Tag Archives: history

book reviews, history

Reviewing The Rings of My Tree: A Latvian Woman’s Journey, by Jane E. Cunningham…

Some time ago, I downloaded The Rings of My Tree: A Latvian Woman’s Journey, by Jane E. Cunningham. The book, which was published in July 2004, sat in my Kindle queue for a very long time. I just searched my digital orders on Amazon.com and I see that I bought this book in April 2013– over ten years ago! I just now got around to reading it, three months after Bill and I visited Latvia for the first time.

I’m now glad I waited so long to finally read this book, after actually visiting Latvia, and having spent the last nine years living in Germany. My own life experiences gave me more appreciation for The Rings of My Tree, the extraordinary story of a woman named Mirdza, whose fate led her far away from her homeland when she was just a young woman newly out of high school. The title references how Mirdza’s grandmother taught her how to determine a tree’s growth by its number of rings. Mirdza also learned that strong trees weather storm after storm. Like a strong tree, Mirdza weathered many storms in her long life. And if you’ve ever been to Latvia, you know that it’s a country where trees are revered. One of our guides told us that it’s a tradition for new parents to plant a tree when a baby is born– linden trees for girls, and oak trees for boys.

Mirdza’s story is lovingly written by author Jane E. Cunningham, who, as of 2012, lived in Connecticut, and wrote that Mirdza, then aged 92, was then living in a nursing home. I’m sure that by now, Mirdza has passed away. But wow… she really lived an amazing life. At the time she wrote Mirdza’s story, Jane Cunningham had known Mirdza for forty-five years. They were neighbors. Jane was one of the first Americans who became a real friend to Mirdza, who fled Latvia to escape Soviet occupation. She landed in Hitler’s Germany before a series of lucky events led her to an American run displaced persons camp (DP camp) in American occupied Berlin.

While she was in the camp, Mirdza met and, in 1949, married her Latvian husband, Janis, who died in 2000. In 1950, the two had a son, who was born in Germany. When their son was six months old, the family moved to Oklahoma, where they were sponsored by a wealthy American couple. Janis and Mirdza worked for the couple to repay them for their passage to the United States. They had a second son in 1951, who died when he was a month old. Later, they landed in New England, where Mirdza and Janis spent the rest of their lives. In 1961, they had one more son. In May 1962, Mirdza, Janis, and their German born son became naturalized American citizens.

You might think The Rings of My Tree might be mostly about Mirdza’s life in America, but the story is mostly about Mirdza’s upbringing in Latvia, time in Germany, and subsequent journey to America. Mirdza was born in Jaunpils, Latvia in 1920. At the time of Mirdza’s birth, Latvia was a free country. Mirdza’s mother became very sick and died when Mirdza was only four years old; consequently, her earliest years were spent being raised by her grandmother, Gobina. Gobina was her father’s mother, and a very faithful, Christian woman whose father was German. She taught Mirdza how to speak German, how to knit and crochet, and educated her “from the Bible, ‘But the very hairs of your head are all numbered’ (Matthew 10:30). She would one day come to apply that Bible verse to her limited days of freedom in Latvia.

Mirdza’s father had been the postmaster in Jaunpils. Her mother had been a switchboard operator before her death. The couple met while working at the post office, and built a beautiful home for their young daughter. But the beautiful life filled with roses and domestic bliss was not to last, as leaders in other countries were plotting to seize Latvia. Mirdza and her friends, family, and community were blissfully unaware of what would come in 1940, when the Russians took over the country and annexed it into the Soviet Union.

Mirdza was five years old when her father remarried a young woman named Anna, who was not very nice to her. Anna was very jealous and hated anything that reminded her of Mirdza’s mother. She eventually gave birth to Mirdza’s half sister, Rasma. Although Mirdza had known her mother and missed her, she was expected to accept Anna as her mother, even though Anna never treated her lovingly, as if she was her daughter. When Mirdza addressed Anna by her first name, she was chastised and told that Anna was her “new mother”. That was difficult for her. But in spite of the early hardships she endured, Mirdza was happy in high school and excited about her future.

Then came Josef Stalin and the Russian soldiers who would bomb Latvia into submission, as Hitler’s Army also approached. Mirdza, and so many of her countrymen, were now caught in the crossfire of World War II. At first, she thought life under the Germans might be better than life under the Russians. She stayed and worked at the post office for awhile, befriending a German soldier who was decent to her. She helped him send food home to his wife, and he ended up saving her life by giving her his wife’s address in Germany. When the Russians became a direct threat, Mirdza ran for her life, boarding a ship that took her to Poland, and onward to Germany, where she became a refugee, experienced hunger, humiliation, and homelessness, and witnessed hopelessness and despair that would haunt her forever. On her way out of Liepaja– a Latvian port town that Bill and I visited in June– Mirdza fell and injured her hip and her left hand. From then on, and for the rest of her life, she walked with a noticeable limp– a constant reminder of what she’d left in Latvia.

Mirzda’s life was not easy, but she somehow managed to survive a number of near misses that should have killed her or driven her to suicide. Along the way, she met people who taught her new things, helped her, or hindered her. She met one woman who actually talked her into surrendering to the Russians. She and the woman were actually waiting for a truck to take them to a Russian camp when they were picked up by an American who gave them an opportunity to find freedom.

The Rings of My Tree is a fascinating read for me, because I find World War II an especially interesting time in history. I would feel that way even if I hadn’t spent so many years living in Europe. However, what makes this book special– especially in 2023– is that it’s so relatable to today’s times. Mirzda experienced a lot of the same things refugees are experiencing now. Like other people who have fled their homelands for peace and safety, she faced discrimination, ignorance, and hostility. But she also met kindness, decency, and generosity. As I read about how Mirdza was treated in 1950s era America, I couldn’t help but realize that people of 2023 behave in much the same way, forming opinions about subjects about which they know nothing and about which they don’t care to be educated. Below are excerpts of the book that seemed especially insightful to me:

But aside from her experiences as a Latvian refugee turned American citizen, Mirdza also learned some hard personal lessons. When she was living in the DP camp with a bossy fellow Latvian woman named Tanya, she learned how to be assertive. Tanya gave her stockings and said something along the lines of, “Darn these for me.” Mirdza was about to do as Tanya demanded, but then something occurred to her, and she steeled her spine:

I related a lot to this… and I think my husband could, too. He was not afraid to go to Iraq with the US Army, but he was afraid to stand up to people like his ex wife. Thankfully, he’s better now.

I see that The Rings of My Tree is no longer available as a Kindle download. I think that’s a real pity, as physical copies of the book are pretty expensive. I do think the book is well worth reading, and even paying a lot for, if my description of the book is intriguing enough. I’m just happy I downloaded it when I had the chance, and I’m glad I finally got around to reading Mirdza’s story. And I do think it’s a blessing that I waited until now to read this book, after I’d had a chance to see the place Mirdza left behind. Latvia is a very beautiful country, with many trees, beaches, and grand old buildings that predated the Soviet occupation. It’s good to know that Latvians are free to be Latvian now, and their homeland is free again.

When we visited Latvia in June of this year, I heard firsthand from Latvians that they never wanted their homeland to be occupied by Russians… and I read in Mirdza’s story how terrible communism is. I had also seen that in Armenia when I lived there, as well in other countries that used to be ruled under communism. But, toward the end of the book, it becomes clear that capitalism isn’t necessarily better. I don’t know if Mirdza realized it herself, but when her half sister, Rasma, visited her in America, after the fall of the Soviet Union, she was left flabbergasted by American supermarkets. She was bewildered by the huge array of choices Americans have, and the terrible waste… as well as the ignorance so many people in America have about the rest of the world. Sadly, as I see every day on Facebook, not that much has changed since Mirzda’s young life as a refugee. And she had the benefit of having white skin, which helped her fit in with the ruling class in the United States.

Anyway… I really enjoyed The Rings of My Tree. I’m grateful that I had a chance to read Mirdza’s inspiring story through Jane Cunningham’s capable writing. I hope those of you who will read this review will get something from it, and perhaps, try to read this book yourselves. It really offers perspective that I think is lacking from so many Americans… especially those who never venture beyond the United States’ borders. Yes, Americans are very fortunate, but our luck may be running out before too long. I implore you to open your eyes and your minds to what could happen to you or yours someday. You could learn a lot from Mirdza’s story, if you’re open to the lesson. I sure did.

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family, music, musings, obits

Ever feel like you’re in the dream season on Dallas?

The featured photo is what got me to thinking about the “dream season” on Dallas. I shared that photo in 2020 and it generated discussion. I went to look at the original post and was reminded of what it was like in 2020… in 2023, it seems like a nightmare we woke up from, even though people are still getting COVID. Naturally, this post isn’t JUST about that, though… it’s a hodgepodge of thoughts, as usual.

This morning, I found out that we lost yet another musical legend. Gordon Lightfoot, a Canadian singer-songwriter with a distinctive voice and beautiful, intricate, guitar laced melodies, passed the bar yesterday. He was 84 years old. While it’s always sad to lose a luminary, I’d say Gord had a good run. As a child of the 70s, his music touched me deeply and was a big part of my soundtrack. I’d say he was one of a few artists my dad and I could agree on when we took roadtrips. Unfortunately, my dad would try to sing along, which always annoyed me.

I wish I could say I enjoyed listening to my dad’s singing voice as much as other people did. I’m not sure why, but it was like nails on a chalkboard to me. I used to get in trouble a lot when I was very young, because I’d stick my fingers in my ears during his church choir solos. I never quite lived that down, either.

My mom got so she could laugh about it. I’m sure they just thought I was being a brat, but it really was uncomfortable for me to listen to my dad sing. That was just one of our many disagreements over the years. Maybe it would have helped him to know that I have similar physical reactions when I listen to Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand, although I can acknowledge that both are fantastically talented singers. I don’t think Dad was as good as they are, but he did have a voice that many people enjoyed. I simply wasn’t one of his fans. I wasn’t, even before our relationship became more difficult.

But we had other issues besides his singing… I don’t think my dad liked me very much. He took out a lot of his frustrations on me. I remember him being much nicer to me when I was very young, except when I misbehaved. Then he’d become scary. But when I was very little, he seemed to think I was much cuter. When I got older and formed opinions, and exhibited some of the very same argumentative qualities he had, he liked me noticeably less. But he was there every day… and he was a good provider. My dad wasn’t a bad man. We simply didn’t get along. Sometimes, your relatives turn out to be people you’d never befriend.

In any case, I’m sitting here listening to old Gordon Lightfoot songs, wondering if maybe I might like to try one today. I’m shuffling through my memories, remembering how it was not so long ago that people were panicking about face masks and social distancing. I remember how stressful it was, as people were discouraged from venturing out anywhere. Everything was closed, so people spent too much time on the Internet. I already spend too much time on it myself, but suddenly, people were becoming more and more polarized. I know it was a reaction to the extreme stress of the time… a mysterious virus that was legitimately threatening people’s lives, and people talking like the whole world was going to change forever.

In 2023, it all seems like that time was just a bad dream…

I write this, even though in 2022, there were still a lot of places requiring facemasks and people were expected to be fully vaccinated against COVID-19. But even in 2022, the concern about it was waning, in spite of the constant doom porn from the media. As a former student of public health, I had a feeling this would all be better within a couple of years. It turns out I was right. People developed immunity, as they do… and we got vaccines. Still, so many people were lost to that virus. It’s just so strange that it’s now kind of a bad memory, not unlike the “dream season” on Dallas.

This was kind of silly… but Pam Ewing woke up, and suddenly, it was all a bad dream.

Of course, COVID wasn’t just a bad dream. It was a literal living nightmare. But, as I like to say, every cloud has its silver lining. If you think hard enough about any given situation, there’s usually at least one positive to come out of it. Even really horrible things in history have their positives… if only because people learn from their mistakes and policies finally change.

Living in Germany for almost nine years (this time) has taught me that the horrific Hitler era taught profound things that has made most western Europeans more knowledgeable about, and vigilant against, fascism. The Holocaust was an absolutely horrible way to get that experience, of course… but at least they did get it. At least they were educated by it. It would be much more tragic if no one learned anything from that time. Today, all German children learn about the horrors of the past, so it will be less likely to be repeated. I just wish more Americans would open their eyes to that era and learn where we could be headed if things don’t change. Unfortunately, people often fail to look beyond what’s two feet in front of them.

Still, there are some glimmers of hope… and thanks to the Internet, we can all now connect in ways that were once unimaginable. And while sometimes, it seems like everyone is angry and wanting to fight, there are still moments when connection happens and we can stand in solidarity.

Yesterday’s post was about how I was reminded of what really matters. I wrote about how I had trouble writing for some time… and then kind of managed to shake off the fear. I heard from people who like what I do, which was much appreciated. I look back at 2020 and realize I’m glad I survived that year. I’m glad the worst of it seems to be over for now, especially given all of the other stuff going on now… And, although I’m always sorry when someone beloved passes, there’s also some good in that. For instance, right now, I’m listening to a song Gordon Lightfoot wrote in the 1960s, hearing other people’s interpretations of it, and thinking I’ll try it myself. Twenty-four hours ago, this music wasn’t on my radar at all…

I wish I’d appreciated Gordon Lightfoot more when he was still living. I do own a lot of his albums, but I never paid as much attention to them as I obviously should have. But the good thing is, I still have time to discover more.

I’m going to give this song a whirl… maybe I’ll post the link here, if it turns out okay.

And here it is…

Along with a follow up…

I had to change the key, hence the less than stellar accompaniment… but I think this turned out okay.

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book reviews, politics, Trump

A review of The Reckoning: Our Nation’s Trauma and Finding a Way to Heal, by Mary Trump

In August 2020, when the world was still in the desperate throes of the COVID-19 pandemic, and Donald Trump was still the POTUS, I read and reviewed his niece, Mary Trump’s, book Too Much and Never Enough: How My Family Created the World’s Most Dangerous Man. I remember feeling vindicated as I read her words about her uncle, Donald Trump, whom I had correctly identified as a malignant narcissist or sociopath. Mary Trump wrote about what it was like to grow up in the Trump family, and how much she suffered, even though she was a member of a very wealthy, powerful, and celebrated clan. Unlike her uncle, Mary Trump is a basically normal person with an excellent intellect and a fully functioning id and superego. Mary’s first book was very interesting, but it was also terrifying. At the time I read it, I was genuinely frightened of what was going to happen if Trump won in 2020. Thankfully, that is not what came to pass, in spite of Trump’s relentless and nonsensical insistence that the presidential election was stolen from him.

I liked Mary Trump’s first book, so when she published her second book, The Reckoning: Our Nation’s Trauma and Finding a Way to Heal in August 2021, I was quick to download it. It’s taken me a year to finally read Mary Trump’s book, because it kept getting supplanted by other books. This morning, I finished it; it was a refreshingly short read, long on history and theories as to how the United States finds itself in the horribly polarized, angry, unhinged state it is in right now. Some of The Reckoning was uncomfortable to read, as Mary Trump unflinchingly writes of how Black people were treated before and during the Civil War era, as well as in the decades that followed it. She reminds her readers that slavery officially ended in 1865, but the persecution of Black people has continued since then, and only in very recent years have people of color had a chance to succeed in the country they helped build against their wills.

Mary Trump rightfully points out that American high schoolers are not taught enough about American history. What they are taught is the “white” perspective of American history, and now that people are insisting that more of the whole truth is taught, many white people are fighting to prevent it from happening. Trump explains that every white person is born with inherent privilege, simply for having white skin. However, she also mentions poor white people, who also suffer due to classism that also exists in our society, and the mistaken belief that sharing resources means having less for themselves. And she reminds readers that there are many people who, consciously or unconsciously, are doing all they can to maintain things the way they’ve always been. Her uncle, after all, won the highest election on his platform, “Make America Great Again”, having never before held public office. Lots of people in the United States are terrified of evolving into a nation that plays on more level ground for everyone. Below are a couple of key quotes from Mary Trump’s book that really summed up things nicely, in my view:

Yes… many people have been duped into thinking that if they share the vast resources in our country, it will automatically mean less for them and theirs…

I remember when I was an English major at Longwood University (then Longwood College), my advisor gave me a hard time because I didn’t want to take a Shakespeare class. Instead, I was interested in the Women’s Literature and African American Literature courses that were being offered. I thought I would be more interested in the subject matter, having already been exposed to Shakespeare in high school and college. Good ol’ Dr. Stinson, who also used to tease me about all the music classes I insisted on taking for fun, sighed and signed me up for both classes. I took both courses during the same semester, and got a huge dose of studying lesser known books by women and people of color.

I didn’t do particularly well in either of the lit courses; because to be honest, I was kind of a lazy English major. I wanted to write things, not read and analyze literature. But I learned new things in spite of myself. Both courses exposed me to works written by Black authors, Black women’s writings, as well as slave narratives, which were bits of history that had been withheld from me in the years leading up to college. I now believe that high school students should read at least one slave narrative. The subject matter is tough, but it definitely inspires empathy and a broadened perspective from writers who should get a lot more recognition.

I mention my college experience and the attitude surrounding the importance of Shakespeare, because Mary Trump repeatedly explains that most Americans have a poor understanding of history. And today, in high schools across the country, there are legislators, school boards, and parents who are lambasting against “Critical Race Theory” being taught in schools, and trying desperately to suppress the truth about America’s past. I never thought I’d see the day when so many school systems were being pressured to ban certain books, and teachers, already overworked and underpaid, were being forced to catalog their libraries and submit them to scrutiny by third parties. I was heartened to see the outraged response to one Tennessee school district’s decision to ban Art Spiegelman’s excellent graphic novel, Maus. I had not read that book myself, before it made the news. But because Maus was in the news, I decided to read the book. It was life changing. I now know that simply by writing a few blog posts about Maus, I helped inspire other people to read the book.

Mary Trump’s comments were unpleasant to read at times. She states outright that it’s “impossible” to be a white person who grew up in the United States and not be racist. She’s probably right, although I hesitate to use words like “all, every, or impossible”, because experience has shown me that there are almost always exceptions to every rule. And given the family that raised her and what her family spawned, I was caught between disbelief that she was making such a statement, and relief that she could acknowledge racism in a way that was surprisingly humble.

I also found this book a little bit depressing and hopeless. Yes, it’s important to acknowledge problems. That’s the first step in correcting them. It’s important to atone for wrongs committed. That’s the best way to promote healing. BUT… she makes the problem seem so entrenched and deep seated that fixing it seems extremely difficult. It won’t happen in my lifetime, although the more optimistic side of me acknowledges that in my 50 years, there’s already been some substantial progress made. I was born in an era when things were a lot more “black and white”, so to speak. It wasn’t uncommon to hear people casually toss around the “n word”, for instance, especially on television. But that progress is hindered, because of Trump’s uprising and the many emboldened racists who are desperately trying to stop progress, and resorting to cheating and violence to get what they want.

Anyway… The Reckoning offers a lot of food for thought. It’s a short book, and easy to read. Mary Trump’s writing is engaging and informative. Maybe some readers will be uncomfortable, or even offended, by her comments. Some people might have trouble believing that someone with her background can have true empathy for the downtrodden; she is a Trump, after all. But in spite of that, I found Mary Trump’s commentary steeped in truth, and eye-opening. I think this is a good book. But don’t come to it looking for dirt on Donald Trump. She wrote about him in her first book, and The Reckoning is about a different topic entirely. The Reckoning isn’t about Trump; it’s about what led us to Trump. And it offers an important warning to us all to open our eyes and our minds and vote accordingly… or else.

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law, memories, nostalgia, YouTube

Repost: Our “senior trip” to the Virginia State Pen…

It’s spring, and when I was in high school, that meant taking field trips. When I was a senior in high school, my government teacher, Mr. Eccleston, took us on a trip to Richmond, Virginia. This was something he did every year, although I’m pretty sure our class was the last one to go to the Virginia State Penitentiary. That’s because they closed the “Pen” in 1991, and tore it down. Here’s a repost of my 2013 blog post about my experience visiting Virginia’s old state prison… Meanwhile, I’m still thinking about today’s fresh topic.

Most high school kids go off to some interesting or exotic place when they become seniors.  I guess, in my case, the place my senior class went for the “senior trip” was exotic and interesting enough, though it wasn’t an overnight trip.  My senior year of high school was actually full of interesting field trips, to include a trip to a local medical school, where my biology classmates and I saw cadavers.  We also went caving, and visited the National Zoo in Washington, DC.  I skipped at least three other field trips because I didn’t have the money to go.  But probably the most interesting of all the trips we took was the one that took us to the State Penitentiary in Virginia.

Here’s an interesting talk about the former penitentiary, which was demolished just after our visit in 1990. If this subject interests you, I highly recommend watching this video. The speaker, Dale M. Brumfield, is very engaging, and this is a fascinating subject.

The Virginia State Pen was a very old structure that had received its first prisoners in 1800.  If you click the link, you can see some photos of the place, which was eventually demolished.  It sat next to the James River in downtown Richmond, Virginia. 

In the spring of 1990, when we had our field trip, the Pen was about to be closed down.  There were still inmates there when we came to visit the place.  I remember how my classmates and I were each frisked, then shown into this huge cell block that had several tiers of tiny cells.  The place was painted light blue and there was a smell of human filth, sweat, and detergent in the air.  The building was obviously very antiquated and unpleasant.  It definitely needed to be torn down or renovated.

Gazing up, I could see the huge windows allowed birds to come in.  They flew near the ceiling and probably mocked the inmates with their ability to come and go at will.  On the floor, I spied a dead mouse that looked like it had been there for awhile.  A heavily muscled guy with a mullet wore a wide leather belt with a set of handcuffs prominently displayed in a case as he led us through the facility.  He didn’t wear a uniform, though he obviously worked at the prison.

The inmates were in a different part of the prison when we visited.  I remember looking at the first big cell block, which was apparently vacated as inmates were transferred to other facilities.  We also visited death row, which had also been vacated.  Some inmates were in a yard nearby as we made our way to the death house.  They shouted and jeered at us.  I remember the death row cells were a whole lot larger than the ones in the cell block.  They had bars all around them and a lone television set was mounted on a pole that would have allowed all of the inmates to watch it.

At the end of the hall was the electric chair, which Virginia used to execute a lot of men until lethal injection became the preferred way to put condemned people to death.  Several of my classmates sat on the big oak chair, outfitted with heavy leather straps with big metal buckles.  I remember one teacher actually pretended to strap a couple of students in.  Back then, it was kind of a joke, but today, it seems kind of inappropriate and not that funny.  Virginia is a notorious death penalty state.  (ETA: Thanks to former Governor Ralph Northam, the death penalty was abolished in Virginia last year. I never thought I’d see the day.)

I remember after we saw the penitentiary, we went to Virginia Commonwealth University for lunch.  Two of my sisters are VCU graduates, so I was somewhat familiar with the place.  By then, I knew I was headed to Longwood for college. 

It was an eerie day… and probably the day that I first started to have ambivalent feelings about the death penalty.  

Edited to add in 2022: In his amazing talk in the above video, Dale Brumfield, talks about the kinds of crimes that would land people in the penitentiary. At one point, he talks about how Black men could be arrested and imprisoned for being caught on someone else’s property. They could get up to ten years for just appearing to LOOK like they were going to commit theft. As he was talking about that, I couldn’t help but think about the Ahmaud Arbery case, and how he was gunned down by three White men who thought he was a thief. It’s so sad that we haven’t evolved much since the early days of the Virginia Penitentiary’s history.

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movies

A review of The Way I Spent the End of the World…

This week, I watched three Romanian films. All three were in Romanian, and all three were made around 2006 or thereabouts. Why was I watching Romanian films? Simple… because they’re interesting, and surprisingly entertaining, even if I do have to read the subtitles. I also find Romania’s recent history fascinating.

A few years ago, after I saw a couple of Romanian films and mentioned them online, my Italian friend, Vittorio (whom I never talk to anymore because he got disgusted by Facebook), recommended that I see The Way I Spent the End of the World. This film, made in 2006 and directed by Romanian Cătălin Mitulescu, is about the love between two siblings, Eva and Lilu Mattei, born ten years apart. The story is set in a village near Bucharest in 1989, just before the Romanian Revolution, when former dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu and his wife, Elena, were run out of power and publicly executed.

A trailer for The Way I Spent the End of the World.

Eva (Dorotheea Petre) is 17 years old and, at the beginning of the film, is a student at a high level school– probably akin to a Gymnasium in Germany. One day, her boyfriend gets a fake note from the principal sent to her so he can steal a few minutes with her outside of class. The two of them are typical hormonally charged teenagers, horsing around in the school’s hallways, when they accidentally knock over a bust of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s head. It shatters, causing them to fear for their lives. It wasn’t unusual or strange for them to be so frightened. At that time in Romania, people were terrified of Ceaușescu’s secret and brutal police force, the Securitate.

Naturally, Eva gets in trouble and winds up being expelled from her hoity toity school– voted out, no less, by her classmates, who probably just wanted to avoid getting into trouble themselves. She gets sent to a technical school, where she meets a rebellious young man named Andrei (Cristian Vararu), the son of a dissident. Eva hooks up with Andrei and the two decide they want to cross the Danube into Yugoslavia and escape to Italy.

Meanwhile, Eva’s seven year old brother, Lalalilu “Lilu” Matei (Timotei Duma) has already figured out that Ceaușescu is bad news. He loves his sister, Eva, who is more motherly to him than their actual mother is. In a sweet scene at the beginning of the film, Lilu has a loose tooth the family is trying to help him lose. Lilu says he’ll never open his mouth again and Eva tempts him with delicious cherry jam. With much coaxing and sweet talk, she manages to yank the loose tooth. This scene always sticks with me, because it sets up just how close the siblings are, even though they are ten years apart in age.

Lilu has a lot of friends and they all talk amongst themselves about their leader. They whisper about what happens to dissidents, such as Andrei’s father, who is punished for speaking out against Ceaușescu. Moreover, Lilu is convinced that Ceaușescu is the main reason his beloved sister, Eva, wants to defect from Romania. So Lilu and his friends hatch a plan to kill the leader. Lilu tricks his way into a children’s choir scheduled to sing for Ceaușescu as he addresses the nation on what would turn out to be his very last day terrorizing Romania.

My thoughts

I have watched this film several times, having invested in my own copy a few years ago. I find it fascinating on so many levels. First off, there’s the fact that Eva and I were both 17 years old in 1989. I grew up hearing about the Eastern Bloc nations, the Soviet Union, and how terrifying communism and socialism supposedly are. In 1989, it was never in my dreams that I would one day live in the former Soviet Union for a couple of years and then, after that, move to Germany and visit so many nations that were once closed to Americans. I have not been to Romania yet. Bill went in 2008, when we lived in Germany the first time. I have visited Bulgaria, though– back in 1996, when it was still pretty recently open to westerners. Those experiences in the 90s really blew my mind and have made me want to know more about what it was like before the fall of the Soviet Union and the Iron Curtain.

Secondly, I love watching the chemistry between Eva and Lilu. I am much younger than my three siblings are. When I was a child, they seemed more like my aunts than my sisters. When I lived in Armenia, I briefly lived with a young woman who was my age and was raising her nine year old brother, since their parents had died. I only lived there for two months, but I remember how she took care of him. I don’t think she was as affectionate to her brother as Eva and Lilu were… and Eva and Lilu still had their parents. But it’s clear that Eva takes care of her brother as if he was her child. The actors portraying these two characters did a remarkable job of connecting and being convincing– so much so, that I didn’t even really need subtitles to understand it.

Thirdly, I like the music in this film, along with the imagery. In one scene, when Eva is at her new “reform”/technical school, she’s asked if she can sing. She starts singing a lovely folk song. The song leader stops her and says, “That’s pretty, but it won’t do. Do you know anything else?” She answers that she only knows similar songs– she was not taught the pro-Romanian nationalist songs the song leader is looking to perform for Ceaușescu. It’s at that point, that everyone realizes that Eva had been a student at a much better school before she was sent to “tech” school, and it causes the other characters to wonder about her. Why is she going to an inferior school, where she will be forced to sing boring nationalist songs rather than the complex, beautiful folk songs she was taught at a school with a much better reputation? I thought that scene lent an interesting layer to the story. Eva doesn’t belong– she’s at the lower school because she’s being punished for having a “bad attitude”, not because she’s got a poor intellect or no talent. It’s like an unspoken warning to the others to behave.

And finally, I really liked the way the Romanian people were portrayed in the Mateis’ neighborhood. There was a time when neighbors knew each other and mingled. We don’t see that so much today, especially in the United States. I’ve seen it a bit more in Germany, although even here, people are kind of distant and keep to themselves. Before COVID-19, our village had a biweekly wine stand, where we’d all gather in the “Dorfplatz” and drink wine. Although Bill and I are far from German speakers, that wine stand provided a chance for us to mingle with others in our neighborhood. Wine is a good social lubricant, when consumed in moderation. There’s a nice scene in The Way I Spent the End of the World where all the neighbors are eating and dancing, drinking plum brandy, and bonding. It kind of warmed my heart, especially after our year of “social distancing”.

Scenes from Ceaușescu’s last speech are included in The Way I Spent the End of the World. It’s cool to see how Mateis and their neighbors react as the dictator is taken down. It’s beautiful!

This film ends on a triumphant note, too… as Lilu and his friends are preparing to carry out their “diabolical” plan to execute Ceaușescu so Eva won’t have to leave home… and the public takes care of the deed for him. Later, we see Eva dressed in a Holland America Line cruise uniform as she reads a letter from her beloved brother. She’s earning money to send home to her family– quite a realistic ending, as I have encountered a number of eastern European nationals on my cruises and from reading the excellent book series Cruise Confidential by Brian David Bruns, an American who worked for Carnival cruises as a waiter, then an art dealer. At the time he wrote his first book, he had the distinction of being the only American to actually complete a contract waiting tables in the cruiseline’s history. And he also dated a Romanian waitress named Bianca. I have reviewed several of his books and referenced one of them in this post. Maybe some of us wish Eva had stayed in Romania with her brother, but she looks happy and somewhat regal in her uniform… and she has escaped to see the world, something that would have been unfathomable during Ceaușescu’s regime. She would have been expected to bear babies for the state, instead.

I do think it’s helpful to have some understanding of Romania’s recent history– particularly as it pertains to Ceaușescu’s era. Younger people who weren’t around during the Iron Curtain times might not appreciate this movie as much, because they will be less able to understand the context. Also, because it’s in Romanian, you have to pay attention to the subtitles to get what’s happening, unless, of course, you know the language. I suspect that Europeans would enjoy this more than Americans would, because a lot of Americans have no concept of life outside of the United States. However, as an American, I will happily state that I love this movie, and I think it’s worth the effort to watch it, if you’re willing to try to understand it. At the very least, it might encourage younger folks to learn about why charismatic wannabe dictators, like Donald Trump, are so dangerous.

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