On Independence Day

The 18th of November is celebrated in Latvia as Independence Day. I'll guide you through the four parts of this gripping story. First, the dramatic declaration of independence on 18 November 1918. Second, the war that ensued. Third, the Soviet Russian occupation of Latvia from 1940 until independence was regained in 1991. And finally, how Latvians celebrate Independence Day today, with my memories of participating in the commemoration as deputy British Ambassador in the late 1990s.

Thanks for listening!

Transcript

On Independence Day

The 18th of November is celebrated in Latvia as Independence Day. A public holiday with commemorative events. Let’s go back in time. It's 18 November 1918. The First World War has just ended. Europe is in chaos. Empires are collapsing. And in Rīga, in a theatre building that still stands today, a group of Latvians did something extraordinary. They declared independence.

But here's the fascinating part about Latvia's independence story: declaring it was only the start. What followed was a desperate fight for survival that lasted another two years. It's a tale of courage, unlikely heroes, and a small nation that refused to be overtaken by larger powers. Then in 1940, another 50 dark years of occupation began.

I'll guide you through the four parts of this story. First, the dramatic declaration of independence. Second, the war that ensued - because independence had to be fought for, not just declared. Third, the Soviet Russian occupation of Latvia from 1940 until independence was regained in 1991. And finally, how Latvians celebrate Independence Day today, more than a century later, with my memories of participating in the commemoration as deputy British Ambassador in the late 1990s.

So settle in, and let me tell you about 18 November.

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Part one: the birth of a nation on 18 November 1918

To understand why 18 November 1918 was selected for Latvia's declaration of independence, we need to go back in time.

During World War I, Latvia - which was not yet an independent country — was divided among various powers. The Germans occupied most of Courland and Rīga, while the Russian Bolsheviks controlled parts of Vidzeme and Latgale. It was a time of chaos.

However, Latvian politicians had been working behind the scenes. Two main groups were advocating for independence. One was called the Democratic Bloc, based in Rīga. The other was the Latvian Provisional National Council, established in Valka and mainly operating in Petrograd.

Now here's where it gets interesting. In July 1918, a Latvian diplomat, Zigfrīds Anna Meierovics, travelled to Stockholm. He carried political documents, £500 sterling - worth about £25,000 today - and six beautifully ornate volumes of Latvian art to give as gifts to important people. His mission? To secure international support for an independent Latvia.

And it succeeded. On 11 November 1918 - the very day World War One ended - the British Foreign Office sent what is known as the Balfour memorandum. Britain recognised Latvia's independence de facto, actually. This was huge. Latvia now had Western backing.

One week later, on 18 November, Latvian leaders gathered at what was then called the Second City Theatre - now the Latvian National Theatre - right here in Rīga. Only one photograph exists of this moment, which reveals how precarious the situation was. Nobody was sure what would happen next.

At that meeting, the People's Council of Latvia declared the independence of the Republic of Latvia. Jānis Čakste, who would later become Latvia's first president, was present. The man chosen to lead the provisional government was Kārlis Ulmanis, leader of the Latvian Farmers' Union.

Now, Kārlis Ulmanis is a fascinating character. He studied agriculture in Germany and taught at the University of Nebraska during his exile in America. He wasn't a soldier or a revolutionary - he was an agronomist who aimed to improve dairy farming. But when his country needed leadership, he stepped forward.

After they sang the national anthem and declared independence, you might think there would be celebrations in the streets. But the truth is much more sobering. Within days, Soviet Russia would invade. The Declaration of Independence was, as one historian said, "just a single step in Latvia's struggle to survive”.

The new government controlled almost no territory. They had no army to speak of. They were surrounded by hostile forces. Most nations hadn't yet recognised them. And winter was approaching.

Interestingly, Zigfrīds Anna Meierovics, who had secured British recognition, learned about the 18 November proclamation only later, while he was in London. He also discovered that political squabbles had already cast a shadow over the declaration. The British-recognised National Council had nearly disbanded due to infighting.

But the die was cast. Latvia had declared itself independent. Now came the hard part: surviving.

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Part two: the fight for survival - the War of Independence

Just thirteen days after Latvia declared independence, on 1 December 1918, Soviet Russia invaded.

The invading forces included many Red Latvian Riflemen - Latvian soldiers fighting for the Bolsheviks. This made the invasion easier because they knew the terrain and spoke the language. The provisional government, led by Kārlis Ulmanis, was rapidly losing ground.

Town after town fell. Alūksne fell on 7 December, Valka on 18 December, and Cēsis on 23 December. Just six weeks after declaring independence, Rīga was captured by the Red Army on 3 January 1919.

Ulmanis and what remained of the government retreated all the way to Liepāja on the western coast. At one point, they literally sought safety aboard a steamship called the Saratow under Allied protection. It was that desperate.

But here is where the story takes a turn. On 15 January 1919, an important event occurred at Lielauce. A Latvian battalion, led by Colonel Oskars Kalpaks, halted the Soviet offensive.

Oskars Kalpaks is a national hero in Latvia, and for good reason. He was born into a farming family, attended military school in Irkutsk, Russia, and fought bravely in World War One. When Latvia declared independence, he joined the Ministry of Defence and became commander of the 1st Latvian Independent Battalion - often called "Kalpaks Battalion."

The battle of Lielauce was vital for morale. It demonstrated that Latvian forces could resist the Bolsheviks. Kalpaks himself displayed notable courage, leading his soldiers by example. 

But tragedy struck on 6 March 1919. Near a place called Airītes, Kalpaks was killed - actually by mistake, in a skirmish with German Freikorps troops who were supposed to be allies. He was just 37 years old. His death was devastating, but his legacy lived on. He was posthumously awarded Latvia's highest military honour, the Order of Lāčplēsis, in first, second, and third class.

Now, the situation was complicated not only by the Bolsheviks. German forces, who had helped push back the Red Army, refused to leave Latvia. In fact, in April 1919, Baltic German nobility organised a coup in Liepāja, establishing a puppet government.

This is where Estonia steps in as a vital ally. The Estonian Army, recognising that if Latvia fell, they would be next, moved to assist. In May 1919, combined Latvian and Estonian forces retook Rīga from the Bolsheviks.

But then they had to confront the Germans. In June 1919, one of the war's most significant battles occurred near the town of Cēsis - the Battle of Cēsis.

The German Landeswehr, led by Major Alfred Fletcher, attacked Latvian positions on 6 June. At first, the Germans succeeded in capturing Cēsis. However, Estonian forces, including their renowned armoured red trains, joined the Latvians in a counterattack.

On 22 and 23 June 1919, combined Estonian and Latvian forces launched a coordinated attack that broke through German lines. The Germans withdrew. It was a decisive victory.

The Battle of Cēsis is still commemorated jointly by Latvia and Estonia. During the battle, Estonia lost 110 soldiers, while Latvia lost 44. More importantly, it laid a proper foundation for both nations' independence and highlighted the strength of Baltic cooperation.

But the war was not over. In October 1919, a new threat arose: the West Russian Volunteer Army, led by a warlord named Pavel Bermondt-Avalov. This force, also known as the "Bermontians", included German Freikorps members and Russian monarchists aiming to restore the Russian Empire.

On 8 October 1919, Bermondt's forces launched an offensive against Rīga, capturing the left bank of the Daugava River. The Latvian government evacuated once more, and the situation appeared grim.

However, on 11 November 1919, the Latvian Army—backed by Estonian armoured trains and the British and French navies—launched a counterattack. After fierce fighting, they expelled Bermondt's forces from Riga.

11 November is now celebrated as Lāčplēsis Day in Latvia, named after Latvia's mythical hero, the Bear Slayer. It is a memorial day for soldiers who fought for independence. That evening in 1919 marked a turning point. By early December, Bermondt's army had been pushed out of Latvia entirely.

The war persisted into early 1920, with Polish troops assisting Latvia in driving the Red Army out of the Latgale region. Ultimately, on 11 August 1920, Latvia and Soviet Russia signed the Rīga Peace Treaty.

In Article Two of that treaty, Soviet Russia recognised Latvia's independence as "inviolable for all future time”. Those were powerful words. Although, sadly, they would be broken twenty years later.

Nevertheless, Latvia had achieved victory. A nation with no army in November 1918 had fought off Soviet Russia, Germany, and monarchist forces. It was extraordinary.

On 26 January 1921, the Allied Powers officially recognised Latvia's independence de jure, by right. Later that year, Latvia joined the League of Nations. After more than two years of war, Latvia was finally, truly independent.

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Part three: the lost years - independence surrendered and reclaimed

Now, if Part two of Latvia's independence story is about triumph and sacrifice, then Part three is about loss, suffering, and ultimately, an extraordinary act of peaceful resistance.

Remember how I said that Latvia signed the Rīga Peace Treaty in 1920, in which Soviet Russia recognised Latvia's independence as "inviolable for all future time"? Well, twenty years later, that promise would be shattered.

To understand what happened next, you need to know about something called the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. On 23 August 1939, Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia signed a non-aggression treaty. To the outside world, it appeared to be a simple agreement between two powers not to fight each other. But it harboured a dark secret.

Hidden in secret protocols - protocols that the Soviet Union would not admit to for fifty years - the two totalitarian powers divided Eastern Europe like a prize. Poland was allocated to Germany. The Baltic states - Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania - were annexed by the Soviet Union.

Latvia's fate had been decided in Moscow, without a single Latvian voice present.

Initially, the Soviets moved cautiously. In October 1939, they insisted that Latvia sign a Mutual Assistance Treaty, effectively permitting Soviet troops to set up military bases on Latvian land. Latvia, unable to oppose and without any allies to support, signed.

But this was merely the opening move.

On 16 June 1940, the Soviet Union issued an ultimatum to Latvia. They accused Latvia of breaching the mutual assistance pact and demanded the formation of a pro-Soviet government. They gave Latvia less than twenty-four hours to respond.

President Kārlis Ulmanis - indeed, the same individual who led Latvia through the War of Independence and governed the nation for over twenty years - received a Soviet official named Andrey Vyshinsky. Vyshinsky presented him with a list of new cabinet members that had already been approved in Moscow. There was no negotiation; it was done.

On 17 June 1940, Soviet tanks advanced into Rīga. The Red Army took control of Latvia. And just like that, after barely twenty years of independence, Latvia lost its freedom.

What followed was one of the most sombre episodes in Latvian history.

The Soviets immediately launched their campaign of terror. Political prisoners were detained. Army officers were arrested and deported. Teachers, lawyers, merchants - anyone who might oppose Soviet rule - were targeted. On the night of 14 June 1941, just a year after the Soviet invasion and a week before Nazi Germany would itself invade the Soviet Union, the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, initiated mass deportations.

Over 15,000 Latvian civilians were packed into cattle cars and transported to Siberia. These weren't soldiers or political agitators. They were farmers, shopkeepers, intellectuals, priests. They consisted of families. Women, children, the elderly. Among the deported were 2,400 children under the age of ten.

The conditions were brutal. Many perished along the way. Those who survived faced decades of hard labour in the freezing wastelands of Siberia and Kazakhstan. Over 1,900 of those deported Latvians never returned. They died in Soviet camps.

And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, Nazi Germany invaded. In July 1941, Hitler turned against his former ally, and German troops occupied Latvia, replacing Soviet control with Nazi rule. Latvia had shifted from one oppressive regime to another.

After Germany's defeat in 1945, Soviet troops returned, and Latvia came under fifty years of Soviet rule.

During this lengthy occupation, Latvians faced systematic cultural repression. The Latvian language was limited. Latvian history was altered. The Soviet authorities intentionally settled hundreds of thousands of Russian-speaking workers in Latvia, altering the country's demographic makeup.

But something extraordinary occurred. The Soviet authorities might silence publications, control the press, and detain dissidents - but they could not silence Latvian song.

Latvia has a distinctive cultural tradition. Every five years, since 1873, Latvia hosts the Song and Dance Festival. It's a grand event where tens of thousands of Latvians come together to sing and dance traditional Latvian songs in their customary costumes. Please listen to my podcast episode, On Song and Dance.

During the Soviet occupation, this festival was permitted to continue, but only if the songs were considered appropriate - meaning pro-Soviet. Political songs were banned. The national anthem was forbidden. Patriotic songs faced censorship.

But Latvians found ways to circumvent this. Old songs were rediscovered, and new compositions were created that sounded innocent but contained layers of meaning about freedom and national identity. The Song Festival became more than just entertainment - it became an act of resistance.

In the late 1980s, as the Soviet Union started to collapse due to its contradictions, the Song Festival became the symbol of what was termed the "Singing Revolution". It wasn't violent. There were no armed uprisings. Instead, Latvians gathered in public spaces - at the Song Festival, at political rallies - and sang.

They sang about freedom. They sang about their land. They performed banned songs that had been prohibited for nearly fifty years.

And people listened. The movement expanded. The Latvian Popular Front was established in 1988. Hundreds of thousands attended rallies. But the most iconic moment occurred on 23 August 1989. This date was intentionally chosen as the fiftieth anniversary of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, the secret agreement that had determined Latvia's fate fifty years earlier.

That evening, around two million people from the three Baltic states - Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania - performed something never seen before. They linked hands to create a human chain over 670 kilometres long, connecting the three Baltic capitals.

It was known as the Baltic Way, and it was truly remarkable. Please listen to my podcast episode, 'On the Baltic Way.'

Imagine this: Two million people, spanning an entire region, holding hands for fifteen minutes in silent protest. They sang. They prayed. And they made a simple statement: We exist. We remember. We are free.

The Soviet authorities had threatened severe consequences. But when the moment arrived, they did not intervene. Perhaps because it was so peaceful. Perhaps because they realised that you cannot suppress an entire nation's longing for freedom.

The Baltic Way was effective. The world observed. And it became apparent that the Soviet Union could not maintain control of these nations through force.

Fast forward to 1990. In March of that year, elections were held for the Latvian Supreme Soviet. For the first time since 1940, they were genuinely democratic elections. And the people voted overwhelmingly for independence.

On 4 May 1990, the Latvian Supreme Soviet adopted a Declaration on the Restoration of Latvia's State Independence. They voted 138 to 1 in favour.

But this wasn't complete independence yet; it was merely a declaration of intent. A transitional period was put in place. Moscow was furious. President Gorbachev declared the declaration unconstitutional and void.

But Latvians didn't mind. They had their declaration, and they pressed on.

Over the following sixteen months, tensions increased. Soviet forces used various tactics - military intimidation, economic pressure, and propaganda. In January 1991, Soviet paratroopers attacked and killed dozens of civilians in Lithuania and Latvia. It seemed that the Soviet Union might try to regain control by force.

But then, on 19 August 1991, something occurred in Moscow that altered everything. Communist hardliners launched a coup d'état against Gorbachev. They attempted to seize power and reverse the reforms that were relaxing Soviet control.

The coup failed, and in the ensuing chaos, Latvia took its opportunity.

On 21 August 1991 - just two days after the failed coup - the Latvian Supreme Council adopted the Constitutional Law on the Statehood of the Republic of Latvia. This time, it was de facto independence. Full independence.

The transition period had ended. Latvia was once more a sovereign nation.

Within days, the Soviet Union itself began to disintegrate. By September, the Soviet authorities officially recognised Latvia's independence. And within years, Latvia had joined the European Union and NATO - finally, firmly anchored in the West, secure in its independence, never to be dominated by a foreign power again.

For fifty years, Latvians endured occupation, deportation, and cultural suppression. Yet, when the opportunity arose, they did not resort to violence. They sang. They held hands. They employed peaceful protest to reclaim what had been taken.

It's a profound lesson about the strength of unity, culture, and peaceful resistance.

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Part four: Independence Day today - traditions and ceremonies

So how do Latvians celebrate Independence Day today? Well, 18 November is a public holiday - schools close, most businesses shut, and the country comes together to mark the founding of their nation.

The day starts with a ceremony. At 10.30 in the morning, there is a solemn flower-laying ceremony at the Freedom Monument here in Rīga. I was there representing the British government, one year in the late 1990s.

The Freedom Monument, if you haven't seen it, is a 42-metre-tall monument made of granite, travertine, and copper, unveiled in 1935. At the top stands a woman holding three golden stars, representing Latvia's three historical regions: Courland, Vidzeme, and Latgale. The base bears the inscription "For Fatherland and Freedom."

The monument was funded entirely by donations from Latvian residents. It was built to honour soldiers who fell in the War of Independence. During the Soviet occupation, any gathering at the Freedom Monument was strictly forbidden. But by the end of the 1980s, independence rallies began to centre around it. Today, it is the focal point of the nation.

At the flower-laying ceremony, the President of Latvia lays a wreath, followed by government ministers and foreign dignitaries. Me included, that once. It's a solemn, respectful moment. Very Latvian in character.

At 1.30 pm, attention shifts to the 11th November Embankment along the Daugava River for the military parade. This isn't just a show of force - it's a celebration of sovereignty. The National Armed Forces march, together with units from the National Guard, police, border guards, and firefighters. Since Latvia joined NATO in 2004, allied forces have also participated.

The President reviews the parade. In recent years, that has been President Edgars Rinkēvičs. Thousands of people line the embankment to view it, often wrapped in blankets against the November cold, waving Latvian flags.

One lovely detail: on 18 November, public transport in Rīga is entirely free. It's the city's gift to residents on the nation's birthday.

As evening falls, the celebrations take on a different character. At 7 pm, a festive event occurs in Freedom Square. There are concerts featuring Latvian musicians such as folk singers, popular artists, and choirs. The atmosphere is warm despite the cold, with families and friends gathering together.

At 8 pm, the President delivers a speech to the nation. The national anthem is performed. Then comes something magical: a laser light show. The lights dance across the Freedom Monument and nearby buildings, repeating several times throughout the evening until 11 pm.

In recent years, Riga has revived the Staro Rīga Festival of Light, which takes place over several days around 18 November. Light installations transform buildings, parks, and squares throughout the city. Walking through Rīga becomes an artistic experience, with each display telling stories from Latvian history and culture.

But one of my favourite traditions is more simple and personal. On 18 November, as well as on Lāčplēsis Day on 11 November, Latvians light candles. Thousands of candles are placed at the Freedom Monument, Riga Castle, the Brothers' Cemetery where soldiers are buried, and in windows across the country. Even on the steps leading to my son’s school in Imanta!

In Jūrmala, Latvia's longest "Path of Light" lights up a 20-kilometre route from Priedaine to Ķemeri with over 12,000 candles. Families and children gather to add their candles to the path. It's stunning and profoundly moving.

This tradition of lighting candles has deep roots. It started during the Soviet occupation in 1988, when Latvians would gather at the Rīga Castle wall on 11 November to light candles in defiance of the ban on commemoration. Today, it is a way of honouring those who fought for Latvia's freedom - both past and present.

Many Latvians also wear red and white ribbons pinned to their coats throughout November - the colours of the Latvian flag. It's a simple but visible expression of national pride.

What strikes me about Latvia's Independence Day celebrations is their blend of solemnity and joy. There is deep respect for those who sacrificed their lives, combined with a genuine celebration of what they achieved. It is not triumphalist - Latvia is not a large or powerful nation - but it is proud. And rightfully so.

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So, there you have it - the story of Latvia's Independence Day.

From that single photograph of the proclamation on 18 November 1918, in a theatre that still stands today, to the desperate fight for survival that followed, through the dark period of Soviet occupation, up to the vibrant celebrations that fill Rīga each November now.

What fascinates me as an Englishman living here is how recent this history is. Latvians have had to fight for that independence not once, but twice - first in 1918-1920, and then again in the late 1980s and early 1990s when they peacefully restored it after Soviet occupation.

That may be why 18 November is marked with such sentiment. It's not ancient history - it's living memory. Many Latvians have grandparents or great-grandparents who experienced these events.

If you're in Latvia on 18 November, I encourage you to experience it. Visit the Freedom Monument. Watch the parade. Light a candle. Feel the weight of history, but also the joy of the present.

Because Latvia's Independence Day isn't just about the past; it's about a nation that refused to disappear, fought against overwhelming odds, and continues to thrive today. That’s a present-day struggle, if one looks not too far away to Ukraine. Slava Ukraini!

[Illustration by An Englishman in Latvia. Music by Pavel Bekirov from Pixabay]