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 Piknik na obochine (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 Andrey Tarkovsky 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.

The bases were evacuated back to Russia in 1993, almost overnight, as the local inhabitants remember. The military buildings were abandoned; apartment buildings were used by those remaining. Since the number of remained inhabitants was relatively small, people relocated themselves into newer buildings; older ones were abandoned, handed over to a real estate company and stay unused. School, kindergarten and other public buildings were looted, but they still stand. Buildings with military purpose were sold to real estate companies, windows and doors batted and stand unused. Buildings that were less important or more interesting for the locals were looted.

In Pärispea, a training center for the Soviet border guards was situated in the Pähknemännik pine grove, a former village common. Since the property reform on early nineties did not touch common lands, the future of the plot remained unclear. In 2003, the local government declared the abandoned buildings “property without owner” and sold the ruins. The buyer also

got a possibility to privatize 0.7 ha of service land. Despite the protests of the villagers the ruins were sold. Later that year however the remaining land was taken over by the state, so the buyer of the ruins could privatize just 800 sq m of land and most of the former common grounds remained in public use.

Kangru

The Kangru military base was erected in 1954-58 in a location that has never been inhabited; it is a sandy pine forest with closest farms situated some kilometers to the south and south-east. The base was used by technical support corps of a zenith missile division. It sported several technical buildings on 55 hectares surrounded by a barbed wire fence, but also living quarters for officers’ families. The latter include three two-story buildings and two detached houses. By today, all flats have changed owners and none of the former residents’ lives there.

After the Soviet military left, the territory was given to the Kiili Municipality: the buildings were handed over by November 1993 and land by March 1994. AS Estko (produces „efficient and environmentally friendly cleaners for agricultural and food industry and cleaning agents for car service and industries“, as their website www.estko.ee states) rented some of the buildings, the rest stayed unused until 2000. Then the municipality decided to divide the land into plots and start developing the area for residence (see REFERENCE REMOVED for the full story). Some plots were sold to real estate developers, some directly to future home owners, the main aim being to earn money for the municipality and increase the number of population and thereby tax base. By December 2009, all but one plot is sold, development has been done at different speeds meaning that most houses are ready, but some streets that started early still lack asphalt or streetlights.

Methods

So two different locations, similar land use during the Soviet times, but two different trajectories after the military left. Kangru was built on an empty spot, and later it was developed into a residential area. In Pärispea, the military bases were implanted into formerly existing villages, did not find a direct use after the military left, and the locals had some sort of relation to the areas. To study these processes closer, 10 interviews with local inhabitants in Pärispea and 16 in Kangru were carried out in 2009.

As the key point of this study was to explore how the military past has been and is handled by local inhabitants, interviewing them was considered to be the best possible method for gathering the necessary information.

The aim of the interviews was to find out the local inhabitants’ thoughts about their place and landscape; how they feel about the former military bases; what have been their actions so far in place-making and the reasons for such actions; the vision of their place and where do the military relics stand in that vision.

The interview as a method enables not only to give answers to the questions one is asking but to discover answers to the questions one couldn’t even think about asking at the first place. Interviewing the local inhabitants face to face gives the interviewer an opportunity to go beyond words – everything the interviewee says or does, the way he/she reacts to the

question, his/her voice tone and body language gives out information about the study subject. That way it is possible to see things that in other situations might be missed.

The gathering of the interviews took place in two phases. First half of the interviews were gathered in early spring of 2009. The interviewees we found in Pärispea through Anne Kurepalu, a longtime employee of the Lahemaa National Park – her personal contacts were invaluable. In Kangru the first interviewees were found with the help of the village society MTÜ Kangru Küla Selts.

As we didn’t succeed in gathering a sufficient number of interviews at that time to represent sufficiently the two communities it became necessary to gather more.

Also, in the case of Kangru, the interviews gathered in the first phase seemed to be biased since most of the interviewees were connected to the village society.

In the second phase interviews were gathered by a simple door-to-door method. At the same time trying to cover all the different parts of the villages as the interviewees’ houses location in relation to the military bases might also affect the interviewees’ opinion.

This appeared to be especially relevant in Kangru, since different parts of the village were developed in different times. For example, the private houses tend to be together in one end of the village and are usually built earlier and the larger, terraced houses that were built later are gathered in the other end of the village. So depending on house type and its location in the village an inhabitant might have more or less contact with the military ruins.

All the interviews were conducted based on a few key questions but at the same time letting the interviewee speak freely on the topics he/she found important and encouraging him/her to talk if any topics interesting for our case study emerged.

The objective was so much not to get answers to pre-prepared questions, but more to let the interviewees reveal their own thoughts about their own place. This course of action allowed spotting the topics important for this case study and through that analyzing the acceptance or denial of the military past.

Results

Pärispea

The road to the village passes by forests and beaches, but also the abandoned military buildings. The main building of the former institute is situated right next to the main road, the other ones are a little further to the right – both seemed to be in ruins. The former radio-location division is located in Pärispea, a little away from the village. The doors and windows are batted off, walls covered with graffiti (Fig 5, 6). A building that was finalized right before the military left has never been in use. Weaker buildings have been looted by someone, everything that could be reused has been reused somewhere – metal, plumbing, windows, doors, equipment, wood, even bricks have been removed. But behind the abandoned military base lies a well-prepared picnic site marking the northernmost point of Estonian continent. So whose place?

The interviews conducted in Pärispea on April 21 and October 30, 2009 and in Suurpea on September 13 focused on two main issues. First, how did the place function during the Soviet times, how the military presence influenced the lives of the local people, and second, how the military installations are perceived these days. The majority of the 11 interviewees were 45-50 years old, one about 20, one over 65. Half of the respondents live in Pärispea all year round and originate from there. Three originate from Pärispea, but live elsewhere (2 in Tallinn, one in neighboring Suurpea). One respondent asked to be called a summer inhabitant, who has spent his summers in Pärispea since he bought a farmstead there in 1972. For ethical reasons, all names of the interviewees have been changed in this paper.

Most respondents feel depressed and powerless when talking about the military installations. An overall understanding seems to be that staying empty and falling apart is not an acceptable solution. Decaying buildings offend the eye and something should be done with them.

The memories about the military differ, dependent on the age and character of the respondent. In general the opinions were neutral, no one owes a grudge to the soldiers, and the former situation is currently taken as an inevitable peculiarity of the past which fortunately is over by now.

Concerning the buildings, the common agreement was that something should be done. It’s perhaps not that important what exactly should be done, but this neglect is unacceptable. Two of the respondents said tearing them down is a good idea, the rest thought that reusing the better ones is also acceptable, but this needs a good business plan and a decent investment.

Annika (43, born in Pärispea but lives these days in Tallinn) found a good maintenance necessary: “Something should be done, either build it up or tear it down, just to show good stewardship. Not that I get at it now and then sell it in 20 years with profit” . She found that private buildings should not be allowed to decay and that there should be some state regulation about it. She also found that the Lahemaa national park, where the village belongs to and which sets strict regulations to locals who repair their houses, should act somehow: “But either way, Lahemaa is here, it is somehow the territory of Lahemaa. On one hand they pitch into you for everything, but they do not notice bigger issues. And the Ministry of the Environment, if they regulate how my sauna should look like they should also look after the wider picture”.

Helge (45, local) thinks that something should be done with the buildings. Since the beach is beautiful and many people from Tallinn come camping in summer, there should be some resort. The most important for her is that Pärispea should be prominent – in which way is not that important; important is to clean Pärispea from the Soviet meanings.

Reesi (20, local) also has nothing against tourists. Although she has never thought about the future of the military buildings, a hotel or spa would be a good solution – locals get jobs and Pärispea wouldn’t be that marginalized.

Rita (50, form Pärispea, but lives in Tallinn) says that the decaying buildings on the beach are depressing: “it’s all polluted, it’s all abandoned, it’s all decayed, it’s all falling apart”. She advises to tear the buildings down: “in my opinion is that better tear them down rather than let them decay themselves. Better empty land…”. Rebuilding as a hotel might be a nice idea, but most probably there won’t be enough visitors.

All these comments express the wish of the locals to make their home beautiful, clean and well-kept. There seems to be hint of conflict with the national park: on one hand the park tries to regulate small details in locals’ everyday life, but at the same time it overlooks bigger problems.

Leidi (45, local) also supports the idea of converting the buildings into some sort of leisure facility, but at the same time is afraid of too many strangers in the village. “Once we thought that some seminar center should be established. That people come and have their lectures and rest a little. This sort of thing would have been more logical. But I wouldn’t want a resort. We are used to live this way, we are a small village. Now we see what is going on in Viinistu (neighboring village with museum and a popular summer theater), masses of people in summer, it would be tiring. I don’t know about the Viinistu people, but us, as far as I have spoken to people /this wouldn’t satisfy/. We have already many people in summer.” She finds acceptable to divide the land into lots and develop summer cottages on these. So every solution that wouldn’t bring along a number of tourists would be acceptable. She has also heard of the idea to make a spa in the institute building in Suurpea, but the plan did not materialize. “These days there are so many spas, are there people coming here? Then we should think seriously so that working collectives come … Yes, there could be something, it would be nice if repaired”.

A man over 65 is the only one who says that life was better in Soviet times, because the peninsula lied within the border zone and there were no strangers. These days many people go to beach in summer, the drive cars and everything gets devastated. The military buildings should be torn down since they have no value and their preservation makes no sense. Also they do not fit in the context of the national park. Why this hasn’t been done, one should ask the owners. Obviously it is easier to sell built-up lots.

The Pähknemännik case has left a feeling of embarrassment. As Reesi commented: “we the villagers were afraid that they buy that building and close the road to the beach. But one can still go to the beach and no problems have risen”. Still many interviewees bring this topic forward when they start discussing the issue that no one listens to the interests of the locals and that one can express his or her opinion, but the decisions are made by someone else.

Mäido (45, local) commented the story this way: “we /the villagers/ wanted to destroy that shooting range in Pähknemännik, it does not fit there. But power goes top down, not bottom up”. Leidi is afraid that the buyer can obtain more land, fence it off and limit the access of the villagers: “yes there was a hustle. It was sold. We even went picketing to the local government to ask for not selling it, that it stayed in the village ownership like it was /before WWII/. But it was sold, the municipality needed money. Now we villagers have to see that the buyer does not get the woods, because there are more items there. There was some training ground with some sporting equipment still there. He has a chance to get these as well … anyway he wants them. Fortunately Lahemaa also keeps its eye on this, but curiously even Lahemaa couldn’t do anything to prevent the selling”. A man (50, local) added: “well there’ll be a dwelling house and nothing you can do. Once it has gone that way. This is not decided by us, but higher … so we can be against, but no use”.

The case symbolizes disappointment in the civil society, the attitude towards local opinion. People see the rule of money, but they do not quite understand why the national park lets these things happen, or why it lacks power to prevent this from happening.

Our initial idea that nothing has been done in the military areas because there is some kind of estrange towards everything Soviet and military is disapproved. Annika commented: “yes the mentality is that the words Russian and Soviet have their aura. But so what, there are some ruins, whether Russian or Soviet or military. It’s just decayed ruins. Life has gone on and we understand everything differently and we would like to see our surroundings also differently and in my opinion this untidiness …”. Mäido found that it’s not that it is military buildings, but rather that no good solution has been found. He illustrates this with the example of Kaberneeme where a residential neighborhood is being built on spot of a similar military base.

It seems that the way the ruins were formed (a lady in Suurpea, who came there as a wife of an Ensign in 1960: no it does not feel sad, it was like it was. The military left in 1994, right after that the locals started to dissemble things. They didn’t say steal or rob, but to take away… Plumbing has been excavated, everything that might make sense has been taken away. Now two drunkards sell bricks by piece … What people are these who turn a school house into a waste dump…) is less important than the fact that the ruins are ugly and mar the view to the coast. The overwhelming emotion seems to be indignation. Solving the problems needs just enthusiasm, but nobody seems to be interested in their worries and instead of looking for solutions the buildings have been forgotten and left to decay. In Soviet times, when the buildings were in use, fenced off and cut off the local life, they had lesser meaning for the locals than these days, when the coast and also the decaying buildings are open for the locals. When the military left the buildings lost both their function and their meaning. In Soviet times, the coast itself did not belong into the village life, as access to it was limited. The access was regained when Estonia became independent again, but the coast is not the same as it used to be 60 years ago and which is still remembered. The difference is the depressing abandoned buildings. Since they have been privatized the villagers have nothing to say about their future. At the same time they are the ones that will have to live with that future. The outcome is a hybrid landscape visually dominated by the Soviet military heritage but managed by private owners. And the locals pose the question of how to live in a landscape which as if belongs to the village but where villagers can do nothing to maintain and domesticate it.

Kangru

The village of Kangru (Fig 7, 8) lays just a couple of kilometers from the boundary of Tallinn, when the settlement ribbon is briefly replaced by a pine forest. The buildings look new, scattered under the same pines, the only remnants of the past are a row of concrete piles following the road. The houses have maximally two stories, they are detached or semi-detached (Fig 9). All inhabitants are newcomers; they are still making the links with the place. On one hand, trees give the village more privacy than is usual in the developments of the 2000s which are usually located on former fields. But trees in courtyard are not typical to a traditional village that has slowly evolved during decades or centuries. On the other hand, the only public building in the village is the production facilities of AS Estko (Fig 10) – no shops, kindergartens or alike, as should be in a “proper” village, also it lacks a main street. In this way Kangru is rather a typical suburb.

The interviews were done on April 23 and November 7, 2009. Of the 16 respondents one lived in a Soviet apartment block, the others in detached or semi-detached houses. Of the latter, one had previously lived in the apartment block. The earliest respondent moved to Kangru in 2001. Private house owners (6 people) had lived in Kangru somewhat longer than

the inhabitants of detached houses (5 people), those a little longer in turn than the ones from semi-detached houses.

The vast majority of respondents described their habitat in a positive way. Eight of the interviewees gave even an extremely positive view, 4 interviews contained a note of suspect or regret, two interviewees left an indifferent opinion. People were positive about the location of the village, the trees, the local village society and the locals in general. The overall impression was of a busy village with extremely active people who get along with each other very well – even people who do not participate in the local society have a good word for it.

While asked about whether they are satisfied with their neighborhood, the answers remind Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina: happy families are all alike, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. The happy ones listed similar issues: closeness to Tallinn, trees, an active village society, nice neighbors. The only thing that bothered them was the unfinished development, but even this seems to be done by now.

The ones who expressed any sort of dissatisfaction had all different reasons. But none of them said straight out that they don’t like the place they live in and wants to move. So Enn (40, from a private house) was a little concerned that so many new houses have been erected since he moved here in 2003. In 2003, he described, “there wasn’t much of a village. It was forest. A lot of forest. It was very beautiful. Then it was all different. Much calmer.” And he continues: “then I didn’t understand that it’ll be that full. There were much more trees and more greenery. The wilderness has retreated by now.” When asked whether the surroundings have changes, he answers no, but his voice still gives up some regret.

Katrin (36, in a private house since 2006) lives in the center of the village, but before lived in an apartment block at the edge of the village since 1998. She is also satisfied with the development, but a little disturbed by the semi-detached houses that were recently erected next to her house. She considers all changes positive, as before homeless people wandered around in the military area, but she says: “everything is positive except those semi-detached houses which unfortunately are situated just opposite form us”. According to her there still exists some sort of disdainful attitude towards the inhabitants of the apartment blocks, although everybody else said the opposite. And in addition she “got burnt” in a water company that supplied the village, Therefore village meetings were difficult for her “because every time it ended so that I had to report why the water company did this or that”. She does not take active part in the village society, because “I want to be alone in quiet. I want to select my own acquaintances myself”.

Raivo (50) who lives in an apartment block at Nabala Road tells a different story. He is satisfied with the place he lives in, but cannot comment upon the new village. He says that when he moved in in 1996 the nearby rocket base was quite some sight: “what it was – it was interesting. A Stalker landscape. I wandered around myself with interest. Thanks to the military it was a closed area for a long time, no one could enter. Natural habitat survived as it was. Compare it with other peri-urban areas with free access, they were not too pretty”. He considers it rather positive that the new village emerged: “it makes no sense to leave these areas empty; on the other hand, had they made some sort of a production facility here it would be worse. As the technopark in Jüri (a village 12 km away). People’s dwelling is a completely different story.”

There was just one respondent whom the discovery that the area is a former military base made her think. The woman (35) had lived in Kangru since 2003. While asked where she knew that it was a former military base she answered: “in the sense that we really didn’t plan to come live in a military district, that I, when we were here for the first time, I thought that good heavens what barracks and walls and I left it completely. And then after a while we came back and it was all demolished already”. She obviously could not imagine that one could make a home in a former military area – the place looked so strange in the beginning.

Seven respondents were well informed that it was a former military area. They were all people who came from nearby, had had summer cottages or relatives living nearby. One even worked for the local municipality. And none of them considered it awkward or strange.

None of the respondents was worried about pollution. They still mention barbed wire that can be found in gardens while doing the spring works, but not more. Only two conversations hint on the topic. While asked whether before settling in they also checked for the possible pollution Katrin answers: “you could feel it, as you hit the spade into ground it smelled oil /--/ But the soil here still smells oil and petroleum. Now we have brought a different soil into our yard. But somehow our lot is the warmest in the whole village.” When asked whether he hesitated that he has settled in a former military base Enn answered: “not directly. Yes there were thoughts about how and what. /--/ that perhaps there is something unhealthy in the ground or God knows. You can’t rule out anything”.

Besides these exceptional opinions, everybody else had no problems. It also seems that the earlier settlers had clearer opinions about the possible pollution. The later one moved in, the less of the military legacy was visible and the less testified about the military past. So Valeri answers the question whether he hesitated that he has settled in a former military base: “pollution, radioactivity – don’t think so. There wasn’t anything like this in Estonia, perhaps it was in Paldiski (a former Soviet naval base). The pollution we had in Estonia might be everywhere regardless whether there were military or not. Pouring fuels into ground, burying whatever rubbish, this is not the primary action of the military, it was characteristic to that time and it might happen in any kolkhoz, sovkhoz, military base. In military bases it depended on the commander. I served in three different places in Tallinn and they were all different.”

Olav gives a similar opinion: “You like couldn’t see anything here that indicated that there was something like wrong with the nature. Other settlers were here already and nobody complained that you can’t take water, that water is toxic… The rest is probably visible already. Otherwise they wouldn’t allow a residential area here, if some measurements had shown that something is wrong here.” So the pragmatic attitude prevails: probably there are no seriously polluted areas in Estonia and if this site was polluted no residential areas would have been allowed here.

Discussion

So the military are gone and the places they used have lost their functions. Whose places are they now?

The only similarity between the villages seems to be the presence of the military installations – in Pärispea the buildings are still in ruins and unused, in Kangru the ruins have been dismantled and buried under the layer of a modern suburb. Pärispea is an old village with

established structure and history, and also awareness about that history. The village has a clear identity, its inhabitants value their home and their lifestyle. Kangru is a suburb that is still searching its identity. People do many things together, but the structure and community are not yet established.

The presence of the military installations is perceived as a problem only in Pärispea. In Kangru, where the military legacy is less visible and one can easily ignore it, there is no direct conflict with it, or at least it is not recognized. While the people of Pärispea try to “re-capture” the former village, re-integrate the military areas in everyday life, the Kangru villagers are busy with place-making.

A simple way to tackle the problem is to handle them as empty spaces, or brownfields that need restructuring. Bagaeen (2006) described many ways that have been used in this sort of restructuring. He argues that “Military base redevelopment is as much a question of ideas as funding” (p. 351). In our cases Pärispea clearly seems to lack both ideas and funding – all respondents pointed out that something should be done with the buildings, but none of them seemed to have a clear idea what exactly should be done. Kangru, which has a much better location, did not suffer from this, it seems to have used all the benefits Bagaeen asks for: the local government needed money, the developer had both ideas and funding, and finally the community stepped in, i.e. the new inhabitants organized themselves into a community. This way Kangru as if has met the challenge Bagaeen (2006: 351) thinks the new members of the EU face: “they will need to find their own competitive advantages when it comes to redeveloping their military heritage and putting forward priorities for clean-up, redevelopment and building strategic, reliable and sustainable partnerships”.

Most of the abandoned military bases in Central and Eastern Europe were once used by the Soviets, who were never welcome here. For instance, Vahtre (2010: 238) describes a court case where two Soviet military who were accused in murdering a man explained that they did it partly because the local inhabitants treated Soviet soldiers so badly. The judge replied with a rhetoric remark about whether in their opinion this sort of behaviour helped to change the attitude. (In Russia, as many correspondents in Tammer (2010) remember, locals treated soldiers like their own sons and problems like the one described before did not happen.) Therefore one can assume a certain sense of hostility towards these areas, or at least bad memories. So for instance Raukas (2006: 46) concludes his introduction to the inventory of environmental damages with a paragraph: “the former military bases were built here by an alien power, to defend a country that was not ours, and at the same time to display the power of that state, as a reminder – we are here and we are not afraid to use power. But now these landscapes are abandoned, buildings are empty. The military bases have lost their former meaning, and now they are just a silent monument to the past”. This conciliation came out also from our interviews: the past is over, the ideology that was there is gone, so the meaning is indeed lost. They are just decayed buildings, not buildings of the enemy. They are not ours yet either.

This attitude is also described by Kõivupuu et al (2010) who argue that the military heritage is ignored both by the locals and the authorities and should be incorporated into the present-day landscape and heritage discourse, as it might have some tourist value.

Being in between makes it difficult to find ideas for a good use of the installations. Etverk (2000) studied the possibilities of using military areas for ecotourism. One of the major obstacles she found was the object don’t speak to ordinary Estonians, they cannot be linked to

Estonian history. This point was also stressed in one of the interviews in Kangru, where Valeri told: “I think it is the question of time. Perhaps a community in Saaremaa or Hiiumaa finds that it’s naturally cool place and the municipality is wealthy enough that together with private partners they do something there. Or that some lad finds that there is some bunker and builds a house next to it which is in a cool style. But if you take it politically so that all this is remains from the Soviet times and because of that we should now level or cover it – in my opinion this is waste of money. There could be some story attached – I am old enough to remember those things. But perhaps in ten years a ten-years-old boy shows up there and knows nothing. At least an info-board telling what it is and what for…Q: so to use the installation in some kind of tourism attraction?Valeri: not attraction but to increase awareness. I think people don’t read much anymore. You drive to visit someone and usually you drive a little around. And when you see these things it’s a good chance to educate yourself. So when you visit the Valaste waterfall, there is a board that tells some history, some technical data etc. It makes sense to do just to educate yourself. Until a better solution is found. There shouldn’t be any tragic, it’s not a 200-years old tree that should be protected.”

CONCLUSIONS

We started the paper with notion that place is a material-discursive phenomenon. Let is comment upon this from three viewpoints.

From the military viewpoints, the fate of the bases follows the well-known track to oblivion. The political processes that created the need for Soviet military bases ceased; due to that the bases lost their function; time and people – decay and demolition – took care of the forms. The military landscape was functional for a certain period of time; when the function was lost, the place ceased to exist. For its contemporaries, the military places carried a meaning of (alien) power, even threat, but also stability and control. These days it still brings forward nostalgia, the former threat has been turned into a joke.

From a community point of view, the military places constitute a challenge for their identity. For Pärispea, the situation is very similar to the one in Bikini, as described by Davis (2005). And like the Bikinians, the Pärispea people try to re-domesticate the place that once was theirs, but has been out of their control for quite a while. The problem here is largely that the community has no power of the once lost lands. For Kangru, the lack of knowledge of the past – or deliberately ignoring the past – allows the community to indeed start from the scratch, as if the place they inhabit has no past.

Finally, from theoretical viewpoint the cases bring us to the following. The discursive-material phenomenon, as Davis (2005) called place, has also limits in time. The discursive and material parts of this phenomenon interact; if one of the two ceases, the other one does so as well. This way we can find places which are characteristic to a certain socio-economic formation – as Cosgrove (1984) argued – and which are “withered out” when the formation changes. And we also witness that knowing the past of a place is a key to its survival.

Lotman’s worry was that if we are unable to create a link with the past, the past landscapes will lose their meaning for us and we are unable to incorporate them into our heritage. Military sites and their development differ from the mainstream. So are the Soviet military landscapes finally socially also restored?

For Peil (2006), a walk through the military landscapes of Paldiski was a scary experience, one frightened by the extent and abandonment of the landscape, until people appear – only then she decides that that abandoned landscape might be friendly after all. For people in Pärispea and Suurpea, this kind of landscape is their everyday reality they want to domesticate. For those in Kangru, the military layer is well buried underneath the lawn and oblivion, and reminds itself only sometimes, in form of a piece of barbed wire or a forgotten fence pile on the roadside. The picnic site has been cleaned up and the “nervous animals” can go on with their regular life.

Acknowledgements

This paper has been supported by the Estonian Science Foundation grant no 6986 Place-making in urban landscape, Estonian Ministry of Education target-financed project no SF0130033s07 Landscape Practice and Heritage and from the European Union through the European Regional Development Fund (Center of Excellence CECT). We are extremely grateful to the people who commented on the early version of the paper.

References

Adams, C., Steinitz, C., 2000. An alternative future for the region of Camp Pendleton, California, pp. 19–81 in Ü. Mander & R.H.G. Jongman (eds.), Landscape Perspectives of Land Use Changes. Boston, MA: WIT Press.

Bagaeen, S.A., 2006. Redeveloping former military sites: Competitiveness, urban sustainability and public participation. Cities, 23: 5, p. 339–352.

Bryant, R.L., Paniagua, A., Kizos, Th., 2011. Conceptualising ‘shadow landscape’ in political ecology and rural studies. Land Use Policy, (28), 460-471.

Burkart, B., Anders, K. 2005. The Unique Character of Military Training Areas as an Opportunity for New Forms of Interaction between Society and Landscape. http://danah.milieuinfo.be/uploads/b59.pdf (approached Dec 14, 2009).

Clout, H., 2000. Place annihilation and urban reconstruction: the experience of four towns in Brittany, 1940 to 1960. Geogr.Ann., (82 B), 165–180.

Cosgrove, D. 1984. Social Formation and Symbolic Landscape. Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press.

Davis, J.S., 2005. Representing Place: “Deserted Isles” and the Reproduction of Bikini Atoll. Annals of the Association of American Geographers, (95), 607–625.

Davis, J.S., 2007. Introduction: Military natures: Militarism and the environment. GeoJournal, (69), 131–134.

Davis, S., 2008. Military landscapes and secret science: the case of Orford Ness. Cultural Geographies, (15), 143–149.

Etverk K., 2000. Tourism: a possibility for redevelopment of former Soviet military areas. MSc thesis at the Institute of Geography, University of Tartu.

Hergauk, M., Pärn, J., Õun, M. 2006. Punalaevastik Eestis. Sentinel.Howe, K.R., 2000. The knowing of Oceania. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.Jauhiainen, J.S., 1997. Militarisation, demilitarisation and re-use of military areas: the case of

Estonia. Geography, (82), 118-26. Keller, T., 2009. The Mountains Roar: The Alps During The Great War. Environmental

History, (24.2), 253-275.

Kõivupuu, M., Printsmann, A., Palang, H., 2010. From Inventory to Identity? Constructing the Lahemaa National Park’s (Estonia) Regional Cultural Heritage. In: J.H.F. Bloemers, H. Kars, A. van der Valk, M. Wijnen (eds), The Cultural Landscape Heritage Paradox: protection and development of the Dutch archaeological-historical landscape and its European dimension. University of Amsterdam Press.

Lotman, J., 2009. Culture and Explosion. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. [First published in Russian 1992; Estonian translation 2001.]

Maandi, P., 2009. The silent articulation of private land rights in soviet Estonia: A geographical perspective. Geoforum, (40), 454-464.

Palang H., Printsmann, A., Konkoly Gyuró, É., Urbanc, M., Skowronek, E., Woloszyn, W., 2006. The forgotten rural landscapes of Central and Eastern Europe. Landscape Ecology, (21.3), 347 - 357.

Palang, H., 2010. Time Boundaries and Landscape Change: Collective Farms 1947-1994. European Countryside, (2:3), 169-181.

Palang, H., Peil, T. 2010. Mapping future through the study of the past and present: Estonian suburbia. Futures, (42), 700-710.

Palang, H., Sooväli-Sepping, H., 2011. Are there counter-landscapes? On milk trestles and invisible power lines. Landscape Research, forthcoming.

Pearson, Chr., 2009. A "Watery Desert" in Vichy France: The Environmental History of the Camargue Wetlands, 1940-1944. French Historical Studies, (32.3), 479-509.

Peil, T., 2006. ‘Maps of meaning’: Landscapes on the map and in the mind - discovering Paldiski, Estonia. Norsk Geografisk Tidsskrift - Norwegian Journal of Geography, (60), 110 -122.

Raukas, A. (ed), 2006. Nõukogude okupatsiooni poolt tekitatud keskkonnakahjud. Tallinn: Eesti Entsüklopeediakirjastus.

Reimann, M., Palang, H., 2000. Competing interests on a former military training area: a case from Estonia. In: X. Font, J. Tribe (eds.) Forest tourism and recreation: case studies in environmental management. Wallingford (England): CAB International, pp. 41-53.

Setten, G., 2004. Naming and Claiming Discourse. In H. Palang, H. Sooväli, M. Antrop, G. Setten (eds), European Rural Landscapes: Persistence and Change in a Globalising Environment. Boston and Dordrecht: Kluwer, pp. 67-82.

Soini, K., Palang, H., Semm, K. 2006: From places to non-places. Landscape and sense of place in Finnish and Estonian countryside. In Th. S. Terkenli, A.-M. d’Hauteserre (eds.) Landscapes of a New Cultural Economy of Space. Springer, pp. 117-148.

Strugatsky, A. & B. 2007. Roadside Picnic (S.F. Masterworks). London: Gollancz.Tammer, E. (comp.), 2010. Nõukogude armee ja eesti mees. Tammerraamat, 471 p.Vahtre, L., 2010. Meenutusi kadunud maailmast. Eesti Päevaleht, Akadeemia, 255 p.Vervloet, J., Nijman, J.H., Somsen, A.J., 2005. Planning for the future: towards a sustainable

design and land use of an ancient flooded military defence line. Landscape and Urban Planning, (70.1-2), 153-163.

Widgren, M., 2006. Time and Space in European Landscape Research. Presentation at the 22nd session of PECSRL, Berlin, September 2006.

Woodward, R., 2005. From Military Geography to militarism’s geographies: disciplinary engagements with the geographies of militarism and military activities. Progress in Human Geography, (29), .