During 2005, there was no change of government in Latvia. Perhaps this time there should have been. It was largely successful external politics that dominated the year, but some local politics could always be relied upon to take the gloss off external achievements and reveal previously unplumbed depths in Latvian political life.

The dawning of 2005 came in new colours—the unexpected “Orange Revolution” in Ukraine. Strongly supported by the Baltic states, Western Europe and the United States, Viktor Yushchenko’s turning of the tables on the corrupt, Russia-backed incumbents continued the slow overturning of such regimes that had begun in Georgia earlier in 2004 and was to be repeated—perhaps even more unexpectedly—in Kyrgyzstan in 2005.

For those who had believed that accession to the European Union and NATO in 2004 guaranteed Latvia a quiet and protected life, the year brought new challenges and, for the most part, challenges that were well responded to. Of central importance was President Vaira Vīķe-Freiberga’s high-risk politics surrounding the May 9 celebrations in Moscow to mark the 60th anniversary of the defeat of Nazi Germany. Against much advice, she decided to attend these celebrations, but used her response to the invitation to point out that the end of Nazism was followed by nearly 50 years of Soviet occupation, which also needed to be condemned. This led to several months of intense diplomatic and not-so-diplomatic rhetoric. Russia’s President Vladimir Putin reacted strongly, and when Vīķe-Freiberga gave him a copy of a recent history of Latvia, Putin used the Auschwitz memorial ceremony in January to attack those who he accused of attempting to rewrite history.

Eventually, the May 9 celebrations in Moscow were decidedly less than a triumph for Russia. The other two Baltic presidents declined to attend and received considerable publicity for that, but even greater attention was paid to Vīķe-Freiberga. U.S. President George W Bush pointedly visited Latvia just before and Georgia just after the May 9 celebrations, again bringing displeasure from Moscow as he supported the spread of democracy and implicitly pointed to the growing lack of democracy in Russia.

Other external gains can also be counted, including the European Parliament being willing to look at issues of the consequence of Soviet rule in the new EU member states. Many forces, including the EU and particularly Poland, continued pressure on Russia over its slide to authoritarianism and legal and human rights abuses, but Latvian representatives on the whole resisted criticizing Russia on all matters, stressing the need for good relations despite issues of contention, and deflecting Russia’s now flagging criticisms of Latvia’s minority politics.

Over the same period, the tortuous on-again, off-again negotiations over a border agreement with Russia ground to a halt for both Latvia and Estonia, with both Baltic countries insisting on attaching their own addenda outlining the history of past treaties with the Soviet Union and their consequences, and a subsequent refusal to accept this by Russia. While I have earlier argued that Latvia had gone about these negotiations in an often incompetent manner, it was somewhat “saved” by a similar fate befalling Estonia.

However, local politicians can always make matters worse. Aleksandrs Kiršteins, chair of the Saiema (Parliament) Foreign Affairs Committee, excited passions with a call for Russians to leave the country, adding that this exodus should be accompanied by brass bands at the railway stations. After rather prolonged pressure he resigned, widely regarded as a provocateur.

The bigger external problems, however, took a new form in 2005. Not only the Baltic states but also much of Europe are highly dependent on Russian gas and oil, and Putin has put in considerable work to woo particularly Germany and France to support Russian ambitions. A stage-managed “750 year anniversary of Kaliningrad” (that’s the old Königsberg, the city of philosopher Immanuel Kant, now a Russian oil and weapons sludgepile) saw Putin invite just two western leaders to the celebrations – France’s Jacques Chirac and Germany’s Gerhardt Schröder – as these were people who Putin said “spoke the same language” as himself! And what did they speak about? A radical plan to build a submarine gas pipeline from St. Petersburg to Germany, bypassing the Baltic states and Poland and creating potentially an environmental catastrophe in the Baltic Sea. Despite Russia’s many foreign affairs setbacks in the recent past, energy geopolitics is now the name of its game. This will be a test for Germany’s new Chancellor Angela Merkel. Latvia’s former Foreign Affairs Minister Sandra Kalniete, who had earlier made waves with her own well-reported equation of Nazism with Communism, also darkly warned that values, not trade, should underpin the European Union’s relations with Russia.

Against this external backdrop, Latvia’s awkward and often meandering coalition government of Aigars Kalvītis struggled to deal with mounting internal problems, but was saved by a booming economy. Poll ratings for all parties in the coalition were poor throughout 2005, with only New Era (Jaunais laiks) and occasionally the People’s Party (Tautas partija) scoring above the 5 percent barrier. Former Prime Minister and New Era leader Einars Repše spent the first half of the year as almost a political irrelevancy, involved in a number of strange property deals and personally distancing himself from all political engagement, even while fulfilling the role of defense minister. However, in the second half of the year his activity both as minister and politician markedly improved, and when he was faced with a serious leadership challenge during the New Era’s party congress, Repše responded with vigour but also with understanding, almost seeming to lose his former arrogance and distance. New Era has now shown itself to be more than a one-man party. (Repše stepped down as defense minister and resigned his seat in the Saeima on Dec. 22 in reaction to Kalvītis going public with news that the state anti-corruption bureau has begun a criminal investigation of Repše’s finances – ed.)

On the other side of the political fence, National Harmony Party (Tautas saskaņas partija) leader Jānis Jurkāns retired from politics, rather in despair at the prospects of his party which has begun to seriously fray, losing members to central parties on the one hand while often being sidelined by the more aggressive pro-Moscow forces on the other. Jurkāns had a long engagement with politics going back to the People’s Front (Tautas fronte) days of the late 1980s. He was foreign minister in the Ivars Godmanis government (1990-1993) when Latvia regained its independence, but then split from many of his People’s Front colleagues. The National Harmony Party was variously seen as left-wing and appealing only to the province of Latgale and Russian-oriented interests, but Jurkāns saw it as an alternative both to the nationalists and to the hard-line ex-Communist diehards.

Meanwhile, in the Saeima the quality of political life continued to be eroded with several measures that further alienated the public. Using a variety of hypocritical arguments and parliamentary obstruction tactics, Saeima deputies twice defeated a proposal to remove deputies’ immunity to administrative law prosecution – that is, legal cases that might arise from administrative abuses of their position, related business dealings, etc. And as if to rub in this immunity, in the most vicious display of self-interest a majority of deputies backed sudden, unexpected and unexplained turnarounds in gambling laws that overturned previous restrictions on expansion of gambling facilities, a clear case of cui bono—who benefits?

But finally, one totally unexpected issue has left a cloud over the year in Latvian politics and makes us question much of the apparent gains made over recent times. Latvia’s inaugural “Rīga Pride” gay and lesbian march took place on July 23, leading to a sequence of events still reverberating. In the old Soviet system gay culture was even more underground than it had been in the West. Now, 15 years after Latvia regained its independence, you could think that gay culture would have found its largely uncontroversial niche as it has elsewhere. Not so. The march caused a storm even before the event, with raging controversy in the Rīga City Council over permission for the march and finally a court case determining it could proceed. On the day, marchers were harassed and in some cases physically attacked by a set of opponents forming a momentary but bizarre coalition – neo-Nazis, National Bolsheviks, virtually all major religious bodies and right-wing family-first groups. Controversy continued to rage afterwards, resulting in further strange alliances, for example Russian Ambassador Viktor Kalyuzhny praising Latvia’s Catholic Cardinal Jānis Pujats for condemning the march. In late November, Riga’s Lutheran Archbishop expelled the dean of the University of Latvia’s theology faculty, Juris Cālītis, from the Lutheran church for participating in a gay church service and supporting gay culture, the archbishop’s representative colourfully equating homosexuality with Satanism.

Readers may well understand how marginal much organised religion is in present-day Latvia. But this opportunity to attack a perceived threat and raise social passions was not scorned by prominent mainstream politicians, particularly the plutocratic and populist Transport Minister Ainars Šlesers, who criticised the court for allowing the march and mounted a campaign in the Saeima to amend Latvia’s constitution to define marriage as being between a man and a women. Almost unbelievably, on Dec. 1 the Saeima passed this proposal, the first move in securing a constitutional amendment, doing it in such a bloody minded and hyped-up environment that only three deputies voted against the proposal, and not one deputy daring to speak against it. While such actions have been strongly criticised by much popular response in Latvia itself, and almost universally condemned by contributors to public debate from outside Latvia, they nevertheless also aroused strong anti-gay sentiments from many within Latvia.

No other incident so clearly revealed the political opportunism and cynicism that characterises Latvian politics. But it also revealed the enormous well of homophobia that still exists in significant sections of Latvian society. While certainly not wanting to underestimate homophobia in western societies, the scale and nature of this issue in Latvia shows the still yawning chasm that exists between the very damaged society in Latvia and the Europe it aspires to be part of. In other circumstances we could fear that such an incident could lead to Latvia becoming the laughing stock of Europe, but on this occasion it is likely that Europe will not be laughing.

As national anthems go, the Latvian hymn “Dievs, svētī Latviju!” is a rather short one. So why bother even having a short version?

Because some politicians apparently think it’s necessary. The conservative Latvian party Tēvzemei un brīvībai / LNNK (For Fatherland and Freedom / LNNK) wants to define what counts as the short version of the national anthem.

The party on Nov. 16 introduced an amendment to Latvia’s law on the national anthem that fixes the short version of the song as one that does not repeat the first stanza. In other words, the short version would call for singing “Dievs, svētī Latviju, Mūs’ dārgo tēviju, Svētī jel Latviju, Ak, svētī jel to!” just once, then, as usual, twice singing “Kur latvju meitas zied, Kur latvju dēli dzied, Laid mums tur laimē diet, Mūs’ Latvijā!”

That would shave a whopping 30 seconds from the song composed by Kārlis Baumanis and first performed in 1873. The version of the song available on the Saeima’s Web site clocks in at 2 minutes and 15 seconds. Snipping the repeated first stanza reduces it to 1 minute and 45 seconds.

The Saeima, Latvia’s parliament, may take up the amendment later this week.

According to the bill, the amendment is necessary because a Cabinet of Ministers decree approved earlier this year allows for performance of a short version, but doesn’t say what the short version should be. Given the growing number of occasions when the national anthem must be played, according to the bill, “this allows unfettered interpretations, which during various events (especially sports) and official ceremonies increasingly debase not only the point and essence of our nation’s symbol, but also degrade the overall artistic quality of the hymn.”

During some sporting events “Dievs, svētī Latviju” is cut to no more than 55 seconds, according to the Cabinet of Ministers.

The cabinet in 1999 first adopted rules for the publication of notes and recordings of the anthem. Based on recommendations from the National Anthem Commission, those rules were replaced this June with clearer standards. Unfortunately, the only standards for the short version are that it use the same arrangement as that for symphonic and brass orchestras and that it be in B flat major.

The tēvzemieši are right to be concerned about different interpretations. But rather than etching in stone what the short version of the anthem should be, why not just disallow a short version? It won’t kill anyone to stand at attention for 30 seconds longer. Some things in life deserve more than the radio edit.

If we are to have an official “light” version of the national anthem (now with 22 percent less lyrics and music!), why not take on waste in other Latvian national symbols, too? Let’s make the maroon proportion of the flag smaller, because so many folks anyway forget there’s a 2:1:2 ratio to the colors in the sarkanbaltsarkans, not to mention that it’s supposed to be twice as long as it is wide. And, even though there are three approved versions of the coat of arms, why have three stars in it? Won’t one do?

No, it’s a bad idea. National symbols should set a standard. To even acknowledge that a short version of the national anthem is acceptable is the wrong course of action. The tēvzemieši should instead insist that the only acceptable version of Latvia’s national anthem is the long one.

This year has seen some impressive gains by Latvia and the other Baltic states in foreign relations, but all that could be seriously undone by Latvia’s confused tactics in the proposed border agreement with Russia.

Earlier in the year, President Vaira Vīķe-Freiberga’s decision to go to Moscow for the May 9 celebration marking the 60th anniversary of the defeat of Nazi Germany was controversial at the time but subsequently brought great dividends. Vīķe-Freiberga used the occasion to make very well reported pronouncements about 1945 being a liberation from the Nazis but also the beginning of 50 years of Soviet oppression.

This theme was picked up by many others in the West, leading to Russia’s foreign ministry strenuously attempting to counter this criticism, and seriously detracting from President Vladimir Putin’s hoped for triumphal celebrations.

For the small Baltic states this was an important step up in having the international community understand their situation more fully.

At the same time, the long-standing border dispute with Russia seemed to be coming to a perhaps successful conclusion. Negotiations—ever since 1991!—had been difficult as Russia continually wanted to tie aspects of the border agreement to Estonia’s and Latvia’s treatment of their Russian-speaking minorities. For their part, both Estonia and Latvia wanted any agreement to make reference to the peace and border treaties of 1920 in which Soviet Russia, as it then was, recognised these two states and their borders. This historical recognition is important because it marks the continuity of Estonian and Latvian statehood. The states that emerged in 1991 were not new, but the legal continuation of the pre-war independent states.

But after the incorporation of the Baltic states into the Soviet Union in 1941, small areas were carved out of Estonia’s and Latvia’s former territory and made part of Russia. After regaining independence in 1991, these areas remained part of Russia. In Latvia’s case this was the Abrene region.

In the long discussions about new border agreements, neither Estonia nor Latvia have made any claim to take back their former territories, areas that are now entirely russified.

The border agreements in the late 1990s became a priority for Estonia and Latvia as both countries hoped to join the NATO defense alliance and the European Union, and needed to have the issue cleared up. For its part, Russia was happy to delay talks hoping this would confound these attempts to join. Who would want to accept as members countries with unresolved borders? Negotiations, held in secret, did go part of the way to getting agreement on borders (in Latvia’s case in 1997), but no further progress was made as other political agendas were played out.

To the surprise of Russia, the EU and NATO did accept Estonia and Latvia with the de facto borders as they stood, while urging the two countries to come to an agreement with Russia. For its part, Russia in the last couple of years has tried to work towards a visa-free regime with the EU, but the unresolved border issue has been a reason for the EU to not hurry. So, for many reasons, there was some need to finally come to an agreement.

Serious talks resumed in early 2005. At one stage Russia hoped the agreements would be signed at those same May 9 celebrations in Moscow. At another stage Russia proposed joining to the agreement with Latvia a statement of political principles that should guide relations between the two countries, but this met a cool response and was not pursued. It seemed an agreement was close, along the lines of the still secret 1997 draft.

Then, at the end of April, Latvia released its bombshell. It now wanted to attach to the agreement a one-sided declaration reserving for Latvia all rights granted by the 1920 peace settlement. At Russian insistence, the 1997 draft agreement had removed all reference to the 1920 peace settlement. Constitutional advice to the Latvian government, it was now said, was that if the agreement did not contain such historical reference, it would breach Latvia’s constitution, paragraph 3 of which states that Latvia consists of the 4 provinces of Vidzeme, Kurzeme, Zemgale and Latgale—implying then Abrene as well. And this paragraph can only be changed through a referendum.

Russia refused to proceed with negotiations, interpreted the move as a grab for territory and loudly criticised it. Latvia had to explain, not least to the rest of Europe, why it needed such a statement now. Latvia has found the going here very tough, even though such one-sided declarations are at times used in international agreements.

Moreover, this decision has revealed sharp differences in Latvia’s internal politics. The president, who apparently was not consulted, is furious. Different politicians are criticising the move. And lawyers and commentators are disagreeing strongly over the necessity of the declaration and whether it would be unconstitutional to proceed without it.

The president sought to regain the initiative by urging that the issue should be looked at by Latvia’s Constitutional Court before the agreement is signed, not afterwards if an objection is made as prescribed in normal legal process. But this requires changing the court’s legislation. Others have suggested such a one-sided declaration was more appropriate if it came from Parliament during the ratification process. After signing, the border agreement would need to be ratified by both sides.

Latvia’s government now finds itself fighting on two fronts—internationally and internally—to work out a way of handling the situation that would not place it in constitutional hot water and would still leave some hope for an agreement eventually being signed with Russia.

Meanwhile, Estonia took a different tack and signed its border agreement with Russia in early June. In this case, too, all reference to the 1920 peace settlement was omitted, but in Estonia’s constitution there is no reference to specified territory. However, in its ratification process Estonia’s parliament has since announced it will only ratify if a one-sided declaration is attached reasserting the historical continuity of Estonia. This too has infuriated Russia, which accuses Estonia of not previously negotiating in good faith if this point now comes up, but it has placed Russia itself on the back foot as to why it will now refuse to ratify the agreement it signed.

Latvia remains in a mess, with all the appearance of ad hocery. And many other questions arise. Why did the 1997 agreement not contain any historical reference (it was negotiated in secret by a prime minister from the nationalist For Fatherland and Freedom party!)? Is there a constitutional crisis or not? Will signing an agreement be interpreted as unconstitutional? Is such a one-sided declaration needed after all?

The Latvian government is in a genuinely difficult situation, but there is no end to debate about how much of this is Latvia’s own making—an example of seemingly snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.