Latvia had already declared independence from the Soviet Union, but there was still fear that the Soviet Union might try to [...]]]> January 20 is a day of remembrance in Latvia, for an event in more recent memory than others – in this case, the time of the barricades, and subsequently, the end of the Soviet Union.

Latvia had already declared independence from the Soviet Union, but there was still fear that the Soviet Union might try to retake the country by force. At the beginning of January 1991, they started to try and do just that.

This is when the barricades were built, across Rīga and in other parts of the country as well. While the barricades took place over a period of days, January 20 is chosen as the remembrance day because it was on this night in 1991 that five people were killed during attacks by Soviet forces, including filmmakers Andris Slapiņš and Gvido Zvaigzne. You can visit the website for the 1991 Barricades Museum here.

Let us all remember those who gave their lives for the cause of freedom. Let us honour their sacrifice, and never take our freedom for granted.

June 14, 1941 is a day that remains emblazoned on the Latvian psyche – this is the day when thousands of our countrymen and women were deported to Siberia, along with [...]]]> My apologies – this post should have been up yesterday, but my Internet provider had an outage, so thus this post comes to you today.

June 14, 1941 is a day that remains emblazoned on the Latvian psyche – this is the day when thousands of our countrymen and women were deported to Siberia, along with thousands of others from the other Baltic countries of Estonia and Lithuania, as well as thousands also from Belarus, Ukraine and Moldova.

The train voyages to Siberia were long, and some died enroute. Many of those deported died in exile and were never able to return to their homelands. Most of those that did return suffered from numerous health ailments that were acquired as a result of the time spent in harsh conditions.

These stories need to be told. If you, reading this, experienced or witnessed these deportations, or other aspects of the war, do not let your stories pass out of memory. Write them down or otherwise record them, share them with your children and grandchildren. You can also share your stories with me and I will publish them here. If your parents or grandparents told you the stories of these times, record and share them as well.

I have a number of books that have been written thus far, that provide stories and experiences of the deporations, so I will provide some excerpts here. These stories serve as a witness to a historical event that too many have forgotten. Let us never forget.

“At 3.20am on June 14, 1941, m parents and I were arrested without a court order or the public prosecutor’s authorisation. We were taken out on the street, loaded into a truck, driven to the Torņakalns station in Rīga and put on a long train of cattle wagons, one of many. At about 2 o’clock in the afternoon, the doors of the wagon opened and my father was called away. He said goodbye to us quickly and pressed into my mother’s hand his gold pocket watch and silver cigarette case, on which, in gold letters, his friends had written their initials and the words ‘For you, it may come in handy!’ In the winter of 1943, this proved to be true. 14 June 1941 was the last time I saw Father as he got off the cattle wagon.”

     -from “I Was Twenty-One” by Aleksandrs Birznieks, in We Sang Through Tears (NB: A memorial stone now stands at Torņakalns train station in Rīga to commemorate all of those who were deported)

“I remember one day, on my way back from pulling logs, I tripped and fell. As I struggled to get up, I saw that I had tripped over a foot, the owner of which was lying there, covered in snow. The famine was appalling. I was still able to divide my little bit of bread into three portions and eat three times, but some people would eat it in one go. Occasionally some tiny fish were issued. In the -40°C to -50°C Arctic cold, we could only drag out one or two logs a day, later on we couldn’t even manage that, but then we didn’t get any bread, either. Day and night, we were continually tormented by the thought of food.”

     -from “The Dark Pages of My Life” by Lidija Vilnis, in We Sang Through Tears

“My mother had hidden our gold items in cloth bundles, and her most expensive one was a bracelet with gems, but she didn’t know which bundle contained it. That she brought back, even though at times it was difficult to find food. Without a doubt, someone would have taken it in exchange for half a bucket of potatoes, but that would be the maximum. Gold does not always have the worth that we think it does.”

     -Zigurds Bētiņš, in Sibīrijas Bērni (translated by me)

“My father ended up in the Vjatlag camp in Kirov oblast, and already in the first year working in the forest, he was not in good health… as much as we can understand from books, the camp had hard work, hard conditions, without groceries. He died there on December 3, 1941. We waited for a long time after the war, always hoping, that no matter how he was – old, stiff, crippled, just that he would be, that he and our mother would be home! That our mother had died, we knew… but our father we waited for long and hard. Officially we heard about his death during the Atmodas period. Before that, there had already been all sorts of news, that he had died. This we learned from those that had returned.”

     -Harijs Ešenvalds, in Sibīrijas Bērni (translated by me)

In Loving Memory

Marta Emīlija (Līcīte) Jakstāne

June 26, 1911 – November 2, 2010

Marta Līcīte, c. 1946

My great aunt passed away last night. She was 99 years old.

She was born on June 13 (O.S.)/June 26 (N.S.), 1911, in Krustpils, Latvia. At the time of her birth, Krustpils was a border town in Vitebsk guberniya in the Russian [...]]]>

My great aunt passed away last night. She was 99 years old.

She was born on June 13 (O.S.)/June 26 (N.S.), 1911, in Krustpils, Latvia. At the time of her birth, Krustpils was a border town in Vitebsk guberniya in the Russian Empire. Across the river was Jēkabpils in Kurland guberniya, now the two towns are unified under one local authority, Jēkabpils. Her parents were Brencis and Jūle (Štelmahere) Līcītis. Her godparents were Vera Namiķe, Marta Jaunzeme and Jānis Štelmahers.

When Marta was three years old, the First World War broke out. When fighting started between Germany and Russia, her family, like many other Latvian families, fled from the advancing front and settled temporarily in the interior of Russia near Rzhev. They lived with a Russian family with the surname Kislev. She learned to speak Russian and enjoyed speaking to the Russians at the market and going to the Orthodox church, even though her family was Lutheran. During this time, Marta had diptheria, and while she was very ill, she said she saw a beautiful white cat, and wanted to play with it. This inspired her to recover.

Marta and her father saw Alexander Kerensky, one of the leaders of the February Revolution and then the provisional government, speak. When the October Revolution took place and the Bolsheviks came to power, her family witnessed the local communists taking the town’s grain stores and burning them in the centre of the town square, calling it “rich peoples’ food”. The communists then gave the people animal feed to eat.

After the war was over, the family returned to their home in Latvia, though turmoil would still last for a few years until the Wars of Independence were over and Latvia established a stable, independent government. Marta’s sister, my grandmother, was born in an independent Latvia in 1919.

Marta attended primary school in Krustpils, earning good grades, excelling especially at German and drawing. She left school after her second year of secondary school and became a seamstress, continuing to live with and help support her parents while her sister went to nursing school in Rīga.

When the Second World War broke out, Marta joined the Red Cross as a nurse’s aide, and helped wounded soldiers alongside her sister. In 1944, when the Soviet front was moving closer, and remembering the first Soviet occupation, the sisters left Latvia, traveling across Eastern Europe to end up in Denmark by the end of the war. In the Displaced Persons camps, Marta met her husband-to-be Jānis Jakstāns, who was from Dobele in western Latvia. I’m not sure if they married in Denmark or upon arrival in Canada.

Marta and her sister traveled to Canada on the SS Samaria in 1949. I’m not sure if Jānis was with them or if he, like my grandfather Aleksandrs, followed along later. They eventually settled in the Port Weller district of Saint Catharines, Ontario. Jānis died of Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease in the late 1950s, which he had contracted from a blood transfusion after a roof tarring accident. They never had children. Marta continued living in the same house until 1993, when she and my grandmother moved to my family’s town northwest of Toronto.

When I was little, she and I “travelled” all over the world, looking at maps and a globe and choosing exotic locales that we would create adventures about. One we returned to frequently was Belém, Brazil. I will have to go there one day in her memory.

While she became legally blind in her later years, when I was young she made intricate paper flowers that decorated her home and ours. She had a fondness for drawing, especially “mushroom families” – cute little mushrooms with faces that were often personifications of my parents and I.

She had an interest in the work of Axel Munthe, whose villa in Capri my parents and I visited on her behalf when we traveled to Italy six years ago. She kept a statue of a sphinx on her bedside table, as well as a small Hotei (“Laughing Buddha”) figurine that she later passed on to my mother.

Four and a half years ago, Marta broke her hip and moved from the apartment she shared with her sister into a nursing home that was quite a distance from my family’s home, but after a year or so she was able to move to one much closer. Her sister also moved there three years ago.

Over the past few months, she had been getting weaker and weaker. Last night, she passed peacefully, as if just going to sleep. She always loved philosophizing about the world, the ways of the universe and the great beyond, so now she will have all of her questions answered.

She is survived by her sister, niece, nephew-in-law and grand-niece (me).

In Latvia, cemeteries (“kapi” or “kapsētas”) are a very important part of life. Great care is taken to keep the graves of family and loved ones looking tidy and pretty. While in many Western [...]]]> The title of this post may seem a bit odd to most readers – how is there a culture revolving around cemeteries?

In Latvia, cemeteries (“kapi” or “kapsētas”) are a very important part of life. Great care is taken to keep the graves of family and loved ones looking tidy and pretty. While in many Western countries you will probably never meet the family members of the people buried next to your loved ones, in Latvia it is not entirely unusual to be on a first-name basis with them.

Cemeteries also host “kapusvētki” – social celebrations at cemeteries. These usually involve a religious ceremony, singing, a socializing portion, and sometimes lighting of candles. I have not yet had the opportunity to attend one, but hopefully I will when I start living in Latvia for more of the year.

To reflect the importance of cemeteries in Latvian national consciousness, a new magazine was released this summer. Called “In Memoriam”, it talks about the phenomenon of “kapusvētki”, gives suggestions for flowers and shrubs to plant at gravesites, provides recommendations for styles of gravestones, comments on the continuing debate of whether or not to include photos on gravestones, and much more. If you want to see a preview, you can do so here. According to this news article (in Latvian), two issues of “In Memoriam” will be released this summer, and number of copies sold will decide if they will release it again next year.

When I visit cemeteries in Canada, I rarely encounter other people. But cemeteries in Latvia, especially in the summer, are full of people caring for graves. Outside the front gates of most larger cemeteries you can find numerous flower and candle vendors. Proper upkeep of family graves is considered a reflection on the family, and thus socially encouraged. For those who may not be able to make the trip out to the countryside regularly to care for family graves, or for those who live abroad, some people in local communities will often offer grave care services.

Have you read the latest issue of “In Memoriam”? Does your family have its own cemetery traditions? Share your stories in comments!

On July 4, 1941, numerous synagogues across Latvia were burned to the ground, some of them with people inside. One of the most [...]]]> This post should have been up yesterday, but I was out of town for most of the day and returned with a splitting headache, so I hope you’ll accept the post today instead.

On July 4, 1941, numerous synagogues across Latvia were burned to the ground, some of them with people inside. One of the most prominent of these was the Great Choral Synagogue on Gogol street in Rīga. It was burned with 300 Jews inside. It is at the remains of this synagogue that this memorial can be found.

Memorial stone at ruins of the Great Choral Synagogue, Gogol street, Rīga, Latvia. Photo taken by the author, July 2, 2010.

It is because of the destruction on this day that July 4 is designated as the Day of Remembrance in Latvia for Jewish victims of the Holocaust.

I took more photos of the area, of what is left of the synagogue, and of the monument to the Latvian Righteous Among the Nations nearby, let me know in comments if you would like me to post more.

But back to the topic of [...]]]> Sorry things have been a bit quiet here, I’ve been busy! But in a week’s time I will be concluding my day job so that I can be on my way to Latvia for the summer, and then when I return home to Canada I will be returning to school.

But back to the topic of the post – today is June 14, which is one of the numerous days of remembrance in the Latvian calendar. This day of remembrance is for the victims of Communist terror. It is on this day because it was on June 14, 1941 that the Soviets began mass deportations of tens of thousands of Latvians, Estonians and Lithuanians to Siberia and the gulags. Another larger wave of deportations also took place in 1949.

None of my ancestors were deported to Siberia, but I have found numerous extended relatives in the 1949 deportation lists, particularly from the northern parishes of Vijciems and Lugaži. I also know that most of my maternal grandfather’s parents’ siblings disappeared during this time, but they are not mentioned in These Names Accuse (a book comprised of lists of many of those deported during this time).

I do, however, have an ancestor who was a victim of Communist terror. He was not deported, but rather arrested in 1940 not long after the first Soviet occupation began. This was my great-grandfather Arvīds Francis. He was arrested because he had been a counter-intelligence agent with the Latvian political police force. I am told that most of his time was spent dealing with threats from fascist groups such as Pērkonkrusts, but he was involved in observation of Communist groups as well. He spent the late 1920s and early 1930s as the regional leader in Kuldīga, and his work was, at times, dangerous.

He was arrested on August 3, 1940 and imprisoned in Daugavpils. He was repeatedly interrogated and on June 16, 1941 was sentenced to execution. The sentence was carried out on June 22, 1941. He, along with three other police force members who had worked in the Liepāja area, were buried outside the prison.

An interrogation file was kept, and is currently stored in the Latvian State Archives (not the Latvian State Historical Archives, where I do most of my other research). I attempted to access it when I was in Latvia in December, but was told that I would need to bring proof that I was related to him, which I did not have with me at the time. My uncle was able to access it briefly (his mother is Arvids’ daughter, hence the paper trail of documentation was shorter than it would be for me), but didn’t have a lot of time. He was able to tell me though that it was quite a large file, and mostly in Russian. Now I do have all of my paperwork in order, so I hope to be able to access it this time around.

Five years ago, I was actually in the Baltics on June 14. I was in central Vilnius (Lithuania), where I visited the Soviet Occupation Museum, and outside the walls were covered with commemorative drawings by local children and guarded by members of the Lithuanian army. Nearby was the monument to commemorate Soviet victims of terror.

Other remembrance days in Latvia associated with the Second World War: March 25 (the day the 1949 deportations began), May 8 (the end of the Nazi regime in Europe and remembrance of victims of the Second World War), June 17 (the day the Soviet occupation began), July 4 (Jewish victims, the day a Rīga synagogue was burned down in 1941 with many people inside) and the first Sunday in December (another day for remembrance of victims of Communist terror). I must remember to mention each of them again as they come throughout the year.

Were any of your family members deported to Siberia in 1941? Arrested by the Soviets during the first occupation (1940-1941)? Share your family stories in comments.

One of these people was Alma Kalniņa. Her grave marker is in the town cemetery of Jēkabpils. She was 34 years old. She is buried alongside five others who were also murdered by the [...]]]> When the Soviets invaded Latvia during the Second World War, they deported and/or murdered thousands of people from all walks of life.

One of these people was Alma Kalniņa. Her grave marker is in the town cemetery of Jēkabpils. She was 34 years old. She is buried alongside five others who were also murdered by the Soviets on June 27, 1941 – Jānis Strautiņš, Mārtiņš Rugājs, Mārtiņš Kazerovskis, Jānis Kudrašs and Valdemārs Arkliņš.

I have chosen Alma’s grave marker because she is the one that my family has a connection to. She was the secretary for my great-grandfather Augusts Lūkins, a local judge. Family stories tell me that she had been shot and tied up with barbed wire. Her body was found in a swamp.

This was not my family’s only experience of Soviet brutality. One of my great-grandfathers, Arvīds Francis, was also murdered by the Soviets. I will tell his story in a later edition of “Bringing Out the Great-Grandfathers”. Many other family members also disappeared, and are probably buried in unmarked graves somewhere in Russia.

To me, this grave marker represents more than one woman, but all of the lost family members of mine who have no grave markers of their own.

This is the memorial stone at the “Cemetery of Non-Existent Cemeteries” – a memorial built to commemorate all of the destroyed cemeteries in Gdansk, and the [...]]]> Another slightly unusual “Tombstone Tuesday”. Today I’m deviating somewhat from the “Latvian” part of this blog, because what I came across here while visiting Gdansk, Poland, really spoke to me.

This is the memorial stone at the “Cemetery of Non-Existent Cemeteries” – a memorial built to commemorate all of the destroyed cemeteries in Gdansk, and the people who may have died without having their burial places marked at all. Click on the photo to enlarge it.

Now, I don’t speak Polish, and Google Translate can be a bit dodgy, so maybe one of my Polish readers can translate what it says on the four sides of it? (only one side is visible in the above photograph) I also don’t know which side has the beginning of the phrase.

• “…TYM CO IMION NIE MAJA”

• “NA GROBIE”
• “A TYLKO BÓG WIE, JAK KTO”
• “SIĘ ZOWIE…”

Thank you for your translations!

I am currently in Copenhagen, Denmark, and one of my main reasons for coming here was to visit this memorial (click on the image to view a larger one):

It is the memorial to Latvians who died in exile in Denmark [...]]]> My “Tombstone Tuesday” submission isn’t the tombstone for one person, but rather, a memorial to many.

I am currently in Copenhagen, Denmark, and one of my main reasons for coming here was to visit this memorial (click on the image to view a larger one):

It is the memorial to Latvians who died in exile in Denmark after the Second World War. My maternal grandparents were among the Latvian DPs (Displaced Persons) who lived in Denmark during this time, before going to Canada in the late 1940s. I have a photograph taken of the memorial (found in Vestre Cemetery) by one of my grandparents shortly after it was erected, and yesterday I was able to visit it myself, and take the above photo, sixty years later.

Translated to English (in spirit, not word for word), the top inscription reads: “I rest my head on the dreams of my homeland.” The bottom inscription: “For our countrymen who died during the time of exile in Denmark – Latvian Displaced Persons, 1948″. The blocks in front of the memorial, as well as on either side it, list the names of these Latvians.

It has been difficult to find any information on Latvian DPs in Denmark, since most information about Latvian DPs talks exclusively about the DP camps in Germany. This is why it was so important for me to visit this memorial myself: It is a powerful reminder saying “We were here. Do not forget us.”