It's a story that might have been written by Disney: A small girl
flees her war-torn homeland, then returns five decades later and becomes the country's
president.
The unlikely fairy tale came true in July when Vaira
Vike-Freiberga, now 61, was sworn in as Latvia's president.
Vike-Freiberga was just seven when, fearing possible
arrest and deportation, she and her family fled the Soviet invasion in the closing days of
World War II.
Their ship journey from Latvia was treacherous; some
ships taking the same route were torpedoed and sunk. Memories of her escape are still
vivid, but too painful to discuss, she said in a recent interview.
"The experiences were very traumatic," said
Vike-Freiberga, a shock of red hair framing her bright, blue-green eyes. "It was a
horribly unhappy period in my life."
After living in disease-infested refugee camps in
Germany, the family eventually settled in Canada, where Vike-Freiberga's first job was as
a bank teller. She later became a respected professor of psychology at Montreal
University.
After retiring from her university post last fall,
she boarded a plane and returned to Latvia to head a small, little-known information
center in Riga.
Had she had the slightest idea she was going to
become president, she said she would have brought more than just two suitcases.
Now that she's suddenly gone from being a retired
professor to a head of state, returning to her house in Montreal for a badly needed supply
of clothes has become highly problematic.
Any return 
trip will now require weeks of state-to-state negotiations and detailed protocol planning;
she had to forfeit her Canadian citizenship to be president, so she'll also need a visa.
"I never imagined picking up clothes from my own
house would ever become so complicated," she said in an interview on the eve of her
inauguration. "All that's happened...it is hard to believe."
It was as unbelievable for most Latvians, who were
left scrambling for more information about this woman from Canada after her surprise
election victory in parliament. Many Latvians had never heard of her before.
Days before the June 17 presidential contest, several
well-known artists and intellectuals floated her name as a possible candidate. The gesture
seemed more a product of wishful thinking than rational political calculation.
"When they brought up my name, even these
intellectuals said, 'Ah, politicians will never vote for a non-politician,'" recalled
Vike-Freiberga. " 'Having you as president is just a nice pipe dream.'"
But exasperated after trying all day to elect
half-a-dozen much better known candidates, and with the clock approaching midnight, a
cross-section of left and right-wing politicians nominated her as a compromise candidate.
She won with 53 votes in the 100-seat Saeima legislature.
Questions were inevitably raised about whether she
has what it takes to do the job. Hers is a Cinderella story that has captured the nation's
imagination. But, some wondered, was Cinderella getting in over her head?
She has no political experience, she's spent almost
55 years living outside Latvia and she is the first woman president ever in what is still
a heavily male-dominated society.
Sitting in an office overlooking a cobblestone-street
in Riga's old town, Vike-Freiberga oozed confidence. She forthrightly denied she wasn't up
to the task.
"Heavens, if I didn't feel fully confident that
I had the skills and resources to do this job properly, I never would have considered
taking it," she said. "I have too strong a sense of responsibility to
Latvia."
Before accepting her nomination, she did pause to
think about how drastically her life would change as president: she would be forced to
give up her academic research and would have to leave her life in Canada behind, probably
for good. Her whole family would also be subject to the glare of publicity.
"I knew there was a price to pay in becoming
president," she said. "But in order to serve the land of my birth, I decided I
was willing to pay that price."
She said her qualifications include the presidency of
a long list of prestigious organizations, like the Canadian Psychological Association, the
Social Science Federation of Canada and the Association for the Advancement of Baltic
Studies.
"Practically everything I ever joined I became
president of," she said. "It's true that being president of a country is on a
different scale, but there are particular qualities to leadership, and I've learned them
from my past experiences."
Most Latvians seem willing to give her the benefit of
the doubt. Some have pointed hopefully to a local legend that prophesied Latvia would
prosper when a woman finally came to lead the nation.
Cultural figures had bemoaned the quality of the
original presidential nominees, who included a Soviet-era song-writer and an ex-Communist,
saying they lacked the sufficient brain power and linguistic skills; the artistic
community was particularly enthusiastic about Vike-Freigberga's election. Some dubbed her
"the Latvian Vaclav Havel." One newspaper called her "Latvia's Lennart
Meri," after Estonia's own brainy, polyglot president.
The new Latvian president could have a tough time
figuring out Latvia's messy, ever-changing political alliances and pinpointing which
behind-the-scenes economic cliques are backing whom, said Riga-based political analyst
Nils Muiznieks.
"It could be very tricky, very complicated for
her," he said. "Her inexperience with Latvian politics could be an obstacle and
could lead her to make big mistakes."
Her first big test came virtually before she stepped
off the podium where she took her presidential oath.
Just a week before, Latvia's government suddenly
collapsed after bitter infighting within the three-party coalition. She had to help
mediate the formation of a new government; most observers said she did it well.
Days later she also had to decide whether or not to
sign a controversial language law mandating the use of Latvian in most public and even in
many private business activities. She was under heavy pressure domestically to sign the
bill into law. But, to the consternation of many nationalists, she refused. She said the
legislation was ill-defined and that some provisions were too intrusive.
She sent the law back for legislative changes.
Many Latvians say Vike-Freiberga's forte during her
four-year term will be in foreign affairs, where the Latvian president serves as the
country's No. 1 foreign envoy.
She, like Estonian President Meri, has the language
skills, and appears to have the PR savvy and charm to be able to dazzle and woo foreign
dignitaries and investors.
Her fluency in French, English, Spanish and German-in
addition to fluent Latvian, and a spattering of Portuguese and Italian-should help her
lobbying of the European Union and NATO for Latvia's full membership.
(Her predecessor, Guntis Ulmanis, had a notoriously
shaky grasp of English, which critics said hampered his effectiveness as president. It was
also a source of national embarrassment. Addressing a prestigious lawyers' conference in
the United States several years ago, he began his remarks by saying, "I'm pleased to
be in the company of such distinguished liars." He meant lawyers.)
Vike-Freiberga's sharp mind and striking air of
competence should also help her gain respect abroad-for herself, and for Latvia. She also
has the image of being incorruptible, and she doesn't seem beholden to any business
cliques or political party.
Vike-Freiberga concedes that, because she's been so
far removed from Latvia, she will have to be more sensitive about people's anxieties, and
be careful not to appear to talk down to her constituents or condemn their Soviet past.
"I would like to be able to encourage Latvians
to blend the best that they can recycle from their experiences in the past, not all of
which are bad," she said. "People should be given the confidence that they can
learn new skills, adapt to a different world without having to feel they sold their souls
for a bowl of porridge."
"But I also will work hard at making Latvians
understand some of the attitudes of the West that they might now find difficult to
understand," she said. "In this sense, I hope I can serve as a kind of bridge
between Latvia and the West."
She may have to be doubly sensitive to
Russian-speakers, who make up nearly 40 percent of Latvia's 2.5 million population-many of
whom say they feel discriminated against in Latvia.
Vike-Freiberga doesn't speak Russian, and so won't
even be able to communicate directly with the hundreds of thousands of Russian-speakers
who speak little or no Latvian.
She has promised, however, to begin learning Russian,
with the goal of becoming fluent; it is a gesture that has been widely welcomed by
Russian-speakers.
Her pledge was also accompanied by a playful
challenge: let's see who can learn faster, she told a local Russian-language TV audience,
me Russian or you Latvian.
"For the first time, at least for many Russians
here, the Latvian state appears to be getting a friendly face," said Alex Krasnitsky,
an editor at Latvia's Russian-language Chas daily. "Many Russians are hoping for good
things from her."
So are many women.
Since Latvia regained independence in 1991, women's
issues have been given scant attention. The vast majority of politicians and company heads
are male, and public debate about inequality between the sexes is virtually unheard of.
Vike-Freiberga said her election by the
male-dominated parliament was already a leap forward, proving Latvia's willingness to
embrace Western values, like gender equality. She said even many men have told her they're
thrilled.
"Men here are saying to me they're delighted
they will now have a role model for their daughters, to show them that there are no doors
closed to them," she said.
Some have compared Vike-Freiberga to Britain's former
prime minister, Margaret Thatcher-the Iron Lady-saying the new Latvian president has
Thatcher's tough-mindedness and stamina.
"I should like to be thought of as a reasonable,
rational and fair person," Vike-Freiberga said when asked about the comparison.
"But I am not a pushover. If anybody had any illusions about that, then they're in
for a big surprise."
Some Latvians have asked her how her husband will
take to being the spouse of a president, since it's typically men who are presidents, and
wives the first ladies.
"My husband's an extremely flexible man with no
complexes or neuroses," she said. "There will be a burden of adjustment on him,
but he stands ready to do what he has to."
She said her husband, Imants Freibergs, will return
to Canada and most likely retire from his job teaching at the University of Quebec. He'll
then rejoin her in Latvia.
Vike-Freiberga had been living in one room in a small
apartment with relatives in Riga. She has now moved into a seaside villa near Riga, and
her presidential office is a 14th century castle.
Because traveling will now be so complicated for her
as president, the task of tying off loose ends in Canada will fall to her husband, and
also to her two children, Karlis and Indra.
Among their tasks: to look into the possibility of
selling their home in Montreal and, as quickly as possible, to bring the new Latvian
president more clothes.
