Prezidentes apsveikums tautiešiem ārzemēs

Es sveicu visus, kas šodien ir pulcējušies Latvijas Republikas Neatkarības pasludināšanas 84.gadadienā. Šis laiks mums nāk ar rudens lietavām un vētrām, ar ziemas tumsu, kad dienas paliek arvien īsākas un šķiet, ka tumsa ņem uzvar pār gaismu. Bet latviešu tautai tie ir prieka un gaismas svētki, jo atgādina par to, ka par spīti tumsas spēku uzbrukumiem, pārspēkam, mēs spējām savu neatkarību izcīnīt. Un spējām arī to atjaunot, kaut arī pagājis bija tik ļoti ilgs laiks svešā kalpībā un okupācijā. Mūsu sapņi ir piepildījušies, bet ne visi. Mums daudz kas vēl jādara, lai tie piepildītos.

Šoruden aprit arī astoņdesmitā gadskārta Valsts prezidenta institūcijai. Prezidents – tas ir neatkarīgas valsts autoritātes simbols, un to saprot pat bērni. Pakļautām zemēm var būt gubernatori, vietvalži, satrapi, vasaļi, padotie, pārvaldītāji; prezidents ir tikai suverēnai, neatkarīgai valstij.

Mēs kā neatkarīga valsts patlaban stāvam vēsturisku pārmaiņu priekšā. Šo pašu rudeni, pēc dažām dienām, nāks paziņojums Prāgas galotņu konferencē par NATO paplašināšanos, un mēs ceram, ka tas būs mums labvēlīgs. Drīz vien, decembra nogalē, gaidām citu paziņojumu, un tas būs Eiropas Savienības paziņojums par 10 jaunu dalībvalstu uzņemšanu. Mēs ceram būt šo valstu starpā. Latvija ir nostaigājusi ļoti garu un ļoti grūtu ceļu. Mēs esam apbrīnojami daudz ko sasnieguši. Paši bieži vien pat neapzināmies, cik daudz ir sasniegts, cik daudz jau ir paveikts. To ir novērtējušas citas valstis. To ir novērtējuši tie, kam rūp vai ES, vai NATO kā alianse –  vai drīkst uzņemt tādu valsti kā Latviju, vai tā neapdraudēs viņu drošību, vai tā nevājinās viņu spēku. Un tas, ka šīs starpnacionālās savienības ir gatavas mūs uzņemt, un es esmu pārliecināta, ka viņas tādas būs, jau ir apliecinājums mūsu noietam un nostaigātam ceļam, tas ir apliecinājums tam, ko mēs esam jau paveikuši.

Bet, protams, ar uzaicinājumu mūsu ceļš nebūt nebūs vēl galā, mums būs daudz kas vēl jādara un jāturpina pūlēties un daži saka, pēc uzaicināšanas gan NATO, gan ES daudz kas būs jādara vēl spraigāk un vēl enerģiskāk, nekā tas ir darīts līdz šim. Un tā ir labi, jo galu galā mēs vēlamies panākt visu to, kas pusgadsimta laikā ir aizkavēts, mēs vēlamies salabot un sakārtot visu to, kas valsts pārvaldes institūcijās, kas sabiedriskā kārtībā vēl nav tāds, kādu mēs to vēlētos redzēt. Mums daudz vēl ir darāms, lai Latvijā valdītu taisnīga tiesa un viens likums visiem. Mums daudz vēl ir darāms, lai valsts kasē ieplūstu visi tie līdzekļu, kuriem tur būtu jānonāk pēc likuma gara un burta. Mums daudz vēl ir darāms, lai katrs sabiedrības loceklis justos kā daļa no Latvijas valsts un saprastu, ka viņa nākotne un viņa labklājība ir atkarīga no kopības labuma, no kopības labklājības, ka neviens nevar dzīvot atšķirts no citiem, ja citiem ir grūti, tad neviens nevar cerēt turpināt savu personīgo labklājību. Man šķiet, ka mūsu valstī lēnām nostiprinās šī izpratne par to, ka valstij jāvalda pārticībai visos tās līmeņos un tām ļaužu grupām, kas nespēj pašas sev nodrošināt iztiku, par tām ir jārūpējas valstiskā līmenī, mums ir jāgādā par slimiem, par invalīdiem, par pensionāriem, mums ir jāgādā par to, lai katrs amats un katra profesija varētu saņemt sev pienācīgu algu, tādu, kas būtu taisnīga, kādu viņi būtu pelnījuši pēc iegūtās izglītības un ieguldītām spējām. Mums ir daudz kas vēl darāms, un it sevišķi mūsu ciemos un mazpilsētās, Latvijas laukos. Daži sūdzas – Rīga ir kļuvusi grezna, Rīga jau ir gluži kā citas Eiropas valsts galvaspilsētas, bet kā ir ar mūsu laukiem?

Jā, tur daudz kas vēl darāms, un es ceru, ka visi tautieši, vienalga, kurā pasaules malā kur viņi dzīvotu, šeit varētu nākt palīgā. Vai tas būtu turpināts atbalsts, kā daudzi to ir snieguši savas dzimtās puses skolai vai slimnīcai, vai pagastam, vai tas būtu, aicinot cittautiešus sadarboties ar mūsu pašvaldībām, vai arī savā profesijā, daloties ar savu pieredzi un izpratni par problēmu būtību. Tas viss var palīdzēt Latvijai, un es vēlos vēlreiz pateikties visiem tautiešiem, kas ar savu personīgo ieguldījumu ir palīdzējuši saviem tautas brāļiem Latvijā, vai kā nevalstiskas organizācijas ir sadarbojušās ar savām atbilstošām organizācijām šeit Latvijā, un es zinu, ir veikušas ļoti lielu un svētīgu darbu. Es novēlu visiem tiem, kam Latvija ir mīļa, paturēt viņu savās sirdīs un lūgšanās. Es novēlu katram meklēt ceļus, kā viņš var uzturēt savas saites ar Latviju. Jūs visi piederat Latvijai, bet savā ziņā arī Latvija Jums pieder. Es aicinu visus nākt mums talkā, lai mēs celtu šo valsti par diženu, par cēlu, par tādu, kādu mēs vēlētos to redzēt. Dievs, svētī Latviju!

On Nov. 18, optimism and realism in Canada

When I was little, 18. novembris consisted of two parts: a solemn church service with lots of room for tears, and a formal ceremony that left oodles of time to doodle on the program. Both usually occurred on the weekend closest to the real date—and the formal ceremony was usually dominated by solemn speeches and official presentations.

“The ceremonials had become mere rituals devoid of any real meaning, substance or emotion,” explains Valdis Liepiņš, chairman of the organizing committee and first president of the Latvian Canadian Cultural Centre (LCCC) in Toronto. “They were over in about three to four hours, and everyone could go home satisfied in the knowledge of having done the right thing.”

But growing numbers of people, especially the younger generation, thought otherwise, and attendance at these formal ceremonials dwindled from one year to the next.

When the LCCC became a part of the Toronto landscape in 1979, it also brought a new angle to Independence Day celebrations.

“Something more memorable, more authentic, more substantial was required,” recalls Liepiņš. “Something that addressed the reality of Latvia, and gave each of us the opportunity to be connected, at least spiritually, with Latvia and Latvians under Russian occupation.”

Nov. 18 became “Diena Latvijai” (A Day for Latvia), a celebration, not a commemoration. That celebration would take place on the real date, regardless of whether it fell on a weekday or a weekend, and would start with a flag raising ceremony at 7:30 a.m. (early enough so those who chose could make it to work). It would be followed by not just three or four hours of passive sitting, but a whole day of active participation. Over the past 23 years, “Diena Latvijai” has become a integral part of the Latvian Centre’s program, and like everything else, has gone through various phases and demographic shifts.

For the first few years I accompanied my family to the early morning ceremony, but after a while I found little in the full-day program that appealed to me, not to mention few kids my age I could hang out with. Fortunately the evening programs, at least initially, were interesting combinations of song, poetry and images that inspired, for example, the way the Latvian school Valodiņa celebrated Nov. 18. In later years there have even been performances by the Latvian post folkloric group Iļģi.

I dropped out of the “Diena Latvijai” scene for about 15 years, but returned two years ago, when the celebrations fell on a Saturday, to organize a half-day children’s festival complete with clowns, face painting and a range of activities coordinated by 10 Latvian children’s organizations in Toronto. I wanted to give my children a “Diena Latvijai” they could enjoy.

Diena Latvijai 2002

This year “Diena Latvijai” falls on a Monday—which makes things not just difficult, as they always are, but even more difficult. “Every year there are less people,” says Auseklis Zaķis, current president of the LCCC. Today people over 65 account for about 80 percent of “Diena Latvijai” participants.

“The older generation is dying off, and the younger generation isn’t as committed, and isn’t willing to take a day off from work,”  Zaķis says.

This leaves organizers in a conundrum. If the bulk of participants are seniors, should the program be created mainly for them? If there is a program for those under 65, will they take the day off and attend? Moreover, where do you find volunteers to organize a full day of activities for three different demographics—and is it worth it?

This year, kids’ activities are limited to the preschool set. The Latvian Centre Playgroup, which has 20 members under the age of four, is inviting children one to four years old (and their parents) to celebrate Latvia’s birthday with singing, flag crafts and cake.

The official program, entitled “Our Limitless Possibilities,” kicks off with a keynote speech by city planner and architect Andris Roze, who will talk on a city vision for Rīga in 2020. That’s followed by “There and Back Again,” a panel discussion exploring what happens to Latvians from Canada who live in Latvia for a few years, and then return “home.” What’s their post-Latvia experience? Participants include Vizma Maksiņa, Ingrīda Mazutis, Andris Roze and Dagnija Staško.

As is customary, there will be a 1 p.m. live broadcast of the president of Latvia’s Independence Day speech in Rīga. This is followed by an opportunity to view all the “Sveiks” television programs broadcast to date, while those interested can watch the film Latvian Legionnaires and participate in discussions led by Austris Siliņš, president of the Latvian National Youth Association of Canada. Toronto Sun reporter Bob MacDonald will follow with a talk on his personal experiences during the Cold War.

The official ceremony, which used to occur outside the Latvian Centre’s program, has now become part of the Toronto Latvian community’s daylong celebration. It will feature a speech by Imants Purvs, president of the Latvian National Association in Canada, and a concert by Toronto Latvian High School students and various musicians.

The day ends with an evening celebration featuring the international (that’s Canada and the United States) men’s choir Straume, as well as performances by the folk dance groups Daugaviņa, Diždancis, Dižais Dancis and Mēnestiņš. Ēriks Taube, organizer of this year’s “Diena Latvijai,” says he’ll consider the event a success if people say they had a good time, and if they look forward to next year.

“If, at the end of the day, it feels like we’ve celebrated the new Latvian independence, then we’ve finally moved past regretting the lost old independence,” he says.

That said, there are still many issues to resolve when it comes to Nov. 18 celebrations. What does the community need? What does the community want? What will “Diena Latvijai” celebrations look like in 2020?

“That’s a good question, and would make for a good 18. novembris topic of discussion,” says Zaķis of the LCCC. “That is, if we could do it optimistically and realistically.”

Optimism and realism—apparently that’s what keeps us ticking.

Mara Gulens is an editor and writer based in Toronto.

Nov. 18 isn’t, and shouldn’t be, obsolete

As a Latvian child growing up in Sydney, my recollection of Nov. 18 each year was of a sombre and solemn occasion: a memorial service, a reception, some speeches, some songs; Latvians of various ages (the average getting progressively older, as each year passed) gathering around the flag—a scene repeated in Latvian halls around Australia.

I was taught that “this was our national day.” But it struck me as quite different from the way that the Aussies around me celebrated Australia Day, because they did just that: they celebrated.  (Well, most of them did. The Aborigines didn’t, but I didn’t know that then.)

The Latvians didn’t celebrate. Back in those days (my recall would date from about 1970)—and at least until Latvia again declared independence in 1991—the exiled Latvians in Sydney would commemorate what had been, not celebrate what was.

And the commemoration would be solemn and stoic and sad. Sure, there would be some grand words of hope and aspiration, spoken usually by the men in suits who addressed the annual gatherings at Latvian House. But I am not sure how much those words were really believed, by those who spoke them or by those who listened. The hope expressed was for Latvia to someday be independent and self-governing again, but it had been half a century since it had been thus…and for such a very short time. I don’t know if any of the kids listening to the speeches, like me, really believed it would happen again. Then, as we grew older and began to understand the political forces at work in Europe and the world, to this general scepticism was added the more specific realization of exactly how difficult it would be. We did not see how it could happen, or what could possibly shift the monolith that was then the U.S.S.R.

Of course, happily, in August 1991 we were proven wrong.

But until then, to me the annual Nov. 18 commemoration was an example of what I sometimes call the “frozen culture” syndrome. We expat kids were taught a “frozen culture” by our parents and teachers. Having little or no access to Soviet Latvia and the cultural lives of its citizens, pre-war Latvia was all they knew and all they could teach us about. Of course, their knowledge and teaching dated back hundreds of years, so there was no shortage of material, but they taught us about the Latvia they remembered, the Latvia they had left in the mid 1940s. For many exiled communities around the world, most of the anniversaries were sad ones. Most of the memorable dates in the calendar were occasions of grief and loss: June 14, March 6, etc. Even Nov. 18, once a joyous independence day, had been overshadowed by what came after.

Given that Latvia is again self-governing, does that make Nov. 18 obsolete as an anniversary?  We have a new independence day in August, so what is the point of Nov. 18 these days?

Pure history, for one thing. As a lover and great respecter of the power and lessons of history, I want my children to know the story of the little northern nation that produced their mother and her forebears, just as they should know the story of the Australian country families that produced their dad. And Nov. 18 is an integral part of that story, a crucial signpost on the ancient timeline of Latvian history.

While it no longer has the sad resonance that it once did—and has been superseded, in a literal sense, by the “current” independence achieved in August 1991—Nov. 18 remains a seminal day in Latvian history. Such historical markers are important, to allow us to pause, consider, think about life and our place in the world. So, I will teach my kids about the tiny window of self-rule that Latvia enjoyed for a few short years early in the 20th century and about what happened to cut this time short. It is part of the story that will explain to them why and how their maternal grandparents found themselves in, of all places, Australia (!), half a world away from their hometowns.

What else? A reminder of what Latvians can do when they put their mind to it. A reminder of what was achieved by a tiny people, against the odds, back in 1918.

Finally, a chance to think and share ideas. I have noticed that the speeches made on Nov. 18 these past few years are different. They tend to be about what Latvia is now and what we want it to become. They look forward, not back. They explore ideas about the role of people like us—the communities of emigrants and exiles—in Latvia’s future and the contribution that we can usefully make, if we want to.

Nov. 18 once mattered a great deal. I think it still does, but in different ways. We shouldn’t just discard a date that matters, forget simply because history has moved on. It will always do that, but we must recognise what is worth remembering—and make sure we remember it.