Telšiai's History: From Legends to a Former President's 'Discoveries' – What's True and What's Made Up?
Every resident of Telšiai can tell at least a few legends – about the depths of Lake Mastis, the secrets of Džiugas Hillfort, or the very birth of the town itself. For children, these are fairy tales; for adults, they’re historical truth. But is that truth as solid as it seems?
Not always, it turns out. And sometimes, the truth doesn’t need to be rewritten – it just needs to be rediscovered. Or, as happened recently, heard from the highest state lips. Former president Algirdas Brazauskas, as if in passing, “revealed” that Telšiai was built for the Samogitians from scratch – during the Soviet era. And this isn’t a joke or a dismissive comment; it’s an official version heard by the entire nation.
But is it really? And what does this say about our attitude toward our own regional past?
When Did Telšiai Really ‘Begin’?
Back during the Sąjūdis revival movement, around 1988–1990, local press was ablaze with heated debates: was Telšiai first mentioned in 1317, or only around 1450? Historians argued, books were written, facts were picked apart. Vaclovas Vaivada, the compiler of the 1994 book Telšiai, probably had no idea that three decades later, he’d have to defend his work against a president’s version.
But here we are – Brazauskas, former Minister of Building Materials, later Deputy Chairman of the State Planning Committee, and eventually the country’s leader, seemingly pulled a fact from memory that exists in no historical source. His logic? Starting in 1965, he himself was involved in planning and construction – so, in his mind, he knows where towns came from.
Except history doesn’t work that way.
The ‘Gift’ of Alytus – and a Pattern
Telšiai isn’t alone in this strange historical twist. Brazauskas made similar claims about Alytus, suggesting that the Dzūkija region also received its city as a Soviet-era “gift.” According to his version, these weren’t organic historical settlements – they were planned, built, and delivered like industrial goods.
It’s a convenient narrative, especially for someone who spent decades in the Soviet planning apparatus. But it conveniently ignores medieval records, archaeological finds, and the living memory of generations.
Why This Matters – and Not Just for History Buffs
At first glance, this might seem like a niche squabble for historians and local patriots. But it’s actually a symptom of a much larger issue: we don’t take our own history seriously enough. We outsource it to politicians, to myths, to whoever speaks loudest.
Brazauskas’s claim wasn’t challenged because, frankly, most people don’t know – or don’t care – about the actual founding of Telšiai. And that’s a problem. If we don’t know our own story, someone else will write it for us. And they might not have the facts on their side.
The Danger of Redefining the Past
History isn’t static. It’s constantly being revisited, reinterpreted, and sometimes rewritten – but there’s a difference between academic revision and political convenience. When a former president casually rewrites a city’s origin story, it’s not just a harmless anecdote. It’s a statement: we can shape the past to fit the present.
And that’s dangerous terrain. If Telšiai can be “postponed” to the Soviet era, what else can be adjusted? Birthdates of heroes? Causes of national uprisings? The entire course of Lithuanian independence?
A Call to Action: Know Your Roots
The good news is that we can fight this – not with censorship or outrage, but with curiosity. Every Telšiškis, every Lithuanian, should ask: what do I actually know about my town, my region, my country? Not from folklore, not from politicians, but from documented sources.
Visit local museums. Read the archived newspapers. Talk to older generations while they’re still here. Because history isn’t just about the past – it’s about who we are today, and who we’ll be tomorrow.
What About the Present?
Interestingly, the article also points a finger at the present. While we debate medieval founding dates, we’re also creating new history – with new benefactors. A former prime minister, for example, gave Telšiai not only a massive hole in the regional budget but also a unique administrative building that’s been under construction for years, with various political forces taking credit (or blame).
And there’s talk of new investments – shopping centres, cinema halls, job creation. All good things, yes. But the author slyly notes: every new investor also brings a spectacular show to the local Labour Exchange, full of hiring dramas and political photo ops.
Maybe that’s the real history being made today – and we’re too busy looking backward to notice.
The Bottom Line
Telšiai’s history isn’t a joke. It’s a living, breathing story that deserves respect – not political spin, not convenient forgetfulness, not cynical reinvention. Whether the town was mentioned in 1317 or 1450, it existed. It survived. It grew. And it will continue to do so – with or without presidential endorsements.
But if we don’t start paying attention, we might wake up one day and find that our own history has been rewritten without us. And that’s a loss no museum can fix.
As the original article’s author writes – we should learn from past mistakes and start documenting the present more carefully. Not just for ourselves, but for the generations who will one day look back and wonder: who really built this town?
And let’s hope they’ll have better answers than a former president’s casual reminiscence.
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