РУССКИЙ
10:45 24.07.2026 •
During the 1930s, the complex interlocking of foreign policy, military and economic processes on the European continent left a distinctive mark on how Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, along with their power groups and societies, perceived their place in the world. Following the establishment in Germany of Hitler’s expansionist regime, which was founded on a misanthropic ideology and direct violence, the Baltic countries had to determine their strategy and tactic towards Nazi Berlin and its relations with neighbours, including the Soviet Union and Western countries. Local historians and politicians have not fully learned these lessons to this day, for they were aggravated by the irreconcilable resentiments of Baltic emigres that were injected into the turbulent political life of Soviet Baltic states in 1988−1991.
By tracking the diplomatic curves and specifics of the regime typical for Latvia as the central country in the region during Karlis Ulmanis’s dictatorship (1934–1940), one can understand why the contradictory attempts to maintain neutrality and the leader-driven statehood failed as World War II broke out and the dramatic collision between the USSR and Germany became inevitable.
When Adolf Hitler came to power in January 1933, a source of military threat emerged in the middle of the European continent. The Nazi ideology and foreign policy doctrine were built on the idea of the racial supremacy of Aryans and the Millennial Reich’s ambition for global hegemony. From the beginning, Riga underestimated the destructive potential of Nazism and Hitler’s government’s ambition to free Berlin from the military restrictions of the Treaty of Versailles, although slogans for revisiting the territorial and political outcomes of the Great War increasingly raised fears among Germany’s close and far neighbours. Thus, on January 31, 1933, Latvian Ambassador to Berlin Edgars Krievins wrote to Latvian Foreign Minister Karlins Zarins that Hitler’s office was a “new experiment” so it was not yet clear who had a bigger or smaller reason for joy. At the same time, German Ambassador to Latvia Georg Martius reported to his superiors that Latvians were cautious about the German threat to their independence although the anti-Communist policy of the new German government was generally satisfying to the Latvian public.[1]
The German ambassador’s words about “general satisfaction” was a clear overstatement. On the contrary, represented, alongside Communists, by then powerful Social Democrats, Latvian society extensively protested against local and German Nazis. One might say that in 1933, the Latvian Republic found itself at the forefront of Hitler and fascism opposition, even if for a brief period of time. Bruno Kalnins, the leader of the Latvian Social Democrats, issued a press statement on behalf of his party on March 8, demanding that the Latvian government “throw Hitler’s fascists out of Latvia.” On March 17, the Saeima upheld the Social Democratic Party’s decision to deport foreign fascism supporters and to shut down their local supporters’ organisations and media outlets. In response, Germany threatened with a trade embargo and other repressive measures. Another cause for confrontation occurred after German Nazis decided to boycott Jewish shops and factories starting April 1, 1933. Latvian Jews responded with a boycott against German goods. Berlin further hit the Latvian economy by suspending butter imports that accounted for 51 percent of all Latvian butter exports at the time.[2] The ‘butter war’ was wound down in June 1933 when it became clear that the official Riga would not take any practical steps against Nazis.
In summary, the Latvian cabinet of ministers chose to make concessions and reject the anti-Nazi parliamentary decision. Furthermore, it was not Nazis who were demonstratively declared “the biggest enemy” but the Communist deputies in the Saeima, who were subsequently arrested for treason in November 1933. Favourably perceived by Berlin, that political gesture essentially preceded the military coup in Latvia in May 1934.
As Nazis stepped up their activities in 1933, the Soviet leadership significantly changed its foreign policy by placing stakes on supporting the collective security doctrine in Europe and the guaranteed neutrality of its limitrophe states, which was not de facto against the Soviet Union. Moscow’s diplomatic efforts focused on preventing a military threat. In particular, the Baltic problem came down to the following: in the event of war, the enemy occupying the region would be able to block the Red Banner Baltic Fleet and obtain advantageous positions for advancing towards Leningrad. Losing Leningrad could have brought catastrophic consequences to the Soviet Union.
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Plans for building nationalist states where ethnic minorities must know their place based on “trendy” European ideological deviations and banal xenophobia of the local origin were developed in Latvia since the mid-1920s. Their central idea rested on catchy slogans and epic pictures of the Latvia’s Estonian “master,”[3] anticommunism, elements of fascist corporatist beliefs, and antisemitic, Russophobic or anti-Polish sentiments (Poland bordered on Latvia, which had a large Polish population). In this regard, it is worth noting the first nationalist rallies that were held in the University of Latvia as early as in 1922−1923, which demonstrated the chauvinistic and antisemitic character of some organisations of the Latvian national public movement (especially student corporations, some of whose members will become part of the Nazi invaders’ punitive administration).
It would be reasonable to analyse the events of winter 1922/1923 in the context of the struggle for power and Latvia’s future development path. The December 1 incidents in the University of Latvia and the subsequent civil unrest that lasted two weeks are a notable element of confrontation between two social movements: chauvinist Latvian bourgeois conservatism, and bourgeois democracy represented by Latvian Social-Democrats and left-wing Jewish organisations (e.g., the Bund).[4]
Russian historian Yelena Zubkova writes about the typological similarity of the Baltic dictatorships that took shape in the region by the middle of 1934: “While relying on the army, nationalists and bureaucracy, the leaders of the Baltic states at the same time tried to eliminate the political opposition to their regimes. The political pluralism of the period of parliamentary democracy was dead.”[5] It is also important to analyse the ideological essence of the dictatorial regimes and the nature and proportions of foreign ideas they incorporated to assess military-political risks associated with the Baltic countries’ foreign and domestic policies.
Italian fascism was a major source of inspiration for the propaganda backing of the new Latvian regime. For example, the June1934 copy of the military magazine Aizsargs, which glorified Karlis Ulmanis, also attempted to substantiate the importance of leaderism in Latvia, citing Italian fascist experience and exaggerated praise of the Duce. The article that praise Mussolini was headlined: The leader of the nation and the significance of leaderism: Small nations need strong and courageous leaders more than others.[6] It should be said that after the coup Ulmanis cited Mussolini and the fascist regime as a model for state governance and social policy, and for creating the image of a strong leader. The Latvian dictator also encouraged the raising of one’s arm in a fascist salute.
Italian fascists, who were not enthusiastic about the open flattery of the Riga authorities, nevertheless tried to spread their ideology abroad, including by sending prominent fascist propagandists such as Alessandro Pavolini on visits to Latvia (summer 1934). They did not intend to take on Riga as a disciple or ally, unlike Romania with which Rome signed the Treaty of Alliance in September 1926. Valerio Perna, an Italian researcher of diplomatic relations with Latvia between the two world wars, writes that Mussolini was pleased with the signs of deference towards him and fascism in general. At the same time, “since the mid-1930s, Mussolini regarded the Baltics as the territory of natural expansion of German influence, and thought it best not to make any commitments in these states.”[7] Nevertheless, Baltic diplomacy continued trying to win the Italian fascists’ favours, hoping for Rome’s mediation in clarifying the future of their relations with Germany. After Italy invaded Ethiopia[8] in October 1935, the Latvian authorities took a pro-fascist stand, and Latvian Foreign Minister Vilhelms Munters hastened to be the first to announce Latvia’s recognition of the “Italian Empire.”
Ulmanis was not only interested in the propaganda aspects of fascism as a means of testing its viability in Latvia, but also in its essence. In particular, in October 1933, before the coup, he instructed the new Latvian ambassador to Italy, Arnolds Spekke, to research Mussolini’s fascist corporatism[9] and subsequently used its idea of state-controlled trade unions as an instrument of power and a means of suppressing public discontent. However, the Latvian dictator never was a consistent imitator of Italian fascism, leaning towards different and sometimes diametrically opposite non-Marxian trends. According to Finnish Ambassador to Riga Eduard Hjalmar Palin, while in Germany for medical treatment, Ulmanis fell under the influence of National-Socialists. The Latvian Tautas Vadonis (leader of the nation) was also attracted to the British Labour movement (a worker’s party that relied on trade unions),[10] although he liked non-party methods of building “national unity.” Adolfs Silde, a Latvian historian, collaborator and political figure in exile, explained Ulmanis’s negative attitude to using foreign experience of creating a single-party dictatorship in Latvia by his fear of internal opposition, which he experienced in the Latvian Farmers’ Union, which he founded.[11]
Little is known about Ulmanis’s influence on the regional variants of the fascist regime, for example, in Romania, or the Baltic states’ foreign policy contacts with it. Contemporary Romanian historians describe Bucharest’s foreign policy towards Baltic countries as “low-key,” not only because of a large distance but also due to Romania’s “respect for the wishes of the Polish government,”[12] which wanted to call the shots in the region.
The new Romanian ambassador to Riga, Prince Mihail Sturdza, worked in Riga from 1929 to 1935, fostering Romanian-Latvian ties on the basis of far-right anti-Soviet interests. Sturdza, the future foreign minister of Romania’s Iron Guard government (September−December 1940) and an outspoken fascist and antisemitic politician, pinned his hopes on strengthening the personal rule of Prime Minister Karlis Ulmanis. He developed close personal ties with him, hailed the state coup on May 15, 1934, and poured praise on Ulmanis’s regime in his reports to Bucharest.
Canadian-Ukrainian historian John-Paul Himka, who wrote about the common and individual trends of rising fascism in Central and Eastern Europe, including the Baltics, highlighted the following elements: “The analysis of Romania’s experience makes one wonder if Eastern and Central European fascism was a specific feature of that region. There are three main elements of the Legionary Movement: antisemitism, anti-Communism and self-discipline. Antisemitism featured prominently in the French and German fascist movements, but not in Italy. On the other hand, all variants of fascism in Central and Eastern Europe had a strong antisemitic component, which became especially evident during the war and the years of alliance with German National-Socialists. Antisemitism has been the distinguishing feature of the fascist movement in Romania since its inception in the 1920s, and it has never subsided.”[13]
The Latvian dictator was especially attracted to several aspects of the Nazi doctrine and its implementation. Latvian historian Aivars Stranga noted that Ulmanis, who went to Germany for treatment (September 8 to October 18, 1933), admired “the wave of excitement and electricity” combined with Fuehrer’s cult (“the individual is absolutely nothing”) and the purge of Jews from civil service and cultural and educational establishment. The Latvian “leader” not only spoke highly about the Fuehrer and the rising Nazi regime but also made an incredibly “visionary” conclusion that one need not fear the “new Germany” and that “there will be no war.”[14]
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In practice, the ideological borrowings and original initiatives of the Latvian authoritarian regime led to the creation of unprecedented institutional forms and practices that objectively brought official Riga closer to such undemocratic regimes as fascist and Nazi Germany. The regime established a system of so-called “chambers” – state-run regulatory boards that supervised associations of merchants, industrialists, artisans, agricultural producers, and representatives of the “liberal professions”; monopolised production and trade in the hands of “trusted” Latvians; implemented forced nationalisation; and effectively marginalised representatives of non-titular nationalities from the market.
Following the coup d’état of May 15, 1934, all political parties were dissolved, the Saeima was abolished, local governments were partially eliminated, the Satversme (constitution) was suspended, many printed publications were closed, and meetings and demonstrations were banned. More than 2,000 people were detained, some of whom were sent to a concentration camp in Liepāja for six months. After waiting for the term of the rather inert President Alberts Kviesis to expire, Kārlis Ulmanis assumed the presidency in 1936.
The repressions also affected Ulmanis’s rivals in the far-right’s violent takeover: bans on political activity and arrests extended to activists of the fascist organisations Pērkonkrusts (Thunder Cross), led by Gustavs Celmiņš, and the “Legionnaires,” led by Voldemārs Ozols. With their populism and catchy slogans, these groups had managed to attract active support from parts of the officer corps, veterans, student corps members, and members of the Aizsargi paramilitary organisation. The irony is that by the summer and autumn of 1941, both the Ulmanis elite who had escaped Soviet repression and the Pērkonkrusts members who had lost the power struggle in 1934 found themselves reunited in the service of the Hitler regime in the temporarily occupied territories of the Soviet Union.
Although Kārlis Ulmanis did not initiate the physical extermination of Jews and suppressed unsanctioned violence, after the May 15 coup, many Jews had their work permits as lawyers and doctors revoked, and they could no longer own businesses in a number of economic sectors. Under Nazi pressure, foreign companies with Jewish capital were gradually forced out of Latvia.
Brutal rhetoric (“Latvia for Latvians”) was not accompanied by brutal reprisals – the “leader” preferred to create unbearable conditions for the discontented. During Ulmanis’s dictatorship, not a single political death sentence was officially carried out, although some left-wing activists suffered serious injuries or died under mysterious circumstances.
The political elite centred on Ulmanis was selected on the basis of personal loyalty rather than professional merit. At the same time, it included individuals with widely varying foreign policy sympathies, antipathies, and prejudices. The Minister of War, later Deputy Prime Minister Jānis Balodis, was virtually the only member of the dictator’s entourage who dared to oppose him, and he retained an anti-German suspicion. He was gradually pushed from the forefront, losing the bureaucratic battle for the “leader’s” favour to younger protégés: Foreign Minister Vilhelms Munters, who was prone to dangerous diplomatic games with Berlin; and Alfreds Bērziņš, the main inspirer and organiser of the campaign to establish the Ulmanis personality cult (a deputy Minister of the Interior, who later headed the Ministry of Public Affairs and oversaw the Aizsargi paramilitary organisation). Finance Minister Alfrēds Valdmanis (1938–1939) subsequently collaborated with the Nazi occupiers. At the same time, among the generals there were both overt and more cautious “friends of Germany” (Army Chief of Staff Martiņš Hartmanis, Oskars Dankers, and others).
Latvian official historians complain about a “lack of understanding” on the part of their Western colleagues, who are allegedly unwilling to delve into the specifics of the mental trauma suffered by the Latvian people during the Second World War. However, it should be noted that analysis of the speculative and factual aspects of Latvian collaboration with the Nazi German occupation authorities can be found not only in the works of Baltic or Russian authors. The research of Canadian historian Professor Alexander Statiev, for example, is of considerable interest in this regard. He concludes: “The nationalists did not view themselves as a German ‘fifth column’ but were denied any other role,” yet “most Latvian and Estonian nationalists continued to collaborate with the Germans hoping for their change of heart [regarding independence issue].”[15]
Fleeing before the advancing Red Army, Latvian collaborators ended up in large numbers in the West, and by 1945 they had already established the revanchist organisation Daugavas Vanagi (Hawks of the Daugava), whose activists were soon in demand for CIA and MI6 special operations against the USSR during the Cold War.[16]
The current status of the Daugavas Vanagi organisation is remarkable. Even though the vast majority of Latvian SS Legion veterans have now died, the organisation continues to operate. The “Hawks” actively support the annual celebration of the so-called Remembrance Day of the Latvian Legionnaires on March 16. In Riga, for example, the Limbaži branch of Daugavas Vanagi traditionally organises a march of SS legionnaires and their young supporters. Daugavas Vanagi also organises commemorative events in honour of the Latvian SS in other countries.
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Since 1990−1991, Latvia has used a comprehensive reinterpretation of the events of the Second World War at the state level as an instrument for reshaping public consciousness and consolidating the new political order. The dominant “national” ideological framework was built around a concept promoted by Latvian émigré circles that portrayed the Baltic states as victims of two totalitarian regimes. Within this narrative, the Soviet regime was presented as “more dangerous and worse” for the titular Baltic nations than the Nazi occupation. The Soviet system was characterised as “Russian-Jewish,” a portrayal that contributed to the resurgence of pro-Nazi sentiments within a significant segment of Latvian society.
Ideological principles of this kind were formalised in a number of political declarations and official acts adopted by Latvian state institutions. These include the Declaration of the Saeima of the Republic of Latvia on the Occupation of Latvia of August 22, 1996; the parliamentary Declaration on Latvian Legionnaires in World War II of October 29, 1998; and the Declaration of the Saeima on the Condemnation of the Totalitarian Communist Occupation Regime of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Implemented in Latvia of May 12, 2005.
The most illustrative example is the Declaration on Latvian Legionnaires in World War II. Among other things, it states: “In the 1930s, two major totalitarian terrorist states emerged in Europe. The implementation of their aggressive ambitions began with the signing of the so-called Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, which resulted in the destruction of the independence of the Republic of Latvia and its subsequent occupation first by the USSR and then by Germany.”
The same declaration also attempts to relativise Nazi crimes, diminish the memory of the victims of Nazi genocide, and present the Latvian Waffen-SS legionnaires in a favourable light. In particular, it states: “It is true that some citizens of Latvia joined the Latvian Legion voluntarily, but this occurred because the USSR carried out genocide in Latvia in 1940−1941. Hundreds of people were executed without trial, and tens of thousands were deported to remote regions of the USSR. Germany also committed war crimes and genocide in Latvia during this period, but their impact on Latvian citizens was considerably smaller. Therefore, some Latvian citizens believed that by joining the Legion they were protecting themselves and their families from further mass repression by the USSR, which indeed followed.” The declaration further states categorically: “The objective of those soldiers who were conscripted into or voluntarily joined the Legion was to defend Latvia against the restoration of the Stalinist regime. They never participated in Hitler’s punitive operations against the civilian population.” This claim is demonstrably false. There is ample documentary evidence confirming such participation. Nevertheless, the same document obliges the Latvian government to “ensure the prevention of attacks on the honour and dignity of Latvian soldiers both in Latvia and abroad.”[17]
Thus, amid Western acquiescence, a relatively muted response from Israel, and the persistent disregard of protests and warnings from the Russian side, the ongoing radicalisation within Latvia’s political regime has continued to deepen. Is it any surprise, then, that Latvia’s leadership – supported by a significant share of the ethnic Latvian electorate – came to view accession to NATO and the European Union as a kind of political absolution, while interpreting the events surrounding Ukraine since 2014, and especially the beginning of the special military operation in 2022, as a “historic opportunity” to symbolically complete the unfinished struggle against the Soviet Union, now identified with modern Russia and Russian culture? This helps explain the growing wave of repressive measures and acts of vandalism, from the systematic dismantling of Soviet war memorials to the demolition of monuments to Alexander Pushkin and memorial plaques dedicated to Valentin Pikul, as well as the abandonment of longstanding Riga street names honouring prominent Russian writers.
It would seem difficult to imagine anything more disgusting than the actions taken by Baltic authorities of every political stripe in connection with May 9, 2025. Sacred memorials have been demolished or vandalised, military burial sites desecrated both by street radicals and by officially sanctioned “de-Sovietisation” campaigns, while virtually all traditional events commemorating the defeat of Nazi Germany, its allies, and collaborators have been prohibited. Public threats of repression against residents displaying Soviet symbols are being rigorously enforced to the point where people have reportedly been detained simply for singing “Katyusha” at the Salaspils Memorial. It is worth recalling that as early as 2022, the distortion of the meaning of Victory Day over German Nazism had already reached its peak, when official Riga, “in defiance of the Russians,” declared May 9 a “day of remembrance and mourning for the victims of Russian aggression in Ukraine.” Yet this year nationalist Latvia has gone even further, as reflected in the special section of the May 15, 2025 briefing by Russian Foreign Ministry Spokeswoman Maria Zakharova entitled: “New Manifestations of Neo-Nazism in Latvia.”
Let us turn to the text: “One of these disgusting episodes was covered by the media recently. The leadership of the city of Ogre, Latvia, has installed granite steps made from fragments of demolished memorials to Soviet soldiers at the entrance to the history and arts museum. Where do these steps lead? They lead to the museum where a blood-stained uniform of the Russian Armed Forces, allegedly belonging to a soldier killed in the zone of the special military operation, is on display. According to reports, it could have been given to Latvian neo-Nazis by like-minded Nazis from the Kiev junta. If these facts are confirmed, they will definitely fall under Russian criminal law.”[18] In a publication prepared for the analytical section of International Affairs,[19] we sought to examine the situation in detail, including one particularly outrageous fact: among the targets of the disgraceful symbolic campaign carried out by the authorities of the Ogre region was even a memorial stone dedicated to Theodor Nette – a Soviet diplomatic courier killed aboard a train in Latvia in 1926.
The “winds of history” are ever changeable. That is why our justified outrage must be transformed into painstaking and systematic work: documenting all extreme manifestations of neo-Nazism in Latvia at both the state and municipal levels, collecting and preserving evidence related to destroyed monuments – both for the sake of a future fair judgment and in the hope that at least some of these memorials may one day be restored.
[*] This publication has been produced according to a state-funded research assignment on the topic, Comprehensive Study of Processes in the Post-Soviet States, Central and Eastern Europe, research topic code FSZG — 2024-0006.
[1] Purkl A. Die Lettlandpolitik der Weimarer Republik. Studium zu den deutsch-lettischen Beziehungen der Zwischenkriegszeit. Münster, 1996. S. 256.
[2] Kangeris K. Latviešu un ebreju attiecības Trešā reiha skatījumā. 1933. – 1939. gads // Holokausta izpētes jautājumi Latvijā (Latvijas vēsturnieku komisijas raksti, 8. sēj.). Rīga, 2003. 54. lpp.
[3] See: 20. gadsimta Latvijas vēsture / II. Neatkarīgā valsts. 1918–1940. Rīga, 2003. 582. lpp.
[4] See also: Малнач А.Д. «Национальное движение» и антисемитские эксцессы в латвийском университете зимой 1922/23 г.: причины, ход, последствия // Журнал российских и восточноевропейских исторических исследований. 2016. №1. С. 125-159.
[5] Зубкова Е. Ю. Прибалтика и Кремль. 1940–1953. М.: РОССПЭН; Фонд Первого Президента России Б. Н. Ельцина, 2008. С. 33.
[6] Aizsargs. 1934. Nr. 6.
[7] Perna V. Itālija un Latvija. Diplomātisko attiecību vēsture. Rīga, 2002. 14. lpp.
[8] See: Прашкевич Г.М., Соловьев С.В. Муссолини: Цезарь фашистского Рима. М., 2018. С. 201-203.
[9] Perna V. Itālija un Latvija… 85., 86. lpp.
[10] Rislaki J. Kur beidzas varavīksne. Krišjānis Berķis un Hilma Lehtonena. Rīga, 2004. 113. lpp.
[11] Šilde Ā. Latvijas vesture. 1914–1940. Stokholma, 1976. 596. lpp.
[12] Angels F. Starp paralēliem spoguļiem: Rumānijas un Latvijas attiecības starpkaru laikā // Latvijas Arhīvi, 1999, Nr. 4. 87. lpp.
[13] Химка Дж.-П. О значении ситуационного элемента в восточно-центральноевропейском фашизме // Ab Imperio, 2010, № 4. С. 108–109.
[14] Stranga A. Ebreji un diktatūras Baltijā (1926–1940). Rīga, 2002. 164., 165. lpp.
[15] Statiev A. The Soviet Counterinsurgency in the Western Borderlands. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Р. 61.
[16] Дюков А.Р., Симиндей В.В. Палачи на пенсии. Нацистские преступники из Латвии на службе ЦРУ. Доклад фонда «Историческая память». М., 2021. 28 с.
[17] Saeimas deklarācija par latviešu leģionāriem Otrajā pasaules karā: www.politika.lv/temas/9084/
[18] Briefing by Russian Foreign Ministry Spokeswoman Maria Zakharova, Moscow, May 15, 2025 https://www.mid.ru/ru/foreign_policy/news/2017589/?lang=en#06
[19] Ступени в моральную бездну - от снесённого в Латвии памятника дипкурьеру Теодору Нетте до неонацизма https://interaffairs.ru/news/show/51611#_edn2
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