberia on questions of Namibia in a Lithuanian radio station, WBI, broadcasting in New York. The assumption was that the Baltic diaspora could offer the newly decolonized countries venues of access to US media that the latter lacked.Footnote ³²

Some BATUN activists, probably inspired by Paegle, suggested that work with US media be made the first priority after the second round of visits to UN missions were completed. At the general meeting of 1969, Paegle presented the project “UBA presents the UN hour” that included as the first objective “news and analysis of UN activities in the human rights field, on behalf of self-determination; anti-colonialism.”Footnote ³³ There is no indication in the records that the project really took off, but problems with finances and lack of volunteers were mentioned. Apparently, the project quietly died off, but BATUN did start to pay much more attention to gathering, organizing, and disseminating information (mainly press releases but also booklets), establishing a special department for the purpose. Interestingly, Paegle pointed to a field that would become most important in BATUN’s work in the future — human rights. However, the shift to human rights was still two years ahead and, in the meantime, BATUN continued with the strategy of decolonization.

BATUN completed the second round of visits to UN missions in 1968–1969. Results can be gauged from reports of the delegates kept in the BATUN archive. Unfortunately, only a fraction of all the reports, which detail the reactions of Member States to the arguments of BATUN, have been preserved (or compiled in the first place).Footnote ³⁴ The following brings examples from the most interesting reports.

On February 20, 1969, Sirje Okas of Estonia and Andris Karklins of Latvia met the minister of the permanent mission of Ecuador, Dr. Hugo Játiva, and counsellor Laticia Guerrero. The diplomats only agreed to talk off the record but claimed that the ambassador of Ecuador was sympathetic toward the “noble cause” of the Balts and would like to meet at a later date after having studied the material delivered by BATUN.Footnote ³⁵ The representatives of Ecuador were sceptical about the idea of presenting the BQ as a case of colonialism: “Having been independent before, the Baltic countries cannot actually be measured by standards of ‘colonial countries’ — the situation and antecedents are quite different.” They thought the BQ related more to the question of Eastern European countries and could not be discussed in the Committee for anti-colonialism. They wondered what the countries of the Warsaw Pact thought about the rights of the Baltic states and advised that Yugoslavia and Romania, the two renegades within the Soviet bloc, should be approached unofficially. It is not known that BATUN followed the advice. Rather, there was the policy of not visiting the missions of Communist countries without regard to their actual position vis-à-vis the Soviet Union. In this decision, the recent suppression of the Prague Spring by a combined Warsaw Pact force probably played a part.Footnote ³⁶

The Ecuadorian diplomats also pointed out practical difficulties. The Committee of 24 (of which Ecuador was a member) did not accept outside petitions but studied only those questions that were submitted by the General Assembly. Even member countries of the committee could not propose subjects to be discussed. Their function was to make sure Resolution 1514 on colonialism was followed where it applied. The diplomats of Ecuador agreed with BATUN delegates that an avenue of approach would be through a sponsor among the big nations because that way the BQ would get greater attention. However, they cautioned against being too optimistic: “The big powers have their own big interests, so they are more cautious and reluctant to draw opposition.” They referred to the example of the Hungarian uprising of 1956. After the Soviet suppression of the revolution, the USA raised the question of Hungarian independence at the UN, but after the initial heated discussion, the matter was abandoned very soon. The diplomats of Ecuador thus advised BATUN not to pursue their matter through decolonization but to present the case at the Committee for Protection of Human Rights, particularly the subcommittee for protection of discrimination against minorities. In contrast to the Committee of 24, this committee accepted petitions from the outside.Footnote ³⁷

On April 16, 1969, the BATUN delegation consisting of Reverend Trepša of Latvia, Salvinia Gedvila of Lithuania, and Olavi Arens (student at Columbia University and later a prominent historian) of Estonia visited the second secretary of the French Mission, Alain Dejammet. Dejammet acknowledged that France did not have a policy toward the Baltic states, but it did have a policy toward Eastern Europe. In any case, he said frankly that French policy precluded any speech or declaration in support of the Baltic states. The only thing France could do was to recommend that Soviet diplomats not abolish the federal set-up of the USSR. He thought this could have some impact because Soviet diplomats knew that a decision to abolish constituent republics would be a heavy blow to its global reputation. As a general remark, he thought time was not working in favor of the Baltic states.

Dejammet applauded BATUN’s efforts to look for support from African states and thereby keep up pressure on the UN. He urged BATUN to raise the issue of human rights through an African state that had no diplomatic relations with the USSR. As to France’s ability to influence any African country, he explained that African states would suspect French ulterior motives. Recently, French backing of Biafra had raised suspicions of French oil interests, therefore Balts would be wise not to ask for French support in penetrating Africa.Footnote ³⁸

On May 6, 1969, an interview was arranged with Joseph Louis Hounton, chargé d’affaires of the mission of Dahomey. In a typical answer, Hounton expressed sympathy toward the Balts and saw no objection to supporting them at the UN, but, officially, “Dahomey has no position.” Hounton agreed that colonialism was the best issue to pursue through the Committee of 24, but not in the General Assembly. He observed, however, that the self-interest of member states and balance of power factors had to be considered realistically. If the USA raised the BQ, “we’d be in,” he claimed. Hounton promised to sound out individual members of the Soviet delegation, but it is improbable that he ever did so.

The Kudirka moment: From decolonization to human rights

As a volunteer organization, BATUN was learning its trade by doing. In the beginning, activists knew next to nothing about the workings of the UN. Blukis even claims, self-critically, that BATUN never quite understood the intricate rules and procedures by which UN bodies operated (Blukis et al., 16–22, 20–22, 27–39). Nevertheless, BATUN was able to adjust its priorities according to the reactions it received to its various initiatives, but, most importantly, from friendly advice given by sympathetic missions, such as Dahomey. The organizational structure of BATUN was sufficiently flexible to allow for a swift adaptation.

It is an interesting puzzle why BATUN made the transition to human rights between autumn 1970 and spring 1971. The turn was not plainly the result of a careful analysis of the visits to the missions. The problem was that the conclusions were not straightforward. Human rights were emphasized by several missions (Ecuador, France),Footnote ³⁹ but reactions by countries, such as Dahomey, could be taken as confirmation that decolonization was the right course. Nonetheless, the Report of Visits of 1968/1969 concluded that bringing the BQ to the GA could be suicidal. It cited a Portuguese diplomat who warned that “you would certainly lose.” Although the Decolonization Committee could theoretically discuss the BQ, no member of the Committee was willing to bring the BQ to that forum. The Report advised BATUN to seriously consider the alternative of human rights: the USSR was not immune to charges about human rights, such pressure could improve the situation of compatriots back home but, most importantly, would expose “as a sham the Russian claim that the Baltic peoples do have self-determination.” (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 15–22).

A problem that may have helped reconsider the priorities was an analysis of the massive letter-writing campaign that BATUN organized in 1968 (incidentally, the UN Year of Human Rights). Baltic émigrés from all around the world sent approximately 17 thousand letters to around 110 heads of state. According to the analysis of Dr. Paegle, the replies received indicated that letters sent from countries other than the USA, for example, from neutral countries, were more likely to get a favorable response. When letters were sent from the US, that is, by American BATUN members, several replies from Asian governments were more concerned with the unrelated issue of US actions in Vietnam than with the BQ. Paegle explained that the “US is envied, feared and suspected of devious stratagems by many foreigners. This carries over to some extent to its citizens, including those of Baltic origin.” Therefore, letters from the large Baltic diaspora groups in the “non-colonialist” and/or neutral countries, such as Argentina, Brazil, Venezuela, Sweden, and Canada, had greater moral force than those from the US or the UK, which, according to Paegle, were regarded at the UN as colonial.Footnote ⁴⁰ That conclusion may have fed into the decision to drop seeing the postcolonial world as BATUN’s main audience and potential supporter. The turn toward human rights meant that henceforth, Western countries would be BATUN’s chief target.

But Paegle did not draw that conclusion at this stage. He did not advise abandoning the tactics of allying with the decolonized world. He persisted in the belief that BATUN would be able to shift world opinion in favor of the Balts and pin the label of colonialism –– a label that was feared universally –– on the Soviet Union. When subjected to such a threat, Paegle thought optimistically, Moscow would even consider enlarging the rights of collective self-determination of the Baltic republics.Footnote ⁴¹

Problems with presenting the Baltic case to foreign audiences prepared the turn toward human rights. The poor quality of the material that BATUN was delivering to UN missions was another problem. At the general meeting of 1969, Trepša noted that the book Res Baltica , a collection of essays in honor of the late Latvian diplomat Alfreds Bilmanis, was the only presentable book that the Baltic diaspora had so far produced, which showed just how miserable the situation on the Baltic information front was. It was hoped that the Association for the Advancement of Baltic Studies (AABS), established in 1968, would improve the situation, but it was not going to be a quick remedy.Footnote ⁴²

The shift to human rights seemed a more immediate fix. Rather than having to produce sophisticated studies on the history, culture, or some legal aspects of the Baltic problem, it sufficed to collect information on cases of persecution of individuals. This was not an easy task considering the difficulty of gaining access to reliable information about internal affairs in the Soviet Union, but still feasible even for a volunteer organization such as BATUN. This was the kind of work that Amnesty International had been doing since 1961. In fact, Amnesty International had built links to the Baltic diaspora and ventured into Baltic affairs, investigating cases of people of Baltic origin that had been prosecuted in the Soviet Union. Amnesty had been networking with Baltic organizations and inspired BATUN (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 31–40).Footnote ⁴³

More than anything else, it was a series of dramatic events and circumstances coalescing with deliberate action that produced the human rights revolution in BATUN.Footnote ⁴⁴ The organization had gradually started to deal with the persecution of individuals. In November 1969, it staged a demonstration at the Soviet UN mission on the occasion of the arrest and sentencing of Dr Fricis Menders in Latvia. BATUN scored a major success when the ambassador of New Zealand agreed to forward BATUN’s material to the chairman of the UN Human Rights Commission.

The next year, in October 1970, in connection with the 25th anniversary of the United Nations, BATUN organized a large rally in front of the UN headquarters in New York. Annoyed at the lack of interest by the press, the Baltic Youth for Freedom started an impromptu sit-in at the entrance of the offices of The New York Times, blocking movement from and to the building. Protesters expressed anger at the newspaper’s choice of sparing reporters for small radical demonstrations taking place in the city but not for the larger Baltic rally. The management of The Times agreed to meet the representatives of BYF. An agreement was reached by which activists withdrew from the premises while the newspaper promised to publish newsworthy Baltic items in the future.Footnote ⁴⁵

Three weeks later, near Martha’s Vineyard, a Lithuanian seaman called Simas Kudirka jumped, literally, from a Soviet fish processing vessel to a U.S. Coast Guard cutter in an attempt to defect. Instead of offering asylum, American coast guards allowed Soviet officers to board the cutter, beat and bind Kudirka, and drag him back to the Soviet ship. While other newspapers passed it up with three- to five-line notices in the back pages, the New York Times published the story on its front page. Kudirka became a celebrity all over the world. This was a breakthrough for the Balts, who had suffered from a lack of interest by the US media throughout the 1960s (Bilinsky and Parming Reference Bilinsky and Parming1980, 8–15; Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 10–40, Okas-Ainso Reference Okas-Ainso2024, 44). It was the case of an individual, not the collective, that became front-page news, causing a shake-up in the US asylum policy, requiring personal attention and intervention by President Nixon and later also President Ford, and eventually even led to the Jackson–Vanik amendment to the Trade Act of 1974 that influenced US-Soviet/Russian relations up to 2012 and beyond (Pregelj Reference Pregelj2005).

When Kudirka jumped ship on November 23, 1970, BATUN already knew that the Economic and Social Council of the UN (ECOSOC) had been considering petitions concerning human rights addressed to the UN at least since 1959 (Blukis et al. Reference Blukis, Ainso and Rupners2020, 37–40). In 1970, ECOSOC finally authorized a procedure for accepting “communications from non-governmental sources relating to violations of human rights.” It did so with resolution 1503 (XLVIII) of May 27, 1970, whereby the Council authorized the Sub-Commission on the Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities to appoint a Working Group on Communications from private persons and groups, like BATUN, and replies thereon from governments. The Sub-Commission adopted a procedure by which appeals that seemed to “reveal a consistent pattern of gross and reliably attested violations of human rights and fundamental freedoms” were to be referred to the Commission on Human Rights (CHR) for consideration (Tardu Reference Tardu1980).

BATUN was already looking for sample human rights violation cases for presentation at the UN Human Rights Day to take place on December 10, 1970. There were cases to consider, like, for example, the Latvian journalist and dissident Viktors Kalniņš, but Kudirka’s defection attempt and subsequent arrest clearly came at the right moment.Footnote ⁴⁶ It encouraged BATUN to widen its activities. On December 16, the board decided to prepare a round of delegations to visit UN diplomats who were working for CHR. By the January 1971 board meeting, BATUN had already started to prepare reports about discrimination with respect to the right of everyone to leave a country. The Board charged a task group to prepare a campaign toward the CHR, linking it to the plight of Kudirka.Footnote ⁴⁷

In addition, BATUN started to plan, following a very tight timetable, a visit to Geneva to the 27th session of CHR to take place from February 22 to March 26. A three-member joint Baltic delegation was hired from the Baltic diaspora in Europe, consisting of Andres Küng from Sweden, Walter Banaitis from Bonn, and Arnolds Skrēbers from Geneva.Footnote ⁴⁸ The visit was a success. During interviews ranging from ten minutes to an hour, BATUN’s memorandum was delivered to the sixteen delegations of the CHR. The only mistake was that, to make an impact, the memoranda should have been delivered earlier. Nevertheless, diplomats at CHR were thoroughly acquainted with the Baltic aspect of the right-to-leave problem.

At the board meeting assessing the campaign, Blukis suggested, and the board agreed, that BATUN focus its efforts in the next five years on human rights.Footnote ⁴⁹ Visits to Geneva would become BATUN’s trademark for the next twenty years, right up to 1991, when the BQ was finally, during the August Coup of 1991, included in the agenda of CHR for the first time.Footnote ⁵⁰

On May 8, 1971, at the fifth annual meeting of BATUN, Blukis presented the proposal to focus BATUN’s activities in the next five years on human rights. He explained the twist by a trend in BATUN’s work from “artificially created reasons” to reasons generated by the UN’s activities as they actually were. Blukis argued that as BATUN was getting acquainted with the real workings and procedures inside UN bodies, it had to adapt its strategy and present the case for Baltic self-determination in a more specific and therefore more limited way. The general meeting endorsed the new strategy.

Precisely how the BQ was linked to the cause of human rights should be studied in the future. To bring just one example, in 1975, BATUN submitted a petition to CHR about “flagrant violations of human rights in Estonia,” which included a memorandum and a letter from two underground organizations in Estonia. It received a response from the Division of Human Rights, UN Office in Geneva, which noted that in accordance with the 1503 procedure, a summary of the “communication will be included in a confidential list of communications” and a copy of BATUN’s “communication will also be forwarded to the Member State /…/ to which it explicitly refers.” (Blukis et al., 37–40). The MS that was referred to was the Soviet Union, which was expected to deal with the human rights concern according to international norms and agreed practice.