The letter is written by Vytautas Sliupas, an almost 80 year old gentleman born in Palanga, Lithuania. He fled Lithuania with his parents in 1944, as a twelve year old, and has since mostly lived in the United States where he has had a very successful and active working life, while never forgetting his homeland of Lithuania. 'The Memorial Farmstead' (now a museum open to the public) in the centre of Palanga, his active involvement in the development of agriculture in the Siauliai region, as well as his remarkable donation of a book collection to the library at the University of Siauliai stand today as very distinct memorials for Vytautas and his family. His father, Dr. Jonas Sliupas (1861-1944), was a prominent

figure of Lithuania's struggle for nationhood in the late 19^th and the beginning of the 20^th

centuries, and was also Palanga's first mayor (1933-1940). I'll write more about 

the remarkable Sliupas family in a later edition of VilNews, when

It is hardly a surprise to any of you that I felt flattered by what Mr. Sliupas writes in his letter. But then I began to ponder over the last sentence of the letter; "Thank you for loving the country more than many Lithuanians." Can it really be that many Lithuanians do not feel love for their own country?

I remember another famous Lithuanian-American who some time ago asked me how it could be that I loved and wanted to do so much for Lithuania without having any roots here. My answer to her was that though she had something I did not have here, namely roots, I still had my branches here. The latter with reference to the ‘joint-ventures’ I have with my wife, our two fantastic girls who today are 6 and 12 years old, 50/50 Lithuanian and Norwegian. That it is possible, even for a Norwegian like me, to feel love for Lithuania is therefore perhaps not so surprising.

But then I came to think of another episode. It took place early one morning in the duty free shop at the airport here in Vilnius. I had picked out what I wanted to buy and stood behind a Lithuanian in a small queue in front of the cashier to pay. The man before me was my own age, with roughly the same greyish hair as me, same skin colour and with similar dark, rather dull clothes that I was wearing. There and then I decided not to say a word to the cashier lady, just put the items on the desk in front of her and then see what language she would address me in. And, strangely enough, when the man in front of me finished and the turn had come to me, she immediately began to speak English. "Why did you talk in Lithuanian to him, but immediately switching to English when it was my turn”, I asked her. "He and I are quite similar, after all, aren’t we?" The lady looked up and gave me an ironic smile and a rather surprising answer: "It was very easy to see the difference between the two of you, and to immediately understand that you are a foreigner. Because you smile.”

I have since told this little story to many acquaintances, and they have confirmed that it is relatively rare to see Lithuanians smile. Well, let me balance this by saying that I have personally seen many exceptions to this ‘rule’, and I have also discovered that Lithuanians born in Western countries smile at least as much as the rest of us who are born in countries with freedom and independence.

Could it be that it is the Soviet-era and all the years of oppression and suspicion that has taken the smile from the local Lithuanians faces? And is there a connection between the lack of smiles and the missing love Mr. Sliupas refers to?

I shall not venture too far into the hobby-psychology world, but I understand Mr. Sliupas' point, and would for my own part truly enjoy many more smiles and more interpersonal love around me here in this otherwise fantastic country.

I feel sometimes that Lithuanians see openness and love almost as a weakness. But it is not ...

PS:

When speaking about the ancient Lithuanians, their mode of life, character and customs, the historians of the past described them as strong-built men of medium height, peaceable and good-natured, but notable for courage in case they had to defend themselves. The historians usually stressed the hospitality, faithfulness to the given word and the love of truth and freedom inherent in Lithuanians.

Before the introduction of Christianity the Lithuanians worshipped the forces of Nature and had many gods and goddesses, quite like the ancient Greeks or Romans. The chief god was Perkunas, the Thunder god. The ancient Lithuanians worshipped their gods not in special buildings, but in sacred groves and forests where a holy fire was kept, guarded by vaidilutes (the Lithuanian equivalent of vestal virgins). The will of the gods was expounded by priests called kriviai, which were headed by the principal priest called kriviu krivaitis usually belonging to the court of the Grand Duke.

The Lithuanians were the last pagan people in Europe. Many of them still worshipped their old gods and observed their old customs as late as the 16th and even 17th centuries. Upon its advent in Lithuania Christianity eventually did away with many of the old customs and traditions while dressing some others in Christian robes. Although formally declared religious holidays, Christmas, Easter and others retained many features characteristic of the old world outlook and of the old customs, which varied from one ethnographic region to another.