A Soviet tank loomed over us for 15 years. We don’t want it back.

Ērgļi, Latvia, 24th September 2024
By Katie Roth

Click on a gallery image to open in lightbox. There is a full-screen button in the top left corner of the lightbox.

Visitors approaching the Latvian village of Ergli from the east might ponder the purpose of the dilapidated concrete plinth on top of the hill. The tourist office would tell them it was once topped by a Soviet T-34 tank, a memorial to “the Soviet soldiers who liberated Ergli from the German fascist invaders” in 1944. The story of victory in World War II was fundamental to Soviet identity.

On 25th September 1975, the entire village, bearing flags and wreaths, paraded up the hill for the unveiling ceremony.

Next to the tank, a plaque made of repurposed German gravestones showed the Soviet version of how the battle unfolded. The plaque now stands outside the Ergli Brothers Cemetery, where the remains of 8064 fallen soldiers are buried, including Latvians and Ukrainians drafted into the Red Army.

In 1990, as Latvia moved towards independence, leaders of the Popular Front in Ergli, ignoring threats from Red Army officers, pulled the tank off its perch. In 1991 the Soviet Union ceased to exist.

For Russians, annual Victory Day celebrations became a post-Soviet glue, a cohesive tale of heroism as communism collapsed in chaos. Putin has magnified this story into what Guardian correspondent Shaun Walker describes as Russia’s new religion. As the Baltics and Ukraine have turned westwards, his propaganda convinces Russians their security depends on aggressive “military operations” in neighbouring countries.

Eagle’s Wings director, Diks Bortnikovs, who grew up near Ergli, was fascinated by the tank as a child. Aged 6, scheduled for a tonsillectomy, he escaped from the Ergli hospital with one objective ― to climb on the tank. Back then, he remembers it as a sacred, awe-inspiring place. “Country people were patriotic Soviet citizens, participants in the pride and glory of victory,” he told me. “We didn’t feel oppressed. Probably city intellectuals or deportees felt like that but we had no access to dissenting material.” Today, though, Diks thinks it is good the tank is gone, saying, “We shouldn’t glorify Russian military achievements or accept their propaganda.”

65-year-old Normunds has no fond memories of the crumbling memorial. He hates how locals have dubbed it “Tank Hill”.  “It has a Latvian name ― Kalvi Hill!” he exclaimed. His great-grandparents acquired a homestead there in 1927, 50 metres beyond the future site of the monument.

On August 19th 1944, Normunds’ aunt recorded in her diary the arrival of the first Russian tanks in the battle for Ergli. On 20th the family went to shelter in their neighbors’ basement and later that day their house was bombed. The Russians shot their animals, stole their hay harvest and used the remains of their buildings to construct bunkers. The family stayed in the basement for five days, caught in the crossfire at the battlefront. On August 29th, the Red Army breached the German line and continued their offensive to “liberate” Riga, having razed Ergli to the ground.

Normunds bitterly recalls how in the 1970s, the Soviet state farm director ordered the foundation of his family home to be bulldozed in a land development project, consigning it to a “cemetery of houses”. He grew up in the Soviet system, joining the Young Communist League so he could study at technical school. Asked if he believed in communist doctrine he replied ruefully, “No, it was just a mask, but I still had a wedding photo taken by the tank like a proper communist hero.”

Now, his eyes fill with tears as he watches the Ukrainian TV channel, Freedom. “When the war started, it brought it all up again, how they took our property and destroyed our buildings. History is repeating itself.” He hopes NATO will continue to help Ukraine, where Russian atrocities are again widespread.

Egils Helmanis, mayor of the Latvian city of Ogre, recently visited Ergli to share a film about his experiences in the Ukrainian city of Chernihiv. Since the war began, he has taken aid to local council leaders and front-line soldiers. The testimony of Bogdan, a Ukrainian soldier tortured whilst a prisoner of war, was so horrific that Mr Helmanis paused the film to ask the unexpected contingent of young people from the Latvian Cadet Corps if they could bear it.

Bogdan, filmed after arriving in Latvia for rehabilitation, had spent “ten months in hell”, before returning to Ukraine in a prisoner swap. The Russian guards “ …  beat me all over my body, with sticks, rubber batons and pipes. They gave me electric shocks. We had to stand for 17 hours at a time. They didn’t let us sleep at night. For them, it was entertainment,” said Bogdan. Afterwards, Mr Helmanis said, “We support Ukraine with our money, but Ukrainians pay with their lives. They are fighting for us too. If Putin wins there, we will be next.”

The Latvian Cadet Corps seemed resolved to defend their country from such horror, both in combat and by studying STEM subjects to develop new military technologies. However, the Russian Army attacks both military and civilian targets, as first-hand stories of families’ experiences in occupied Ukraine demonstrate. First, 67-year-old Antonina from Mariupol, now living in Latvia.

Shortly before 5 a.m. on February 24th 2022, she and her family fell out of their beds and took shelter in the basement as shells began exploding just 100 yards from their house. On the 25th, her grandson, Denis, celebrated his 11th birthday. He said, “Grandma, I hope we won’t celebrate your birthday (on March 5th) in the basement.” They finally emerged 69 days later.

Antonina, her husband, son, daughter-in-law, grandson, and friend, Anya, sheltered together without gas, electricity or water. They had stores of potatoes and onions, and chickens in the yard they dashed out to feed between 2 and 4 a.m. when the shelling subsided. So, unlike others, they didn’t starve, although Antonina lost 30 lbs. People died in houses hit by shells all around them, including the family next door, trapped under concrete slabs. When it was safe, Antonina’s husband, son and neighbors retrieved as many bodies as possible and buried them; their cat guarded the graves.

The smell of decaying bodies contributed to their decision to leave occupied Mariupol. However, the safe corridors to Ukraine were no longer open. They had to go through occupied Donetsk and Russia, meaning they twice had to submit to ‘filtration’, or security screening. Antonina buried her pro-Ukrainian phone and passport covers under the dog’s kennel, knowing the security forces would be looking for evidence of anti-Russian sentiment.

During filtration, Antonina witnessed blindfolded men tied to chairs awaiting interrogation. She and her family made it through in one piece though, swallowing their Ukrainian patriotism and giving “correct” answers to questionnaires designed to identify threats to Russia. “Black is white and white is black,” said Antonina, as she lamented how her friends in Mariupol are succumbing to Russian propaganda. “They think I must be having an awful time here and encourage me to return, but my life is good. I am blessed.”

The second story is Dmitri and Svetlana’s (names changed and locations omitted to protect relatives still in occupied Ukraine). BBI associate Dan Roth met this kind, hardworking couple in April and was deeply moved by their story.

Residents of occupied Ukraine are required to exchange their passports for Russian ones. Refusal invites suspicion and restricts access to essentials. Dmitri and Svetlana, who foster two young boys, were given three days to comply. Bureaucrats then shuttled them between departments, meaning they didn’t get the passports in time.

Masked soldiers came to their apartment at 4 a.m., shooting machine guns in the air and punching Dmitri in the face. They stormed in to search the house but Svetlana pleaded with them not to scare the boys. Instead, they issued a deportation order to leave within 72 hours. The family packed up and left, forbidden to return to “Russia” for 30 years.

Although here in Ergli we want the war to end, we know that “peace” on Mr Putin’s terms means these stories will continue. Property confiscated, people imprisoned and tortured, families traumatised and displaced so he can purify the population with loyalists. The rest of Ukraine and other sovereign countries he considers his will be permanently threatened. We need to know the West has our backs and Russian tanks will not loom over us once again.

For Latvia, that means assurance NATO will defend us if Putin crosses our border. For Ukraine, unwavering support as they resist his atrocities.