Money grows in the head, and that is where it returns. When exchanging money, you do not ask why the ratio of a thousand Kazakhstani tenge to the lats is exactly 4.5300, do you? Yet, by questioning this very proportion, the Komsomol member Kargins began his path towards a villa in Jūrmala. Do you have any idea why your flat cost 20 times less ten years ago than it does now? The difference in numbers has grown in the head, and those transformers of reality, the magicians who know how to extract it from people's heads in a materialized form, are populating the list of Latvian millionaires compiled by Lato Lapsa, where the main occupation of the newcomers this year is precisely real estate transactions. Joseph Brodsky called money the most metaphysical of things. But one must be very rich, very poor, or otherwise uninvolved in the mundane earning of money to be able to think of it in such general categories. From this point of view, the rich are also interesting – what does a person do once they have broken out of the chain of causality dictated by the need for survival? And what would you do if you suddenly became very rich? I, most likely, would do nothing, in the literal and figurative sense. And that is what most often happens. Raimonds Gerkens, stepping into a pub in Old Riga accompanied by his bodyguard, orders French fries with ketchup. Gatis Saknītis cannot shake off the expressions from his time in prison. Valentīns Kokalis installs surveillance cameras around his property in order to go mushroom picking. To the great surprise of his young wife, friends continue to address Haims Kogans as Fima. The Origin of Species “If men are from Mars and women are from Venus, where then did the rich come from?” Richard Conniff asks in his feuilleton-style field study “The History of the Rich from a Natural Science Perspective.” My answer is: they are raised in nurseries specifically created for this purpose. Such as in the annual list of millionaires compiled by Lato Lapsa and Kristīne Jančevska in Latvia. This list is more than just counting money in someone else's pocket; it is supplemented by “exclusive” interviews with the new entrants to the list, which are very willingly reprinted by the press of all shades, thereby spinning these new millionaires into the media loop. In this year's “Latvian Millionaires Unmasked,” for example, the “person of the year” was “Eko Investors” owner Viesturs Tamužs, who earned his millions from waste collection. A million in this case is the number beyond which simple waste collection becomes an experience worthy of attention and an interview. Media interest in the rich continues to be rooted in the assumption they themselves have fostered—that these people are different from the rest. Or would the phrase “the rich also cry” otherwise require proof in the length of a TV series? When the magazine “Forbes” began publishing its currently authoritative list of the world's richest people, it was believed that the business environment would now become even more ruthless so that the rich could climb even one line higher on this list of winners. In Latvia, a rather opposite trend is currently observed: a well-known story about the head of the “Zvaigzne ABC” publishing house, Vija Kilbloka, who, upon being included in the Latvian millionaires' list for the first time, wrote a letter to Lato Lapsa: “I categorically object to my name being mentioned in such a list. I live in the most ordinary small flat in the most ordinary apartment block and cannot afford personal security for myself or my children. I think that in your calculations you have not taken into account that “Zvaigzne ABC” is a company with many owners and the market value of the company does not mean our personal wealth and the lifestyle of millionaires.” By the time the next millionaires' list was created, this discrepancy between human feelings and financial indicators had already been corrected, and Vija Kilbloka gave interviews to the media about building a house in Mežaparks that befits the status of a millionaire. In Latvia, the only limp comment on social stratification could be found in a study published by the Ventspils University College on the socio-economic trajectory of the Latvian state so far. Unfortunately, the anger directed at the rich by economist Oļģerts Krastiņš did not exceed the attitude of an average pensioner: it was better in Soviet times. In the Russian-published magazine “Sociological Questions,” a field study on the perception of wealth and poverty in Russia by sociologists Mikhail Gorshkov and Natalia Tikhonova was published in 2004. It was conducted by asking respondents to formulate their attitude towards various proverbs: poverty is no vice, money cannot buy happiness, you cannot buy brains with wealth, and others. Zoologist Richard Conniff, for the study of the habits and lifestyle of the rich, offers to study them in the style of “National Geography” articles—explaining his observations with the postulates of Darwin's theory of evolution. According to evolutionary theory, survival is determined by the ability to adapt. Even rich people, although they do not differ genetically and physically from the rest, can gradually form a special subspecies by living in isolation in special conditions for a long time and cultivating certain qualities in themselves. The desire to dominate, to leave descendants, to mark territory, to accumulate savings – these are patterns that ensure survival in the animal world, which Austrian zoologist Konrad Lorenz has already tried to adapt to human society. Researchers of society began to write about the rich as a group in the second half of the 19th century. Thorstein Veblen's (1857–1929) book “The Theory of the Leisure Class” shows that a good amount of time in the lives of the rich is occupied by the need to demonstrate their wealth to others, and the leisure lifestyle is part of this showing off. The main difference between Latvia and the descriptions by researchers of millionaires in other countries could rather be the fact that in Latvia there are no millionaires across several generations. Even though a small portion of Latvian millionaires are owners of denationalized property, the list of Latvian millionaires is “new money,” as opposed to the “old money” of older European countries or the USA, where the list of the rich forms a quite isolated, stable society for several generations already. For Latvia's rich people, the status of a millionaire is more of a surprise than a lifestyle. Despite this, many of the Latvian millionaires, having started their businesses only fifteen years ago, have by now fully settled into the role, moving from active work to displaying their wealth, in accordance with Veblen's notions of the “leisure class” lifestyle – house, car, hunting, fishing, travel, yacht. Wealth that one boasts about. The suit that creates the banker “Suits – an entrepreneur's minimum combat kit is a couple of dozen. Paul Smith, Verri, Costume National, D&G dominate. Zegna – generally the main company for men's business attire. For leisure, D&G jeans, G-Star, all sorts of Levis – for old farts. For hunting, fishing – breeches; a paradox: this symbol of the soldier could only be ordered from a tailor in Italy. In Riga, there are no patterns left even for old masters.” Valērijs Kargins' memoirs “Money and People” are sometimes delightful, sometimes uncomfortable to read: such a personal yet cynically direct revelation of one's life views is imaginable in a private conversation between father and son. However, Kargins deemed it necessary to let in as many people into his reflections dedicated to his absent sons as the print run of the book allows. Because these are not simply a flood of words caused by the loneliness of a life-weary banker, but a part of this person's path towards millions, a new version of the gospel, so to speak. Paradoxically, Raimonds Gerkens, whose wealth is based on the conclusion made in the right time and place that equally good things can be bought for ten times less money in non-brand shops, boasts of the fact that “my wardrobe takes up about sixty square meters; it is terribly difficult to choose what to wear. Usually, it is a suit with a handkerchief matching it in the breast pocket.” “Finally, I am dressed. I am choosing a watch for today,” Kargins describes his morning dressing ritual. “I have more than six hundred of them: I have been collecting wristwatches for about fifteen years, especially those made in Russia.” Conniff writes that wearing clothes of a certain brand is rather an inconspicuous way for people in one elite club to recognize each other: “A woman in an “exclusive” club, for example, can wear a brown sweater of a very ordinary appearance. And only those who belong to her circle will notice that it is an exclusive Yves St. Laurent model, which costs more than, say, her Chanel coat.” A watch, “which shows who you are,” also entails security, that is – a certain lifestyle. Just as Raimonds Gerkens' little ring and his Chopard watch with diamonds, while the still actively managing Irena Pulkinena says she does not wear her diamonds because she is too lazy to go to the bank vault for them every time. After some semifinal of Eurovision, in the TV3 supplement “Bez Tabu,” pop musicians were asked without any hesitation – how many lats are you wearing? What surprised me most was that a large number of people remember quite precisely how much their clothing cost. “Where is the real Rundāle Palace?” A real Latvian millionaire begins with a house – Vija Kilbloka is no exception in this regard. A house is marking territory, showing off one's taste and worldview. A house is family property. A house is also a good capital investment. For exiled millionaires, such as the Vītols family, founders of the former “Māra Bank,” the construction of their private house in Ķīpsala meant returning to their homeland. The Vītols' workspace at 75 Lāčplēša Street is also part of family history – Vilis Vītols' current office is located in the same house and room where his grandfather's office once was. The heir to the Berg family, Justs Karlson, recognized this year as the second richest person in Latvia (with properties worth 78 million) in the list compiled by Lato Lapsa, at least in a 1994 interview, says he is aware that financially he will not earn anything from his property during his lifetime: “The only thing that is important to me is the family's historical things, and the only thing I protect tremendously is the connection with the family's past.” The recently built hotel in the Berga Bazārs was created more as an accent to what the Bergs built and a dream “to one day gather all my family members in Latvia and accommodate them in the new hotel – so that the building would be filled from top to bottom.” “Lately, I am often overcome by reflections: where is the real Rundāle Palace – in my house or in Rundāle,” says entrepreneur Raimonds Gerkens about his recently built “Villa Velga” in Langstiņi. Photographs of the house in the magazine “Ieva” show portraits of the villa's owners – painted by analogy with the best examples of palace portraits – in festive attire, full-length, against a dark background. Swimming pool, seemingly antique things, heavy leather furniture – undoubtedly symbols of wealth. “In our youth, Velga (Gerkens' wife – A.B.) and I used to rent a shed from landlords here in the summers. [..] That place is 500 meters from here, and it also reminds me of what I have achieved in life.” There is an interesting paradox in the choice of a home location for people whose choice is not limited by price: it is important that their house be located in a historically saturated place, but after buying the property, everything is done to isolate themselves from the historical residents of the place and from the history itself. As an example, one could mention the “Villa Marta” in Jūrmala belonging to “Parex” bank co-owners Valērijs Krasovickis and Ņina Kondratjeva: the owners gladly propagate the legend that the house belonged to some distant relative of the Swedish king, but in the project by Meinhard von Gerkan, the historical building is squeezed between a guest house, a tennis hall, and residential houses. As a more extreme case, one could mention the former architectural monument in Pārdaugava, covered with lions, belonging to the former boss of “Latvijas Dzelzceļš,” Zorgevics. Oil trader Haims Kogans is passionate about the personality of Napoleon (“He was a genius!”) and collects Napoleonic-era items and documents. Lion heads and eagle claws also dominate the specially ordered furniture belonging to Valērijs Belokoņs. In turn, Gerkens' Rolls-Royce, Lincoln, or Bentley, as well as suits with a matching handkerchief, remind one of the English aristocrat style. For the renaming of mansions into villas, the love of the new rich for classicist details and pseudo-antiquity, one can find an explanation – in these cases, family history is invented anew. A sort of conquest of history is taking place, by occupying properties that once belonged to distant relatives of royal houses, imitating aristocratic taste, or through financial indulgence – moving from cigarettes for 60 santīmi a pack to exclusive Davidoff Aniversario No. 1 Dominikas cigars for 575 dollars a box – reminding oneself of what one has achieved. Everyone collects paintings “I started collecting paintings in the office of “Ventspils nafta.” In the Russian times, it was built as a warehouse building, crooked and bent. [..] Many oil companies circulated in the office, and we became uncomfortable sitting in such premises. We did a renovation, and we needed to put something on the walls. With Igors Skoks, we went to the “Daugava” gallery. I didn't even want to go; I wasn't interested in paintings then and couldn't imagine that paintings that were reproduced in books and about which they taught in school could be bought. I thought it was like in a museum...” – this year in his property “Ezernieki” in Ēdole parish, Valentīns Kokalis intends to open a painting gallery. The most extensive collection of Latvian paintings, over a thousand items, belongs to entrepreneur Ainārs Gulbis. “It was started in the early 90s as an “SWH-Rīga” project (exhibited once for public viewing in “Rīgas galerija” under this name), but the majority of the artworks were acquired over the last three years. [..] It seems Gulbis does not tend to chase after any specific painting, preferring bulk purchases,” writes Daiga Rudzāte in the “Exclusive” supplement of the magazine “Klubs.” Paintings are a way of investing money, so it is no wonder that the majority prefer the works of old masters, whose value in monetary terms has been guaranteed by time. Jūlijs Feders' paintings currently cost about 80,000 euros, Padegs and Jānis Valters can be had for 50,000, while Rozentāls and Purvītis cost about 40,000 euros. “We have never counted how many paintings we have. In any case, all walls are full. I like seascapes the best,” says Haims Kogans about the works of old masters in the interior of his Baltezers house. For this same reason, in turbulent times, painting collections tend to change owners – like the once-extensive collection of Raitis Gailis, a shareholder of the bankrupt “Depozītu banka.” Ainārs Gulbis belongs to that minority of Latvian painting collectors who are interested in the works of living artists. “Gulbis' interest in art, it seems, arose in the late 70s, when an exhibition of Maija Tabaka's paintings took place in Jūrmala. [..] It seems Miervaldis Polis and Līga Purmale also significantly influenced his understanding of art,” says Kārlis Leiškalns, Ainārs Gulbis' assistant and intermediary in purchasing paintings. Judging by interviews, the cream of contemporary Latvian artists that collectors are interested in are: Maija Tabaka, Boriss Bērziņš, Miervaldis Polis, Līga Purmale, Dace Lielā. Paintings are also commissioned. The story about the group photo of the first Atmoda-era workers, which millionaire Andris Grūtups commissioned from Miervaldis Polis and for which the entire cream of the Dailes Theatre had been hired to pose, has become hallowed. Collecting paintings is also a peculiar way of communication between two worlds – art and money – in which, it seems, the artists themselves gladly participate. The role of Miervaldis Polis in the creation of Ainārs Gulbis' collection has already been mentioned. Even Raimonds Gerkens, who owns several truly good Dace Lielā paintings, calls the artist his friend. Creating private galleries can also be called a kind of communication with the outside world – one is already in the thoughts of the aforementioned Valentīns Kokalis and could be created in the future by Ainārs Gulbis as well. A weapon with a golden cock “Rich people always think that what makes them special is talent, intelligence, style, physical gifts, and by no means their money,” writes Richard Conniff, and – alas! – it is precisely in this style that questions are usually posed to financially influential people by the press. And the answers do not lag behind. A portion of Latvian millionaires are passionate hunters and fishermen. Valērijs Kargins, “following a doctor's recommendation to spend more time in fresh air, began hunting in 1995. He owns quite expensive weapons – Blazer and Holland&Holland.” By the way, the weapon with a golden cock in the style of James Bond is not a legend, but Valērijs Kargins' special order. “The biggest trophy – a bear shot in Kamchatka at a time when the banker was spending 100,000 dollars a year on this pleasure. The bear's height – 2.5 meters, weight – half a ton. Kargins shot at the bear four times, then the cartridges ran out, but the half-dead bear was charging at the hunter. Fortunately, the beast collapsed, having not walked even five meters. Legends circulate that Kargins once shot a forest ranger's cow,” writes “ŽZL.” Rumor also has it that this very “poodle” of Valērijs Kargins inspired a similar episode in the film “Peculiarities of the National Hunt.” As one of the advantages of a millionaire who has left active entrepreneurship, Raimonds Gerkens emphasizes the opportunity to go fishing at his leisure “at my personal ponds in Saldus, or also to Finland, Russia, Africa, Spain, to any other place in the world.” As far as one can understand from the further text of the interview, Gerkens also goes fishing in his recently purchased Rolls-Royce. As it turns out, there even exists a Latvian Safari Club in Latvia, whose regular clients are Valērijs Barjers, owner of the Riga Passenger Terminal, and former “Ave Lat” co-owner Ēriks Masteiko. Pēteris Šmidre and Aivars Lembergs have also hunted in South Africa. “In Latvia, only those who own a closed territory can hunt all year round. I have one, but I do not use this privilege. On what principle do I choose a new hunting place? I go where I am invited. Three years ago, my friend Valērijs Barjers invited me and my son Maks to hunt on his farm in Lithuania,” writes Valērijs Kargins. Kargins' memoirs and interviews in the press with millionaire-hunters only allow one to guess how intensive life parallel to the local society flows on hunting estates, even right here in Latvia. For example, Kargins' name is linked to the hunting estate “Ērgļa ligzda,” Pētera Šmidre's – with the deer garden “Krastkalni,” Ēriks Masteiko sets up a peasant farm on his land in the Daugavpils district, Jurijs Šabašovs, co-owner of “Mūsu investīciju fonds,” “Letora,” and other companies, is the owner of the 235 ha hunting estate “Kakti,” while the hunting estate meant for the members of the “Driāda” club is maintained by Gunta Cunska, deputy director general of the “Gerkens&Co” company. Money as the release of energy Sometimes one wonders why the pleasures of the rich are so similar all over the world – villas, yachts, safari, golf. In this article, the field of transport means has not yet been addressed – a cutter for Valērijs Kargins, an airplane for Einars Repše, a hot air balloon for Viesturs Koziols, driving jeeps in off-road terrain, which is a passion for Valdis Kalnozols, for example. It is difficult to find texts in magazines written by the rich themselves; for the most part, these are compilations of phrases – retellings and transcripts. One of the publications in which millionaires tell about important things themselves is the “Exclusive” supplement of the magazine “Klubs.” Ēriks Masteiko, former “Ave Lat,” currently – co-owner of “Hanzas maiznīcas,” talking about his passion for regattas, begins a conversation about how meeting the world's powerful and princes of European royal houses is quite an everyday affair in this sport: “The most important thing in such competitions is the opportunity for communication – we find those who are similar. In reality, people do things to find those who are similar to themselves. Nothing else is as important.” The article is actually about something else – about how he managed to fully restore a yacht with authentic parts – a “free class pearl “Pirett”” found in Estonia. “You can buy almost everything with money, yet projects of this kind mean not only that you can afford it, but also that you know what you want, you can, and you know how to achieve it. These combinations, in reality, cannot be bought, which is why they are highly valued in the world.” Both the painting commissioned by Grūtups with Atmoda-era workers and the wooden houses in Ķīpsala restored by the Gailis family are such “combinations” that are often possible only thanks to very rich commissioners. However, in life, it is very difficult to draw a line between a connoisseur of cigars (cognac, art, architecture) and one whose spending is driven by the thrill of spending itself. The French philosopher Georges Bataille (1897–1962) even wrote an entire book about the thrill of spending – “The Accursed Share.” In it, he sees the real sense of economic processes not in production and accumulation, not even in consumption, but in waste. In his revelation, Bataille suggests viewing the economy as a continuation of nature. Nature has given every plant, every living being a little more energy than is necessary for survival, and one of the secrets of preserving life is the cyclical wasting of energy – therefore, civilization, in its invention – the economy – should also be guided by similar wisdom. In the history of civilization so far, wars have been the expression of the waste of economic savings. In Bataille's view, the true kingdom of happiness will begin when humanity learns to waste its savings in some other way. Latvia's 600 millionaires, as counted by Lato Lapsa in the list published this year, make up 0.026% of the total 2,290,765 population of Latvia. It is possible that this fraction of a percent, living across the lifestyle, value scale, and needs of the remaining 99.974% of the population, fulfills some cosmic mission. The association of Latvian, like the world's rich, ages only in emergency cases, every word of theirs sounds like advice to those left behind, they have the most beautiful wives, the largest houses, they move without restrictions in the air and water, their childhood dreams come true with unprecedented scale. However, even in this joint image drawn by the rich and diligently maintained by the media, beautiful stories happen. Do you know how the day of multi-millionaire Justs Karlson, heir to the Berg properties (I remind you, No. 2 in the Latvian millionaires list updated this year by Lato Lapsa), begins? Partner of the law firm “Caroll, Burdick&McDonough,” Justs Karlson gets up at five every morning to go to the office sixteen miles away in San Francisco. His relaxation is sailing a yacht and family trips on mountain bikes. If work allows, he indulges in his “dessert” on Friday mornings – “to go to work by bicycle, crossing the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge and riding through all of San Francisco.” Imagine – in all this hustle and bustle of uniform leather furniture, villas, walks through Old Riga accompanied by security, jeeps, and Rolls-Royces – across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, on a bicycle rides the Latvian Justs N. Karlson, free as a bird, with 78 million in his pocket! Wealth that one is ashamed of Mission and duty It is surprising that in “women's” and “men's” press interviews with millionaires, even the most flattering ones, there is an underlying hatred, a liking to reproduce already ready-made clichés of preconceived notions about the rich. Even the supposedly scientific study by Richard Conniff cited in this article is an expression of the same hatred, in which the joy of revenge can be found in the very premise – comparing the rich to animals, which in our anthropocentric worldview is in itself considered humiliating. At the same time, it is denied that those who have come to wealth – whatever their morality or education may be – are nevertheless thinking people, thus the notion of the rich as a class turns out to be quite limited. Safari and yachts are wonderful ways to spend time, but even the rich themselves are looking for some way back to communicate with the remaining 99.974% of humanity, and these attempts at dialogue can sometimes be most surprising. Jurijs Tazmins, studying the history of patronage in Russia, refers to the Moscow merchant (kupets) history researcher Burishkin, citing his conclusion that “the entrepreneur's own attitude towards his occupation was slightly different than in the West. He considered his company not so much as a source of profit, but as the fulfillment of a duty, a kind of mission imposed on him by God or fate. Of wealth, they said that God had given it for temporary use, therefore, he would also demand an account for it – this also manifested itself in part in the fact that it was precisely in the merchant circles that both charity and collecting were extremely developed, which were perceived as the fulfillment of some duty imposed from above.” Quite an archaic understanding of such duty can be read in the interview with Valentīns Kokalis: “Many have told me: Ēdole parish is certainly lucky that you live here. I have bought quite a lot of the forests and land here, I consider that in the future it will have great value. This land will at least be preserved for Latvian people, not for foreigners. I want to buy another six farmhouses here and use them for rural tourism in the summer. I will renovate these houses so that there would be a village, and not as it is now, when several families live in one house. In the evening, all families could gather in the palace.” Real estate in Latvia is one of the most promising ways to invest money; cases where one person owns several lakes or even entire parishes are not rare. In these cases, drawing a line between manor-lordship and social utopia is very difficult: unlike political power, the power of money is respected, and sometimes private property is the only guarantee that a place will not be trashed with unpredictable logging, development, or waste. Ēriks Masteiko owns kilometers of the Rāzna lake shore, and it is precisely on his properties that the only tidy public swimming spot on this lake has been established. It is difficult to judge whether the 20 santīmi entrance fee to the beach is a significant source of profit or, first and foremost, an opportunity to dictate conditions of behavior that local elected power has failed to achieve. The power of money and political power The left-leaning linguist Noam Chomsky has called the concentration of wealth in one pair of hands – the very fact of the possibility of the rich – a breaking of the agreement underlying society. It is already a bit confusing – a mortal cannot be a million times more diligent, smarter, stronger than others, for their million times greater money accumulation to be recognized as fair. From this point of view, the presence of the rich in politics is quite controversial, therefore the surest way to destroy a millionaire-politician is to start publicly scrutinizing his financial status or business fineness – as it happened in the case of Einars Repše. A millionaire-politician is the most typical of cases where a rich person does not boast about their wealth and display it, but seeks ways to conceal it. The power of money in one person's hands can accomplish things that are beyond the reach of legislation, parliament, or the police. But there are people who manage to combine both of these powers, becoming similar to demigods in terms of influence. It is interesting to look at the views, sympathies, and antipathies of millionaires involved in politics not because Lembergs is smart and loves children, but because the consequences for society can be extensive. Nobody would be worried even by Ainārs Šlesers' piety, if only he did not pay the tithe to the church from the reserve fund of the Ministry of Transport's road program. In internet comments, Andris Šķēle has acquired the nickname “Cloud Father” (Mākoņtēvs) – not only because he inhabits the “Mākoņi” included in the scandal about dune development, but also because in his transactions, political and money power have intertwined in virtual combinations. Mental fitness “There is much of interest in the world, one just has to look around. To get a kick, one doesn't necessarily have to smoke, drink, sniff, inject. It is not just boredom and grayness that lead to misfortune, but for the most part, the inability to socialize, low culture, idleness. I have noticed: fans of a healthy lifestyle avoid companies that abuse their health. In recent years, I am forced to avoid even old friends who have not been able to quit drinking and smoking. I divide – they and us. God be with them if they cannot cope with themselves, how are they to please others?” writes Valērijs Kargins. In an interview with the magazine “Nedēļa,” Andris Grūtups reveals himself as a purposefully self-made person who has had no time to doubt, because “all the time one had to do something else.” In “Privātā Dzīve,” a century-old brooch with an anchor, a heart, and a cross gifted by his mother-in-law was photographed – “when in the early 90s the brooch broke, I ordered a copy and continue to wear it every day.” (It is difficult to grasp how, with such a brooch, quite like an exorcist of spirits, the lawyer stands against, for example, Enesa Saburova, whose name appeared in the press in connection with the backyard development at 352/358 Brīvības gatve, when as a result of the counterclaims filed by the firm “N&J” represented by Grūtups, the old woman's personal property was seized.) In the early 90s, Andris Grūtups created his personal seal, in which these same three attributes symbolizing faith, hope, and love are enclosed in an oval, on the edges of which the words “Never retreat. Never give up. Andris Grūtups” are arranged. More generous in his faith is Andris Grūtups' son Viktors Grūtups, who had invited Tibetan monks to visit his ski track “Rāmkalni.” Unlike the Christian-practiced baptism in which the priest arranges God's blessing directly for the commissioner, the ritual performed by Tibetan monks in “Rāmkalni” included the whole world in the blessing. Judging by everyday life, it has not helped – the “Rāmkalni” track recently burned down, and investigators determined arson. Eastern philosophy is also called close to one's heart by Valērijs Kargins and Valdis Kalnozols, who is learning taekwondo. Kargins, however, carries an icon in his pocket briefcase, while the “Austra Foundation” maintained by Kalnozols financially ensures the seasonal Latvian rituals on Bastejkalns. In a way, it is also possible to get God as a business partner. Especially popular in the USA is the so-called prosperity theology, the task of which is to marry a person's worldly and spiritual cravings – if you do well in your relationship with God, then everything will be okay in business too. Thus, your prosperity is not simply property that rust and moths spoil, but your personal confession of faith. “I am a religious person, therefore I am aware that I must work. God has given everyone the opportunity to act actively, not to whine that things are not happening according to his mind,” Ainārs Šlesers describes his path to millions in an interview with the magazine “Mūsmājas.” In Latvia, this variety of economic ecumenism can be observed in the activities of the First Party of Latvia, which unites leaders of different denominations, even sects. This worldview becomes curious when its feedback loop begins to work – if this political organization considers God its boss, then complaints are addressed to his deputy on earth – here I would mean the case with Māris Gulbis' letter addressed to the Pope accusing the owner of the First Party, Ainārs Šlesers. [1. In August of last year, Māris Gulbis announced to the press his intention to write a letter to Pope Benedict XVI, in which “we will inform the Roman Pope that Ainārs Šlesers invokes the church in and out of place, as well as exploits Christian values not only in politics, but through it – also in the implementation of business projects” (“Diena”, 11.08.2005). As “Latvijas Avīze” reported a day later, “the letter to the Pope had already been written and was currently being translated into Italian” (“Latvijas Avīze”, 12.08.2005), yet in this same article, Latvia's Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary to the Holy See, Alberts Sarkanis, guaranteed that he would not forward the letter.] English theatre critic Eric Bentley has a saying that in tragedies, it is always about life or death, but in comedies – about the taking or recovery of property. This simplification, partly intended as a joke, well shows the vulnerability of rich people – if your life so far is made up of the acquisition and loss of property, then rewriting your biography on the scale of eternity is just as difficult as the needle's eye mentioned in the Bible for entering the kingdom of heaven. For Raimonds Gerkens, the stairs to eternity are the building of his family: “As a patriarch, I want – I must have read too many historical novels – for the whole family to gather under one roof.” Irena Pulkinena has been able to maintain great relationships and involve in her business not only close and distant relatives, but also her first husband, which distances her from the fear of remaining alone and misunderstood. Valērijs Kargins purposefully works on his self-image, the shining crowning of which is his memoirs “Money and People.” Valērijs Belokoņs plants trees in Spuņņciems, near his house, and would like to record his name in history with the park named after the White Horse. If one tries to draw the Latvian millionaire as a person who has fulfilled their life task and does not quite know what to do with the remaining half of their life, then Jevgēņijs Gombergs, who in correspondence with the Riga City Council quite openly criticizes the ignorance of officials regarding history, wants to see them completely differently. Sometimes it seems that the dispute is not about Gombergs' utopian plan – to restore all the monuments once installed in Riga – but about the principle. Gombergs believes that state officials are overly immersed in solving mundane issues, are too uneducated for refined initiative, yet simply fail to appreciate the opportunities of rich patrons in their arrogance and prejudices. Patrons Ieva M. Laukers, whose name is linked to the Latvian National Opera Foundation, says in an interview with “Kultūras Forums” that for a part of Latvians, the understanding of patronage was cultivated by exile. “Being political refugees, we believed: in order not to lose Latvian culture, every compatriot must donate their time and opportunities.” Raimonds Gerkens' name is first and foremost linked to cheap goods and conspicuous automobiles, but his money also supports the awarding of the Annual Literature Prize and the publishing of works by Latvian writers. Once Gerkens had even bought a box at the National Theatre for a year, but since, unlike the opera, watching a dramatization of “Zvejnieka dēls” (The Fisherman's Son) more than once would be silly, a pensioner couple could watch the show there every evening. Every day Gerkens is said to receive hundreds of letters with requests for help, but as he himself tells it, as a donor, he has his own principles. And first and foremost, it is the support of young talents, because their “talent is the wealth of all of Latvia.” One of the most rational models for the development of patronage was created by the Vītols Foundation, inspired by Marta and Vilis Vītols. At the foundation's base is the million lats contributed by the family, from the interest of which the foundation's administration is maintained. The Vītols Foundation is an open structure whose only task is to ensure with minimal expenses that the patrons' money reaches the right recipient, while the money for creating individual scholarships comes from various donors. Such mediation fundamentally changes the relationship between the giver and receiver of money, freeing the millionaire from the need to read humble petitions, but making gratitude an intimate matter for the scholarship recipient. “God forbid getting carried away with ideas of correctly organizing society. For example: we must credit the countryside because we are patriots! That is how “Zemes banka” collapsed. Or: we must cooperate only with national entrepreneurs. A slogan, following which “Tautas banka” reached its crash,” objects Valērijs Kargins against ideals in business. The majority of Latvian millionaires acquired their money in turbulent times, and with quite harsh methods – in the still quite foreseeable past, villa owner Kargins personally carried exchanged currency in jute sacks from Vietnam, while supporter of the golf school Valērijs Belokoņs sewed windbreakers and carried around 500-kilogram loads of Turkish goods. Ideals come after. There are no atheists in business Money grows in the head. In this century, the largest sums of money have not been earned by plowing and sowing, nor by inventing the internal combustion engine, but by monopolizing some unique service, creating a successful brand, or living through the demise of the old socio-economic order. The old morality will no longer fit here, because the return of money to the investor's pocket depends not so much on this person's virtue – diligence and ideals – as on their lifestyle and circle of acquaintances – the ability to be in the right place at the right time. This generation of Latvian millionaires has created its own scale of values, observing their lives has become entertainment for broad masses of people. On the internet, I found a blog yesterday where all of Latvia's millionaires are listed, calling for comments to be expressed. But, as Valērijs Kargins reminds himself in his memoirs: “Fortune has loved you, but tomorrow it may stop loving you. Do not lift yourself too high – put an icon in your pocket briefcase – there are no atheists in business. Humanity knows too much. One cannot go without God. Whatever you do, remember that there are people who can do your work better and are ready to mock your ideas along with you.”
Article first published in the June 2006 issue of the magazine Rīgas Laiks