Latvia awaits the longest day of the year in what seems to many like the longest year in their lives. Especially if you are trying to balance a budget. Your own, or a government’s.

But the summer solstice on June 21 is a turning point. Spring ends, summer begins, the days get shorter, the nights get longer, and plants, animals and other living things all feel a shift in the world around them.

In ancient times when people watched the sun rise and fall every day with great care, the solstice was a singular event and signaled a significant change in cosmic direction. If you were used to one climactic pattern from January until June, you got ready for the reverse in the second half of the year. You hoped the same applied to your fortunes.

Those who live in steel and concrete cities with fluorescent sunsets, or in tropical climes where the sun is always around, may not relate much to the wonders of the summer solstice. But up here on the 57th parallel by the Baltic Sea where the sun goes away to hide for months on end, and sometimes barely comes up for a few hours, the month of June is a month to be treasured.

For reasons I can’t begin to explain, Latvians celebrate Midsummer’s Day on June 23. We call it Līgo Day, and the day after that we call Jāņi. For Latvians, this is both their favorite holiday and also their oldest. We’re fairly certain that our ancestors have been singing and dancing around bonfires at this time of the year for several thousand years.

Latvians celebrate the solstice by gathering flowers, decorating everything, building bonfires, drinking beer, singing songs, eating cheese, dancing in circles and staying up all night.

It’s very important to stay up all night in Latvia on June 23, because if you don’t, the sun won’t rise the next day. We have special songs you have to sing when the sun goes down, or else it won’t come up again in the morning. We light the bonfires before sunset so that the wandering sun can find a light once it approaches Latvia again. We do all this with ritual tenacity, and our ancestors have been doing the same thing, year after year, for countless centuries. So far, it has worked. The sun has always risen on June 24.

In the last week, the Latvian government, parliament, business community and their social partners have also been working around the clock to avoid an economic catastrophe. The entire world has been watching as Latvia has struggled with massive budget cuts, painful gross domestic product drops, struggling businesses, and growing unemployment lines. The finest economic minds in the world have taken up their rhetorical swords and have been bashing each other daily in a global debate over whether Latvia should devaluate its currency or not.

But as I write, the lat is still pegged to the euro. The government has agreed on a 500 million lat budget reduction, and the parliament has approved it. Now we await the International Monetary Fund and European Commissoin to give their nod of approval.

And we go out to the countryside, to build bonfires, pick flowers and fill pitchers of freshly brewed beer. We also stroll out into the forest in search of fern blossoms. You can find fern blossoms only at this time of the year, and if you don’t believe they exist, you will never find one.

If it sounds like Latvians look for a little magic around this time of the year, you are right. It can’t hurt. After all, we are facing another turning point in our lives. But one thing we know for sure. The sun will come up tomorrow.

Each year since 1998, veterans of the World War II Latvian Legion and their family members have gone to memorial services in churches and cemeteries in Latvia on March 16 to remember fellow soldiers who died in the war. During the German occupation of Latvia (1941-1944), more than 100,000 Latvians were conscripted into combat units that fought against the Stalin’s Red Army on the Eastern Front.

This annual remembrance of Latvians who wore German uniforms to fight against the Soviet Union has generated political controversy, some minor protests and modest international media attention, largely because of misunderstandings about the historical role of the Latvian Legion during World War II. In some cases, the misunderstandings arise from a simple unfamiliarity with the facts. In others, there is a calculated attempt to misrepresent the role of Legion veterans, both today, and during World War II.

Part of the problem comes from the intentionally misleading German designation of the Latvian Legion as “the Latvian Voluntary SS Legion,” which was formed under the German Waffen-SS (Schutzstaffel).  The 15th and 19th Latvian Legion divisions created in 1943 were neither voluntary nor were they associated in any way with the notorious Nazi SS organization that was responsible for the Holocaust.

Most of the estimated 100,000 young Latvian men who made up the Latvian Legion were forcibly mobilized to fight on Germany’s collapsing Eastern Front. Draft evasion was punishable by death. The Soviets were advancing, the Germans were retreating and the Latvians were called up to fill the gap. While Adolf Hitler’s racist policies had forbidden the use non-German combatants in the early stages of the war, by 1943, desperation overruled discrimination. Similar non-German Waffen-SS combat units were established in France, Italy, Hungary, Ukraine, Estonia and Belarus, all in a last-ditch German effort to prevent defeat.

Hitler’s mass extermination of Jews in Latvia had already ended in 1943, long before the Latvian Legion combat units were formed. This was recognized by the International War Crimes Tribunal in Nuremberg, when the Latvian Legion and other conscripted non-German Waffen-SS units were exempted from criminal charges associated with the Nazi Holocaust.

The Latvians who were drafted into the Latvian Legion were neither Nazis nor fascists, nor did they wish to see a Nazi German victory in the war. They were young men who had just seen their loved ones and friends executed and deported by the thousands by the departing Soviet regime. Joseph Stalin’s brutal Russification of Latvia had been cut short by the German invasion in 1941, and there was every indication it would be resumed once the Soviet army pushed the Germans out and re-occupied Latvia.

Although forcibly mobilized, once armed and in uniform, many in the Legion believed this was their only chance to prevent a second Soviet takeover. As during World War I, when Latvian freedom fighters battled both Bolsheviks and Germans to win Latvia’s independence, the soldiers of the Legion hoped that history could repeat itself. They would defeat the Soviets and then turn their guns on the Nazis. But the Soviet force was overwhelming and Latvia was occupied once more. That second occupation ended in 1991 with the collapse of the U.S.S.R.

Not many surviving members of the Latvian Legion are left today in Latvia. But each year the veterans, former soldiers caught in a vise between two totalitarian powers, meet to remember their suffering and sacrifices. They see themselves as Latvian patriots who believed, however erroneously, that they were fighting for the restoration of a free Latvia. For this reason, March 16, the anniversary of a major Latvian Legion battle in Russia, was chosen by them as a day of solemn remembrance.

Moscow has always viewed the Legion veterans as enemies of the Soviet state and sent them to Soviet labor camps after the war. When the U.S.S.R. collapsed, the Russian government officially preserved this hostility and has routinely condemned the remembrance of the Legion veterans on March 16t in Latvia. This criticism, however, has often gone beyond the historical facts and wrongly accused the Latvian Legion of war crimes, fascism and complicity in the Holocaust.

Confusion over the Waffen-SS designation has also contributed to a misrepresentation of the Legion veterans in the mass media. Solemn flower-laying ceremonies at monuments and cemeteries, attended by aged veterans and their families, have been wrongly described in the media as “marches.” Nothing could be further from the truth. They march nowhere, carry no banners, shout no slogans and have no political agenda. They simply wish to honor their fallen friends and comrades.

History is always a subject of interpretation, and three brutal military occupations in a five-year period during World War II, have made Latvia’s history especially difficult for non-historians to understand. For Latvia, this was an especially tragic period when most who were caught between two invading armies became victims of forces far beyond their control.   

In recent years, some radical political groups have tried to disrupt the quiet March 16 events to call attention to themselves and their political causes. They have been condemned by Latvian authorities as well as the former Legion soldiers. But most who go to church or cemeteries on that day have no political agenda whatsoever. They are simply paying their respects to 100,000 fathers, sons and friends who became tragic victims of a very costly and complicated war.

Although Latvia has made great strides in rebuilding a fair and democratic society since restoring independence in 1991, not all aspects of the Soviet legacy have been that easy to eradicate. One of those legacies was a segregated school system that divided ethnic Latvians and Russians. This year, the Latvian government enters the sixth year of an eight-year program designed to end this divisive situation. Although the program is designed to promote social integration, equal opportunity and citizenship for all of Latvia’s residents, it has encountered opposition from some politicians and segments of the ethnic Russian population. Why would ethnic Russians oppose a plan designed to enhance their opportunities for education, employment and civic involvement?

The answer is also part of a Soviet legacy that encourages some politicians to exploit social divisions and apprehensions.

During the Soviet occupation, hundreds of thousands of Soviet citizens, mostly of ethnic Russian origin, established residence in Latvia and remained here after the breakup of the Soviet Union. Many were brought in as part of Joseph Stalin’s Russification campaign. Most spoke only Russian, as did their eventual Latvia-born children and grandchildren. When Latvia restored its independence in 1991, they all found themselves in a country that had re-established its national sovereignty, state language and Latvian identity. They were former Soviets, mostly of Russian ethnicity, now living in the Republic of Latvia.

After adoption of the Law on Citizenship in 1994, a naturalization board was established in 1995, enabling former Soviets to apply for Latvian citizenship. All permanent residents of Latvia who could pass a Latvian language and history test could become citizens. The process of naturalization was slow, in part because a large segment of the ethnic Russian population could not speak Latvian. A national Latvian language training program was established in 1996 to help residents acquire the language skills needed to qualify for citizenship.

The rate of naturalization among older persons was low due to the difficulty of learning a new language. It was hoped, however, that younger Russian-speaking residents would not find it a hardship. However, since many ethnic Russians continued to study in the 159 exclusively Russian-language state schools, the rate of naturalization continued to lag even among the young.

While the retention of the Russian schools was initially considered a gesture of good will during a difficult transition period, it soon became clear that these schools were fostering segregation, which led to de facto discrimination. Pupils who could only speak Russian could not become citizens, had difficulty integrating into Latvian society, and had limited higher education and employment opportunities.

To correct this situation, a Law on Education was adopted in 1998. The law was designed to increase proficiency in the Latvian language, while preserving and protecting the rights of students to attend minority schools where instruction was also offered in eight minority languages. Pupils from Russian and other ethnic groups would receive a bilingual education that would enable them to retain their ethnic traditions and identities, while acquiring the language skills necessary for full participation in Latvian civic life.

The program to introduce Latvian language study in minority schools included a gradual phasing-in of bilingual courses over a period of years, giving parents and students sufficient time to prepare for the changes. Bilingual curricula were introduced to primary schools in the 2002-2003 school year. An increased proportion of Latvian-language curricula will be introduced to secondary schools this September.

The eight-year program was designed to provide pupils ample time to prepare for the transition to bilingual education. During the first five years no one objected. But in 2003, as changes in the secondary school courses were being prepared, political organizations emerged in opposition to the plan. Encouraged by a few radical parliamentarians and led by adult activists, some Russian secondary school pupils began to organize protests against the final phase of the program. They demanded that the law be changed and that state-financed Russian schools remain exclusively Russian-language institutions.

The size and aggressive nature of the protests have grown over the last year. Methods have become more sophisticated and confrontational, and have received sizable financial support from unknown sources. The Russian government has also weighed into the controversy, condemning the Latvian government’s educational program and expressing support for the protest movement. Politicians who support the protestors, both in Latvia and Russia, have also made additional demands. They not only oppose the educational reforms, but are demanding changes in Latvia’s language and citizenship policies. Both of these positions, which would increase segregation and reverse integration in Latvia, have long been Russian government policies toward Latvia.

Despite Russia’s protests, which amount to interference in another state’s internal affairs, the Latvian government’s language, citizenship and educational policies have received broad international support. Meeting international standards on these issues was necessary in order for Latvia to qualify for membership in the European Union and the NATO defense alliance. Latvia was welcomed into both organizations earlier this year. The Council of Europe and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe have also endorsed Latvia’s policies, particularly in regard to educational reform.

Following a March 2004 fact-finding trip to Latvia, a Council of Europe monitoring committee noted that the protests “have little to do with a civil society or grassroots movements as understood in the western world,” but were instead led by radical forces said to receive moral and material support from Russia. The council strongly advised Russia to cease its counter-productive interference in Latvia’s internal affairs.

The protests are indeed counter-productive. Pupils who refuse to learn Latvian and are boycotting classes are impeding their own education, limiting their employment opportunities and alienating themselves from society at large.

International organizations that have followed this issue in Latvia have agreed that the social integration of former Soviets must be accelerated and that naturalization rates needs to be increased. This can only happen if the permanent residents of Latvia can speak and understand the Latvian language.

The Soviet legacy of forced Russification, ethnic segregation and repression during 50 years of occupation has done irreparable damage to entire generations of Latvians and Russians in Latvia. For some, the damage can never be undone. The Latvian educational reform program is designed to help the next generations prepare for a better life. One of equal opportunity, civic engagement and prosperity in a democratic Latvia and a united Europe.