Latvia's Waffen SS were marching again last week. Their objective
was more modest than the one for which the army of 140,000
Latvian men was formed by the Nazis in 1943. Then they
were recruited to help Germany occupy the Baltics, advance
on Leningrad and defeat the Soviet army.
This time the challenge is to walk the short distance from the city of Riga's
baroque cathedral, along the fat cobbles
of the Latvian capital's elegant streets,
past chic cafes and boutiques, to the towering
Freedom Monument, the country's most potent
symbol of independence. It should only be
a 10-minute stroll, but it will take considerably
longer for the handful of Waffen SS veterans,
all of whom are pushing 90 or over.
Although
the annual event, known as Legionnaire's
Day, is not sanctioned by the government,
at least not since 2000, it enjoys the support
of thousands of Latvians. Despite Prime Minister
Valdis Dombrovskis's view that the march
should be banned; despite criticism from
the Russian government, and from the Simon
Wiesenthal Centre's Efraim Zuroff who condemned
the event as an attempt to glorify the SS
and rewrite history; and despite opposition
from Latvia's Russian-born minority and an
attempt by Riga's ethnic Russian mayor to
halt the march -the order was overturned
at the 11th hour by the courts -- still it
goes ahead.
So
on this beautiful, sunlit March morning,
which is not quite mild enough to melt the
hillocks of ice that line Riga's pavements,
something is about to happen that to most
people in Europe would seem repugnant. The
old soldiers of an army that fought for Nazi
Germany are about to be celebrated as national
heroes.
Along
an avenue lined with Latvia's red and white
national flags, Waffen SS units will be honoured
with the laying of wreaths and the singing
of folk songs. All this will happen to the
hoots and jeers of the outnumbered Russian
protestors grouped together within shouting
distance of the Freedom Monument.
As
the marchers gather in the square adjoining
Riga's cathedral, the striking thing about
those who are taking part is not the age
of the veterans but the youth of their supporters.
One of them is 18-year-old Oscar, who is
wearing a shirt bearing an image of an advancing
Waffen SS division and military-style boots.
He and his friends there appear to be in
thrall to the fashion of fascism.
"Latvia
has its own history," he says when I ask if he is aware that most of Europe will find his celebration
of the Waffen SS offensive. "If Europe suffered under the occupation of the Soviets, then they will understand
the feelings here."
With
this short answer, he sums up the argument
used by the marchers and their supporters
to defend what appears to be indefensible.
The views that are being expressed here today
are rooted in a Latvian national identity
that had been suppressed by decades of Soviet
communist occupation.
One
of Oscar's black-shirted colleagues gives
his view. "There is a Legionnaires' song that is about a free Latvia. "It says that Latvians will fight all occupiers, whether they are Russian or German."
"The
only possibility to fight against the communists
was to join the Waffen SS," adds Oscar.
None
of which explains why young Latvian men such
as Oscar and his friends, who belong to a
party called the National Power, are drawn
to dressing like the Gestapo. But maybe this
does: "The Russian occupation is not over," says another in the group. "There is still Russian influence from Moscow. Jewish influence too." His country's membership of both the European Union and Nato is apparently of
little relevance.
It
appears that my questions have attracted
some attention. A man standing among the
black shirts conspicuously photographs me.
Either he is trying to intimidate me - which
to be honest, he does a little - or he thinks
I am very attractive. I think probably the
former.
But
it is easy to make fun of a group that to
many in the West appear as social misfits,
rather like many of those who belong to our
own, British far right. But a look around
the cathedral square tells a different story.
A few yards away there is another group.
They appear to be very different from Oscar
and his chums. The girls are pretty, the
boys good looking, they wear jeans and beanie
hats, the kind of student clothes that look
good on any campus. With friendly smiles
they hand out copies of a free newspaper
called DDD which stands for the "De-Occupation, De-colonisation and De-Bolshevisation" of Latvia. It is published by the Latvian National Front whose website urges
Latvian parents to bring their children to
future marches celebrating the Waffen SS.
And
with a convoluted logic apparently attached
to a campaign for Latvian post-Holocaust
reparations, it not only manages to accuse
Efraim Zuroff of antisemitism but "prominent Zionists" of "sticking their nose in Latvia's internal affairs", too.
There
is, in fact, little if any fundamental difference
between the teenagers wearing jeans and the
black shirts. Everyone here is part of Latvia's
nationalist movement.
Among
the flags being held aloft in the shadow
of the cathedral is one from the All for
Latvia! (AFL) party. In Latvia's parliament
the AFL is the partner of the Fatherland
and Freedom Party, one of the European far-right
parties with which David Cameron has controversially
allied his European MPs. Previous assurances
from Cameron's Communities Secretary, Eric
Pickles, that the marchers are merely commemorating
those conscripted by the Nazis into the Waffen
SS sound less than convincing as the AFL
flag, which looks remarkably like a swastika,
flutters in the Baltic sun.
This
is a country that lost 90 per cent of its
Jews to the Holocaust. According to Zuroff,
a Holocaust historian, only two thirds of
Latvia's Waffen SS were conscripted by the
Nazis. The rest were volunteers, and many
of those are thought to have been members
of the killing squads that took part in some
of the biggest massacres of Jews in the Holocaust.
I
ask one of the many old men carrying red
and white flowers which will be laid at the
Freedom Monument, why he feels the need to
commemorate the Waffen SS. At 80-years-old,
he is too young to have fought alongside
the Nazis, but wishes he had.
"I
feel a connection," he says. "I lost 15 family members to the Soviet occupation. We always support the SS because
a lot of lies are told about them."
I
ask what he thinks of those members of the
Waffen SS who are said to have been responsible
for the massacre of his country's Jews. Should
they also be commemorated?
Another
old man, joins the conversation, but ignores
the question. "Latvia was free before the Soviet occupation. We had aeroplanes and culture.
The Russians took it away."
Jews
will not be mentioned today, except by the
Russian protesters at the monument. They
carry placards listing the massacres that
took place under the occupation of the Nazis,
for whom the Latvian Waffen SS fought. "36,000, Rumbala", says one, referring to a place not far south of Riga and the number of Jews
who were killed there.
Not
that the marchers will be taking any notice.
The old men, the parents with children on
their shoulders, the teenagers with their
newspapers and the black shirts, all form
an orderly queue behind a group of men carrying
large Latvian flags, and as the sound of
folk songs rises into the air, off they go
on their parade.
thejc.com
|