Statues Topple as Europe Purges Communist Monuments

A sculpture with the inscription "Marx, Engels, Lenin" on the facade of the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw, Poland, Sunday, Aug. 28, 2022. (AP)
A sculpture with the inscription "Marx, Engels, Lenin" on the facade of the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw, Poland, Sunday, Aug. 28, 2022. (AP)
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Statues Topple as Europe Purges Communist Monuments

A sculpture with the inscription "Marx, Engels, Lenin" on the facade of the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw, Poland, Sunday, Aug. 28, 2022. (AP)
A sculpture with the inscription "Marx, Engels, Lenin" on the facade of the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw, Poland, Sunday, Aug. 28, 2022. (AP)

In the Latvian capital of Riga, an obelisk that soared high above a park to commemorate the Soviet Army’s capture of that nation in 1944 was toppled last week. It crashed into a pond to the cheers of those watching.

Days earlier in Estonia, a replica of a Soviet tank with the communist red star was removed by cranes and trucked away to a museum — one of up to 400 destined for removal. And in Poland, Lithuania and Czechia, monuments to the Red Army have been coming down for months, a belated purge of what many see as symbols of past oppression.

Russia’s war on Ukraine has given a renewed push to topple the last remaining Soviet monuments in nations that regained their sovereignty from Moscow more than three decades ago. These countries now belong to NATO and the European Union and are staunch supporters of Ukraine.

At the end of the communist era, when Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia regained their independence from the Soviet Union and Poland and its neighbors rejected Moscow-backed communism, those nations began renaming streets and purging the most hated symbols, including statues of Soviet founder Vladimir Lenin and other communist bosses. Many of these relics are now housed in museums.

In Warsaw, a monument was toppled quickly in 1989 to Felix Dzerzhinsky, a Polish aristocrat who organized the Soviet secret police after the 1917 Bolshevik revolution. Under his rule, the Cheka, the forerunner of the KGB, was responsible for a wave of terror.

But memorials to Soviet soldiers or their role in defeating Nazi Germany remained in many places, met with indifference or respect for the ordinary soldiers who died fighting Adolf Hitler's brutal regime.

The war in Ukraine, however, has triggered memories of how some of those soldiers also raped local women and carried out other war crimes.

Krista Sarv, the research director for the Estonian History Museum, said after statues of Lenin and other “big bosses” were toppled in the 1990s, people could largely ignore the other memorials. But views changed suddenly after the Russian invasion of Ukraine on Feb. 24, and now the memorials “scream loudly about occupation and annexation.”

Karol Nawrocki, the head of Poland's Institute of National Remembrance which is overseeing the removal of the monuments, says “before our eyes, history has become a living experience.”

“Dressed in the uniforms of the Russian Federation, with Lenin and Stalin in their heads and hearts, Russian soldiers ‘liberate’ Ukraine by murdering women, children and killing soldiers,” Nawrocki said.

“Let it be clear: There is no place in the Polish public space for any commemoration of the totalitarian communist regime and its people,” he added.

A 2016 decommunization law had already called for a purge of communist symbols and names, but some municipalities did not have the money for that, so the institute has stepped in to help. Since February, the Polish institute has identified 60 monuments for removal — and has toppled more than 20.

In Lithuania, a number of remaining Soviet memorials have been removed since the spring to little protest. But in Latvia and Estonia, which have sizeable Russian minorities, the removals have stirred greater emotions, with local Russians — and the Russian government — seeing it as an offense against their war heroes.

Dmitry Prokopenko, a Russian-speaking Latvian who opposed removing the Riga obelisk, said his grandparents fought and a great-grandfather died in the fight “for freedom against the Nazis.” To him, the memorial honored their sacrifice.

“Latvia is a land where Latvians and Russians live together,” he said. “I think that one part of the state, one part of the country, should respect also the rights of the other part.”

The Russian Foreign Ministry on Tuesday released a lengthy statement denouncing the demolition of Soviet monuments in the Baltic countries as “barbaric” and threatening Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia with retaliatory measures.

In apparent slap against Poland, Belarus last week reportedly leveled a memorial containing the graves of Polish wartime soldiers.

Polish officials declared that action barbaric, given that Poland has a policy of not disturbing the graves of Soviet soldiers. Rafal Leskiewicz, a historian with the Polish remembrance institute, explained “as Christians, we treat graves as holy ground. It doesn't matter who is in the graves.”

In some cases locals support keeping Red Army memorials because of its role in defeating Nazi Germany. Some fear the erasure of historical memory, or see an affront to their own ancestors who fought alongside the Soviets.

In Poland's northern city of Gdansk, there's been a heated debate about a Soviet T-34 tank on Victory Avenue, and the city has decided not to remove it. The tank commander was a Polish lieutenant, and Polish soldiers played a key role in freeing the former German city of Danzig from the Nazis.

In an open letter, two descendants of wartime Polish soldiers expressed their indignation at the removal of monuments.

They recalled that Polish soldiers died fighting with the Soviets to free Poland from the Nazis and that the Soviet victory resulted in Poland receiving a swath of defeated Germany's territory and cities including Gdansk and Wroclaw. They also noted it was the Red Army that liberated Auschwitz, Majdanek and many other Nazi death camps.

“Had it not been for the victory of Polish and Soviet soldiers in May 1945, Poland might not have existed at all,” said the letter by magazine editor Pawel Dybicz and historian August Grabski.

But many other Poles note that World War II broke out after Soviet Union and Nazi Germany agreed secretly in 1939 to carve up Poland and the Baltic states. Only after Germany betrayed and invaded the Soviet Union did the Red Army begin to fight the Germans.

Even before Russia's war in Ukraine, the monuments have been a source of tensions.

In 2007, the relocation of a World War II monument of a Red Army soldier in Tallinn, Estonia, sparked days of rioting.

In 2013, an artist put up a statue depicting a Soviet soldier raping a pregnant woman next to the Gdansk tank. The unauthorized sculpture was quickly removed. After Russia invaded Ukraine, a different artist covered the tank with a large hand-sewn Ukrainian flag to protest what he called the “tyranny” of Russian President Vladimir Putin.

In March, as Poland was figuring out a timetable for taking down Soviet monuments, a resident of the northern city of Koszalin took matters into his own hands. He drove an excavator onto a cemetery and toppled the statue of a Soviet soldier being hugged by a girl.

Nawrocki says the official removal of Soviet monuments in Poland is progressing at “a very fast pace, but it is a matter that should have been settled long ago.”



Syrians Integrated in Germany Face Uncertainty Over Return

Former German Chancellor Angela Merkel and Anas Modamani, one of Germany’s most well-known Syrian refugees (Getty Images)
Former German Chancellor Angela Merkel and Anas Modamani, one of Germany’s most well-known Syrian refugees (Getty Images)
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Syrians Integrated in Germany Face Uncertainty Over Return

Former German Chancellor Angela Merkel and Anas Modamani, one of Germany’s most well-known Syrian refugees (Getty Images)
Former German Chancellor Angela Merkel and Anas Modamani, one of Germany’s most well-known Syrian refugees (Getty Images)

Twelve years after his famous selfie with then-German Chancellor Angela Merkel, Anas Modamani, one of Germany’s most well-known Syrian refugees, appears at ease in his adopted homeland.

At the time, Modamani had no idea who Merkel was when he snapped the photo during her visit to the asylum center where he was staying. Today, however, he feels as deeply connected to Germany as he does to his homeland, Syria.

Modamani, like many Syrians who fled to Germany after the 2011 uprising, faces a tough decision: stay in Germany or return to Syria.

With hopes of a post-Assad era, Modamani, originally from Daraya near Damascus, plans to visit his family in Syria and help rebuild their home.

“I want to split my time between Germany and Syria and start projects in both countries,” he told Asharq Al-Awsat.

“Damascus is the most beautiful city on earth, but I love Germany, and Berlin is my second home.”

Modamani has fully embraced life in Germany, learning the language, gaining citizenship, joining the workforce, and building a relationship with Anna, a Ukrainian woman.

His German passport makes it easier to plan trips back to Syria without worrying about losing his residency or legal status in Germany.

Modamani is among nearly 260,000 Syrian refugees who have obtained German citizenship. However, more than 700,000 Syrians in Germany remain on asylum or temporary protection permits—status that could be revoked if conditions in Syria improve.

The shifting situation in Damascus has left Syrian refugees and German authorities in limbo. Decisions on 47,000 migration applications from Syrians have been paused as officials wait for more clarity.

Germany’s asylum policies were based on fears of war and persecution. With those fears easing after the fall of Assad, the legal basis for granting protection may no longer exist.

The uncertainty has sparked political debate. Some politicians, including Social Democrats in the ruling government, have called for changes to asylum rules.

Interior Minister Nancy Faeser suggested keeping refugees who are integrated or employed while deporting others.

Talk of deporting Syrian refugees in Germany seems tied to the upcoming February 23 elections.

While temporary residency permits can be revoked, Syria must first be declared “safe and stable” by the Foreign Ministry—a process that could take years.

Even with delays in Germany labeling Syria “safe,” most Syrian refugees show little interest in returning. Before Assad’s fall, 94% said they wanted to stay, according to the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees.

The longer refugees live in Germany, the stronger their ties become. Many arrived over five years ago, with some having spent a decade in the country.

Siamand Osman, a Syrian Kurdish refugee from Qamishli, has been in Germany for 11 years. He learned the language, gained citizenship, and built a life, even though most of his family remains in Syria. For now, he has no plans to go back.

Osman told Asharq Al-Awsat that the situation in Kurdish areas of Syria is still unstable.

“I want to return—my family is there—but I hope all sides in Syria can agree and bring peace to our region,” he said.

Osman’s biggest fear is the return of war.

“Imagine leaving everything behind, selling my belongings, and going back to Syria, only to have the war start again and force me to flee once more,” he says. Despite this, he is determined to return when the situation improves.

Economic instability is another key factor contributing to Syrians’ reluctance to return home. Alaa Muhrez, who arrived in Germany in 2015, explained that the economic situation in Syria plays a significant role in her decision.

She told Asharq Al-Awsat that she “rebuilt her life from scratch.”

After learning the language and training in her profession as an accountant, Muhrez is now working in her field and has gained German citizenship.

Despite her strong optimism for Syria’s future, Muhrez, originally from Homs, remains cautious about the situation there and the country’s potential trajectory in the coming years.

She fears leaving her job and home in Berlin, only to return to Syria and struggle to find suitable employment.

For Syrian families, the decision to stay or return is even more difficult. Many arrived with children who have forgotten Arabic and spent years learning German.

Anas Fahd, from Sweida, came to Germany almost three years ago with his family and teenage son. He still holds a temporary protection permit and works as an electrical engineer.

“It’s too early to decide about returning,” Fahd told Asharq Al-Awsat. His son has been learning German for a year and is doing well in school in Berlin. “It would be hard to send him back to Syria, where he’d have to waste another year relearning Arabic.”

Even newcomers like Basel Hussein, who arrived in Berlin on the day Assad fell, have no plans to go back. Hussein, who paid over 13,000 euros to be smuggled into Germany, says he won’t return now.

“The situation is still unclear with new decisions every day,” Hussein said. “I’d rather start fresh in Germany than return to an uncertain future in Syria.”

It’s not only Syrians who are hesitant to return—many Germans worry about losing a key part of the workforce, especially those filling important roles.

Over 5,000 Syrian doctors work in German hospitals, making them the largest group of foreign doctors. Many others work in sectors with labor shortages, like nursing, construction, and hospitality.

It takes an average of seven years for Syrians to enter the labor market as they learn the language and validate their qualifications. Syrians are filling vital roles, but unemployment remains high, particularly for women.

Unions representing doctors and workers have warned against calls for quick deportations, fearing it could harm the labor market.

Manfred Lucha, health minister in Baden-Württemberg, where many Syrian doctors work, warned that if they leave, it would create a huge gap in the healthcare sector. The state’s hospital association also said losing Syrian healthcare workers would be a significant blow.