"It does not matter whether the real reasons are aesthetic, or perhaps related to mercantile business interests or an ideological dislike of an institution that is significant for Latvia's memory. The events of recent months suggest that everything is being done to ensure the House of the Future and the associated memorial to the victims of the occupation do not come to pass."

From an open letter in support of the reconstruction of the Museum of the Occupation, delfi.lv, 5 February

The Museum of the Occupation is by no means just a skilled "manager" of the history of the occupation and an exhibitor of popular displays: its sphere of influence is much broader, encompassing certain public affairs which, for the sake of simplicity, we shall call "occupation themes". We are talking about both tangible and intangible objects of public concern, namely, what in Ancient Rome was referred to as "res publicae" – matters of public importance and debate. Although the museum is a private carrier of public benefit, the history it preserves, shapes, explains, and popularises is closely intertwined with several such objects of public concern.

I will explain this thought with two examples. Firstly, the building of the Museum of the Occupation is a Soviet-era structure – and, moreover, not just a standard building that has served its time, of which we have no shortage, but a rare example of the period's public architecture. Thus, the museum's redevelopment is inevitably part of a broader question: what should we do with the most valuable part of our Soviet-era heritage? It surprises no one that the political elite has so far chosen to simply ignore this issue. But from a museum that, as written on its website, realises its importance in "shaping historical understanding in Latvia" and does not wish to shy away from "unwanted questions", one would expect at least elementary consistency. From this point of view, the planned redevelopment of the building looks more like an attempt to forget Soviet history as quickly as possible, while simultaneously taking a wide step towards a society without memory.

Secondly, the museum building is located in a square that was designed and adapted to the needs of the building. In every other way, the museum has linked the abstract, superficial, and thoroughfare open space to the occupation theme. The museum's redevelopment will inevitably change this close interaction, and, it seems, not for the better. The supporters and authors of the redevelopment implicitly claim that this interaction has no significance. However, if the museum's redevelopment were truly only serving the needs of the exhibition, as presented by the enthusiasts of the project, then any comments about historical heritage or public open space would be redundant. From this point of view, they automatically perceive standing against the redevelopment as standing against the exhibition itself and, by analogy, against the occupation theme as a whole.

Therefore, it might seem that the squabbling that has been taking place over the last few months between the supporters and opponents of the museum's redevelopment is about architecture. But if the subject of the conversation were the architectural value of the building, the dispute would have ended before it even began, or continued as one of the countless activities on social networks. Let us not forget that in Latvia, architecture is primarily of interest to professionals in the field, and until recently, they were not at all interested in the problem of the Museum of the Occupation. Yes, modernist architecture in Latvia is in an active state of decay, and the museum building is unique, but one cannot be forced to love its laconic, robust aesthetics. Even though architecture played a decisive role in starting the argument, it proved too broad for sustaining the conversation – even if someone understands and follows the discussion about scale, the technical nuances of the design, or subjective aesthetic issues, they still cannot take real part in the discussion. The understanding of architecture is not strictly a public issue. But I will repeat again: the redevelopment of the museum touches upon a much wider circle of public concern than the theme of architecture.

Therefore, this dispute is rather about the method – about what would be the most appropriate way to resolve such publicly important yet tricky issues. And such methods have been lacking in our city for years. Viewed through this prism, the discussion about the Museum of the Occupation has been at least partly social, idealistic, and professional, at times even productive (which, however, cannot be said for the tone of the communication itself). There have been calls to preserve the building as an authentic, historical testimony of the era, which would require viewing it as part of the exhibition, and these are important public considerations – they simply exceed the criteria and scale of individual benefit. This dispute was idealistic because, at least in part, there were attempts to pursue a preferred procedure for resolving the dispute, rather than the existing one. Namely, in the case of public architecture, we would like to expect a different possibility for discussion than in the case of private or commercial construction. Most painfully, this affects the question of how to involve the interested public in the discussion of such a project. It goes without saying that so far, the inclusion of the public in the discussion of the occupation project has been merely declarative, not real. And this, of course, even remembering the National Library of Latvia (LNB), is neither the first nor the last time. Moreover, the reproach "Where were you earlier?" is not quite appropriate – it fits the tune of the executive power well, but it does not fit the "independent, objective" ideals of the museum at all. It has long been no secret to anyone that the public consultation required by law is often superficial. This instrument is not really suitable for evaluating even much more modest objects.

Finally, the dispute has largely taken place in a professional aspect, as the arguments of the opponents of the museum's redevelopment were expressed within the field of professional competence. It has not occurred to anyone to reproach the museum for the content or form of the exhibition. The objections were that the redevelopment process simply does not correspond to the true scale of this project.

However, the occupation redevelopment project only pretends that it concerns solely the exhibition. Being historical, public, and pedagogical, the real impact of the redevelopment far exceeds the needs of the exhibition. Attempting to demonstrate impartiality in the interpretation of facts, the supporters of the redevelopment themselves have not been prepared to accept almost any alternative positions – not even those concerning the sustainability of the project itself. If the museum's redevelopment is almost a guarantor of the existence of the Latvian state, it must be asked why the annex project is so superficial? If the building performs a socially important task, why has the most comprehensive opinion on its redevelopment been received only in 2015? Does the museum really not deserve a more thought-out architectural and urban planning solution? It would be bold to say that the identified deficiencies arose due to deliberate negligence. It would be just as bold and naive to hope that these issues could be illuminated during the legally required public consultation.

Architecture has served as a pretext to provide an indirect but tactical reproach that the conversation about the redevelopment of the Museum of the Occupation should be addressed not ornamentally, but substantively. Unlike the exhibition, the topic of the occupation is not a private initiative. Why should the supporters of the redevelopment have a say in what happens to this topic outside the museum walls? Why should they have a say in how to best embody historical memory in the middle of a chaotic public square in the very centre of the city?

If even in such a compact exchange of views several serious flaws of the project have been revealed, we can only guess what would be revealed if the public open space and the memorial planned within it were also on the discussion agenda. Instead, listening to the opponents of the redevelopment is equated to treason – as if expressing an assessment of the architectural and social significance of the Museum of the Occupation would belittle the centrality of the occupation's ideas in the city's geography.

Finally, if we leave this building (relatively) intact, would that mean that we as a society would appear passive in the face of testimony of a violent regime? Or is the guarantor of our state's sovereignty the rebuilding and renaming of history? Does anyone want to argue that the preservation of the building in an intact form testifies to the civic weakness or indecisiveness of society regarding Soviet ideology?

On the contrary. In both history and architecture, primary sources have much greater value than interpretations. Just as it is necessary to continue research into the occupation regime based on historical evidence, the link should not be broken with authentic material evidence – the Museum of the Occupation building, which makes our impressions of the occupation era much more tangible. After all, the majority of residents and visitors to the city learn about the place and the history of society precisely through the prism of architecture. For those willing to listen and look, architecture, layout, choice of materials, and aesthetics have always been the most narrative evidence of the era.
Article first published in the March 2016 issue of the magazine Rīgas Laiks