Our bus stopped suddenly on the side of the only road leading out of the time-warp village of Lesnoy just west of the Ural Mountains in Russia. We piled out of the bus and our guide told us that this was the site of Vyatlag Camp No. 4, one of the hard labor camps of the notorious Soviet Gulag system in the 1940s and 1950s.

This came as a bit of a surprise, because we had already been shown the site of Camp No. 7 (burned out logs and blocks of cement in tall grass and lush young forest several kilometers outside of town). We didn’t believe the authorities would also show us a second camp site.

But I noticed 80-year-old Eleonora’s gaze never left the meadow on the right side of the road for the entire 10 minutes of our stop. The guide had said that the camp’s cemetery was somewhere in that meadow.

We have all read the eyewitness accounts or at least heard of the hard labor camps and know that they didn’t have anything as dignified as a cemetery. Bodies were usually just thrown into pits—there were so many of them, the ground was frozen for half the year, and no one had the energy to think about last rites, even if such a thing had been allowed.

In any case, this is most likely the spot where Eleonora’s father lies.

* * *

What brought me—and Eleonora—to this part of the world was a woman named Dzintra Geka. That, and my job as a translator.

Geka, a filmmaker in Latvia and the daughter of a man exiled to Siberia, has made it her mission to document the life stories of people who were deported from Latvia to Siberia as children during Stalin’s deportation campaigns of 1941 and 1949. Her Children of Siberia foundation has located and interviewed former deportees, made films about their plight, and now also published a 1,180-page book containing their life stories. Geka has traveled to Siberia many times to meet former deportees and to visit sites where they lived and died.

I was one of three translators involved in translating the above-mentioned tome of deportee life stories from Latvian to English. Even though the work was emotionally difficult, I enjoyed it immensely and found myself very caught up in the stories and the people themselves. After much research regarding terminology and geography and tangents to satisfy my own curiosity, I became determined to see Siberia firsthand.

So I jumped at the opportunity to travel with Geka during the summer of 2011. In fact, our group spent only the first three days in Siberia proper, in Omsk District. After that we road-tripped by aging bus to the Ural Mountains and farther west, because the focus of this trip was the men’s labor camps in Solikamsk and Lesnoy, called Usollag and Vyatlag, respectively.

Most of my almost 30 fellow travelers had a very personal connection to these two places—their own fathers or grandfathers had been imprisoned and died in these camps.

I should add that not all former deportees wish to return to the places where they lived or to see the places where their fathers died. Many are indeed repulsed by the thought.

“I was sent there by force, but you’re going to go willingly?!” said one man to his grandson who accompanied us. Some people are still genuinely afraid of unpredictable Russia. Others just cannot understand the pull of traveling back to the Soviet Union.

Russia is huge and imposing—I liken it to staring down the runway of a major airport—and this is one of its draws. Its natural environment, where it hasn’t been raped, is certainly wondrous. On a smaller scale, its old churches are pretty and its sunken log houses with ornately carved window frames and blue accents are charming in a ramshackle sort of way.

But in general Russia’s human-created environment is not beautiful. Soviet-era concrete architecture and a certain careless attitude to both public and personal space dominate most populated areas. Of course, Moscow, St. Petersburg and Yekaterinburg are shining modern cities. But if one travels across the country, especially off the beaten path, one sees behind the proverbial Potemkin façade.

Traveling off that path is not so simple, especially to regions that still have active prisons, such as Solikamsk and Kirov Province (site of the Vyatlag camps). Geka and her assistant spent many frustrating hours obtaining the necessary permits for our group and still, at the last minute, were informed that, supposedly due to small inconsistencies in the spelling of some surnames, we would not be allowed access to death certificates, court proceedings and other documents relating to our fathers and grandfathers. Considered an official delegation, our group was pleasantly welcomed and very well minded by the authorities, but tour guides nevertheless touted the official line that deportations had been necessary for the development of Russia as a modern nation.

Apart from the usual quirks, rude attitudes, lingering Soviet atmosphere and differing standards of living, though, I think we saw a surprisingly (for a biased Latvian) civilized side of Russia. But then again, we traveled through a relatively civilized part of Russia.

* * *

Eleonora was deported from Latvia in 1941 at age 10 with her mother and father. They had no idea where they were being taken and no time to pack any belongings. All they had along were two bicycles (go figure) and a small bag.

Like all the men, Eleonora’s father was separated from his family at the train station in Latvia, and she never saw him again. He was sent to the hard labor camps in Kirov Province, while Eleonora and her mother were exiled to a small village much farther into Siberia. By spring they were reduced to digging up frozen leftover potatoes from the field. Only three of the 11 families exiled to that village survived.

Eleonora returned to Latvia in 1961, a single mother with two children. Only much later did she find out that her father, who had worked as a border guard in Latvia, had been sentenced to death in January 1942 at age 36. Eleonora’s daughter recently died, and she is now the primary caregiver for her ill grandson. But mostly, she feels sorry for her father and what he had to endure.

Eleonora still has many questions regarding her father’s last months and death, questions that will never be answered. The 10 minutes our bus stopped on the side of this road must suffice for the rest of her life. But at least now, whenever she prays and thinks of her father, it will be this field that she remembers. Now at least she can point her grief at a specific place.

Jānis Kurelis died Dec. 5, 1954, in Chicago. He was 72 years old and had bladder cancer, which he suffered with for nearly two years. His death certificate listed Kurelis’s occupation as a retired general in the Latvian army.

When Latvian officials come to Chicago in May for the NATO defense alliance summit, they should consider paying their respects to Kurelis.

A few episodes of the general’s military career should be noted.

During World War I, Kurelis was a lieutenant colonel in the 5th Latvian Riflemen Battalion. At the end of the war he, along with over 70 officers and 1,000 soldiers, found themselves in Vladivostok, Russia. Kurelis, other military officers and local Latvian civic leaders formed the Siberia and Ural Latvian National Council. An immediate outgrowth was also the formation of the Imanta Regiment. This was all done under the auspices and support of the local French mission and France’s embassy in China. Kurelis allied himself with a western power searching for a “third way” out of a precarious situation. 

In return for France’s support, the Imanta regiment escorted military transports and performed policing functions. The regiment wore French uniforms with the addition of Latvian national colors. Instruction and communications were in Latvian. A commission was created to develop Latvian language military nomenclature. In February 1920, Vladivostok fell to the Bolsheviks. Latvia’s nascent Foreign Affairs Ministry arranged for the evacuation of the regiment with the assistance of Britain and France. Three ships during a six-month period left Vladivostok for the long journey back to Latvia. Later Latvia was billed and paid 8,500,017 francs and 130,000 pounds sterling for services rendered.

Kurelis was recalled to Latvia in September 1919. He served in various headquarters and Defense Ministry positions during the War of Independence. This conflict was chock full of shifting alliances, intrigues, misadventures, miscalculations and, more generally, simple chaos. During one period three separate governments, with significant military resources, claimed legitimate rule over the country. Latvia gained independence through grit, determination, patience, political maneuvering and good fortune. Critical assistance from France and Britain was leveraged against weakened German and Russian forces. During the defense of Rīga in 1919, peacekeeping naval ships from France and Britain turned their artillery guns against an attacking formation of Germans and monarchist Russians, known as the West Russian Army or Bermontians. The Latvian Army was then able to counterattack and eventually defeat this enemy and turn its sights eastward. With help from Poland, Soviet Russian forces were expelled from Latvia followed by a peace treaty in August 1920. Amazingly, Latvia slipped the leash.

In order to gain western support Latvia needed to demonstrate an unambiguous commitment to the cause of independence. This was done on the international stage by Zigfrīds Meierovics, the nation’s first foreign minister. Among other accomplishments, he secured British recognition of Latvia’s sovereignty a full week before a formal declaration of independence. Latvia also needed a credible national army. 

From 1922 until 1940, when he reached mandatory retirement age, Kurelis served as commander of the army’s Technical Division. He was promoted to general in 1925. Like many other retired military officers, he was not subject to arrest immediately after the Soviet occupation of June 1940. The first wave of repressions was directed at active duty personnel, among many other groups of citizens. During the German occupation, which began a year later, he was the director of a security guard firm. The firm employed disabled persons to check locked doors and otherwise secure buildings.

In 1943 the Germans allowed the reestablishment of the paramilitary Aizsargi (Protectors) organization, which was originally created after Latvia proclaimed independence as a volunteer formation with both policing and military functions. Kurelis joined the 5th Rīga regiment. In September 1944, the Kurelis-led group left Rīga for Kurzeme in western Latvia. German forces were retreating and Soviet forces re-entered a virtually undefended Rīga on Oct. 13, 1944.

That German forces were retreating was not a surprise to the Latvian Central Council (LCC). This group was formed in August 1943 to coordinate pro-independence Latvian resistance during German occupation. In March 1944, the LCC promulgated a political manifesto that was ostensibly addressed as a memorandum to Gen. Rūdolfs Bangerskis, the inspector general of the German-created Latvian Legion. The title was more ministerial, as he did not exercise command authority. The document begins: “The enemy from the east is once again menacingly approaching Latvian territory”. It called for the proclamation of reestablished independence and renewal of the constitution and national army. The manifesto had an eclectic list of 189 signatories, including eight retired generals, one Lutheran archbishop, one Roman Catholic bishop, former politicians, government officials, academics, poets, literary figures, businessmen and others. Kurelis, who was head of the Council’s military commission was also a signatory.

The LCC’s practical activity revolved around creating a bridge to the west through Sweden. The LCC organized boats to transport refugees and move information back and forth. The group attempted to coordinate its activities with Latvia’s prewar embassy in Stockholm, which was still legally recognized and functioning. They maintained periodic radio contact with Swedish authorities.  The LCC also published an underground newsletter.

Many LCC members were arrested by the Gestapo, including Konstantīns Čakste, the son of Latvia’s first president. The circumstances of his death are not completely clear, but it appears he died in February 1945 either in or near the Lauenburg or Stutthof concentration camps. 

By late 1944 the ranks of the Kurelis group (popularly known as the Kurelians) swelled to 3,000 men. Serious external and internal problems developed. German authorities were becoming increasingly wary of the motives of the Kurelians. Also, the group was being flooded with deserters from the primarily conscript-based Latvian Legion. Within the group, discipline problems and divergent views among officers were prevalent. 

The discipline problems and divergent opinions had much to do with what the Kurelians were trying to accomplish. The goal was clear: reestablishing Latvia’s independence. How to get there was completely unclear and any strategy revolved around a 1919 solution: Assistance from the west would be leveraged against weakened German and Russian forces and Latvia would slip the leash. Latvia needed a national army to demonstrate the true will of its people to western countries. The Kurelians primarily wore Latvian army or Aizsargi uniforms. They considered themselves the core of a reestablished national army. 

They prepared for German defeat by trying to stay out of the Germans’ way. What the end-game was is simply unclear. Some possibilities include guerrilla warfare against the Soviets or an organized seaborne retreat to Sweden. The Latvian Legion’s 19th Division was almost entirely in Kurzeme and could, when circumstances allowed, defect en masse. Looming in the background was hoped-for intercession by Britain, Sweden or the United States. 

Beginning in October 1944, the Germans increasingly were making demands and trying to rein in Kurelis. Deserters needed to be turned over, German direct and complete control established and all Kurelians identified. SS Lt. Gen. Friedrich Jeckeln took part in some of the ongoing meetings. Jeckeln controlled all Nazi forces in Latvia and is closely associated with the most horrific crimes perpetrated during German occupation, particularly against Latvia’s Jewish community. Jeckeln made some suggestion that Germany would agree to Latvian independence after the war and Kurelis asked to see it in writing. In response to German demands, Kurelis’s Chief-of-Staff Capt. Krišs Upelnieks created a list of 500 military personnel, which was an obvious undercount.

Deserters need to be understood in context. Elements of the Latvian Legion’s 15th Division, still in Kurzeme, were being redeployed to Germany. Some of these soldiers wanted to remain on Latvian soil, while deserting 19th Division soldiers probably joined the Kurelians for either patriotic or other reasons.

The officers in the group reached a consensus to avoid any incidents with the Germans. The Kurelians’ encampment was poorly guarded. Some have speculated that this was an attempt at lowering the group’s profile. On Nov. 14, 1945, they were surrounded by a large and well-armed German force. Proclamations were read formally disbanding the group. Jeckeln arrived and it was all over. On Nov. 20, eight officers were executed, including Upelnieks. Others were sent to Stutthof concentration camp or interned in local prisons. Many perished while under German arrest.

Lt. Roberts Rubenis died on Nov. 18, 1944, at the age of 27. Rubenis commanded a battalion of about 600 men that was associated with the Kurelians. Upon hearing the news of the arrests he prepared for battle. Rubenis died during the first days of German attack. The battalion continued to fight and relocate and dispersed on Dec. 8. The Kurelians were able to inflict serious losses, including killing Major Kurt Krause, who had been the commandant of the Salaspils concentration camp southeast of Rīga. 

Kurelis was arrested and sent to Bangerskis’s headquarters in Danzig. One can only speculate on why he wasn’t treated more harshly. Killing a respected Latvian general could have inflamed an already precarious situation. Maybe Bangerskis interceded. Kurelis arrived, wearing his Latvian army general’s uniform, with his wife and two young children. He had married late in life, at age 54, to Elsa Rozenvalds, eighteen years his junior. He was repeatedly questioned and a report was prepared. In January 1945, the headquarters was evacuated with the approach of the Red Army. Kurelis requested that he and his family be allowed to evacuate with the others; he was told to walk.

With hindsight, the goals, strategy and tactics of the LCC and Kurelians seem fanciful, with no possibility of success. However, Kurelis did not have the benefit of hindsight and had never exhibited a fanciful moment during his 45-year military career. The literature universally credits Upelnieks as the driving force behind the Kurelian movement. He was one of the officers at Vladivostok who formed the Imanta regiment.

After the Soviets reestablished control the hunt for LCC activists and Kurelians began. In some cases prisoners stayed in place, as German rule passed to the Soviets. Various sentences ranging from execution to extended or limited deportation to the Gulag were meted out. It seems that Germans were an adversary, but independence-minded Latvians were the enemy.

The subject of the Kurelians was controversial for many years in the Latvian émigré community. Unfortunately, a false dichotomy developed between the Latvian Legion and the Kurelis group. Things were much more complicated than choosing one side or one way out over the other. No amount of grit, determination, patience or military or political maneuvering could have significantly altered events. 

Kurelis’s funeral on Dec. 7, 1954, included an honor guard formed by members of the Daugavas vanagi (DV) Latvian Legionnaires veterans organization and veterans from World War I and the War of Independence. He was cremated and his ashes were interned at Acacia Cemetery on Chicago’s northwest side. Various condolences were placed in the Latvian immigrant newspaper Laiks. Former Kurelians in England wrote: “If sons of the homeland can give their lives, then one can’t regret lesser sacrifices”.

The LCC and Kurelians deserve recognition for their ideals and convictions. In May, Latvian President Andris Bērziņš, along with the defense minister and other officials, will be attending the NATO summit in Chicago. NATO is simply the gold standard for “third-way” solutions to securing Latvia’s territorial integrity and sovereignty. This seems an appropriate time for these leaders to pause on the northwest side of Chicago and honor this Latvian Army general, who twice retired after serving his country, as best he could.

Speaking about languages, at times it seems that Russians, and especially politicians, do not understand how fatal their policies have been.

Overall, the Russian Empire collapsed twice precisely because of its unreasonable Russian language policies. For many decades, for innumerable people, this was the language of the occupiers. It symbolizes oppression, reprisals and arrogance. People do understand that it isn’t reasonable to blame common Russians or the language itself. Even so…

It appears that politicians whose home language is Russian—beginning with Vladimir Putin in the Kremlin and Nils Ušakovs in the Rīga City Hall—haven’t ultimately understood the lessons of history. Reviewing how 19th and 20th century history is portrayed in Russian language books, it’s rare to find explanations of the destructive role that the Russification policy played, which in large measure ruined and brought to an end the Russian Empire. In fact, the resentment felt by minority nations and their longing for freedom demolished the powerful Russian Empire. In large measure this explains the support of the Bolshevik revolution and Vladimir Lenin by Latvians, Jews and other people. In contemporary times it’s not unusual to hear the conclusion that the 1940 occupation of Latvia by the U.S.S.R. was a symbolic retribution for the Latvian Riflemen’s support of the Red revolution and their participation in the Russian Civil War.

This is a primitive and misleading assertion. Joseph Stalin simply repeated the mistakes of his predecessors. The idea proved to be a fatal tragedy. Both during Czarist Russia and the Soviet regime, Russian chauvinism most frequently manifested itself with the imposition of the Russian language. This engendered opposition, antipathy and hatred. It has to be admitted that even now the wounds from these policies haven’t healed. The Harmony Centre party, with Ušakovs as its head, carelessly ripped open the wound again, most likely because of ignorance. If representatives of the Kremlin support or encourage this policy, then they too haven’t understood its importance. In the beginning of the 20th century similar pressure led to the emergence of anarchists and other radicals. Later they enthusiastically participated in the destruction of the Russian Empire.

When pacifists reach for bombs

Russia’s problems, which continue in contemporary times, began in 1880. In that year Konstantin Pobedonostsev became chief prosecutor of the Holy Synod of Russia, a highly influential position in Czarist Russia. He was a notable person in the Czar’s court—the constitutional rights teacher of both Czar Alexander III and Czar Nikolai II. The British historian Alan Palmer wrote, “Pobedonostsev was a person of strong principles, extremely anti–Semitic and just as hostile toward Catholics, Islamic believers and any form of representative government. (“Parliament in our time produces the greatest of lies,” he wrote in 1896.^[1]) He believed in Great Russia’s divine mission and that the blessings were embodied in the highest autocrat—the Emperor of Great Russia.” Many, perhaps, would disagree, but looking at contemporary Russia it is hard not to think that a similar vein of thinking is quite strong. Many continue to feel blessed with a unique mission and an emperor of sorts exists. In huge, rich Russia with its many wise and talented people, the only alternative to Putin is… Putin.

Returning to historical events, Pobedonostsev had enormous power and he began his devasting imperial Russification program and the imposition of the Russian Orthodox religion. The historian Kristīne Volfarte wrote about this: “1888 and the next two years brought great changes to Rīga’s schools, since as a result of the government’s Russification policy, Russian replaced German and Latvian in the classroom. This was an enormous turning point for school children. All subjects, except for religious instruction, were taught in a language that pupils didn’t understand. The law allowed the use of a non–Russian language only in the beginning of the school year, as a temporary teaching aid. The situation became even more acute as a result of the 1893 law that declared that the Russian language was not only the language of instruction, but was the only one allowed to be used in schools. This meant that pupils and students, both during conversations among themselves or with teachers, could speak only in Russian.”^[2]

Beginning in 1887, almost all higher education institutions began using the Russian language. The notable University of Tartu in Estonian territory ended, replaced by the University of Yuryev. All legal and legislative matter had to be conducted in the Russian language. The ruthless Russification policy was imposed on all of Czarist Russia’s European lands—from proud Poland, through the Baltics, and even upon self–reliant and peace–loving Finland. In Latvian literature this era was strikingly portrayed in Pāvils Rozītis’ novel The Boys from Valmiera (Valmieras puikas)

This all evoked huge resentment, anger and protests. The Western–leaning, well–educated Baltic people refused to accept the brutality of Russian chauvinism. It was precisely at this time that these small nations understood that they had to escape from the Russian Empire. Palmer wrote, “On June 16, 1904, a young activist, a jurist who worked in the Senate, Eugen Schauman, shot and fatally wounded Bobrikov (Finland’s governor–general), and afterward committed suicide. While vacationing at the Finnish resort in Kotka, Czar Alexander II had once said, ‘Finland! What a wonderful place to live! No one makes bombs, there are no gangsters.’ The foolishness of Russian policy had provoked a member of the most pacifist of nations to engage in murder.”^[3]

Without Russification, everything would be different now

In fact, during this time period, a substantial seed of hatred had been sown that’s alive today. The situation became even more inflamed by the unrest of 1905 and the czar’s brutal, punitive death expeditions that ensued. The “White Russians” were never forgiven for this by the future Latvian Riflemen. During the Russian Civil War, the Russian monarchists and “White Cossacks” were especially hated. As the czarist regime weakened, it was precisely representatives of the minorities that were on the front lines of the extremists. After 1905, a constellation of notable Latvian anarchists appeared, some of whom found their way into Lenin’s regime.

Jews fought especially hard against the czar’s regime. Pobedonostsev had been especially evil toward them—arranging deportations, restricting freedom of movement and limiting education opportunities. The infamous pogroms against the Jews came into being at this time. In large measure that explains why Jews joined and supported the Bolshevik conspirators, since they’d suffered so terribly from the czar’s policies. The Finns, for their part, acted according to the principle: we will support the enemies of our enemy. They always provided sanctuary to those extremists who fought against the Czar’s regime. Precisely for this reason, Lenin found refuge in Finland, safe from the Czar’s secret police.

Of course, the czarist regime collapsed for other reasons as well, but the brutal Russification policy gave an enormous impulse for the minorities to oppose the Russian Empire. The language of one’s birth was the foundation on which all of these minorities used to bolster their self–confidence and dreams about freedom. The imposed Russian language was a symbol of repression and arrogant domination. The Russian Empire even as late as 1918-1919 still had hopes of ridding itself of communist conspirators and create a new, modern nation. Yet, they let this chance go due to this same arrogant conceit. The Finns and Estonians were ready to help the monarchist, the White Army General Nikolai Yudenich, crush the Red regime. But the White general and other monarchists refused to promise the smaller nations the freedom to establish their own governments. After hearing this, the Finnish General Carl Gustaf Mannerheim with his army and the Estonians, as well as others, refused to help Yudenich. Lenin, who promised freedom and independence, remained in power. Of course, Lenin had an entirely different understanding about the freedom of minorities, but at that moment, this was the deciding factor.

Leave the beautiful and rich Russian language in peace

What Lenin couldn’t accomplish, Stalin completed in 1940. He actually revived the old empire and once again, in a slightly different form, the Russian language was used as a weapon to oppress the smaller nations and their desire for freedom. A love for the Russian language was once again imposed from above. This time this wasn’t done only with bayonets, but also with tanks, the KGB and trains to Siberian labor camps. The Russian language again came to symbolize repressions, stolen freedom and the arrogance of those believing in their superiority. One’s language of birth became the last and only salvation for the oppressed nations. This is grandly demonstrated by the popular Raimonds Pauls song with Alfrēds Krūklis text, “Why should I sing a foreign song?” (“Kāpēc man dziedāt svešu dziesmu?”). The language of one’s birth was one of the most important values that the Balts and others needed to protect. Precisely for this reason they actively did all to wreck the Soviet regime. Of course, this wasn’t the only reason why it imploded. Even so, the Balts again were at the front lines of the empire’s collapse.

A variety of pseudo–historians and politicians will have a thousand versions of the “true” history, and will claim that “the whole truth is different” and so forth. But, Ušakovs and his supporters should be made aware that this is the Latvian understanding about our history. This is our experience. Latvians never make a joke at the expense of their language. It’s been a hard battle and one that’s occurred for almost 100 years, while experiencing the collapse of various empires.

The only place in the world where it is possible to protect and develop our language is in little Latvia. It’s incomparably smaller than the unimaginably large Russia. Isn’t it possible to leave it in peace?

Isn’t it also possible to leave the beautiful and rich Russian language in peace? It’s a truly wonderful language that Latvians have always appreciated. Isn’t it high time to stop abusing the Russian language for cheap political points? And isn’t it finally time to end using Latvia’s Russians as hostages to the Kremlin’s dubious geopolitical ends?

Notes

¹ Palmers, Alans (2007). Baltijas jūras valstu un tautu vēsture. Rīga: Atēna.

² Volfarte, Kristīne, and Ervīns Oberlanders (2004). Katram bija sava Rīga. Rīga: Izdevniecība AGB.

³ Palmers, Alans (2007). Baltijas jūras valstu un tautu vēsture. Rīga: Atēna.

(Editor’s note: This is a translation of a commentary in Latvian, Dižā krievu nacionālisma dievišķais uzdevums, that appeared Jan. 13, 2012, on the TVNET portal. It is published with the permission of the author. Footnotes are translated from the original Latvian text, not their sources.)