This Latvian leader is made of the right stuff

By Robert Cottrell

Date: 20/01/05

IF she were a character from fiction, then Latvia's president, Vaira Vike-Freiberga, would be the heroine of an early-19th-century romantic novel. Which is to say, clever and well-meaning, but also headstrong and a touch clumsy, moved more by instinct than by calculation.

Last week she broke boldly with her fellow Baltic presidents by accepting Vladimir Putin's invitation to attend this year's Second World War Victory Day celebration in Moscow in May. At the same time she published a fierce "declaration" to Putin and to the world at large, saying, in effect, that though she would go to the celebration, she would hate every minute of it.

She pointed out that the Soviet victory over Hitler, although it ended German fascism, brought with it the Soviet occupation of the Baltic countries. She insisted, a touch more contentiously, that if Stalin had not agreed with Hitler in 1939 to divide Europe, then the war might never have happened.

Words failed her only when she spoke of Latvia's part in the holocaust. She blamed "Nazi Germans and their local accomplices". Since she meant "Latvian accomplices", that is what she ought to have said, given that she was talking about facing up to history.

But still, it was strong stuff, sure to anger many Russians, much as Vike-Freiberga was sure to anger many Latvians by agreeing to go to Moscow in the first place.

She also upset Estonia and Lithuania by abandoning the idea of a joint Baltic decision on attending. No need for it, she said. The countries were not "Siamese triplets".

So much for Baltic unity.

To alienate everyone around you may count as even-handed. But it would not be most politicians' idea of a winning strategy. What does the Latvian leader hope to get out of it?

In respect of Estonia and Lithuania, she presumably takes the view that "Baltic unity" is dying or dead already. Which it may well be. Cultural differences and political rivalries between the three countries have been reasserting themselves since the independence struggles ended in 1991.

Even then, you might expect Latvia to cling longest to the Baltic ideal, not ditch it first. Estonia has the option of a Nordic identity, tying its fortunes to Finland. Lithuania can renew ties with Poland and recast itself as a central European country. But Latvia has nowhere else to go. It is Baltic or nothing.

Perhaps that same calculation has led Vike-Freiberga to conclude that Latvia must get smarter, and tougher, and more self-reliant. It must be another Singapore, a cat that walks alone.

All well and good. But you need a formidable government to carry that off. You need to be right every time.

Latvia is not there yet.

Still, being right some of the time is a good start. Vike-Freiberga is right to go to Moscow and she is right to expect nothing from Russia in exchange.

Russia has talked of signing a border treaty with Latvia as a reward for the visit, but only because Russia now needs the treaty more than Latvia does, as it lobbies for visa-free travel with the European Union.

By going to Moscow, Vike-Freiberga can be seen to stand as an equal among other European leaders. And her presence may encourage her counterparts to reflect on the Soviet legacy which shapes Russia still.

When Latvia and the other Baltic countries grumble on about Stalin's crimes, it is not because they want compensation.

It is because they fear to have a Russia next door in which the perpetrator of such crimes can still be admired.

• Robert Cottrell is central Europe correspondent for The Economist.

Portrait of Latvia's president, Vaira Vike-Freiberga, who accepted Vladimir Putin's invitation to attend the Second World War Victory Day celebration in Moscow in May 2005. At the same time she published a fierce 'declaration' to Putin and to the world at large, pointing out the Soviet Union's role in Latvian history.