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In the
summer of 1977 I never thought I would see Latvia independent in my lifetime.
Thankfully, I was wrong. However, experiencing Latvia for the first time during
the Soviet era—at the naive, yet at the same time know-it-all, age of
16—was an experience I'll never forget!
Although I grew up in a Latvian
household and always thought of myself as Latvian first, American second,
nothing changes the fact that I did indeed grow up spoiled by the freedoms of
my parents' adopted country. Being told so many rules to which I had to abide
my first time in Latvia was appalling; it was inconceivable to me that I
shouldn't play Dievs Svētī
Latviju! on the first piano I found for fear of whatever "ears"
might be listening. Being told my hotel room (in which I had no choice but to
stay, by the way, as you were not allowed to stay with relatives) was bugged
(and I mean in addition to the little cucarachas scurrying around the
room) absolutely blew my mind.
What a shame that the Soviets were so
unimaginative with their technology—the silly radio to which I never
listened because I couldn't understand Russian, had two plugs coming from it!
So every day I unplugged it, and every day when I returned to my room, it was
magically plugged back in again. I even had a rather bovine looking woman in a
Soviet uniform come to my room to “check my radio.” I told her I had
no idea if it worked since I spoke Latvian, not Russian, and didn’t listen
to it. Nevertheless, she plugged it back in with a flourish and said I should
leave it plugged in. Yeah right.
In some ways it was just one little
victory I felt I could win at that time, since there were so few of them. Even
visiting my great uncle in Jelgava required that my grandmother and I fill out
mountains of paperwork—and then pay through the nose for a Soviet driver
who not only took us there and back, but sat guard in front of the house the
whole time we visited.
To list all of the examples of what I
considered abominations of Soviet oppression just during a two week visit would
fill volumes. We all have stories of the worst oppression: deportation to
Siberia. But, perhaps even worse was the pervasive oppression woven into the
fabric of everyday life. The immediacy of hopelessness in the face of these
circumstances was inescapable—I sincerely believed I would never see
Latvian independence in my lifetime.
With all of that said, I'll move on to
what are actually the strongest, and most lasting, impressions of that first
visit. These feelings had nothing to do with sadness, hopelessness, or
oppression. Rather, the complete opposite. I learned first hand about a strong,
proud, independent-minded people who knew how to survive no matter what, and
for whom there was nothing more important than
family».
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Digital CollectionPersonal PerspectivesExile ExperienceMusic
