All About Latvia

RIGA – The Open House blog at UK’s Independent newspaper published interesting entry from Maris Sants, a gay pastor who left Latvia for the UK last month. Sadly, his story isn’t unique. Public homosexuality is still seen as propaganda of sexual deviance here in Latvia.

Here’s what Maris writes:

Before I came out in 2002, the rumours about my sexuality had already had huge ramifications on my life. I was a pastor in the Latvian church and I had a column in the church newspaper and that was stopped. My weekly radio sermon was taken off the air, and I was kicked out of the cathedral I served in.

On 22 May 2002, I was ex-communicated from the church. Back then there were only three openly gay people in Latvia. My story was on the front pages of all the Latvian newspapers and I have suffered dozens of personal attacks since then. I have been verbally abused, spat at and physically attacked. Last year, two guys ambushed me as I went to baptise a child. Since then my sight started to deteriorate, which my doctor blamed squarely on the stress caused by the attacks.

Read the whole thing. On the photo: protesters against gay pride parade pile up at the fence at the November 11 Embankment in Riga in June 2008.

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RIGA – Latvian miserabilism wants company.

It’s not enough that Latvians dwell on the past, dipping into an abysmal well of self-loathing and victimization that is an integral part of the Latvian ethnic identity as folk songs and dances. Eighteen years after they own their own house, Latvians want former invaders to feel as miserable as they are. The government is calculating a bill of the Soviet occupation to send to the Kremlin. At the same time, bills aren’t being sent to Germans, Poles, and Swedes who occupied what was to become Latvia. I guess there are occupiers and then there are occupiers.

A notorious victim complex needs a scape-goat. Up until late 1930s, the blame was with the Germans, the long-time oppressor of ethnic Latvians that became a subject of many Latvian folk songs. Following the Soviet occupation, the victim complexed Latvians turned from hating Germans to hating Russians.

On one hand, Latvian intelligentsia takes an immense pleasure in self-loathing. On the other hand, this eternal, “nobody loves me,” “no one has a pity on us” motif is evident in today’s Latvia. It’s other people’s fault for their miserabilism. Always. It is a constantly resurfacing theme in the pubic discourse on government matters. “Look, they steal, they hate us, they are corrupt, but we are poor, we suffer and bear it.” The nation of Latvia strives on appeasement and misery. Facing up to the fact that some Latvians participated in the killing of the Jews during the war is tough because if you accept it, you can no longer claim you’re a victim of the circumstance, but a willing participant.

Compare their mentality with Russians.

Ridden by centuries of dictatorship rule, Russians learned to adjust for survival. When you’re fighting for survival, pragmatism takes precedence over principles. Russians who may not have bought into ideals of a bright, glorious, communistic paradise, still uttered allegiances to the Party in exchange for a better job or some kind of benefits. In the West, they’d be called “sellouts.” In Russia, it was a matter of survival. Principled people were shipped to Siberia, killed, or were forced to flee to the West. It’s similar for ethnic Russians in Latvia. Most of those who naturalized since independence sold out. They gave the expected answered on familiar questions without much faith in what they were saying.

It’s just bizness.

Russians well aware of the Stalin crimes. Even one of the most anti-Latvian newspapers in town, Chas, published several accounts of ethnic Russians being deported along with the Latvians during the Soviet occupation. I’ve yet to talk to any Russian who does not know about “the great resettlement of the people.” Or about the Stalin’s oppressions. It’s no wonder that in 1989, the Soviet government called the Soviet-German pact invalid from the moment of its signing. While some political forces in Russia would like to see that 1989 declaration repealed, it is unlikely to erase what Russians know about that period of history.

In this, Latvian miserabilism isn’t compatible with Russian mentality. Russians don’t dwell on the past. They hardly learn from it. They don’t intend to put on sackcloth and ashes, roaming around the world in a state of perpetual mourning – unless it’s for bizness purposes. Nor should they. The Victory Day celebration is now part of the new Russian national identity - it’s got little to do with the figure of Joseph Stalin himself. It’s accentuated in the Baltics because Russians here feel as if the government or the ethnocentrism of Latvians threatens their own ethnic identity in their attempt to remake local Russians into ethnic Latvians. While some Russians would hold Stalin’s portrait dear and near to their hearts, they are dying out. When new generations of Russians came to the monument that Friday, Stalin was replaced with the Russian tricolor. For the younger generation, it’s a rebirth of the new Russia and May 9 is an integral part of the new Russia’s national identity as much as the Patriotic War of 1812 against Napoleon’s France was part of the national identity until the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917.

Russians aren’t Germans. Their mentality isn’t European, no matter how much you try to make them to be. Baltic Russians have a chance to become European, but it will takes years if not centuries. Regardless, though, they will not develop a perpetual guilt complex similar to the one espoused by modern Germans, who feel guilty for the crimes of their fathers and grandfathers, nor will they subscribe the perpetual guilt complex of the ethnic Latvians. Russians appear to be pragmatic people after centuries of oppression and fighting for survival under czars, Bolsheviks, communists. Russians want to move on instead of living in the past as Latvians appear to.As any pragmatics, Russians want to make money, have good jobs, raise their children, live in peace, rather than bickering over how many Latvians were actually in the Arajs commando, or how many Russians acknowledge the occupation. Now is the time to shred miserabilism, roll up our sleeves, and press on to a future without forgetting the past.

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RIGA – Telegraf, Chas, Vesti Segonya - the Russian-language newspapers in Latvia all have a certain degree of bitterness toward this free, democratic country, where they’re published.

The latter two newspapers, however, are overflowing with poison that spills off their pages. Their readers, it seems, are mostly angry men and women who salivate at the thought of how the state discriminates Russians in Latvia. Some of those readers gathered at the Victory Day celebration earlier this month.

A news story in Chas on economy would usually entail some kind of citizenship angle seemingly irrelevant to the actual economic news. It frustrates a journalist. Chas openly supported the PCTVL party mostly of archain Stalinists that barely made it into the parliament after the 2006 elections. Ironically, the party hacks blamed the media for their losses.

I subscribe to the best of the worst Russian-language newspapers in Latvia, Telegraf. As a friend of mine described it, it is the most loyal newspaper of the three. It’s not ideal - it whines every once in a while, but it also contains interesting political and economic news, some exclusives, and avoids dwelling on issues like citizenship and language laws. After all, their status quo is likely to remain for years to come.

This morning Telegraf and Chas announced a merger. New newspaper is expected to be launched this August. Its format and name aren’t known yet. Although officially it is a merger, but in reality Telegraf’s taking over Chas. The Telegraf owner London resident millionaire Valery Belokon has bought more than half of the stock in the Chas publisher, Petit publishing house.

The Telegraf managing editor Tatyana Fast confirmed the merger news on the radio last night. However, it’s the bad news for the Chas editor Ksenya Zagovorskaya, who was incommunicado yesterday. After all, her days as the managing editor of the newspaper are counted.

I personally welcome the news. If the new project improves on the Telegraf’s take on news, it’ll make an interesting informative newspaper about Latvia for the local Russian community. And perhaps, will signify the end of PCTVL in the next elections and teach more loyalty toward the country the Russian community likes to call its home.

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Take a look at the updated photo gallery from May 9 celebrations at the Victory Monument in Riga

RIGA – In the last few days, I’ve been wrestling with the question of appropriateness of the Victory Day celebration. On one hand, the cruel regime of Hitler was replaced by the lesser evil Stalin when the Allies achieved the victory in distant 1945. On the other hand, for many Russians here in the Baltics and even for some Latvians whose family died in the war, it’s a very important, and a very personal holiday.

The official dictum uttered by the former president Vaira Viķe-Freiberga says that Latvians have nothing to celebrate on May 9 as their country ended up occupied for the following 50 years. But the war, in fact, was over in May 1945. Germany surrendered and the European continent saw no large-scale military conflict again for many years. That’s a historical fact.

While it was almost impossible to spot an ethnic Latvian at the Victory monument yesterday, I saw some. Ethnic Latvians also fought the Germans on the Soviet side. Numbers are insignificantly low, but I’m not sure how many people have to die for a cause to make a holiday appropriate.

And here, in Latvia, almost every Russian family has lost at least one relative in the war. My great-grandmother’s brothers died fighting the Germans. Natalia Antonova writes:

My grandmother started crying on the phone:

“I don’t want you to ever know what it’s like to hear the shelling and know that it’s coming for you.”

War is banal and blind and savage and ultimately meaningless. But there is still something to smile about today, at least for me. If only because its survivors had children, and those children had children, and one of them was me, and another one was my beautiful baby brother. And there’s a reason why we’re here, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives finding out what that reason may be.

And it appears to me by making May 8 or 9 just another day, we void the sacrifices made by those who gave their lives in that banal, blind, savage, and ultimately meaningless war.

I spent most of yesterday at the Victory monument, roaming around, watching people, snapping photos. For a while, it seemed that Riga had turned into Daugavpils, a Russian-dominated Latvian town. It seemed Riga turned into little Russia. A red SUV drove around with a large Russian tricolor (Russians, like Texans, like things big). Russian embassy emissaries were everywhere organizing the 10-hour long concert for the public. The percentage of people wearing sports track suits was the highest at the Victory park than in another other part of Latvia.

In the morning, it reeked of the Soviet nostalgia with a lone portrait of Stalin and red banners. In the evening, youth came out with Russian tricolor and appear to be more patriotic about Russia than Russians across Latvia’s eastern borders. I saw only one man wearing a Latvian hockey jersey and a ribbon of St. George.

I couldn’t understand the ubiquitousness of the Russian flags. At any time, you’d expect the Russian national anthem blast through the speakers. The organizers should have thought to promote a healthy patriotism toward the country they find their homes, Latvia, but I suspect any Latvian national anthem would have been greeted with boos from the large crowd and give more work to the police.

After a short interview in the afternoon, I couldn’t refuse getting a drink with two men twice my age. It’s impolite. One man, Viktor, now teaches computer science at a local school, having worked as an engineer most of his life. His trade is no longer needed in Latvia and he couldn’t adapt to the new way of life after Gorbachev’s reforms. A non-citizen, he moved to Latvia from Russia, just like many others. He likes to compare Russians and Latvians.

“See this monument. This ain’t Milda,” he told me, referring to the nickname for the Freedom Monument a revered site for many Latvians.

The anger at this country, at the apathy of the government, at prevalent corruption and theft, and – frighteningly of all – hatred toward everything Latvian is enormous. For them, the anger trumps over any other emotion. Perhaps, this anger at callous, flippant attitude of the authorities toward those who fought on the “wrong side” – politically speaking – during the war drives many, many people to remember this Victory Day by laying tulips at the feet of the monument.

And throughout the day, even as late as 10 p.m., people kept pouring in to lay flowers.

Loudspeakers blared Soviet-era war music and thousands, young and old, trooped to the war monument honoring Red Army soldiers who fell in World War II. Parents with children, teenagers, many veterans – carrying a bouquet of flowers – flooded the square near the monument under a watchful eye of police.

The VE-Day of May 8 went barely noticed in Latvia. The president and other high-ranking officials attended a ceremony at a military cemetery. For the country with many days of mourning (June 14, March 25, December 4) – no flags signified a day of commemoration. In fact, the whole day was very subdued.

The end of the war signifies the beginning of peace. Tens of millions of people died in that war. Those who returned found their cities, towns and villages in crumbles. One gentleman told me he had spent three years at a concentration camp in Germany. If it hadn’t been for the Russians, who knows what would have happened, he said.

My family own family was lucky, I guess. Only two of my distant granduncles died in the war. My great-grandfather along with my grandmother nearly became victims if it hadn’t been for a technicality. The Nazis killed 200-300 men, women, and children of the village of Audrini in January 1942. My family lived next-door in another village. Audrini was burned to the ground. About 30 of the Audrini villagers were publicly shot in the Rezekne market square, and the remaining villagers were transported to the nearby Anchupani Hills where they too were shot.

These stories are many. The war impacted almost every family in Latvia – whether they ended up packing their suitcases and boarding for Germany, or decided to remain in the occupied Latvia.

The end of this awful war is hard not to commemorate.

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