Roadside picnic?
Overcoming the military past
Abstract
The paper studies how former military landscapes can be socially restores. It focuses on two former Soviet military bases in Estonia, Pärispea and Kangru. Since the Soviet Army left in 1994, most of the military installations have been abandoned and destroyed; some are in use by the Estonian military, some have been turned into some sort of development project. We focus on two, one that has been unused; another has been developed into a residential neighborhood. By interviewing the locals we explore how the military past is being handled by the present inhabitants. In one case the community tries to “re-domesticate” the once-lost grounds, in another the community believes the future lies in ignoring the past. Both cases show that the continuation of a place as material-discursive phenomenon (Davis 2005) depends on the interaction of the two components of it.
Introduction
In 1971, the Soviet writers Arkady and Boris Strugatsky published a science fiction short novel titled Pikniknaobochine (Roadside picnic). The novel describes aliens having visited the Earth and then departed, leaving behind all sorts of pieces of their advanced technology, which are then picked up by the people living nearby. The visitation zones were controlled by the authorities, but stalkers still managed to sneak into the zone and bring out all sorts of gadgets. A theory arises that the Zones and artifacts can be thought of as evidence of an extraterrestrial "roadside picnic" – after the picnickers depart, nervous animals (i.e. humans) venture forth from the forest and discover the spilled motor oil, balloons, candy wrappers, and other detritus. For the people living nearby the zones long time was needed to get used to the stress and pollution created by the zone and the gadgets. The Soviet film-maker AndreyTarkovsky based his movie The Stalker on this text.
By the end of 1994 the Soviet Army left Estonia. They took along everything they could, but still had to leave behind buildings, installations etc. The military territories were taken over by the Estonian Ministry of Defense. Fifteen years later some of the bases are still in military use, some have been turned into business or real estate projects, but many of the former bases have been raided and looted, just as the Strugatsky brothers describe. And many younger people who do not have personal memories of the Soviet Army use that very same Stalker metaphor to describe their encounters with the military territories.
What happens after the troops have left and the base is given back to non-military life? This paper studies two such cases in Estonia; one which has left to decay and another that has been turned into real-estate development. The paper studies these two sites through the eyes of the local people – how they perceive the landscape, how they shape the landscape with their everyday practices, how they see the past of their landscape and let it influence their lives. Whether and how a place that used to be observable from behind a fence has been turned into a place of inhabitation.
In Eastern European landscapes the layers created by the political changes of the 20th century are much more visible than anywhere else (Palang et al 2006). Mostly we have departed from Cosgrove (1984) who showed how each socio-economic formation tries to create its own landscape. He (Cosgrove 1984/1998: xiv) argued that landscape history should be understood as part of wider history of economy and society. So every socio-economic formation tries to create its own landscape, by wiping off the land the uses and symbolic values of previous formations and replacing these with its own. We have used this approach to study the past of Estonian landscapes. We have identified the four layers in the 20th century landscapes in Estonia and the time barriers between the layers that prevent understanding of how the previous layer functioned (Palang et al 2006). We have tried to comprehend the essence of the time barriers – what changes when landscape changes – and found the link between how a new political system creates the image of the desired changes and how these changes are then carried out (Palang 2010, Soini et al 2006). We have also described how the past survives beneath the new layer, forming sort of counter-landscapes (Palang, Peil 2010, Palang, Sooväli-Sepping 2011, compare with Maandi 2009 or Bryant et al 2011), thereby expressing the contested nature of landscape that is often forgotten in studies (Widgren 2006).
The emergence of the Soviet military landscapes can be understood as an outside interference with the “natural development” of landscape in Estonia. They were created to enforce the new political order, and thereby were always perceived alien by the local population; the fence surrounding the military base was a border between two different worlds. What happens when these landscapes are abandoned and people have to deal with the aftermath, both material and mental?
The justification, or rather need, for such research derives from Lotman’s cultural semiotics. While most other semioticians focus on studying translation between (usually two) separate sign systems, Lotman (2009) pays main attention to borders within one system, and the translation possibilities that the border creates, i.e. the continuity or persistence and the change of the system. The key point in Lotman’s model is that after a qualitative change (which he calls explosion) the culture must be able to describe its own change. During the explosion itself this sort of describing is impossible. If a culture is able to describe the explosion, the pre-explosion becomes part of the culture, if not, the link is lost. As demonstrated, the Soviet military landscapes definitely were not part of the Estonian cultural realm during the Soviet times – are we now able to create that link? So the paper tries to explore how areas that have been in military use by an alien power could be returned to “normal use”, not in ecological, but rather in social and cultural sense.
Military places in Estonia
The Soviet military installations appeared in the Estonian landscape soon after the breakout of WWII. Following the so-called Treaty on Military Bases between Estonia and the USSR, signed on Sept 28, 1939, the Soviets were allowed to build military objects in Estonia. Initially 7 harbors and anchor places plus many spots for coast guard artillery were handed over to the Soviets. In the following year the territory given to the use of Soviet military increased further, and by the time the coup d’état was staged in June 1940, the Soviet military in Estonia counted 25,500-31,600 men who used 33-34,000 hectares of land.
It is rather difficult to find any official data about the size of the military in Estonia during the Soviet times. Raukas (2006, p. 46) estimates that they used 1565 objects in 800 different locations and ca 87,000 hectares of land in Estonia, which is 1.9% of the whole territory. Raukas gives the total number of military personnel in Estonia in mid-1980s as high as 122,480; family members should be added to this number. The biggest military objects were the training grounds in Aegviidu, Laeva, Nursi, and Värska, but the military also used the whole Pakri peninsula (Peil 2006 has given an account on that area) and some islands.
After Estonia became independent again in August 1991, it took several years for the now Russian troops to withdraw. Only on July 26, 1994, the presidents L. Meri of Estonia and B. Yeltsin of Russia signed a treaty according to which the remaining Russian military contingent was to leave Estonia by August 31, 1994. That deadline was met.
Research into military landscapes
The research into military landscapes in Estonia is surprisingly scarce. Historians have tried to estimate the number of military in Estonia and document their actions (e.g., Hergauk et al 2006). Raukas (2006) has edited an extensive volume that inventories the environmental damage of the Soviet occupation in Estonia. Etverk (2000) has defended a MSc thesis that explores the possibilities of using the Soviet military objects for tourism and concludes that the possibilities are minimal since the local population finds it difficult to identify with the Soviet past. Others have focused on some particular object, as a chapter on military damage is a part of every publication that deals with the nature or history of the northern coast or West Estonian islands. A larger study by Peil (2006) explores the mappings of Paldiski, one of the most militarized areas in Estonia that was closed to public access until early 1990s. Reimann and Palang (2000) studied the development options for the Aegviidu military training grounds after the Soviet left and found that there were four interest groups present. Nature conservationists wanted to preserve the land as untouched as possible; former land owners and their heirs wished to make as much profit as possible; Estonian defense forces needed the area for their own training purposes and finally, the area had become a popular recreation region for nearby Tallinn. In a more theoretical study, Jauhiainen (1997) has discussed the geopolitical developments connected to the militarization and demilitarization of Estonia
An overview of research in military geography has been provided by Woodward (2005). Many other studies focus on the environmental history of some military-related areas, such as Camargue (Pearson 2009) or the Alps (Keller 2009). Vervloet et al (2005) have studied the need to preserve the former Dutch defense line – a land strip that could be flooded while invasion. Clout (2000) explored the rebuilding of four towns in Bretagne that had been “annihilated” during WWII. A few however touch the topic of former military bases and their faith after being abandoned, and mostly these studies focus on US, Britain or Germany. Davis (2007) edited a special issue of GeoJournal, which pointed out that military activities do not just destroy nature, they also actively produce it. But still, the question remains what happens to the military areas after the men with guns have left?
A landscape architects’ view on the restoration of military landscapes could be found in Adams and Steinitz (2000), who studied the possible landscape changes in the Camp Pendleton Marine Base Camp in California. It is a rapidly urbanizing region between the cities of Los Angeles and San Diego, and the Camp Pendleton region is the largest remaining near-natural area in that part of California. With the help of ‘alternative futures modeling’ technique the landscape architects built scenarios for the future development of the area. Their study suggested that, by 2010, the existing development trends would yield a fragmented landscape, loss of critical habitat, increased fire risk, and major downstream flooding. The military base is the core of the studied area, defining in many ways its future, but, importantly, the authors never touch the place aspects of the region, neither linked with the military base nor with any other aspect.
A conservationists’ approach is demonstrated by Burkart and Anders (2005). They studied the former military training areas in Germany and found that these could be considered the last reserves of valuable open landscapes in Europe, this assessment mostly coming from the biodiversity point of view. But these areas also contain relicts indicating former land use, in many cases including unintentionally preserved medieval structures, for example, structures indicating ancient boundaries, relicts of digging and mining, as well as old trees. Such areas appear to be isolated and cut off from surrounding civilization. Once military activities cease, the land could be re-appropriated, and there seems to be a competition between different groups. They claim that „The new ‘colonists or settlers’ are mostly nature conservationists, forest rangers, hunters and scientists with profound knowledge of and good orientation on the sites. Therefore, they have a great strategic advantage over other land users with comparatively ‘sluggish’ forms of establishment, for example, agriculture, tourism or industry.”
J.S. Davis (2005) explored the representing of the Bikini atoll in the Pacific. In 1946-1958, Bikini was the site for US nuclear testing, with all population being relocated to neighboring islands and Bikini itself devastated by explosions and nuclear waste. Davis describes how Bikini was first represented as an unhealthy and marginal in every sense of the word location (and locale) – or even a non-place – for such tests, and then, after the tests had finished and the mess cleaned up, a renovated paradise. However, due to contamination the resettlement of the Bikinians failed, and now the atoll is being promoted as a tourism destination safe for shorter stays and rich in cultural heritage, and artifacts from the age of nuclear testing are now seen as cultural and economic resources. There is a concern that the underwater wrecks remain „pristine” and intact. „Discursively’, Davis cites Howe (2000), ’the Bikinian government has been able to unlink Bikini from the image of contamination (even though, as discussed above, the safety of the atoll is still an issue of intense debate) and successfully link Bikini Atoll to place-images about tropical paradises on deserted isles that have been circulating in Western civilization for centuries (Howe 2000)”.
A cultural geographer’s approach was shown by S. Davis (2008). She invites the reader to walk with her in a former military area and experience site, and by slowly moving through it (re)discover and (re)interprete the area and thereby pay tribute to the times gone by. Peil’s (2006) account of Paldiski follows similar lines.
Finally, Bagaeen (2006), summing up different approaches to military area development, found three strategies. In the UK, the policy to redevelop military land is driven by need to reduce government spending, income generation and promoting government targets for brownfield housing development. In Jordan, the conversion has generally been developer-driven, where economic interests prevail over environmental and community. The case of Vauban in Germany clearly demonstrates how community activism can play a central role in redeveloping a military site. Bagaeen concludes with a statement that the challenge in military base redevelopment will be to guarantee competitive advantages through revenue-generating activities that can transform these sites into reliable economic opportunities while looking after the interests of all the parties involved.
Study sites
For our study, two different sites were chosen (Fig 1). One on the Pärispea peninsula, some 60 km east of the capital Tallinn, on the territory of the Lahemaa National Park, another, Kangru, just outside the boundaries of Tallinn, 2 km south of the city limits.
Pärispea
The village of Pärispea (Fig 2, 3) is located in the Kuusalu community and has 114 inhabitants these days. The village is situated on the coast of the Gulf of Finland, on the tip of a peninsula between two bays, and has been inhabited since 13th century at least. People earned their living from fishing and some agriculture, later also from trade and smuggling of salt and spirits. The Soviet military appeared on the scene on July 26, 1940, when they took over the Estonian border guard station. In August 1941 they were pushed away by the invading German troops, who started building coast guard artillery batteries in Mähuotsa. The Germans left on September 18, 1944, after having blown up the batteries and also buildings of two farms they had been using as storages. The Red Army re-appeared in Pärispea on October 29, 1944. Before the Soviets arrive, between 18-26 October, about half of the village population fled to Sweden.
In January 1945 the Soviets move their border station from neighboring Suurpea to Pärispea and in 1960 further to nearby Viinistu.
In 1953-58, the Soviet Army started building a marine research institute in Suurpea (Fig 4). The neighboring Hara bay is rather deep, so the institute dealt with studying demagnetization of vessels, their defense against sea mines – acoustic, dynamic, magnetic and turbulence mines. Instruments were placed in the bottom of the bay and they measured the characteristics of the ships passing over; the experiments were made almost every day. The camp housed some 250-300 soldiers and 300 officers; there was also a primary school and kindergarten for the children of the officers. Most of the officers working in the laboratories were trained engineers; everybody working in the camp had at least secondary education. The camp had multistory 18 apartment buildings, in addition to storages etc.
In addition to the “institute”, some other military outposts were located on the peninsula. Three visual observation posts – one south of Suurpea, another in Pärispea, third in the main building of the institute – observed the movement of the ships in the Hara Bay; an anti-aircraft radar station was placed on the tip of the peninsula.