The Young Man with the Mesmerizing Eyes

The Young Man with the Mesmerizing Eyes

By Jeanne Dorr

Jeanne Dorr, is a member of the Board of Directors of Lithuanian Orphan Care, a branch of the Human Services Council of the Lithuanian American Community, Inc. She is also a Social Studies teacher in New Jersey.
Romas Kalanta

Revolutionary? Hippie? Patriot? Psychotic? Who was Romas Kalanta? What was on his mind and what drove him to set himself on fire in front of the Music Theater in Kaunas on May 14th, 1972? What could possibly cause a 19-year-old such pain that he could no longer endure life? Was he a hippie on drugs, as the communist government quickly spread the word around Kaunas? Was he mentally disturbed as his mother was forced to sign a letter that was released to the newspapers? Or was he a young man who could no longer live under a system that denied him not only freedom of thought but freedom of spirit?

It dawned on me that many of us, who are second and third generation Lithuanians, have very large gaps in our knowledge of events that have taken place over the years in Lithuania. These spaces began to be filled in for me when I began attending St. Andrew’s Lithuanian Church in Philadelphia.

Every May, a Mass was held in memory of a young man named Romas Kalanta. The only thing I knew was that he set himself on fire in Kaunas. But as I sat at Mass, I found myself staring at his photograph, riveted by his eyes. Those eyes seemed to keep drawing me back to the photograph. The question would not leave my mind. Why? Why did he do this to himself and his family? Surely, he knew his family would also pay for his act of defiance. An opportunity to find some answers arose when I had the occasion to meet Gintautas Bukauskas in Kaunas.

Mr. Bukauskas is the president of Lituanica, an organization that plans to build a monument to honor Romas Kalanta. I knew the organization was having difficulty raising the money to complete the project. The monument was finished but they lacked funds to set it properly.

Mr. Bukauskas is a soft-spoken, well-educated young man. We spoke for more than an hour as he explained Lituanica and the project to me. Mr. Bukauskas was very young at the time of the tragedy and could only tell me what he read or heard from others. I explained to him that I could not do justice to his cause; all I had were cold facts. I had to meet someone who personally knew Romas. I had to "live" with his family and "walk in their shoes". Could he find a friend of Romas’ who would talk to me? Mr. Bukauskas was leaving on a business trip the next day and time was of the essence. I figured that was the end of the article before it ever got started.

Much to my surprise, I received a phone call from Gintautas later that evening. Would I like to speak to Romas’ younger brother? Would this be acceptable? This was more than I ever hoped for. That evening Arvydas Kalanta telephoned me and agreed to speak to me at my cousin’s apartment, which was a few blocks from where he lived. The next afternoon, I met Arvydas and his Jolanta.



Since independence, there has been a renewal of interest in Romas, and the family has been interviewed many times, even to the point that their privacy has been intruded upon. I told them the purpose of my article and that I felt there was something lacking in our knowledge of his brother’s story. I wasn’t interested in a lot of cold facts; I was interested in his brother as a human being.

We sat at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee between us and talked for several hours. It wasn’t a sad or somber interview because the good times were remembered as well as the tragedy. The Kalanta family could have been considered average. It consisted of working parents and four sons. At this point, I asked Arvydas if the rumors I heard that his father was a communist were true. He answered they were; his father had joined the party. Although, his mother saw to it that her sons received their first communion.

The boys were typical boys, getting into usual boy mischief. Romas was next to the youngest and Arvydas was the baby, with five years between them. Romas was a quiet person and kept to himself when he was at home. He enjoyed playing his guitar and drawing. He and other young people would gather in Kaunas’ Freedom Boulevard sitting in the park or in the coffeehouses and playing their music. The authorities frowned upon this. The students had long hair and wore bell-bottom pants. Their music was unacceptable because it was different. They were considered a public nuisance.

Yet, readers, keep in mind the time this was happening. There was an upheaval of traditions and protests were taking place all over the world. Although the changes were more subtle in the communist countries; nevertheless, they were happening through the long hair, the clothing and the music. According to Arvydas, this was their way to protest.

Romas was not an athlete, but played ball with his friends in the park. A gentle person, he would take his small nephew to visit his friends or for walks into town. He was an average student and he liked history. At one point, a teacher asked his mother why her children knew so much Lithuanian history. The curriculum was focused on Soviet history; Lithuanian history was to be ignored and not discussed at home. Although they did not know it at the time, an incident would occur in that school that would forever alter their lives.
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The trim blue Kalanta house where Romas grew up. The plaque on the side of the house reads, "Here, from 1963 until 1972, May 14th, lived Romas Kalanta.

When Romas was in the eleventh grade, a teacher gave an assignment to write about what they would like to do with their lives. Romas wrote that he wanted to enter the seminary and become a priest. He didn’t realize what this answer would cost him. His parents were immediately called to the schools and admonished for permitting their son to have such foolish ideas. After that, the situation in school became extremely difficult and Romas dropped out. He decided to get a job in a factory and go to night school.

At night school he engaged in discussions with his history teacher. Eventually the factory job ended, and Romas seemed to be losing interest in night school. One of this teachers later told his family he appeared disinterested and had a faraway dreamy look about him.



Sunday, May 14th was no different that any other Sunday. Romas took a 3 liter glass bottle and told his mother he was going to buy a popular Lithuanian drink that was sold on the street corners. Instead, he went to a friend’s house and asked for some gasoline. The friend asked what he was going to do with it, and Romas said he needed to clean something at home. Nothing out of the ordinary was taking place.

Romas went to the center of town and sat on a park bench with three or four other young people. The others got cold and left. Romas took off his jacket and left it on the bench. Inside his jacket pocket was a note with his name and address. Then, he proceeded to douse himself with the gasoline. People were unable to believe what they were seeing with their own eyes. They started to scream and run. Eventually, the police and ambulance arrived, and Romas was taken to the hospital.

The police arrived at the Kalanta house and told Mrs. Kalanta her son was burned. At first she didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation; she thought there was some kind of an accident. It was only when she got to the hospital did she see her son suffering an indescribable agony, his body covered with burns and tormented with pain. Romas’ parents and older brother were the only people allowed to see him for a few minutes at a time.

The staff was doing everything in their power to keep him alive; he was not allowed to die. An example would be made of him, so that other young people would not think of doing anything crazy. He would not be permitted to die; for then, he would be a hero and a martyr to Lithuania’s young people. He would be kept alive so he could be punished.

Can you imagine the anguish this family was suffering? Surely, their heart had to be ripped out at the sight of their son and brother. While the family was keeping their vigil at the hospital, the police were wasting no time in searching the house. They pulled apart everything looking for anything that would prove Romas was a troublemaker. They also turned everything upside down looking for drugs; they found none. Perhaps they could find anti-Soviet literature; there was nothing. Instead they took all of Romas’ belongings – letters from friends, the music he loved so much, and the drawings he made which gave him so much pleasure.

Back at the hospital, the vigil continued until the next morning when Romas died. Now he would feel no more pain and would never again have to endure a system that drove him to this brutal act. Romas had found the peace and freedom for which he yearned; he would no longer have to sit at a desk in school and dream about it.

There was no time to grieve for the family. The parents were immediately taken to police headquarters for questioning. They were told to write a release for the newspapers saying that Romas was mentally ill. They would have to say this was not a political act, it was the act of a disturbed young man. They reminded the Kalantas that they had three other sons to consider. Mrs. Kalanta wrote five or six drafts but none suited the authorities. Finally, she put down the pen, either out of grief or exhaustion or both, and told the authorities to write a statement that she would sign. There was nothing more she could do for Romas, but she still had a family to protect.

Romas’ body was brought back to his house for viewing. Two hours before the funeral was to take place; the authorities rushed in and said the funeral was to start immediately. The young people were told to leave the house. Mrs. Kalanta began to cry that all the relatives had not yet arrived, and neither had the photographer (is a Lithuanian custom to photograph the deceased). Arvydas said one of the officials looked his mother in the eye and said, "You should be grateful we are allowing you to bury him."

The authorities quickly sent for a police photographer and, using police vehicles took the body to the cemetery. They would not even permit the flowers to accompany the body. The cemetery was blocked off from mourners and spectators. Romas Kalanta was laid to rest in a section that was a little more than a garbage dump.

When the authorities began to realize that Romas Kalanta was now a hero to people all over the Baltics, they sealed off the city of Kaunas. Bus and train traffic was halted into the city. There was no public transportation from Latvia or Estonia. Young people with long hair wearing strange clothes were told to go home.

Before the funeral crowds of people from all through the Baltics who had arrived in Kaunas gathered in front of the Kalanta house. They began to shout, "Where is Romas?" When they heard what had happened, their anger and frustration began to grow. They linked arms and headed for police headquarters. Soon the militia appeared with their whips and clubs.

The crowd would not disperse as ordered. They headed for Freedom Boulevard. More militia and more brutality met them. The crowd was now in front of a church that the communists had closed and turned into an art gallery. A young man climbed a pillar of the church and unfurled the forbidden Lithuanian tri-colored flag as the crowd sang the equally forbidden Lithuanian national anthem.

A friend told me that an elderly woman was standing next to her with what seemed to be a shopping bag of everyday necessities, but underneath it was filled with rocks. She told my friend she remembered the taste of freedom and this woman began to hurl rocks at the militia. Age made no difference – these were Lithuanians who wanted the freedom returned that had been stolen from them.

The demonstrations continued for several days not only in Kaunas and other Lithuanian cities, as well as in the other Baltic countries. Other people set themselves on fire, the fortunate ones died. The others were left to rot in jail cells. The seeds of freedom were planted in the hearts and minds of the young and old alike. It might take another eighteen years but Lithuanians would again raise their flag and sing their anthem without fear, whips or clubs.

The inscribed rock originally intended as a monument for Romas’ grave. It now stands in the Kalanta yard.

Life continued for the Kalanta family. Things were normal except for the police that now took up their posts near the family’s house. Security was especially tight around All Souls’ Day and the anniversary of Romas’ death. From the day Romas was buried until his health failed seventeen years later, Romas’ father went to the cemetery every day. Even in the rain and snow, he would use a small broom to sweep the grave. His father could not even grieve in peace for there was always someone watching the grave. For eight years the family was not permitted to erect a monument. Instead there was a small piece of wood that marked the grave. Romas’ grave could not become a shrine.

The years passed and life changed. Arvydas married Jolanta and she moved into the Kalanta house. Mrs. Kalanta died on May 13th 1982, one day shy of the anniversary of Romas’ death. Several years later, Romas’ father also died, as did one of the brothers. As independence became a reality, the police presence lessened in front of the house. Immediately after independence was restored, a group of young people began to work on remembering Romas Kalanta.



Our interview ended and I felt I had a better understanding of the young man with the mesmerizing eyes. Before they left the apartment, Jolanta and Arvydas invited me to their home.

A week later, my husband and I walked the few blocks to the neat blue typically Lithuanian house where the Kalantas lived for so many years. There is a plaque on the front of the house, which was donated by a group of young people in memory of Romas.

There is also a huge rock bearing Romas’ name on the side of the house. The rock was to be his monument but innumerable problems arose. The sculptor couldn’t carve the letters correctly, the words weren’t right, and the cross was not where it should have been. The sculptor was called to police headquarters and soon after told the family he would be unable to complete the job. He left Kaunas, and the family could not find the rock. It was only after independence that they, along with some young people, began the search for it. They finally located it, and it was brought to the Kalanta yard.

As thoughts of how to move to the cemetery were being considered, Mrs. Kalanta died, and the family realized there would be no room on the rock for the remaining family who would eventually follow their beloved Romas. Another more practical monument was purchased for the cemetery, and the rock remains in the Kalanta yard.

We walked through the door, which Romas walked through so many times during his short 19 years of life. They showed us the room where his body had been laid out and pointed to the house across the street from which the police watched their family for so many years. I felt I was living a part of history as they shared their family album with us – photos of Romas as a young boy and at family gatherings.

Arvydas told me stories of their youth, which brought a smile to my face. I touched Romas’ notebooks that contained his drawings. The police actually missed some things in their initial search. The family donated most of his personal items to the museum at the Ninth Fort where an entire wall commemorates Romas’ life.

What moved me to tears was an envelope, which Jolanta handed to me. Inside were small pieces of the Christmas wafer. Every year at the Christmas Eve dinner, Romas’ mother broke a piece of the precious wafer and kept it for her beloved son. She did this until the year she died. She never let his spirit die. Not even the police sitting across the street could stop this mother from keeping her son’s memory alive.



After all of these hours of interviews, I still don’t have any answers. I have read other articles about this tragedy but Romas’ brother who was 14 at that time, told the version I am sharing with you to me.

Was this a spur of the moment act? No, it wasn’t. Before Romas set himself on fire he took off his jacket and left it on the side. Inside was a note with his name and address. Part of the note that he left said, "What should I live for? For this system to kill me? It would be better to kill myself at once…"

For orginal story, go to: http://lithuanian-american.org/bridges/bal99/dorr.html

Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank Snieguole Jurskyte, formerly of Philadelphia and now of Kaunas, for starting me on the correct path to find some answers. My gratitude goes to Gintautas Bukauskas for his patience.

I owe so much to Jolanta and Arvydas Kalanta for not only opening their home to me but for opening their hearts and sharing their memories. The deepest debt of gratitude goes to Romas who brought Lithuanian’s plight to the attention of the free world. May he rest in peace.

If you would like to make a donation to help with the monument in Romas’ memory, please write your checks to "Lituanica – Romo Kalantos Komitetas" and mail to:

Lituanica
Kapsu 110
Kaunas 3005
Lithuania


Important Links
http://lithuanian-american.org/index.php