A group of children are playing football in the park. Riga pays little heed to a monumental powder magazine standing behind his target: a 79-metre obelisk flanked by two statues. One statue honors a Soviet-era symbol often referred to as the Motherland, while the other commemorates soldiers of the Red Army. Erected in 1985, it marked the Soviet victory over Nazi Germany in World War II. Since Latvia won its independence in 1991, this monument has been at the center of ongoing controversy and occasional vandalism. Nationalists in Latvia label it a shameful reminder of the Soviet past, calling it a symbol of the Soviet invasion. With a new law passed last month aimed at removing hundreds of monuments tied to the Soviet era, the monument’s future is suddenly uncertain.
cracked cement marks the Riga monument as a fault line in the Baltic region’s politics. The war in Ukraine has revived tensions, and the occupation backed by Moscow is seen by many as continuing in different ways. In Latvia, about a quarter of the population is ethnic Russian, with a share similar to neighboring Estonia. In Lithuania the figure is around six percent. A sentiment to dismantle the monument is seen by some as a misstep that could widen gaps between communities, while others argue that symbolically preserving ties between groups is essential. “Dismantling the monument would deepen divisions,” says Oleg Tiunchik, a 62-year-old pharmaceutical director who often rides his bike for exercise. “Leaders are overreacting.”
The removal of monuments has been accompanied by other measures that have complicated public opinion. Ethnic Russians in Latvia—still a sizable minority—face policies touching on media, education, and language use. Pushkin’s language and the status of Russian in Latvian schools have become contentious issues. In Riga, Russian remains a common lingua franca in daily life and many families with mixed origins navigate a delicate balance. Political parties campaigning for Russian interests remain active, while some observers warn that a hardline approach could provoke ethnic tensions rather than foster consensus. Political scientist Sergey Kurk of Riga Stradins University notes that the rhetoric around national identity has grown sharper as the Ukraine conflict unfolds, and he suggests language policy is a key to broader social cohesion.
The presence of Russians in Latvia goes back centuries, including the Soviet era when large numbers were relocated to work in factories and to staff military facilities near new Western borders. Many eventually naturalized after independence by meeting Latvian language and culture requirements introduced after 1940, when the first Soviet invasion began. Some chose not to seek citizenship, either because the exams felt humiliating or because they preferred to retain Russian passports and cultural ties.
ethnic conflict
The Latvian establishment often characterizes a portion of the Russian community as a potential fifth column. They point to a number of Russian-speaking residents—some with ties to military or security services—who retained strong loyalties to Moscow after independence. A national alliance member notes that many arrived with little intent to learn the local language and culture and argues that such attitudes have persisted. The government is considering measures intended to encourage more people to relocate or assimilate, framing them as necessary steps for national unity. Recent surveys show that only a portion of Latvian Russians publicly condemned the invasion of Ukraine, a result some observers interpret as a signal of loyalty rather than a stance on international events. For analysts like Kurk, the data reflects broader anxieties about social integration rather than wholehearted support for any foreign leadership.
What remains clear is the atmosphere of tension that surrounds Latvia’s social fabric. One activist, Karayev, suggests that the country may be drifting toward a future where questions of national belonging and external influence dominate public discourse. He hints at possibilities of shifts in policy depending on how relations with Russia evolve in the coming years. The debate is not merely about history; it is about who belongs, how language and culture are taught, and what obligations the state has to all its residents. The consequences of these conversations will influence Latvia’s social cohesion as much as any external event, shaping a narrative about identity, citizenship, and community in the Baltic region.