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Įrašė Moacir P. de Sá Pereira
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2008.04.21 14.29 |
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[This is a hastily assembled translation of the article, “Tolerantiški lietuviai — grėsmė senajai išeivijai” by Mykolas Gudelis, published in Vakarai. I’m providing the translation here for those (both who consider themselves Lithuanian and not) who care about these sorts of issues. The translation is reprinted here with permission from Vakarai. Personally, anyone who read my letter in Lietuvos rytas (English) about this issue can see that I have much in common with Gudelis’s viewpoint—a less charitable soul would even whine that he seems not to have read my piece. He loses the plot a bit with his invocation of a slippery slope, which furthermore risks an equivalence of anti-Semitism with other forms of intolerance. It is definitely not as simple as he makes it seem. Furthermore, he runs into his own set of dichotomies between old and new, which reek of their own prejudice. Still, it is important that this issue of intolerance writ large remain in the public forefront when it comes to affairs of the Lithuanian diaspora. I may change the translation around in parts as corrections are given to me. Some tricky or key words I've reproduced with their Lithuanian (original) counterparts in brackets. --m] In the seventeen years of Lithuanian independence, more than half a million Lithuanians have left their homeland. As such, an existential question arises both among Lithuanians in Lithuania and Lithuanians abroad: is the Lithuanian nation [tauta] vanishing? Clearly, there’s no single answer to this question, and, upon further investigation, it seems to me that there is nothing to worry about: Lithuanians are surely not becoming and will not become extinct.
The Lithuanian nation has a unique property, which protects it from globalization, cosmopolitanism, internationalism, the migrant workforce, and so on. It’s tricky to name this defense mechanism. I wouldn’t want to call it “hatred” [neapykanta], but perhaps “dislike” [nemėgimas] works better. This word, “dislike,” is based on the Lithuanian verb “to like.” It’s simply the negative form. We often say, “well, it’s not that I can’t stand it. I just don’t like it.” But what is the difference between hating and disliking? Where do we draw the line, past which disliking becomes hating? Surely disliking and hating are two different things, but how do the two concepts really differ? Leaving aside the subtleties of the Lithuanian language as well as the ontological explorations, I think that everyone has a different answer to these questions.
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Paskutinį kartą atnaujinta ( 2008.04.21 15.10 )
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Įrašė Moacir P. de Sá Pereira
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2008.03.17 15.44 |
After the Lithuanian Supreme Court decided that the current laws regarding dual citizenship were unconstitutional (a decision I tacitly supported by not discussing it), the Lithuanian politicians, under pressure from the immense diaspora community (both recent emigrés and soi-disant exiles from the WWII era), decided that they needed to come up with a new system of laws. It is hoped that these laws would be constitutional this time.
So today I read that, in fact, a proposal is going to be making its way to the Seimas rather soon. This proposal splits the pool of possible dual-citizens into six categories:
- Presidential exceptions
- Political prisoners and deportees, as well as their descendants
- Exiles who left Lithuania between 1940 and 1990
- Ethnic Lithuanians who live in traditionally Lithuanian lands (Puńsk, etc.)
- Children of current Lithuanian citizens born outside of Lithuania
- Lithuanian citizens who, living in other nations of the EU, acquire citizenship in the other EU nation.
PLB, unsurprisingly, showed its intense pro-NATO bias by arguing that the sixth group should be changed to include NATO nations. Chairperson Regina Narušienė argues that NATO guarantees the continuity of Lithuania’s indepedence, after all.
It strikes me that not included in the list above is the exception made for all descendants of interwar citizens. So someone like me is out of luck and unable to get dual citizenship. (I suppose I am still eligible to get Lithuanian citizenship and forfeit my US citizenship, though...)
As a result, the news is sort of middling. I can't loophole my way into an EU passport (on the one hand), but (on the other hand) the committee has clearly shown a concern with the new diaspora coming on the heels of accession. That is, certainly, good to see. So the solution still won't satisfy the old dypukai sitting on their bags of gold in the suburbs of Chicago, but it does go far in satisfying the actual problems Lithuania currently faces.
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Įrašė Moacir P. de Sá Pereira
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2008.03.14 13.06 |
 Borat visits Lithuania. A sign: if one promises to write a three-part post and can barely push the first part out in a timely manner, that post should probably be dropped. So considering that since V-16, Kovo 11 has come and gone without my finishing my article on why V-16 is not a holiday I’m particularly eager to celebrate, I’ll put those ideas aside and move to a few other things that have been bubbling in my head. Just before Lithuania’s second independence day , Lietuvos rytas printed an interview with Erran Baron Cohen, a musician whose brother, Sacha, is better known to the world as the mastermind behind Borat. Erran explained that he had just recently found out that his great grandfather was born in Kaunas. From there, his family moved to Wales, where Baron Cohen’s grandfather was born. When I pointed this out to a friend of mine, he said that he wasn’t surprised to learn of Baron Cohen’s Lithuanian ancestry, waggishly adding that Borat’s “Running of the Jews” was just a reformulation of the Shrove Tuesday “Užgavėnių paradas.” And it is this cultural intersection that I’m writing about after the flip.
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Paskutinį kartą atnaujinta ( 2008.03.18 08.52 )
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Įrašė Moacir P. de Sá Pereira
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2008.02.28 01.49 |
[Introduction] The anti-commememoration of the 90th anniversary of V-16 begins with this contextual piece, providing a few paths of inquiry into understanding what the circumstances were that led to the establishment of the Republic of Lithuania. I’m not, importantly, a historian. At best, I'm a literary critic. As such, this context is badly simplified, but it is at least not as simplified as the politically dubious version of Lithuanian history available at Saturday school or summer camp. As a literary critic, then, I can begin with these lines of a poem:
Tėvyne Lietuva, mielesnė už sveikatą! Kaip reik tave branginti, vien tik tas pamato, Kas jau tavęs neteko.
They are the opening lines of a poem published in 1834 by a graduate of Vilnius University and classmate of the father of Lithuanian History, Simonas Daukantas. The lines are majestic in their emotive strength, tied in precisely with the vogue of romantic poetry. The speaker is alone, thinking of his homeland Lithuania, dearer to him than his very health. And this dearness and importance is amplified by the fact that he, and anyone who loves their homeland Lithuania, loves it the more since they know, and have felt, what it is like not to have a homeland to love.
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Paskutinį kartą atnaujinta ( 2008.02.28 11.48 )
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