Just beneath the surface of the seemingly normal rhythms of life in the countries that border Russia, the reality of what its giant neighbor is doing to Ukraine is never far away.
And it’s not just because Russia’s border is close, or because Russia’s president has suggested that, just as Moscow had the right to take control of Ukraine, it might be justified to take back the Baltic states – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – that passed. decades under Soviet rule.
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More than anything, the anxiety stems from the knowledge, the memory, that Moscow has sent its tanks into its neighbors’ territories so many times over the years.
Now, the chapters they thought had been safely relegated to the pages of history have taken on the ominous tone of reality.
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky said this bluntly on Monday, when he thanked Denmark for pledging to supply Ukraine with F-16 fighter jets, which the Netherlands has also agreed to give Ukraine.
“All of Russia’s neighbors are under threat,” he said, “if Ukraine does not prevail.” Zelensky will find few who disagree among these neighbors.
“If [o presidente russo, Vladimir] Putin wins in Ukraine, they will come here,” Raivis, who works as a driver in Riga, the capital, told me in Latvia but asked me not to use his full name.
He remembers being on the barricades as a teenager, joining the fight for independence three decades ago. “Now Putin wants to make the Soviet Union again,” he said.
It is a widely held belief. That is why Estonia’s Prime Minister Kaja Kallas, one of the most eloquent advocates of the need to support Ukraine, says that Kiev is Estonia’s own front line. “Ukraine”, she argues, “is fighting for all of us”.
Through the winding cobbled streets of ancient Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, the fairytale gothic landscape suddenly turns shocking on Pikk Tanav (or “Long Street” in English).
Here, the exterior of the Russian embassy has become a showcase for the contempt Estonians feel for their former master.
Homemade posters demand that Russia “stop killing children” in a long series of messages, photographs of the carnage in Ukraine, bloodstained hands and grotesque images of Putin.
Scorn is also on display in Riga, where officials have named the previously unnamed street on which Russia’s majestic Art Nouveau embassy sits: “Ukraine Independence Street.”
When looking out the window, Russian diplomats have a direct view of a sea of Ukrainian flags, along with signs calling Russia a “terrorist state,” among other choice words.
Latvia’s bravado is made possible by the security of NATO membership. And the Western alliance’s vast response to Russia’s invasion – vast arms flows and unequivocal diplomatic support to Ukraine – allowed for that sense of normalcy, however superficial.
“Seeing all the support Ukraine has received from NATO has calmed us down from an immediate threat,” Janis Melnikovs, Latvian director of the Catholic broadcaster Radio Maria, told me over coffee on the outskirts of Riga’s old town, as musicians nearby rehearsed for the city’s 822nd anniversary celebrations that night.
But even now, says Melnikovs, with domestic economic worries weighing on minds after a year and a half of war and with many, especially the elderly, suffering from the high levels of inflation that some associate with support for Ukraine and a growing military budget. , there is still passionate support for Ukrainians here.
The sentiment is visible across the region, where yellow and blue Ukrainian flags fly from building to building.
It’s also visible in Finland, with its almost 1,300 km border with Russia – where the Kremlin also launched an invasion from 1939 to 1940, and ended up with a piece of territory.
After decades of seeking safety in non-alignment, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine convinced Helsinki that neutrality offered no protection, so Finland also joined NATO in April.
Some 18 months after Russian forces tried to take Kiev, signs at Helsinki airport still offer “Information for People Fleeing Ukraine”.
And high above the central railway station the familiar flag of Ukraine still flies.
But it is in the tiny Baltic States that the trauma of Stalin’s incursions and subsequent Kremlin subjugation lives on.
During Soviet times, the top floor of Tallinn’s Hotel Viru was off-limits to everyone except KGB agents who used it to spy on foreign guests and local officials.
Fleeing in 1991, the agents left behind surveillance equipment, transmitters and microphones hidden in ashtrays and lamps.
For years, Margit Raud has been guiding tours of offices frozen in time. Until recently, she said, everyone saw them as a historical curiosity, a hoax. Now, she says, since Russia invaded Ukraine, everything has taken on a new seriousness.
Like most Baltic families, Margit has stories. Her grandmother was arrested and deported by the Stalinist regime for twelve years for a trivial violation; her mother was raised without her. Years later, Margit joined the revolution to liberate Estonia.
Latvia also has its own dark memory of the KGB’s sinister hand. The so-called Corner House at 61 Brivibas Street in Riga might seem like one more in Riga’s spectacular collection of ornate buildings.
But in sharp contrast to its beauty, this is a repository of repression and brutality. It is here that those suspected of “counterrevolutionary activity” – which could include writing poetry or failing to report alleged counterrevolutionary activities of their neighbors, co-workers, friends and relatives – were taken for interrogation, torture and even execution.
As in Estonia, Russia’s attack on Ukraine in the 21st century brought echoes of Russia’s subjugation of Latvia in the 20th century.
The Balts take little comfort in getting their predictions right, and are offering much more than moral support and waving flags.
For years, Baltic leaders tried to warn their NATO allies that Russia posed a threat.
As early as 2007, Estonia became one of the first countries targeted by a massive cyberattack. Authorities there removed a 1947 monument honoring the Soviet Army as liberators of Tallinn in World War II.
The decision sparked protests from Russian speakers, and before long Estonia’s internet was mysteriously paralyzed.
Government offices, banks, newspapers all shut down, some for weeks, after an attack from Russia-based IP addresses.
It was a preview of a new kind of warfare. No definitive culprit has been found, but while Russia denies involvement, subsequent Kremlin hacking incidents have undermined those denials.
Many here saw the crisis as a warning from the Kremlin. And when Russian forces entered the Republic of Georgia in 2008, and later invaded and annexed the Crimean Peninsula to Ukraine in 2014, alarm bells were sounded. But not everyone heeded his warnings.
The top three contributors to Ukraine’s defense since Russia invaded, as a percentage of GDP, are Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania.
Proportionately, Estonia’s aid is four times that of the US. In addition, they are drastically increasing their own defense spending.
As the war drags on, the cost is taking its toll. There were tensions with the large Russian-speaking minority.
Language is a major issue in former Soviet territories, as the Soviets deliberately relocated hundreds of thousands of Russian speakers to dilute national identities, and Putin exploited tensions, using them to gain influence and justify military interventions.
The Baltic has also become home to tens of thousands of Ukrainian refugees, who are nervously watching developments at home – and in the US.
Galina Domenikovska, 53, sells almonds at a street stall in Tallinn. When I told her I came from the US, she looked up at the sky and clasped her hands together.
“Best wonderful country,” she told me in broken English. She typed a message on her phone and translated it, thanking Americans for supporting Ukraine. Then she typed another to President Joe Biden, wishing him health and a long life.
When I asked her about former President Donald Trump, she winced and told me that she feared he would return to office.
Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine reawakened old fears and breathed new life into a commitment to self-determination in a region that thought it had already won those battles and banished the ghosts of history.
Genuine normalcy, a permanent sense of security, Russia’s neighbors have discovered, will have to wait until peace returns to a secure Ukraine.
Source: CNN Brasil
Bruce Belcher is a seasoned author with over 5 years of experience in world news. He writes for online news websites and provides in-depth analysis on the world stock market. Bruce is known for his insightful perspectives and commitment to keeping the public informed.
