August 2006

Dear friends and family,

What kind of a place is Lithuania? Today Lithuania is experiencing political turmoil. In May Lithuania’s bid to join the euro zone was rejected. This summer the government collapsed amid corruption scandals; after a month of wrangling, a new minority government, dubbed the ‘government of lesser evil,’ took office. The leader of the largest political party was forced to resign and has fled to Moscow to escape investigators’ questions about party finances. The Economist magazine last month said the ex-communist states like Lithuania were suffering “from fractured political systems unable to produce any plausible government.” It predicted that “accidents were waiting to happen …” It’s been a gloomy summer.

Becky and I have been visiting our former student (let’s call him R) this summer. R has been sentenced, at age 20, to 15 years in prison for a heinous crime. R’s story is a tragic one. His crime continues to be national news. Walking through five locked gates into the prison yard is a dramatic transition from our reality to his. R is always waiting anxiously for us. We try to use the short time available to tutor him in economics and accounting. The fact that he is bright, attentive, and well-prepared only adds to the tragedy of his confinement. We try not to think of whether our tutoring has any long-term value; it is the value of the moment, the discussion and the presence are what seem to matter. We can’t fix things; we don’t understand what happened that brought R to this point. Much as we may want things to be otherwise, this is beyond our power or comprehension. We do what we can sitting with the textbooks. And suddenly the guard announces that time is up. Only when we leave do we realize the tension that builds in us prior to each visit. Given the limited time we want to do everything we can, but we are careful only to promise to try to come back. The feeling that so little can be done when we have such desire to help is exhausting.

Lithuania wants to be a modern political democracy. It joined the European Union in 2004. To be an EU member, countries must meet international human rights standards, including those for prisoners. This prison has a long history that tells us much about Lithuania. In 1863, when Lithuania was part of Tsarist Russia, there was a nationalist uprising seeking independence for Lithuania. The rebellion was crushed by the Tsar and leaders of the rebellion were sent to the small village of Praviensikis. Thus began the long history of the prison. By the start of the Second World War this part of Lithuania was in Soviet hands. Pravieniskis was a forced labor camp. The Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union began on June 22, 1941; troops marched across Lithuania. On June 26, 1941, as the Germans were approaching, the Red Army cleared out the prison at Pravieniskis and executed nearly 500 prisoners, their guards and a member of the Lithuanian parliament. When Lithuania became independent in 1990, a memorial cross was erected near the site.  But the tragic history of Praviensiks did not end. In September 1941, the Nazis murdered 253 Jews—women and children—near the camp; in February 1944 the Nazis murdered another 290 French, Lithuanian and Polish Jews at Praviensikis. So how does a Tsarist prison, once a Soviet forced labor camp, and then a Holocaust site, become a facility acceptable in a new democracy?

Today there are 6,484 prisoners in Lithuania in 15 facilities. The section where R is assigned has 1,200 men. The reforms triggered by EU membership brought about a new penal code in 2003. Prisoners have rights. Prisons were renamed correction houses, a signal that rehabilitation is possible. Justice officials are open and candid about the shortcomings of the present system but human rights groups give Lithuania good marks for its efforts to date. Permission from the director to visit R is readily granted; we are announced like important visitors. As depressing as the facility is, conditions seem at least tolerable and humane. The rooms we visit are antiquated but clean and serviceable; the guards seem disciplined and well-trained. Building a new democratic society based on the rule of law takes time. Lithuania is clearly between times—between the Soviet era that continues to cast a long shadow—and the new society progressive forces are hoping to build.

As we walked through the prison yard we couldn’t help but notice the eyes focused on us—crowds of men, standing around. What about all the others we only occasionally speak to? Only about one-third of the inmates have work. The prison section where R lives has recently acquired nine new computers—but no teacher has yet been identified. A drug-resistant strain of tuberculosis has exploded in Eastern European prisons, including Lithuania. Rehabilitation may be elusive.
 
So what hope is there is a place like Pravieniskis? Is there any hope is such an apparently hopeless place? The theologian Karl Barth says “A credible Christian witness to Jesus Christ should give human beings ‘the courage not to be content with the corruption and evil of the world but even within this horizon to look ahead and not back.’” The sanctuary in our home church, First Presbyterian Church in Warren, Pennsylvania, has a large stained glass window featuring an anchor, a symbol of hope. So we look ahead—ahead to our next visit to Pravieniskis. We’re all Easter people—we have hope because of the Resurrection. Pray that people we encounter see this hope in us.

Peace be with you all.

Eric & Becky Hinderliter
PC(USA) Mission Co-workers

The 2006 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 180