Forbiden language
When words were forbidden, Lithuania began to speak in whispers…
After the Third Partition of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1795, most of Lithuania was annexed by the Russian Empire. But the Lithuanian people never accepted this occupation. Time and again, uprisings erupted, secret resistance groups formed, and a quiet rebellion simmered beneath the surface.
One of the Tsarist regime’s harshest tools of control was the attempt to silence the Lithuanian language. In 1864, a ban on all printed materials in Lithuanian using the Latin alphabet was imposed. This wasn’t just censorship—it was cultural erasure. Schools were shut down. Publishing was outlawed. And a centuries-old language, rich with history, was pushed to the brink.
But even under threat of arrest or exile, the people did not surrender their voice. Instead, the silence grew louder. Resistance found a new form.
Book Smuggling – a fight bound in leather and ink
The ban gave rise to something extraordinary—a phenomenon unseen anywhere else in the world: the Lithuanian knygnešiai (book smugglers).
In the 19th century, brave men and women risked everything to carry forbidden Lithuanian books across the Prussian border. Printed in secret in Prussia, Minor Lithuania, or even as far as the United States, these books were smuggled back into occupied Lithuania, often at night, hidden beneath clothing or in double-bottomed carts.
For forty years, the Tsarist regime tried to crush a language—but each smuggled book was an act of defiance, a flame passed hand to hand. It wasn’t just paper; it was memory, identity, freedom.
In 2004, UNESCO recognized this movement as a unique cultural phenomenon, one that shaped not only Lithuanian identity but global understandings of freedom, literacy, and resistance.
Jurgis Bielinis – The King of the Book Smugglers
He didn’t just carry books — he carried a language on his shoulders.
Jurgis Bielinis is remembered as the undisputed King of the Book Smugglers. There was no one like him in courage or determination. Alone or with a network of allies, he was responsible for smuggling nearly half of all banned Lithuanian publications printed in Prussia into the country—an achievement unmatched by any individual.
He built the largest underground distribution network of the era, operating across Lithuania and even into Latvia, becoming the heartbeat of trust and connection between resistance members. The Tsarist regime put a bounty on his head—proof that his work deeply threatened the empire.
Though arrested five times by imperial officers, he escaped each time. His tools were boldness and wit. In one legendary story, seeing a police officer (“uriadnik”) in a crowd, Bielinis dropped to his knees and pretended to be a beggar in prayer. The officer, fooled by the act, gave him a few kopecks in charity. Only after he disappeared did the crowd quietly laugh—the man they were hunting had just been funded by the hunter himself.
Educated in a German folk school in Riga, Bielinis graduated with honors and spoke five languages—Lithuanian, German, Latvian, Polish, and Russian. His linguistic skills helped him move between cultures and danger zones with ease. He dedicated 31 years of his life to this mission—quietly, stubbornly shaping the backbone of a nation. His work became a lifeline for the Lithuanian language.
Today, March 16—his birthday—is celebrated as Book Smuggler’s Day in Lithuania.
His footsteps were silent, but their echo is still heard—in every Lithuanian word spoken today.
