Latvian POWsStill imprisoned by fabrications of history

Latvian Legion uniform collar tab

Some 91,000 Latvian soldiers and civilians were funneled into Soviet "filtration" and prison camps, considered traitors for having fought against or fled the Soviet re-invasion.1 They were executed or exiled to the Gulag. In the West, their fate was scarcely better. Former Latvian Legionnaire POWs, gathered in camps like Zedelgem, Belgium, were subjected to abuse, even used for target practice by guards who branded them all "Nazis."

The Legionnaires themselves were mostly conscripted, faced with an impossible choice: join the German-formed Latvian Legion of the Waffen-SS or face forced labor on the Eastern Front, or worse. Their motivation was not ideology, but a desperate desire to resist the Soviet re-occupation of their homeland. After the war, those who retreated westward fought to the very end, with Legionnaire diaries recounting fierce combat in the streets of Berlin in April 1945. Theirs was the final, palpable manifestation of a centuries-long existential struggle for survival.2

Our counter-attack succeeded, we beat back the Russians beyond Europahaus ... but it cost us dearly. Those only lightly wounded made it there on their own; we, seriously wounded, remained laying under the enemy's intense fire. ... During the attack, one of ours had been mortally wounded, dying, he leaned against the brick wall fence and so he remained standing. The other side concentrated heavy fire on him. After each hit, the dead legionnaire jumped like in some adventure movie, and it seemed, that he kept trying to get up on his feet so he could continue his heroic charge against the enemy bullets... Awaiting rescue — evening twilight, gazing at the fallen legionnaire, slowly bleeding out and losing consciousness...
 — War diary account, April 27-28 1945, fighting in the streets of Berlin

Today, a persistent myth conflates these conscripts with the Nazi war machine. The official Russian position, which brands any commemoration of the Legion as "glorification of Nazism," is a post-Soviet construct. Notably, the very fact that Latvians fought against the Red Army was entirely erased from Soviet-era history books.3 This historical whitewashing underscores a painful truth: the legacy of the Latvian Legion has become an object of political, not historical, interpretation.

This politicization finds a powerful voice in the West. In 2013, American politician Richard Brodsky traveled to Latvia and returned to publish a damning account of the annual Legion remembrance, which he described as a parade for the Waffen-SS.4 His report, however, was a catalog of falsehoods and incendiary rhetoric.

A German "anti-fascist" poster, part of a Kremlin-linked campaign against Latvian Legion remembrance.5

"The killing fields of Rumbula and Salispils [sic.] seem peaceful... How many murdered? Fifty thousand? Five hundred thousand? ...Americans, me among them, go as witnesses to a celebration... in praise and remembrance of the Waffen-SS... Young people join them, carrying swastika-like insignia with their flowers."

Rather than uncovering truths, Brodsky parroted Kremlin propaganda. The historical record is clear:

• The Latvian Legion was formed in 1943, after the Holocaust on Latvian soil had concluded. No Legionnaire has ever been convicted of a war crime committed during their service.
• While the Nazi SS organization was convicted at Nuremberg, the Latvian Waffen-SS units were stationed at Nuremberg as Allied guards.
• Even renowned Nazi-hunter Efraim Zuroff has stated unequivocally that the Latvian Waffen-SS was not involved in the Holocaust.

Brodsky's rhetorical question — "Fifty thousand? Five hundred thousand?" — heaps insult upon injury. While we mourn every single victim of the Holocaust, there is no excuse for such egregious hyperbole that vilifies an entire nation.

A traditional Latvian ornamental swastika-based symbol from a children's primer in our library.

We searched through photos of the 2013 commemoration and found no "swastika-like" symbols. Perhaps he saw an ornamented version of the pērkonkrusts (Thunder Cross swastka), a symbol steeped in Latvian mythology long before the Nazi era. It represents one of the oldest Latvian deities, and Latvian folk art is rich with ancient ornamental swastikas.

When confronted with these facts, Brodsky’s response was telling. He acknowledged that "some" Legionnaires were conscripted and "some" were former members of the Arajs Kommando, that all swore a "personal loyalty oath to Hitler," false.6 He used the crimes of a few hundred men from a unit that predated the Legion to condemn an unrelated force of 57,000. This is the core of the disinformation strategy: guilt by tenuous association where details of history are sacrificed for a politically convenient narrative.

This narrative is not accidental. Brodsky's travel and reporting were coordinated with World Without Nazism (Мир без нацизма), a Kremlin-front organization run by Putin insider Boris Spiegel. At a Congressional conference following his trip, one of the key figures levying charges against Latvians was Tatjana Ždanoka, a former Latvian MEP who was later outed as a long-time FSB operative.7 Brodsky was not an independent observer; he was an instrument in a sophisticated information war.

“It's been an article of faith that we beat the Nazis in WWII, once and forever; but take a look at the two photos I took in Riga. They're back.”  — Richard Brodsky

Procession with participants bearing flowers heads to Freedom Monument

Flowers left in memory of a Legionnaire who died with the dream of a restored Latvia in his heart

This war of words has a profound human cost. Latvians have written to us stating that, until learning the facts, they were too ashamed to admit they were Latvian—one mother kept her heritage secret even from her own family. This is the true victory of disinformation: it steals a people's pride and poisons their identity.

Latvians in the Courland pocket↗ held out to May 15th, a week after WWII ended, not knowing Churchill and Roosevelt had already consigned them to Soviet servitude.

The Legionnaires who fought were not defending Nazi ideology; they were fighting for the survival of their homeland against a historically relentless aggressor. Their dream was to repeat the miracle of a generation earlier: defeat both Russians and Germans and achieve indepdendence. Today they find themselves POWs once again — captives in an information war where words are the weapons and empirical facts are often the first casualties. After all, as Elizabeth Holtzmann once stated, "all Latvians are Nazis."8

Why do these falsehoods persist? The long answer involves German and Soviet propaganda shifting responsibility for the Holocaust away from the Germans, each for their own purposes. The short answer is that there is more political capital and grift to be had in perpetuating the myth of "resurgent Latvian Nazism" than in defending the falsely accused. As Stalin reminds us, history serves those who write it.

Today, the Legionnaires lie in quiet cemeteries, their dream of a restored Latvia realized. We honor their memory and their sacrifice, not as Nazis, but as Latvians forced to make an impossible choice in a war they did not start, fighting for a homeland they loved more than life itself.

We continue their story in joining the common experience of trimda, both a place and a state of mind that defined the Latvian post-war diaspora in the DP camps and beyond.

• Read more on the 2013 Latvian Legion commemoration and Brodsky at A different kind of Holocaust remembrance↗
• Our page on Zedelgem POW Camp, featuring a pocket notebook of handwritten Legion songs expressing love for homeland and sorrow for a future lost.
• The Holocaust in Latvia↗, the scholarship of Prof. Andrew Ezergailis. An essential examination that challenges the Nazi-engineered narrative of widespread, voluntary collaboration.
• Soviet Evidence in North American Courts by S. Paul Zumbakis. A critical look at how the KGB manufactured evidence to target anti-Soviet Baltic and Ukrainian activists abroad.
• The Case for Latvia: Disinformation Campaigns Against a Small Nation by Lukka Rislakki. A systematic debunking of the historical myths circulated about Latvia and its people.