Tallinn University researcher: Baltic films shape how nations remember WWII

A doctoral dissertation defended at Tallinn University examines how post-Soviet Baltic films portray the complex history of the 20th century, and where they still leave uncomfortable blind spots. Researcher Hanna Maria Aunin found that while Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania share a Soviet occupation legacy, their cinematic choices differ markedly, particularly around the Holocaust and local collaboration with Nazi occupiers. Aunin argues that a society's willingness to confront its own uncomfortable roles in history is a marker of democratic maturity.

A newly defended doctoral dissertation at Tallinn University argues that historical films do far more than reflect the past, they actively shape how nations remember it. Researcher Hanna Maria Aunin investigated how post-Soviet Baltic cinema has dealt with the turbulent history of the 20th century, including Soviet deportations, Nazi occupation, and local collaboration.

Memory shaped on screen

Following the restoration of independence, the victim experience became a cornerstone of national identity across all three Baltic states. Mass deportations and stories of those who suffered under Soviet repression moved to the centre of public consciousness, reinforcing the narrative that Soviet rule was an illegal occupation rather than a natural continuation of statehood. Film played a unique role in cementing these narratives.

«On the one hand, these films reflect and consolidate different memory narratives; on the other, they help shape them,» Aunin explained.

Films like the Estonian In the Crosswind and the Latvian The Chronicles of Melania both tell the story of a woman deported to Siberia who writes letters to her husband taken to a labour camp. In such works, directors move from grand historical sweep to intimate personal experience in order to bring the incomprehensible scale of mass deportation closer to the viewer.

The borrowed symbol problem

The black-and-white aesthetic and the perspective of the innocent victim create a powerful emotional bond, but Aunin identifies a tension in how that empathy is constructed. When Baltic directors seek to make local suffering immediately recognisable to international audiences, they sometimes borrow imagery that actually belongs to a different historical experience. In In the Crosswind, for instance, a large pile of shoes appears in a Gulag camp, a visual that is historically unlikely in the Soviet context, where clothing and footwear were immediately put back into use due to dire shortages. The image resonates powerfully on screen, but it primarily evokes Nazi concentration camps.

«Problematic is when a comparison results in a hierarchy of victim experiences, implying which suffering was worse,» Aunin noted.

Blind spots: the Holocaust on screen

The most uncomfortable blind spots in Baltic memory culture concern local participation in the Holocaust and cooperation with Nazi authorities. Lithuanian cinema began producing feature films dealing with collaboration as early as the beginning of the 21st century. In Estonia, no full-length feature film on that subject has yet been made.

Aunin attributes the difference primarily to historical reality. Approximately 200,000 Jews were killed in Lithuania during the Holocaust, making the topic impossible to set aside in public discourse. Estonia's pre-war Jewish community numbered around 4,000, a large share of whom managed to flee or was evacuated to the Soviet Union. The roughly one thousand Jews who remained in Estonia were killed, but the scale of communal violence was not comparable to that of the other Baltic states. The relative scarcity of local eyewitness memories, combined with Soviet-era narratives that emphasised specific victim groups, may explain why these stories have not yet reached Estonian filmmakers.

War sharpens the question

Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine triggered a new wave of what Aunin calls the securitisation of memory across the Baltic states, history began to be treated more explicitly as a security issue. Resistance stories were elevated, forest brother camps were organised for young people, and the removal of Soviet monuments from public spaces gained momentum.

In Estonia, a sharp public debate erupted over a bas-relief of the writer Juhan Smuul after his role in the March 1949 deportations became widely known, illustrating that society has by no means fully reckoned with the Soviet legacy.

Film as a question, not an answer

Aunin argues that confronting these blind spots is essential for a democratic memory culture. The more monolithic history becomes, the easier it is to harness for propaganda. A society capable of discussing its own uncomfortable roles is better equipped to resist disinformation that exploits historical gaps to stoke internal tensions.

«I think film doesn't have to provide answers to all questions, it can instead generate more of them,» Aunin said.

Hanna Maria Aunin defended her dissertation Post-Soviet Baltic Films on World War II and the Soviet Past: Seeking Recognition and Challenging Historical Lacunae at Tallinn University on 11 June 2026. The work was supervised by Eneken Laanes and Teet Teinemaa of Tallinn University, and opposed by Violeta Davoliūtė of Vilnius University and Veronika Pehe of the Institute of Contemporary History at the Czech Academy of Sciences.