Russian and Latvian Schools

I shall begin, perhaps, with the fact that I come from an environment where the convergence of Russians and Latvians had already occurred in the second generation (i.e. those born after 1940) and, setting aside a few excesses, they lived in peace and harmony. The environment is colourful, however. Located in the east of Latvia, almost at the border, which means that historically it could be called a town on a trade route. In 1900 more than half of the town's permanent residents were Jewish, which, it must be said, was by no means unusual for a settlement in such a geographical location.

Corrections were introduced by the arrival of the Soviet army and the Second World War. Many, particularly men, were drawn into the war and did not return, while in their place came settlers from Russia, filling positions in the rapidly growing factories and para-military enterprises, introducing into public life the alcohol consumption and aggression characteristic of Russians. Unbelievably, the widely spread demagoguery of that time in Russia - about how bad everything was in Latvia and that the Russians were the ones who would come and sort everything out. They came and sorted it out. Built factories, cultivated grain fields. Never mind that 100% of the goods produced by the factories were taken away to Russia, and the cultivated fields, the collective farm horses and machinery were nothing other than property expropriated from the peasants. Be that as it may, the first Soviet generation (those born before 1940) grew old, and for the next generation this pain was no longer so deep. Furthermore, there was not the slightest hope that anything would change.

During the second generation a rapid urbanisation took place, as large Latgalian families, deprived of their land, machinery, and partly also their possessions, had no choice but to head to the towns and more densely populated areas. Possibly these are also the consequences of progress, as around that time transport developed, communications improved, and education became more accessible. Fertile ground also emerged for social parasites who, without particular work or investment, could live no worse than working people. This was neither comprehensible nor acceptable to the average Latgalian. Although, lured by temptation, even some of those were drawn in.

Interesting changes also touched education. Basic education became compulsory. Schools were built, teachers were sought. A peculiar system was created whereby after graduating from the pedagogical faculty one was required to work in the profession for a certain period, with the school and the populated area of the country determined by the educational institution based on demand in a specific region. In this way a very colourful intelligentsia arrived at schools (which continued to call itself such even during Soviet years) - Latvians, Russians, Belarusians, and people from any other republic of the USSR. The importance of education was understood by officials, teachers, and pupils' parents alike, and they acted and participated accordingly. Although classes were conducted in two languages, physically there was one school.

I am from the third generation. And in broad strokes the school system remained the same as for the previous generation. There were very colourful personalities among the teachers, as well as not particularly flattering incidents. For example, the deputy headmistress (зауч), the pioneer leader, and the teachers of Russian, woodwork, and drawing understood nothing of the Latvian language. If this was beneficial for the acquisition of Russian, then in woodwork one often had not the faintest idea what needed to be done and with which tool. To hope that such incomprehension would be received with stoic calm by the teacher would be naive, which meant one could appreciate both the decibel level of the teacher's voice and the richness of their unregulated vocabulary. The Russian language teacher, however, was wonderful. Galina Ignatyevna, if I remember correctly - from Bulgaria. Although I never heard her speak Latvian, her measure of patience was immeasurable, let alone her feeling for the Russian language and its richness. It was probably at this time that I began to sense the soul of the Russian language (not that flat little Russian which sounds in Latvia).

The division and animosity between Latvians and Russians began, in my view, for two reasons:

1. The incomers had no countryside and for the entire summer were forced either to swelter in the city or go to camps. I tried camp life for a couple of days too. I did not like it.
2. The collapse of the USSR was approaching. This meant that many Russians understood that the demagoguery that had sounded many years earlier was turning into empty words. Secondly, with the lifting of the censorship on freedom of speech, talk of the pre-war period of independence returned. The old people (especially those who had experienced the severity of Father Stalin) for a long time still did not allow themselves to share memories, but those who were less affected by it were not stingy in discussing at whose expense the collective farms were built and what growth the arrival of the Russians brought to Latvia, for as is well known, with the decline of the USSR, the collective farms and the great factories also declined.

In essence, it was insecurity and fear about the future that caused different sections of the population to act differently. For the Latvian - the sense that at last he would be able to harness the horse and plough the field (the understanding of "one's own land", as it later turned out, differed between townspeople and country people ;) ). For the Russian - that he could no longer be an element of a great and powerful nation. And possibly the racketeering and criminality experienced in the turbulent times led to reflection on the peculiarities of the Slavic mentality and the dawning realisation that returning to Russia would be the last of the possible scenarios.

To the Latvian, the Russian began to look like an appendix that, through various coincidences, had grown and swelled and taken from him everything that was close and dear. To the Russian - that the wicked Latvians had taken their dream from them. There is also a third circumstance - the economic one, which for both sides, looking westward, prompted reflection that things would never again be as they were, and to see the terrible reality that capitalism brings with it.

Everything set out above concerns the motivation behind why ideas about division still smoulder. From the point of view of globalisation, any kind of division (along national or linguistic lines) is bad and unproductive.

Why, then, is the idea of schools in which instruction takes place in Russian bad?

Firstly, there is already a shortage of staff. As is well known, in the higher education institutions that train teachers, instruction is in Latvian. All instruction in Russian rests solely on older teachers who will sooner or later age. From a pedagogical point of view, the situation could be remedied by attracting teachers from Russia to teach subjects in which the teacher's personal qualities are important - Russian language and literature, geography. Possibly also mathematics, physics, chemistry. Whereas such "impersonal" subjects as craft, sport, and computer science can be taught by anyone and in any language. What has been set out above, however, is not possible, because education is funded by the state and it would be more than strange to attract foreign specialists if the state is technically capable of providing them itself. The level of remuneration is also not so enticing that any foreign (i.e. Russian) specialist would rush here.

Secondly, education is an important component of identity formation. Fulfilling the desires of certain economic intriguers would in practice create conditions for forming a generation with a very unclear identity. That is, Russian ideals would be presented in an indirectly interpreted form, just as Latvian values would be. A teacher who by nationality is Latvian (entry in the passport), speaks Russian at home, received higher education in Latvian, and teaches in Russian, with their possibly hostile attitude towards the existing system and order, will not be able to qualitatively fulfil pedagogical functions. Because personal hatred and dissatisfaction will in one way or another manifest itself as intolerance even when teaching exact subjects.

Incidentally, a completely different picture emerges in Ukrainian, Polish, and Jewish schools in Riga.

Yes, in Soviet times instruction could take place in two languages. However, two things must be understood:

1. The USSR was a union of many countries, not one country. And such a system could provide instruction in the language of the core nation by attracting specialists from that nation.
2. A teacher is, first and foremost, a personality and only then - a lecturer. If a teacher is not acceptable to a pupil as a personality, their extensive knowledge and language skills will fade.
3. Basic education must be oriented towards the state, not against it.