— せどう いちか＠絶賛ペットロス中 (@IchikaPlus1) October 17, 2022
It's time to update the list of introductory threads
1. By February 27, I concluded that Russia would lose this war. Russian army was overrated, Ukrainian – underrated, while Russian political goals misunderstood. They planned for 1968-style pacificationhttps://t.co/Rpis71w92L
— Kamil Galeev (@kamilkazani) September 11, 2022
— せどう いちか＠絶賛ペットロス中 (@IchikaPlus1) October 18, 2022
— せどう いちか＠絶賛ペットロス中 (@IchikaPlus1) March 17, 2022
原文の記事の著者はエストニアのフリージャーナリストEero Epner氏。英語への翻訳はAdam Cullen氏。
— せどう いちか＠絶賛ペットロス中 (@IchikaPlus1) October 18, 2022
◆„Human Life Has No Value There“: Baltic Counterintelligence Officers Speak Candidly About Russian Cruelty
【EESTI EKSPRESS：Eero Epner（Translated by Adam Cullen） 2022年10月17日】
The photo on Aleksander Toots’s slightly tattered old work ID is faded and worn. He looks much younger than he does now: short-haired and sharp-featured. Next summer will be his 30th at the Estonian Internal Security Service (abbreviated KAPO in Estonian). How he plans to mark the occasion, I do not know. He spends most of his free time out in nature and working with his hands, though he won’t say where. „Let’s not try to profile me,“ he responds with a cool smirk when I ask what his favorite book is. „Let’s not make things easier for the adversary.“
Toots has been dealing with Russia for 15 of the last 30 years. He’s endeavored to predict its next steps, offered a surprise or two of his own, and uncovered Russian spies, several of whom were colleagues. He doesn’t reply at first when I ask what he felt the first time he interrogated Aleksei Dressen, a former superior and later subordinate. They greeted each other in the mornings, waved goodbye when they left for the day, and perhaps kicked the wheels of their vehicles while chatting in the parking lot. All until it was revealed that Dressen was a traitor working for Russia.
„Details,“ Toots says tersely when I ask what gave Dressen away. But when they were ultimately sitting across from each other and his recent colleague, maybe even somewhat of a friend, was in handcuffs, Toots says he felt no great emotion.
„There are no hot-headed decisions.“
He only displays irritation once in our meetings – when I ask if it might be possible to interview Eston Kohver, his colleague abducted by Russian intelligence. Reservation isn’t a mere character trait: it is Toots’s strategic weapon against Russia.
As Russian intelligence agents have confided in him: „[Estonians’] advantage is that you’re all levelheaded.“ Dressen also hoped that Toots would show emotion during his interrogation, and lost his footing when it failed to come to fruition. They don’t know how to keep it in check. Or they simply can’t. They become emotional, testy, irate, confused. At some point, Russian agents lose control and are unable to do anything about it – it’s just the way things are. As they admit: „You can’t beat Russia with reason.“
According to Toots, an intrinsic element of Russian society is pokazukha: pretending everything is fine while reality is anything but. It also applies, at least partly, to Russian intelligence, no matter that it’s a powerful system employing thousands.
„Chaos is a trait of Russian culture. There always needs to be a shepherd; otherwise, it’s anarchy,“ remarks Toots, who grew up in the Russian-majority eastern Estonian city of Kohtla-Järve. While discussing Russia, he purposefully uses the word „adversary“ instead of „enemy“, which he believes is unnecessarily charged. When engaged in a struggle with Russia, one can expect them to be excessively emotional, but also relentless. They are great, ambitious, merciless, and most of all, cruel.
Toots wasn’t surprised by the atrocities committed in Bucha. Nor were any other of the counterintelligence agents I interviewed in Estonia, Latvia, or Lithuania. They’re aware of how Russians conducted themselves in the Baltics during the Second World War. Of how they conducted themselves before that. Of how they’ve always behaved. The West lacks such awareness.
„[The West is] fortunate,“ Toots remarks. „We’re a buffer between them and Russia. They’ve forgotten a lot and think Russia is just like them.“
It isn’t. And Putin isn’t the only issue.
„When the war began, we were worried about people saying it was only Putin’s war,“ says Director General of the Latvian State Security Service Normunds Mežviets as we speak in a soundproof office in a featureless building located in a suburb of Riga. His diction is soft, brisk, and punctilious, just like that of your favorite psychiatrist. Russians are no strangers to Mežviets. He grew up among many Russian-speakers and scuffles were an everyday occurrence.
„I witnessed Russian mentality every single day.“
Mežviets’s colleagues in the other Baltic states echo his sentiment.
„Obviously, you can’t abstractly accuse an entire nation,“ says long-time Director General of the Estonian Internal Security Service Arnold Sinisalu. „But a society and a nation constitute a whole. The state may brainwash, but the germ of chauvinism still springs from the people itself.“
When Director of the Lithuanian State Security Department Darius Jauniškis served in the Soviet military, he was constantly confronted by Russian soldiers with an intent to dominate.
„I fought them,“ he says, „because I knew that as soon as you submit to their will, you become their slave. But if you strike back, then you might even earn their trust.“
When I ask how many scuffles he was in, Jauniškis’s hand shifts to reveal a talisman on his wrist. There were many, he says. Very many. The subject isn’t incidental. He uses it as educational material for his younger colleagues, broadening the experience into an analysis of Russia as a whole: they recognize and respect strength alone.
That is precisely how Baltic counterintelligence officers refer to Russia – not ‘it’, but ‘they’. The war in Ukraine is not Putin’s war. The cruelty is not Putin’s. The rapes, murders, gouged eyes, hangings, and burned corpses aren’t special tactics employed by Russia’s leader. It is Russia as a whole.
„The majority of Russians are to blame,“ says Sinisalu.
Western colleagues sometimes have a hard time believing this.
„They’re certainly more naïve and optimistic than we are,“ says one Baltic counterintelligence officer.
„When we tried explaining to our partners that Russia can’t be trusted, they denied it,“ another adds, visibly resentful. Georgia, the Crimea – nothing changed. „And here we are in 2022.“ Several interviewees imply that they’ve had to tirelessly remind Western partners of the dangers of such naiveté.
Toots says that to be fair, he can’t find any fault with Western intelligence services. „They know Russia well enough.“ In Europe and further afield, agents who are fully immersed in Russian matters echo a common understanding of the country and the threat it poses.
However, problems persist among politicians and heads of foreign intelligence agencies. Denial. Dismissal. Reducing everything to Putin and his closest circle because one shouldn’t pigeonhole all Russians or believe there exist common national characteristics.
Baltic counterintelligence officers’ conclusions about Russia are obverse. As one remarks: „Our understanding has been the polar opposite of the West’s.“ We coinhabit the world with a country whose citizenry primarily adheres to a code of force. The war in Ukraine was not a surprise, but rather a logical progression. And at some point, it will repeat again.
Those whom I interview were born in the late 1960s or early 1970s. They grew up among so many Russians that when they speak rapidly, several, including Toots, reveal a slight Russian accent. They were all conscripted into the Red Army.
„Total idiocy and foolishness,“ Sinisalu grunts when asked about his former officers and fellow conscripts. Toots witnessed dedovshtshina, the violent subjugation of junior soldiers, on a daily basis.
When the heads of Baltic counterintelligence meet, they converse in English even though Russian could also serve as a common language. Each is so fluent in the latter that when Sinisalu or Toots begins quoting a Russian saying, the other finishes for them. One of Putin’s remarks from 1999 comes up: „We’ll whack them, even in the outhouse.“ They point out the use of delinquent Russian street slang.
According to the directors, the turn of phrase isn’t incidental. It’s a layer of diction that can be used to interpret the fundamental patterns of behavior practiced by Putin and his retinue. It holds no commonality with Western leaders who wore formal uniforms at private schools, went on to study political philosophy at Harvard, and know where to set a salad fork. Russia has, of course, no shortage of fascinating, intelligent, heartfelt, and genuine people, but they do not determine the main tone of Russian society.
„If you want to know Russia, then don’t go to St. Petersburg or Moscow,“ says Toots. He once spent six months in Kronstadt, a stone’s throw from St. Petersburg but filled with an entirely different breed of people. There, no one removed their hats at the table or knew a single thing about etiquette. Everything was decaying and chair legs were on the verge of snapping off beneath you, but no one lifted a finger to fix anything, simply sighing „Ah…“ and giving a dismissive a wave of the hand. The atmosphere was infused with something intrinsically foreign to the West – Russian society is accustomed to suffering. An injustice that sends Parisians out onto the streets won’t make a single resident of Novosibirsk scratch the back of their necks.
„You can’t understand Russia through books or analyses,“ Jauniškis adds. „You have to live there a while.“
None of the counterintelligence directors have visited Russia in a very long time; at least not officially. Nevertheless, they’ve seen their share of Russian villages that lack reliable electricity, navigable streets, or even indoor toilets. True, they rarely have business to conduct in such areas, where even food is scarce. There’s only ambiguous pride of belonging to such a great – and strong – nation.
One acquaintance who has frequented smaller Russian settlements gave a vivid description of common local history museums: one room covering a period that stretches from the Paleolithic to 1941, followed by five rooms covering the years 1941–1945. The Second World War. Victory over the Nazis. The sole source of honor in such humble environs, where an expanse of endless mud begins at the museum door and a local drunk is curled up against the wall, dozing like a sleepy housefly.
There are those who say the Baltic states’ true practical knowledge of Russia began only in the 1940s.
„Look at what they did in the Second World War,“ Sinisalu says when we discuss the mass graves, rapes, and deportations in Ukraine. „It’s the exact same.“ Sinisalu’s maternal grandparents were deported to Siberia, where both perished. What’s happening in Ukraine today has been seen and endured before in Tallinn, Riga, and Vilnius.
„Everything comes back full-circle; nothing changes,“ a 90-year-old former dentist says to me at my grandfather’s birthday celebration. My grandfather is turning 96 and a few months later, he sends me a draft article calling on people to stop using expressions like „the Soviet regime“, as he believes there was no Soviet Union. „After the breakup of the 20th-century Russian empire, only those who carried out orders were declared villains,“ he writes angrily. In his view, Russian society as a whole carries the responsibility.
„There are no separate nations or distinct societies,“ argues a vehemently anti-war Russian acquaintance. „I believe that so-called nations are an instrument used by giant imperialist conglomerates fighting amongst themselves in Ukraine for global domination, all at the expense of the lives and destinies of working-class people – what ‘nation’ is there to speak of…“
However, officers of the Baltic security services do not describe Russia’s imperialism and brutality as a military tactic, but a rampant social norm.
„I believed that their mentality changed over the years and they had a reckoning after the war. That would have been normal,“ Jauniškis says. „But I was mistaken:“
Indeed, how could Russia have any reckoning when the country has never been held responsible? The Nazis temporarily rose to the top of the cruelty ranking during the Second World War, which has caused people to forget Russia’s atrocities.
„They’ve never been held accountable,“ Sinisalu says. „And that has made them feel invincible.“
I’m not told his full name, even after asking. All I know is his first name, that he is a historian, and that he works with KAPO’s spies and detectives. The historian, let’s call him Peeter, is tasked with helping to unravel crimes committed during the Soviet occupation of the 1940s and later. As Russia stands at the very center of the Soviet Union’s horrible deeds, they greatly help to understand the country’s actions today. No one would use Angela Merkel or Olaf Scholtz to improve their analyses of Nazi history, but nothing in Russia has changed.
Peeter studies how the Soviet deportations were planned and the partisan Forest Brothers tracked down and executed, as well as what became of the survivors. He has searched for secret KGB cemeteries and combed through archives to find proof of the innumerable human-rights crimes committed during the Russian occupation.
He sometimes confers directly with Sinisalu, whom he calls an „above-average amateur historian“.
„Over the last few years, history has been repeating much more vividly than we could have ever expected,“ Peeter says. Every day, he leaves the archives, reads the news, and sees no great difference between what happened then and what is happening today. „It seemed like they’d retired their tactics, but they’re coming back in the exact same form as before.“
Even so, he was surprised when the first reports of Russia’s brutalities in Ukraine began to emerge.
„I thought they’d go right back to their old rhetoric, but the past manifesting anew in a cruder and more robust way was unexpected,“ Peeter remarks. Deportations. Rapes. Alleged struggles with hostile elements, but actual executions of children
In Russia, history is more alive and present than anywhere else.
„Our assessments of Russia haven’t changed in the last 30 years,“ says Mežviets. The chief analysis is this: Russia wishes to regain its status as an empire by any means.
„To them, there are no states, only zones and territories,“ Peeter explains. Russia sees itself as being surrounded by vassals and ancillaries – there is no third option.
„They’ll never come to terms with the breakup of the USSR,“ Mežviets says. As Russia’s leaders themselves have declared: Russia ends where it is stopped.
„It’s a conqueror’s mindset,“ Jauniškis says. „Everyone around them are enemies.“
Official polling paints a clear picture of Russian society’s true convictions.
„They come off as children who have been wronged and are now seeking revenge,“ Jauniškis adds. He claims the Soviet way of thinking is so deeply embedded in Russian society that even their manner of resistance still dates to the 1970s: people sit in their kitchen, drink vodka, and complain, but as soon as they leave their apartments, they report to their jobs and work obediently till evening. Nevertheless, Mežviets says this conqueror’s mentality is no mere Soviet remnant, but extends far deeper.
Surprisingly, the heads of all three Baltic counterintelligence agencies answer with the same name when I ask about the origins of Russia’s present-day mentality: Ivan the Terrible. A ruler who lived almost 500 years ago, conducted successful military campaigns aimed at territorial expansion, and stood out for his exceptional cruelty, even slaying his own son in a fit of rage. Russia’s modern-day brutality and expansionism is a carbon copy of Ivan the Terrible’s murderous imperialism.
Regarding the former grand prince of Moscow as the root of modern Russia isn’t a mere figment of Baltic counterintelligence’s imagination. Peeter recently read a lengthy Russian propaganda article lauding Ivan the Terrible as a genius and role model. Russia has increasingly used historical events to justify its present actions, erecting, for example, monuments with a White Army and Red Army soldier standing side by side and a plaque reading: „Both fought for Russia.“ Peeter almost snorts and laughs when he tells me.
The pair is absurd in a historical context, but anything is possible in Russia. Imperialism, perpetual expansion coupled with nationalism, centering Russians themselves in everything – there, such absurd bedfellows are able to nestle together and make ordinary development impossible.
Sinisalu isn’t the only history buff in Estonian counterintelligence: Toots can trace his genealogy back 300 years and is uncharacteristically enthusiastic when he starts telling me about his ancestors. One of his grandmothers descended from aristocratic Baltic Germans and distrust is no unfamiliar topic: a rift formed in the family when she decided to marry an Estonian, who were simple peasants at the time. Toots has carefully preserved every scrap of correspondence related to the story.
Russian intelligence officers are no less interested in history, albeit a warped version.
„Over the last few years, they’ve vigorously emphasized shaping the present through history,“ says Mežviets. And to a Russian intelligence officer, „history“ primarily means conflicts and war. Long-ago clashes are used to justify fighting today, and according to Peeter, Russian intelligence officers receive „a special dose“ of these lessons, fueling not only their desire to expand, but to exact retribution.
Disappointment of falling behind the West has caused Russians to either ramp up national exceptionalism or take offense, grow embittered, and believe that the country has been robbed of something. As one Russian acquaintance tells me, „Russians aren’t interested in truth, but justice.“ No matter that this historical justice is nothing but a paper-thin fantasy.
One needn’t dig very deep into colonial history to understand modern-day France. Russia is a different case. All is but a continuation set to the rhythm of the past. Today’s Russian security forces are astonishingly identical to their predecessors established centuries ago, and even the country’s primary propaganda methods were perfected in tsarist times. Russia’s wars in Syria and Afghanistan were conducted the same way as the Great Northern War (1700–1721) and the Livonian War (1558–1583). Tanks have replaced swords and soldiers wear combat boots instead of spurs, but their intentions, behavior, and perhaps even some of their equipment are centuries old.
The cruel culture pervading Russia’s modern army was entrenched during the era of Stalin’s Gulags. It isn’t random, but systematic. Rigid hierarchies, an inability to account for variation, autocrats locked in information bubbles, and, at the same time, a population yearning for autocracy – perhaps the hardest aspect for Westerners to wrap their heads around – have existed in Russia for centuries and will only persist.
Baltic counterintelligence directors don’t only speak about Putin, but recall the reign of Peter the Great, who ordered all Swede-supporting Russians to be executed. Again, Sinisalu and Toots chime in together with a Russian maxim: „Beat your own to frighten others.“
„Violence is a historical pattern in Russia, and that will not change,“ Sinisalu calmly adds. „Human life has no value there.“
The massacre in Bucha wasn’t unique, but a repetition of Katyn. The detonation of the Olenivka prison was a copy of the explosion in Sambir, which killed 1,200 female prisoners in 1941. Nothing has come as a surprise for anyone familiar with Ukrainian history, as Ukraine isn’t simply Ukraine – it is also Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania in the 1940s.
They Aren’t Like Us
„They only respect force,“ says Jauniškis, „and if you answer theirs with your own, then you might even become friends.“ The principle is diametrically opposed to the suit-and-tie diplomacy and ordinary negotiations to which the West is accustomed.
„For Russia, both sides winning equals a loss,“ remarks an Estonian entrepreneur who has organized complex business transactions with Russians for decades. „They need for there to always be winners and losers, even when negotiating.“ And only they may come out on top.
„There, diplomacy is a sign of weakness,“ says Mežviets. „Russia only recognizes force. It’s hard for the West to understand, as Westerners hold different values and believe that others do as well.“
Jauniškis compares contemporary Russian society to the medieval Mongols. Though Lithuania once joined forces with Russian princes to counter the Mongolian hordes, he feels that Russia switched sides given the behavior of its officers and soldiers alike. „They’re animals,“ he frankly states.
„I don’t want to think so primitively; to believe such evil could truly exist in Russian society,“ Peeter tells me. „I’d like to believe something nobler. But it’s simply the truth.“
Jauniškis is well aware that such statements are not politically correct. It has nothing to do with national characteristics or all Russians being bad eggs, of course.
„For generations and generations, people in Russia have been born into fairy tales where life is terrible, and they’ve almost never enjoyed the freedom of expression, so what else can you expect?“ says a human rights activist who refuses to strip the entire population of its human face. We must speak not of Russians, but Russian society.
Constantly, we’re told that Russia is composed of ingredients like Chekhov, borsht, generosity, fraternity, piousness, and Dostoyevsky. But let us recall what Dostoyevsky wrote: a Russian can only operate in radicals, being radically good or radically evil. One of his protagonists allows a „thoroughly native object to be seen – an enormous fist sinewy, knotted, and overgrown with a sort of reddish fuzz, and it became evident that should this profoundly national object descend upon anything it would leave nothing after it but a damp spot“.
Sinisalu is an avid reader of Lyudmila Ulitskaya and watches all her interviews. He was initially surprised that although the writer heatedly opposes the war, she didn’t leave Russia before it broke out. „But, well, then I took a deeper look and realized she’s not a real Russian, but a Jew.“ And what do they say about Jews in Russia? As one of Sergei Dovlatov’s characters is told: „I’d give a dozen Ukrainians for one Jew.“
Contempt for Ukraine isn’t just one of Putin’s delusions – its roots stretch much deeper. Before interviewing a well-known Russian theater director, I was warned he is generally a liberal anti-Putinist but believes that Russia occupying the Crimea was the right move, as Ukrainians „aren’t human“.
When discussing Russia, Jauniškis repeatedly uses the words „unique mentality“. Russia does not belong to our ecosystem. It has its own set of rules and values. Even the jokes are different. Baltic counterintelligence officers often try to tell their Western colleagues Russian jokes, but fail to get a laugh because they can’t see how such things could be funny. Only those who have been raised in the Baltic sphere can laugh at both the anecdotes told here and those told in the West.
„It’d be overly simplistic to attribute the Russian mentality to propaganda,“ says Jauniškis. „Imperialism, chauvinism, brutality – they’re a part of Russian education, upbringing, and culture, but are also part of their values. And it’s been that way for centuries.“ Alas, neither Jauniškis nor any other Baltic counterintelligence officer I interview believes it can change.
When the Baltic states regained their independence in 1991, Russia also became temporarily more democratic. Elections were seemingly held, leaders spoke of opening up, and everything appeared to be changing for the better. But only the West believed Russia had taken a turn.
„When we made our plans, we assumed that Russia would go back to being its old self and the empire would return at least a year later,“ said Raivo Vare, who served as Minister of State at the time. He’s had a lifelong interest in Russia and lived there for 17 years. „Practical experience“ was the basis for the assessment.
„Alas, we were overly optimistic,“ Vare adds. It only took a few months before Russia began manipulating Estonia again, this time with oil.
Everyone who works for a Baltic counterintelligence agency asserts that nothing will change.
„In Russian schools, they teach children that the Baltic states have only been lost temporarily,“ Peeter remarks. He wraps his hands around his coffee mug before continuing. „Pushkin can’t lead a country like Russia.“ Peeter doesn’t believe anything would improve even if Aleksei Navalny were, by some miracle, to become Russia’s leader. „The mentality is the same. There would need to be a total purge, but that won’t happen.“ Russia’s youth have abandoned hope, the state apparatus is massive, protests lead nowhere, and all the West’s long-held hopes for a peaceful democratic transition are utterly naïve, overlooking Russian history, its mindset, and reality.
Just recently, Estonian Ambassador to Ukraine Kaimo Kuusk stood at the edge of the mass graves and visited the former torture chambers in Izum. He was told that the Russian torturers weren’t yokels, but spoke in elegant urban St. Petersburg or Moscow accents. Russia’s total defeat in Ukraine is the sole opportunity for change.
„Historically, force has always had an effect on Russia,“ Peeter says. „No matter how much you wish there was another solution, there isn’t.“
„At the moment, I can’t think of any force that could spread democratic values in Russia,“ says Jauniškis. „They demand the respect of every other country and exact it through brutal compulsion.“
Mežviets presses his palms together and dispassionately lists the bullet points of Latvian counterintelligence’s strategic assessment. Russia will not conquer Ukraine. Putin’s mentality will begin to shift, but no one can say when. It depends not only on himself or Russia, but on the West’s level of activity. Here, Mežviets briefly pauses.
„Nevertheless, Russia’s mentality will not change,“ he concludes. „Not even Putin’s death will change anything. To our region, Russia will always be a threat, and not only because of its leaders.“
The directors of all three Baltic counterintelligence agencies perceive that Russia’s invasion of Ukraine did not herald a change in the former, but it certainly did in the West. Now, Western politicians are gradually starting to comprehend that Russia cannot be treated the same way as other states, though it is a very fine line to tread. People still refer to „Putin’s war“. They emphasize that „ordinary Russians“ should not be persecuted. They assert that we must remain humanist and understanding, for otherwise we would not be European.
It’s a contradictory cocktail that requires, in the name of Western values, convincing ourselves that Ukrainian corpses are merely the act of a crazed war-waging fanatic, not the outcome of a much broader, tenacious mindset that has gone unpunished for centuries. Many are prepared to allow Putin to save face, no matter that the cost is Ukrainian bodies with nooses tied around their necks and their faces removed.
Of course, Russia isn’t the only country that proceeds from a historical narrative.
„Roosevelt was also naïve,“ says Sinisalu, noting how the former president sacrificed the Baltic states in an effort to win over Stalin as an ally. He recalls the indignation that erupted in American audiences after watching a Latvian film that compared communists to Nazis. „The West has shown a lot of cynical self-interest,“ says Sinisalu. „The political leadership always makes the rules: you have to keep communicating with Russia somehow.“ When I ask what feelings the West’s approach elicits, he shrugs. „What could they be? Not positive, in any case.“
Sinisalu acknowledges that attitudes in the West have improved since the beginning of the war, but not enough. He calls any references to „Putin’s war“ or suggestions that Russia should avoid humiliation „a stupid thing to say“. Being well-versed in history, he knows all too well that revolutions have only happened in Russia after a war was lost.
It’s possible that the Baltic state security agencies will soon lose their exact knowledge of Russian society: younger generations have had contact with local Russian speakers but not Russia proper, which is something entirely different. It’s not a question of ethnic nature, but nurture. Today’s Baltic youth generally do not speak Russian, cannot pick up on nuances, and may err in the details.
„I’m a relic,“ says Toots.
Will the new generation bring naivete? I ask.
„No, on the contrary,“ Jauniškis responds. „They have the experience of the generations that came before them.“
Russia’s espionage in the Baltic states has slightly weakened since the war began, but my interviewees believe it is only temporary.
„My job has been relatively routine for the last 15 years,“ Toots casually remarks. He calls catching the adversary’s spies „assembly-line work“ and his own profession a „lifestyle“. There haven’t been any shifts on a larger scale, he says – the only surprises are tactical in nature.
When I interviewed Toots early in the summer of 2021, he spoke about Russia’s efforts to spread influence in schools and transit businessmen who were vying for better ties to the colossal empire. A year later, everything has changed. The adversary’s tools have changed, but vigilance is still crucial. „If you go into anything expecting them to be just like us, then you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.“
During the Soviet occupation, Toots spent time working in a missile division stationed in Ukraine. Once, they were ordered to construct a large, paved launch pad. They were supplied with no gravel, asphalt, or a single piece of equipment. They didn’t even have vodka that could be traded for supplies. Against all odds, it was finished two days later. The division stole the steamroller and scraped the rest of the materials together from who-knows-where.
„You’ve got to be creative,“ is all he says.
The weekend after the invasion of Ukraine, Toots was scrolling through Soviet propaganda posters from the Second World War and came up with an idea. He called a few colleagues, had some quick discussions, and was sending files to a print house by Sunday evening. Several days later, posters appealing for tips and warning of possible recruitment attempts by Russian intelligence officers were put up at Estonia’s border checkpoints. How successful was the campaign? I ask.
„I have a selective memory,“ he replies with a smirk, though he acknowledges an astonishing number of tips poured in.
Toots postpones one of our meetings by several weeks.
„Toots isn’t here,“ is all the KAPO press representatives will tell me.
„He’s busy in Narva,“ Sinisalu adds tersely. That’s to be expected. He was on alert in Eastern Estonia – his childhood stomping grounds – while a Soviet-era tank was moved from a pedestal in Narva to an open-air museum.
Toots isn’t particularly agitated when he returns. Everything went according to plan, which doesn’t mean it was easy. Apparently, Russian intelligence wasn’t very active during the contentious removal. KAPO did, however, had to employ the only means of quelling possible unrest: semi-forcibly bringing in certain „necessary individuals“.
It’s possible that Toots put on a Russian-language record when he got home from Narva. He’s a fan of Russian music and would gladly talk to colleagues about Kino or Akvarium, though there are more historians than music aficionados in their ranks. We meet a total of three times and Toots speaks about Russia at length, but barely says a word about himself.
„Maybe these are the last interviews I’ll ever give,“ he says.
Over the last dozen years, Toots’s unit has caught and arrested 21 Russian spies, each of whom was found guilty. I suspect he’s hinting at another capture as we conclude our conversation and he says: „Just wait a bit. There’ll be news before the year is over.“
Lithuanian counterintelligence doesn’t make a similar promise, but there is no shortage of Ukrainian flags on lapels in Vilnius. A few weeks after the invasion, Jauniškis’s father said he would have never believed he’d see another war in his lifetime.
„One day, Russians will wake up and realize what they’ve done,“ Jauniškis asserts. „And their guilt will be excruciating.“
When I leave the Latvian VDD headquarters and am returned the pens that were confiscated from me, I ask the security guard if work has been busier than usual. He nods, but doesn’t say a word.
I drive back to Estonia. A few days later, we celebrate my great-aunt’s birthday. She’s turning 100. Her children say she’s in good shape, still as sharp as a tack, and climbed up onto the roof to teach the chimneysweep a thing or two just a few years ago. However, she hasn’t slept well since February 24th. Insomnia struck after reading the news of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.
„She’s afraid,“ say her children. „She’s afraid the rapists will come back again.“