Rezekne,
Latvia, Frets About Trump NATO Stance, War With Russia
REZEKNE,
Latvia — Elina Zujane's hometown is no stranger to war. Now she fears President
Donald Trump may spark another.
"Of
course we worry about it. Come on, it's our country," says the 21-year-old
marketing student while having lunch in her college's gray-walled cafeteria.
"If something does go wrong, we are really near to Russia so we will be
the first ones to find out."
“The idea of
something happening with Russia does worry me because it could happen at any
time … Three seconds and they would be here.”
Zujane lives
in Rezekne, a Latvian town of around 30,000 people that is located just 23
miles from the Russian border.
On the
shifting frontier between East and West, Rezekne has served as history's
battleground for at least 1,000 years. It has been destroyed and rebuilt by
everyone from German knights in the 13th century to the warring Nazis and
Russians who flattened it during World War II.
“The idea of something happening with Russia does worry me because it could happen at any time … Three seconds and they would be here.”
Once part of
the Soviet Union, Latvia gained membership of both NATO and the European Union
since the turn of the century.
These
alliances convinced many Latvians that their old masters in Moscow would never
dare cross the border again.
That was
until Trump started to give mixed signals on his commitment to NATO, calling it
"obsolete" and suggesting he would not protect smaller allies such as
Latvia unless they upped their military spending.
Some people
in Rezekne worry that Trump's rhetoric, as well as his warming relationship
with Russian President Vladimir Putin, could embolden the Kremlin to try to
interfere or even invade.
This could
have grave consequences, not just for the local population but for the future
of NATO and perhaps even the concept of West itself.
"I
think Trump doesn't care about us," says 20-year-old law student Dagnija
Volodjko, who, like her friend Zujane, also studies at the Rezekne Higher
Education Institution. "The idea of something happening with Russia does
worry me because it could happen at any time … It would be so easy. Three
seconds and they would be here."
Volodjko and
Zujane are among dozens of local residents interviewed by NBC News during a
recent visit to the town.
Image: Elina
Zujane and Dagnija Volodjko
Elina Zujane
[left] and Dagnija Volodjko sit in the cafeteria of the Rezekne Higher
Education
Many Western
analysts say these two students are not wrong in their assessment of the
Russian threat to the Baltic states, which also include neighboring Estonia and
Lithuania.
They worry
that after its intervention in Ukraine, Russia could next turn its attention to
the Baltics.
This
international focus often means the region is often talked about like a chess
piece, something to be used as geopolitical bargaining chip between the White
House and the Kremlin. In fact, the Baltics have a combined population of more
than 6 million — men, women and children directly affected by Trump's next move
toward his NATO allies.
This is the
standoff from Rezekne's perspective.
'We Are Like
a Coin, We Have Two Sides'
Taking the
train from the Latvian capital of Riga, visitors pass through three hours of
snow-encrusted forests before reaching this remote outpost.
Woodland and
lakes surround this patchwork of mostly Cold War-era buildings, which appear to
have sprung up at different stages from the rubble of the 1940s.
Image:
Rezekne's Zeimulis youth center
Rezekne's
Zeimulis youth center.
Dirty
snow-slush cakes the roads, yet to be salted after the day's flurry. And like
the rest of the country, whose highest mountain wouldn't eclipse the spire of
New York's Chrysler Building, Rezekne's white-blanketed terrain is relatively
flat and unremarkable.
It's a town
of complex histories, demographics and perhaps even allegiances. The population
is divided evenly between Latvians and Russians — people who define their
ethnicity as Russian and speak the Russian language.
This Russian
community is far from rare in the Baltics, with many people sent here during
Soviet times to work in the region's factories.
But it's not
just the residents; the town itself appears to have one foot in the
Western-facing present and another in its Soviet past.
A drive down
its main street showcases an impressive college, a modernist concert hall, a
youth center, and a recently landscaped park along the Rezekne River — all paid
for with EU money. But a detour reveals crater-sized potholes and rusting
factories, empty since local manufacturing collapsed with the communist era.
Image:
Former petroleum facility
A former
petroleum facility on the outskirts of Rezekne, Latvia.
It's still
inextricably linked to its old overseer. Latvia is a major trading partner with
Russia, and Rezekne's economy has been hurt by U.S. sanctions slapped on Moscow
over its involvement in Ukraine.
The town has
an unemployment rate of more than 16 percent and the average wage is just 460
euros a month (around $495).
"We are
like a coin, we have two sides," explains Vjaceslavs Dubovskis, a
33-year-old businessman who co-owns a local telecoms company. "Our
relationship with Russia has potential. But there is also an element of
threat."
Image:
Vjaceslavs Dubovskis
Vjaceslavs
Dubovskis
While many
people here claim that Latvians and Russians get along, other residents
disagree. They say there is an unmistakable tension, usually manifesting itself
in drunken fights at parties or eye-rolling at hearing the Russian language in
shops.
Most locals
seem to agree that the Latvian government isn't helping the situation.
After the
fall of the Soviet Union, the newly independent nation said people had to pass
a Latvian language and history test to gain citizenship. This means that even
today some 250,000 people, mostly Russian-speakers, are still classed as
"non-citizens," unable to vote or get certain public-sector jobs.
In Rezekne's
Dzetta market, a dense, indoor labyrinth of cheap, imported clothes, this
policy is a sore point.
"All of
us working here are Russians and it's a problem," says Svetlana Filsa, a
61-year-old woman who runs a handbag stall. "Because of these rules, it's
getting harder. Not all of us speak Latvian so we are worried about work."
And it's not
just the Russians who feel alienated. Many people in this part of Latvia
identify themselves first and foremost as "Latgalians," originating
from Latvia's historical region of Latgale (pronounced
"Lat-guh-luh").
“We are
ready for war. We know that some day it will come to Latvia”
Around
100,000 people speak Latgalian, but the Latvian government only classes it as a
regional dialect. This infuriates some Latgalian-speakers, who say it's a
language in its own right. They complain it has been marginalized by
politicians in the more affluent capital.
"I feel
angry about the treatment of Latgalian, of course," says Arnis
Slobozanins, a 32-year-old local musician. "We've been betrayed and I
think this betrayal is dangerous."
Slobozanins
believes the government's treatment of Russians and Latgalians provides the
perfect excuse for Moscow to meddle. Like in Ukraine, Putin could intervene on
the grounds that he is protecting a threatened Russian diaspora.
"Some
pro-Russian people might use the mistreatment of Latgale as a hook, you know?
As an excuse," he says, adding that "if Russia came and tried to
invade Latgale I think there would be people who would welcome them."
He adds:
"We can't really rely on NATO, we can't really rely on anybody else, just
ourselves."
Although he
is Latgalian, 19-year-old student Aris Sperga is one of those who would welcome
more influence from Russia.
Image: Aris
Sperga
Aris Sperga
smokes a cigarette with his cousin outside a nightclub in Rezekne.
"We are
ready for war. We know that some day it will come to Latvia and it will mean a
battleground for us," Sperga says. He claims that the Latvian government
"really doesn't care about us" and for that reason he would rather
"support Russia than NATO."
In any case,
he says, "Trump will never protect us."
'Russia Is
Not an Aggressor'
Not everyone
in Rezekne thinks conflict will return to their community.
All of the
local Russians who spoke with NBC News say that while they look back fondly at
their Soviet childhood, they think an intervention by Moscow is unlikely.
Though many support Putin, they deny the allegation that they would act as a
fifth column and welcome an invasion.
Viktor
Solovjov is a 39-year-old auto-parts salesman who speaks with NBC News in his
old-fashioned office block. After a terrifyingly bumpy elevator ride up to the
fourth floor, he cheerfully insists everyone drink a large shot of vodka
followed by a chunk of rye bread. It's just past noon.
Image:
Viktor Solovjov
Viktor
Solovjov
"Russia
is a very friendly and peaceful nation but it has an unfair reputation. Russia
is not an aggressor," he says. "Russia is not interested in making
aggression for the Baltic states."
He also
describes Trump as "a great president" — far from the only Russian in
Rezekne to speak positively about America's new leader.
Ludmila, a
50-year-old Russian who runs a market stall, agrees Russia wouldn't be
interested in invading.
"Russia
doesn't need us because we are a small country," she says, declining to
give her last name. "Russia has it all and they don't need Estonia, Latvia
and Lithuania so I'm not afraid at all."
Her stall is
one of several dozen that form a daily market in Rezekne's old town. It's all
corrugated metal sheds and cardboard boxes laid out in the dirty snow, their
proprietors selling everything from balls of cotton wool and fake leather boots
to illegal Russian cigarettes and Soviet memorabilia.
Image: A
local butcher in Rezekne's market
A local
butcher in Rezekne's market.
"If
there is a conflict, it won't be because of Trump or Putin, it will be because
of the relationships in the country," says 36-year-old butcher Vladimir,
who's half Russian and half Latvian but doesn't want to give his last name.
"Someone
could ignite these ethnic groups, the Latvians and Russians," he adds,
before swinging a large ax above his head and bringing it down on a pig's foot
resting on a giant wooden block. But he doesn't think this "someone"
will be the Russian government.
Unsurprisingly,
perhaps, Rezekne Mayor Aleksandrs Bartasevics agrees.
"We
feel that we are very safe here and we are not threatened," says
Bartasevics, who is Russian. He chooses to focus on Trump's comments that have
been more reassuring to NATO. "There were some rhetorical things that he
was speaking about but actually he hasn't changed at all," the mayor says.
It's not
just Russians who are calm about their close proximity to the border.
Image: Maria
Godtevq and Tatiana Makarova
Maria
Godtevq, a 73-year-old retired nurse, walks her dog with her friend, Tatiana
Makarova (right), on Rezekne's main street.
"I like
Trump and I hope he will be peaceful with Russia," says Tatiana Makarova,
a 73-year-old retired engineer and ethnic Latvian. "I don't think Putin is
interested in the Baltics. He doesn't need it. We are just neighbors."
Dubovskis,
the local businessman, says that "of course, it's a possible
scenario" that Russia might interfere — but he only puts the likelihood at
around 1 percent.
These people
aren't persuaded by the counter-argument that Putin might have all sorts of
reasons for wanting to expand his sphere of influence.
The Russian
president's popularity spiked following his annexation of Crimea and has stayed
above 80 percent ever since. (By comparison, Trump's approval rating was 44
percent after about one month in office — a record low for a new president.)
Many Russians seem to like their leader's self-styled image as a man who can
restore their diminished country to its former glory.
“We’ve lived
next to Russia for 800 years and know what they’re like only too well”
Even if
Putin did invade, others in Rezekne still have faith in NATO's protection of
their country.
"Who
knows if war could happen again, but I hope not," says Gunars Strods, 51,
an associate professor at Rezekne Higher Education Institution. "We still
trust in NATO's common security system. We still trust it."
Back at the
market, one Latvian is unconvinced.
"Putin
is not good. He's a killer, and he's our neighbor 20 miles away," says
47-year-old Andris Sondors, who sells memorabilia including badges of Soviet
leader Vladimir Lenin. "Of course we're nervous but we've lived next to
Russia for 800 years and know what they're like only too well. If they invade I
will go and live in the forest."
“We’ve
lived next to Russia for 800 years and know what they’re like only too well”
Image:
Andris Sondors
Andris
Sondors
'This
Storyline Is Disturbingly Familiar'
What worries
people like Sondors is Russia's past.
In 2014,
Moscow annexed Crimea and allegedly started to support separatists fighting a
civil war in eastern Ukraine. Putin's stated reason for intervening in Crimea
was that he wanted to protect the region's ethnic Russians from mistreatment by
Ukraine's West-leaning government.
Many worry
that Putin could make the same argument for the Baltics, where ethnic-Russians
make up around a quarter of the population in Latvia and Estonia and around 6
percent in Lithuania.
Personnel
involved in Russia's covert presence in Crimea became known as "little
green men" — a phrase everyone in Rezekne seems familiar with.
"Like
Ukraine, Estonia and Latvia are home to sizable ethnic Russian populations that
have been, at best, unevenly integrated," according to a report last year
by the RAND Corporation, a think tank based in Santa Monica, California.
"This storyline is disturbingly familiar."
Rezekne has
found itself on a fluid frontier.
This fear
has seen NATO send more troops to the Baltic-Russian front line than at any
point since the Cold War. U.S. officials say their number is dwarfed by a
similar build up on the Russian side — and unsurprisingly both sides blame each
other for the escalation.
But Russia
would not necessarily have to launch a full-scale war.
Other
NATO-watchers predict that Putin could launch a "hybrid war" —
implanting pro-Moscow activists to foment local ethnic tensions, and deploying
personnel in unmarked military fatigues, whose connection to Russia could be
denied by the Kremlin.
This would
be a stern test for NATO: retaliate against Putin's aggression and risk a
nuclear conflict over a country many Americans have never heard of, or do
nothing and undermine the founding principles of the alliance, leaving other
nations at risk.
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Arguably,
Rezekne is already a victim of Moscow's subtle tactics.
Many
Russians here exclusively watch channels beamed in from Moscow, ignoring the
lower-quality Latvian stations.
"A lot
of people who live here watch TV that comes from Russia," says Strods, the
associate professor. "It's propaganda and all part of the hybrid
war."
Image: Rasma
Zaharenko at Rezekne's dog shelter
Rasma
Zaharenko at Rezekne's dog shelter.
"There's
this huge propaganda from Russia that says, 'Everything is great our country,'
but anyone who watches other types of TV knows it's only OK in the big cities
like Moscow," adds Rasma Zaharenko, a 24-year-old project manager for a
local IT company who also volunteers at a local animal rescue center.
She's right
in that Latvia has a higher GDP per-capita than its larger neighbor. But the
information war may have had more profound consequences.
"Some
people in the really remote countryside think the president of Russia is also
the president of Latvia — really," says Guntis Rasims, a 32-year-old local
politician and a project manager with several local non-governmental
organizations. "They live in this media so much that they don't even know
who is the president of Latvia."
The Scars of
History
If Rezekne
were sold out as part of some geopolitical deal, it wouldn't be the first time.
In the days
before World War II, the Nazis and Soviets signed a pact of non-aggression in
which they agreed to carve up Europe into two spheres of influence. They
decided Latvia would be under Soviet control.
But the
Nazis quickly went back on this, invading the Soviet Union and seizing control
of Rezekne. This eastern offensive famously failed, and when the Red Army
pushed back they bombed Rezekne into the dust, destroying some 70 percent of
its buildings.
Like much of
the region, the period also saw the annihilation of Rezekne's Jewish
population.
That legacy
of destruction lives on today.
The town has
rebuilt, but much of its residential architecture is a mishmash of crumbling
Cold War-era housing blocks, dilapidated cabins, and scruffy brick homes. The
main street is modernizing, but the mayor says that this face-lift has only
come in the past decade.
Image:
Rezekne's Zanzibar nightclub
Rezekne's
Zanzibar nightclub.
Their
history still raw, many Latvians are looking to the White House for some
reassurance.
"I
think Trump wants everything to be great in America but he doesn't care about
Europe and he doesn't care about us," says Justine Kitija Smeltere, a
20-year-old bartender at a local nightclub called "Zanzibar" —
perhaps an ironic nod to Latvia's often freezing weather.
"I'm
really afraid of Russian interference," she adds. "It's very close to
the border and I don't want to be the first participant of World War III.
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