MARCO CARLONE

Baltic souls

May 1st 2004: Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia join the European Union. It is a watershed moment, as the three Baltic republics finally break away from their unregrettable Soviet past and turn their back on the constantly looming Russian neighbour.

As borders opened up, a massive emigration flux started in these three countries. Fostered by dreams of a better future within the EU, people’s movement eroded the strong barricades previously erected by the USSR. Villages thus turned empty and cities begun losing their dwellers; fulfilling careers and higher wages supposedly await Baltic young students and skilled workers abroad. Scandinavian countries, Great Britain and Germany became the most popular destinations.

Latvia has lost up to 25% of its inhabitants since its independence in 1991, while Lithuanians dropped from 3.7 million in 1991 to 2.8 million in 2017. Although the trend seems currently not so dramatic in in Estonia, recent UN estimations have foreseen a decrease by 32% of resident population by 2100 also in the northernmost republic. By the end of this century, Latvia is likely to become the worst affected country by emigration, as the number of inhabitants registered in 1991 is expected to halve.

Who are then the Baltic souls that withstand the flow in the tiny villages among the pine woods and average-size cities struggling to cope with a enfeebled welfare state? Retired workers like Stanislav, once a kolkhoz farmer in Norviliškės. But also those no longer able or willing to restart a life somewhere else, such as Andra, a former addict rejuvenated as an admired novelist. Some are instead returnees that opted for coming back and settle down in a more peaceful environment compared to Western chaotic metropolises.

Baltic souls is a visual journey through the unsung corners of the Baltic Republics, a gallery of stories about those who decided to stay – either by choice or necessity. The photos invite the observer to embark on a long and slow trip among forests, beaches and Soviet relicts, right into the thorny contradictions of a land that risks becoming just “a lovely place where you might spend an odd weekend with your folks”, as the former Latvian Minister of Economic Affairs once lamented.

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