Estonia

By JOHN KOHAN TALLINN

Topped by green, onion-domed cupolas, the St. Alexander Nevsky Cathedral overlooks the center of Tallinn, a reminder of Estonia's two centuries of domination by the Russian Czars. Last week a crowd of more than 1,000 gathered at the church portico to demonstrate support for the Estonian supreme soviet, or parliament, as it joined in a battle of wills with Moscow. Near the cathedral steps, an elderly woman clutched a pennant of blue, black and white, the colors of the long-banned Estonian flag. Students in blue and crimson visored caps unfurled banners. NO TO COLONIAL LAWS read a sign in Cyrillic lettering.

Across the square at Toompea Castle, 264 deputies were assembled in the parliamentary chamber for an extraordinary session. After a day of sometimes passionate debate that was broadcast live over radio and television, the legislators, in an unprecedented display of national assertion, voted unanimously to reject a package of proposed constitutional changes that will be presented next week to the Supreme Soviet in Moscow.

The deputies then took their defiance a long step further: they agreed to amend the Estonian constitution to grant the republic's own supreme soviet the right to "suspend or establish limits" on Moscow-promulgated legislation affecting Estonian territory. Another vote made state property the possession of Estonia rather than the Soviet Union. Yet another called for a new "treaty of the union" with Moscow based on "principles of parity." Never was the word independence mentioned, but the delegates made clear that Tallinn wanted a radically different relationship with Moscow. Declared Estonian Communist Party Leader Vaino Valjas: "The future of the country is in the hands of us all."

It was as if a mouse had suddenly decided to roar at a bear. The day after the session, the bear growled back. TASS announced that the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the U.S.S.R., the national legislature, considered the Estonian decisions "at variance with the provisions of the current constitution of the U.S.S.R." The Presidium declared that it would consider the issue at its next meeting and "invited" Estonian representatives to be present.

That set the stage for a showdown between Moscow and one of the Soviet Union's smallest and most recently acquired republics. Nonetheless, on a state visit to India last week, Mikhail Gorbachev made an effort at conciliation. He praised Estonia for its "pioneering work to develop initiatives," and admitted that "there have been mistakes" in Moscow's dealings with the republic. "They have many constructive proposals, but there are also some which have been dictated by emotion," he said. "I hope we shall decide everything correctly."

Gorbachev's remarks contrasted with comments he had made just before the extraordinary session in Tallinn. During a speech at the southwestern agricultural center of Oryol, he acknowledged that his policies of glasnost had "brought to light a lot of problems . . . in interethnic relations." But Gorbachev declared, "We decisively condemn attempts at artificial aggravation of these questions, at advancing ultimatum demands."

Four days earlier, the Kremlin had dispatched three Politburo members to the Baltic region to head off dissent on the constitutional package. While Vadim Medvedev, party secretary for ideology, visited factories in Latvia, and Politburo member Nikolai Slyunkov engaged in street debates in Lithuania, former KGB chief Viktor Chebrikov confronted the restive Estonians. "You can achieve sovereignty," he warned during a factory visit, "but you can lose everything else."

The constitutional issues that disturb Estonians go to the heart of the balance of power between Moscow and the federated republics. Part of Gorbachev's plan to democratize his country involves the creation of a Congress of the People's Deputies, which would wield legislative power over everything from constitutional changes to adjustments in state boundaries. Estonian concern focuses on a bloc of 750 legislators in the 2,250-member Congress who are to be elected by pan-Soviet organizations, such as artists' unions, veterans groups or the Communist Youth League, rather than by voters in local constituencies. Legal experts in Tallinn contend that the parliamentary reorganization will dilute the influence of the individual republics in national affairs. They specifically fear that the innovations will give those Soviet citizens who belong to national organizations the equivalent of a second vote.

Moreover, the Estonians are opposed to Kremlin proposals that would grant additional power to a reorganized Supreme Soviet of the U.S.S.R. Such a parliament would have jurisdiction over regional economic programs and over the legal status of public organizations. The Supreme Soviet would be indirectly elected by the Congress of the People's Deputies. In times of emergency, its Presidium would be able to impose "special forms of administration" -- a term left deliberately vague -- anywhere in the country.

Toomas Leito, editor of the Estonian Party daily Rahva Haal, says the reforms give "more power to the Supreme Soviet than should be the case under a federal system." Agrees Lembit Koik, a leader of the quasi-official Popular Front of Estonia: "We want a Soviet Union that is really a union of republics, not indivisible Holy Russia."

In some ways, Gorbachev has himself to blame for the Estonian impasse. His calls for a "second revolution" of democratic change have been well heeded in the republic -- perhaps too well. A host of grass-roots groups have sprung up to embrace the cause of "democratization." The most prominent is the Popular Front, an avowedly moderate movement committed to furthering perestroika policies. It has attracted as many as 300,000 people to its rallies. Alongside the Popular Front are smaller, more vociferous nationalist organizations, such as the unofficial Estonian National Independence Party, which advocates secession from the Soviet Union.

The burst of reformist activity has also swept through the Estonian Communist Party. Last June its first secretary, Karl Vaino, was relieved of his duties and replaced by Valjas, 57, a Gorbachev ally who had been brought back from diplomatic exile as Ambassador to Nicaragua.

The tensions in Tallinn reflect frustrations that have accumulated over nearly 50 years, following Moscow's 1940 annexation of the territory. Since then, Moscow's policies have whittled down the Estonian-controlled sector of the economy to 13% and living standards have eroded. Everything from the cost of movie tickets to bread recipes for bakeries is determined in Moscow, a condition that the Popular Front's Koik condemns as "colonialism, not economic management."

Centralization has also battered the fragile Baltic environment. Economists estimate that nearly all the pollution that fouls Estonian rivers, lakes and the Baltic Sea is emitted by industries controlled by eight Moscow ministries. An even touchier question is Moscow's role in skewing the republic's demography. During the industrialization drive of the 1960s and 1970s, the Kremlin sent huge numbers of non-Estonian workers to the region. As a result, Estonians now make up only 60% of the population. The influx has revived bitter memories of Stalin-era deportations, when tens of thousands of Estonians were branded as opponents of Soviet rule and deported to Siberia.

In response to Popular Front appeals, some local planners are touting a scheme to turn the Baltic States into "self-financing" republics, fiscally independent of Moscow and empowered to manage their natural resources. Language is another concern: last month the Estonian supreme soviet issued a draft law declaring Estonian the official language of the republic. Plans are also being discussed to introduce a form of Estonian citizenship as a step toward controlling immigration.

Estonian assertiveness has led to a backlash in the Russian-speaking community, where a group known as Intermovement has emerged to challenge the Popular Front. Intermovement claims 90,000 members, mostly workers in industrial areas where ethnic Russians predominate. Economist Konstantin Kiknadze, an Intermovement leader whose mother is Russian and whose father is Georgian, charges that the Popular Front wants to "exchange a Moscow bureaucracy for one that is Estonian."

At this delicate juncture, calmer minds on both sides agree that the last thing anyone wants is a violent ethnic clash. Says editor Leito: "We simply cannot permit a split into rival groups as in Ulster or Lebanon." Nonetheless, the tension in Estonia is accompanied by exhilaration over the fact that vital issues are finally being aired. Many Estonians take the optimistic view that as long as there is no upheaval in the streets, the Kremlin will not call the republic to account. Says a Tallinn intellectual: "We are a legal-minded people and are prepared to examine everything in terms of the standards of international justice. That is an approach that Moscow officials will find difficult to oppose." After all, Gorbachev has often called for a Soviet state governed by law. He can hardly fault the Estonians for putting that principle to the test.