Labvakar! Labas vakaras! Head ööd! God afton! Guten Abend! Dobry wieczór! Hyvää iltaa! Gu kvell! Добрый вечер! Good evening!

What you have just heard are 10 of the most popular ways for people to say hello to each other in the Baltic Sea region. Those of us who live around this region have been using those same words for thousands of years. That was just 10 phrases, but we know that there are hundreds and maybe even thousands of others.

If we go back far enough in our history and deep enough into our forests, we know that many different cultures have come and gone through this region, each saying hello and goodbye in their own unique tongues. Some came as traders, others as invaders. Some built up castles and cities, and others came in and tore them down. Everyone who has ever ridden around, sailed to, or walked through the lands that surround the Baltic Sea has left their mark on this region in some way.

As a result, this region has no shortage of diversity. For that, we can thank the millions who have lived and shaped these lands before us. But many of us who live here suspect we have a great deal in common as well. Despite our various languages, cultures and histories, there is something about the Baltic Sea that draws us together.

If there is something that draws us together, could it give us a common regional identity? And if it could, do we really want it?

Today identity is a marketing tool, so then when we debate whether our region wants or needs a common identity, we need to take this into account. An identity establishes the nature of your relations with others. Each of us individually establishes an identity, companies and organisations actively establish identities to promote themselves and countries are polishing their identities for the global political marketplace.

Do we want the Baltic Sea region to have a marketable identity in the world?

A thousand years ago the Baltic Sea region had a clear and vivid identity for potential visitors. It was the place you stayed away from if you didn’t want to be attacked by Vikings. It was that chilly northern sea where the Danes fought the Swedes, the Swedes fought the Couronians, the Couronians fought the Livs and Livs looked around for some Estonians to fight. And when they could, the Baltic Vikings all got together and fought the Celts. Some of them even took time out from fighting to help the Norwegians discover America.

Then came the Germans, who brought the Hanseatic League, the Teutonic Order, the stone castle and the fiery cross. Exactly 800 years ago, a German Bishop came here, stood not too far from this site and established a city. With the help of German Crusaders, this bishop named Albert built a fortress, a church, a castle and then called it all Rīga.

Only a statue of Bishop Albert remains, but the city seems to have done quite well over the last 800 years without him. He was clearly a clergyman who understood the value of prime real estate.

If this region has a common cultural identity, Rīga is its creation, reflection and continuation. All the languages that I greeted you with earlier, have been spoken in this city for 800 years. All, at various times, have been used to either rule it, do business here or create art.

Language helps determine identity and it has always played that role in Rīga. Since the earliest settlers on this land were Liv and Latvian tribes, Latvian as a language has always been part of this city. But over the years those who have ruled and run this city have done so in German, Swedish, Polish and Russian, depending who was in power at any given time.

You can find this changing identity personified in a street in the very heart of Rīga. In 1818, while under czarist rule, Rīga’s main boulevard was named Aleksandra boulevard. One hundred years later, when Latvia achieved its independence in 1918, it became Brīvības iela—Freedom Street. When Rīga was occupied by the Soviets in 1940, it became Lenin Boulevard; when the Germans came in one year later it became Hitler Strasse, and when the Soviets came back in 1945, it became Lenin Boulevard again. Ten years ago, in 1991, when Latvia re-established its independence again, Rīga’s main thoroughfare—Aleksandra/Brīvība/Lenin/Hitler/Lenin boulevard/street—became Freedom Street once again.

Rīga is clearly a city of multicultural diversity, and yet it has survived and thrived for 800 years because at least some of the people who have lived here have found—or created—common ground. They say that common ground is a place where common interests can use common values to deal with common concerns.

Diverse peoples originating from different cultures speaking different languages, can live together and cooperate if they can share common interests. We are all living in a globalised world where the factors that once kept us apart—geographic distance and information isolation—are no longer a barrier to communication and cooperation.

In fact, some believe the pendulum has swung too far in the opposite direction—local and regional identities are being superseded by global identities. McDonald’s, Coca Cola, Mercedes Benz, Volvo, Nokia and Champagne are all products of distinct national origins—yet today, they are globally recognised names that can be found anywhere in the world. Many who use these products no longer know where in the world they come from.

The Vikings navigated the fjords and rivers of this region and eventually found gateways to other societies, as far away as Byzantium and the Black Sea. Today anyone of us can navigate the global networks of cyberspace and make contact with anyone in the world, any time we want. The moment we go online, we get connected to the rest of the world.

In a globalised world, regional and national identity take on whole new dimension. But even in cyberspace, one needs to identify one’s self. We have to log on as someone, from somewhere. You could say that one of the goals of the Baltic Sea Region Identity Workshop is to discuss how we log on when we wish to make contact with the rest of the world—and whether it matters. Are we Rīgans, Latvians, Balts, Scandinavians, Northern Europeans, European Unionists—or merely global citizens speaking English with regional accents?

This year the city of Rīga is celebrating its 800th anniversary, and the marketing people responsible for promoting Riga’s identity have called it the City of Inspiration. In the next four days we will find out whether that is true or not.

As I was flicking through a photo album containing photographs of past pupils of the Sydney Latvian School and recognising faces I had known in my childhood, I came to realise that about 80 percent of these faces I hadn’t seen since my days at this school where I learnt to read and write in Latvian on Saturday mornings. I can’t say for certain that this vast majority of my peers has never shown their faces in the Latvian community since their school years. But I do know for a fact that when I visit my hometown and venture into the Sydney Latvian House to attend a cultural performance, I would be surprised if I caught sight of any of those faces (slightly older, but still recognisable I’m sure!).

The same goes for the Melbourne Latvian community—which I am more familiar with now as I have been living here for more than 10 years—and for most Latvian communities in the United States, Canada and other countries where Latvian communities flourished and within which schools were founded and operated for many years.

In most of the major Latvian centres around the world to a greater or lesser degree there is still a handful of active second and even third generation Latvians still interested in maintaining the Latvian language, culture and doing their best to pass it on to their children. These Latvians still view this as a priority in their lives and put in much effort and still devote a great deal of their time to this pursuit. Yet a large proportion of this generation has drifted away from most Latvian community activities and can rarely be seen attending, let alone being involved in, the many organisations that still exist where Latvian communities are still active.

I do realise that it is 50 years since Latvians emigrated to these countries and that it sounds like a big ask for all second-generation Latvians (i.e., those who were born outside Latvia), let alone third-generation Latvians, to retain their interest in things Latvian, yet I still wonder about this phenomenon. Hundreds of Latvian kids, born in the United States, Canada, Australia or the United Kingdom over the past 40 years, have gone through the emigre Latvian education system, have attended these schools on a weekly basis, learnt the language and much about its traditions, spent their summer vacations in Latvian camps, high schools and so forth. Even if only an inkling of what they have learnt remained buried deep in their subconscious, one would like to hope that they would still retain some degree of interest in the fatherland of their grandparents, a task that these Latvian schools had taken on to perform.

Do these Latvians still maintain some contact with other Latvians within a family or social setting? Do they identify themselves as Latvian and maintain some interest in Latvia and Latvians? Have they ever been to Latvia or intend to visit it some time in the future?

A vast majority of these second-generation Latvians have graduated from Latvian school or maybe abandoned their schooling earlier simply out of a lack of interest—not always on their part but more often that of their parents. Their parents and grandparents (or their Latvian-speaking parent) spoke to them in the emigre country’s local language because it was much easier and did not take that much interest in their Latvian schooling. As a result of this lack of support within the family structure, this interest in their Latvian identity was fragile if not even non-existent and there was little hope of breathing life into this identity during these few hours spent at Latvian school over the weekend.

This brings me to the crux of my musings: without the support and interest within the immediate family, there is little hope of achieving much at Latvian school. It would be like squeezing blood out of a stone.

In some cases, even though these Latvians do identify themselves as Latvian and still speak (or understand) the language, their experience at Latvian school may not have been too positive, either at a social level or at the educational level. As this may have been their only contact with Latvians outside their family, the connection with other Latvians was not found and hence the loss of interest.

Another likely reason for abandoning Latvian community activities probably was a lack of interest in these activities or the inability of these activities to fulfill their needs. When you graduate from Latvian high school, what can you do within the Latvian community? You can still be part of a Latvian folk dancing group, choir or theatre troupe, play sport, take part in activities organised by ALJA or LNJAK (or LJAA in Australia, when it was still active) or join a sorority or fraternity (korporācija) if you are studying and others of your age group have joined. But a few years down the track, what then? Most of the Latvian organisations that do still exist are run and attended by the older generation of Latvians who have different perspectives and different life experiences.

Then there is another group of Latvians of my generation who have simply experienced Latvian "burn out." They have participated in every Latvian event under the sun, have danced and sung and played an instrument and organised this, that and the other event till one day they have had enough. They simply want a rest. So they do…and find that immersing themselves in the local (be it American, Canadian, British or Australian) culture is much easier and less demanding.

The smallest percentage of my generation has gone to Latvia to live. These are mostly Latvians who were in their early to mid twenties when Latvia regained its independence in 1991. They had not established themselves in family life or a career at the time and had nothing to lose when they made the decision to try their hand at living in their parents’ or grandparents’ "homeland."

A small proportion of second-generation Latvians appear "lost" only to return when they have had children of their own. These Latvians might come to the realisation that they do want to pass on their heritage to their children, and Latvian school (if it is still operating in their community) is the best place to do this.

As this is not a detailed academic study, I don’t intend to draw any conclusions or offer any solutions. However, I would like others of my generation (those who are 20-50 years old) to contribute their experiences within the emigre Latvian school system. Were you happy with your experiences or do you only remember it as a negative time in your life? Did you get involved in other Latvian activities after you graduated from Latvian school? Do you still speak the language? Do you regret that you don’t any more?

I was not in Latvia 10,000 years ago when the glaciers retreated, but I can imagine what this place must have looked like. No doubt quite a mess.

Glaciers have a way of destroying, transforming and scarring the landscape that leaves a mark for a long time. And yet, the remarkable thing about a post-glacierized piece of land is how so much comes back to life after the ice retreats. Sure, some plants and animals are lost forever, but new ones also come into existence. And sooner or later, once the death-grip of the continental ice blanket has receded, everything begins to bristle and teem with life again.

As a Latvian born in Germany and raised in the United States I have always tried to comprehend the impact of the Soviet occupation here. While working in Washington for 15 years representing Latvia in various capacities, it started to dawn on me. And now that I have completed my first 12 months as a permanent resident, it has become eminently clear. This country has just come out from under a glacier again.

For 50 years, from 1940 until 1990, Latvia was frozen in place and time by the Cold War and crushed by the massive weight of a Soviet ideological and political glacier. Ten years ago that glacier finally receded, the ice has retreated and Latvia is coming back to life again. But it is not the same Latvia that existed before the glacier came. The war, the occupation and Sovietization all took a heavy price, destroying lives, property and the social fabric. The Kārlis Ulmanis era in Latvia, like the earlier Czarist, Swedish, Livonian and Couronian eras, is now a part of history.

And yet, it is this very history—a succession of military and political glaciers sweeping over this land in regular intervals over the last millenium—that makes Latvia such a fascinating place for me today. As a Latvian who was fated to spend most of his early life outside of Latvia, I am stunned by the incredible resiliency of my people. Despite everything that has happened over the last 1,000 years, we are still singing the same folks songs, still drawn to that same midsummer’s bonfire and still talking to each other in our own language.

Of course, we use that language to argue and accuse more often then to sing, but then, what else is new? Bickering seems as much a national Latvian trait as choral singing. So does building and rebuilding, changing and rearranging. The Latvian experience, as Uldis Germanis’ book of that title describes it, has been one of constant conflict between local and foreign, traditional and transitional, rural and urban, old and new. And somehow both polarities have always found a way to coexist in Latvia. Perhaps that is the secret of our survival.

The French claim that the more things change, the more they stay the same. In Latvia, the old patterns of development, growth (and sometimes destruction) through conflict and competing interests continues. It’s the "same as it ever was," as The Talking Heads once sang. Just the names and players have changed.

The Latvian countryside is still the repository of ancient Latvian traditions, Rīga is still a multinational magnet for foreign investment, commerce and culture, and Ventspils remains an industrial power in the great tradition of the Duchy of Courland. It’s just that each of these pillars of Latvia’s identity over the last millennium is now undergoing another transitional phase. Latvia is not only coming out of the communist deep freeze, it is returning to a suddenly superheated world. And I don’t mean global warming.

Latvia is entering a white hot Information Age, where technology is developing faster than society’s ability to fully understand and harness it. The problems many critics like to point out in Latvia—corruption, organised crime, runaway bureaucracy, economic disparity—are global problems. We have not reinvented the wheel here, and like every post-glacial, post-communist, for-50-years-Soviet mismanaged country, we’ve got a lot of physical, political, mental and spiritual rubble to clear. Anytime you take something from the deep freeze and put it into an oven, you risk cracking it. Latvia has its share of cracks.

In a recent article, journalist Juris Kaža expressed deep disappointment over the fact that Latvia today—ten years since independence—is not the Latvia he hoped it would be. He suggested that many of us former exile Latvians were sold a bill of goods in Latvian Saturday schools in the West. I never doubted that. The idyllic exile Latvian vision of pre-WWII Latvia is as far removed from the reality of Latvia today as was the ideologically cynical Soviet version of it. Latvia never was what the Soviets claimed and never can be what our parents knew.

But the Latvia that seems to have so sadly fatigued Juris Kaža is, in his words, a singularly "sordid and sorry sight." It is a country of "ignorance, drunken helplessness, sullen passivity and psychological squalor," not to mention "sleaze, incompetence and ineptitude." Just repeating Kaža’s litany of criticisms gets me depressed, so I’ll just summarise with Kaža’s conclusion that "there is a critical mass of degeneracy at which the society self-destructs." Kaža is not sure whether Latvia has reached this critical mass, "but I have a feeling that it is dangerously close to it."

I disagree. As the old story goes, a pessimist sees the glass half empty, while the optimist sees it half full. Kaža sees all that is dying in this country. I tend to notice that which is coming to life. Life beats death every time. And the kind of life that awaits the successors of the survivors of one more Latvian ice age will be very different from that which Kaža sees on the streets of Rīga and Daugavpils today.

When I think about the future of Latvia’s 2.3 million inhabitants, I don’t identify them by nationality. I categorise them by attitude. I see three groups: those who are lost and frozen in the past, those who have been freeze-dried and left to fend with the present, and those who can’t wait to get to the future. Kaža’s survey of attitudes in Latvia was taken on the streets, where the lost and frozen tend to proliferate. He should listen to what the kids are saying in the schools. The kids that I have spoken to this year in Jelgava, Valmiera, Dundaga and Limbaži are all thinking about the future. Their future. Latvia’s future.

They are bright, curious, enthusiastic and patriotic. They like Renars Kaupers and Vaira Vike-Freiberga. They run active student governments, play a major role in shaping the personality and programs of their local schools, and know the Internet like the backs of their hands. Not only will they inherit the Latvia that awaits us 20 years from now, they are already starting to shape it. Some may question the folkloric authenticity of a pretty Latvian girl in traditional folk dress performing at a song festival with a mobile phone clipped to her waist. But the fact that she even wants to wear that folk dress (and still use her phone) says something about the Latvia of the future. There is a place in cyberspace for a healthy national identity, and the high school kids I meet throughout Latvia are developing their own understanding of both.

Those in Latvia’s society that recognise that they have a stake in Latvia’s future, are already doing something about it. In early November more than 200 women entrepreneurs representing Latvia’s most successful companies held a conference in Rīga’s Congress Hall. If Juris Kaža was looking for evidence of initiative, competence, intelligence, creativity and brilliant management in Latvia, he should have come there. He would have met the best and brightest minds in the country, doing real things that are making a positive difference in the lives of people who live here.

The drunks and street thugs that Kaža uses to symbolise Latvia today are all male. Yet women have always played the central role in Latvian culture. Women have been the caretakers of the Latvian language, culture, traditions—and surviving male population—after each invasion, war and occupation for the last 800 years. But for the first time in Latvian history, women now have a chance to run more than the family homestead. They are running businesses, ministries, newspapers, parties, ad agencies, auto dealerships and nongovernmental organisations. And doing it very well.

I recently met two young women from Rīga who have developed a magazine, media center and worldview that is on the cutting edge of the cyberspace information explosion. It turns out their Re-Lab new media centre is better known in the vast global cyber network of "intercultural jammers" than they are right here in Rīga. Their publication and home page, called Acoustic.Space, has put Rīga in the heart of a worldwide bee hive of electronic activity. We often talk about making Rīga a regional center again. These women have already made it a global cybercenter. They are not just thinking about the future. They are the future.

A problem approaches solution the moment you stop dwelling on what is wrong and start doing something to make it right. Those frozen in the past or present can only see what is wrong. Latvia’s young women, like the kids in the schools and the girls at Re-Lab, have a stake in the future and believe they know how to make things right.

Latvia is entering a 21st century where all the traditional ground rules and boundaries have long changed. Anytime you apply old standards to new problems, you get a mismeasurement. Anytime you fail to plan ahead, you get left behind. Rather than curse the glacier and what it has wrought, we should be looking at the new world that the sun has brought to life. What do we need to do in this new world, given the new rules, the amazing technology and wealth of information that has been put before us? What types of economic and social policies should we be pursuing in order to make maximum use of these new opportunities?

During the last 10 years we have watched the glacier recede and have gone about picking up the rubble in the best way we knew how. This is an important task and must be continued. But we should simultaneously be thinking into the future. Where do we want Latvia to be 20 years from now? Thirty? Is there anything we can plan, start and implement today that will have a long-term impact and bring about the results we desire? What can a medium-sized country (not unlike Ireland), with a given set of resources and options, do to find a prosperous and secure place in the global community?

These issues are not being discussed in the streets of Rīga, but they are increasingly becoming a major topic of conversation in Latvian schools, institutions and organisations.

It’s always fun to ridicule inept and corrupt politicians as Kaža does, and Latvia has surely demonstrated its equality with European Union countries in this regard. I’ll match Latvia’s political scandals with any in Great Britain, Belgium, Italy or France. The Latvian Parliament is indeed one of the least trusted institutions in Latvia, but as I recall from my days in Washington, the members of the U.S. Congress weren’t exactly America’s most beloved public servants either. Name one country in the world where at least some parliamentarians aren’t viewed as crooks.

And yet I have also seen Latvian politicians cross party lines, put aside economic interests and talk about what really needs to be done to secure Latvia’s future. After arriving in Rīga in January to head the Latvian Institute, I was invited to join an ad hoc brainstorming group that was trying to develop a long term vision for Latvia’s political, economic and social future. The group included politicians from three different parties, scientists, sociologists, economists and businessmen. What amazed and impressed me, was the fact that they were indeed thinking about the future. Not the next election. Not the next budget. Not whether the hours we were talking together would increase their profits or not.

The resultant report, called From Vision to Action, will not immediately solve all the problems that depress Juris Kaža, but it does address those active people in Latvia who have a clear stake in the future. It gets them thinking about where Latvia is going, where it can fit in a globalized world, and what life could be like in this country 10, 20 and 30 years from now.

I hope that Juris Kaža gets over his bout with transition society fatigue and sticks around Latvia a little while longer. He may be in for a pleasant surprise. Glaciers retreat slowly and those of us caught in the aftermath have to walk through a lot of muck and rubble. But following right behind us is another generation that is already picking up the pieces, planting the seeds and building the Latvia of the future. These are the people I came to Latvia to work with. They are the reason I’m staying.