The eternal darkness of the Latvian mind

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Latvia has been blessed with politicians who talk in sound bites. Look at Aigars Kalvitis, the Prime Minister of Latvia during the economic boom years. His biblical allusion – comparing the economic boom to the seven fat years – has become a handy nickname for the boom years. No need to bother with "years of unsustainable economic growth" – just mention "the fat years", and every Latvian will understand what are you talking about.

Sure enough, considering what came after the Latvian (and biblical, for that matter) "fat years", Kalvitis' description seems particularly ironic. But surely, back when Kalvitis first uttered the phrase – during the "fat years" themselves – it seemed at least plausible, right?

Well, no. Kalvitis' wit was widely ridiculed, partly because his own body complexion is somewhat on the plump side. But, more importantly, the assessment seemed so wildly out of touch with the economic reality. What fat years, people would argue, if the inflation runs amok and your money is worth less with every passing day? What fat years if people are leaving for Ireland in record-high numbers? The only ones who are getting fat are the corrupt politicians.

And you cannot really say that they were wrong. All these problems indeed did exist during the boom years, along with many others. In fact, that is a common feature of the Latvian economy: save for the mythical "golden age" in 1930s, the Latvian economy – and, by extension, the Latvian society – has never had a break. There has never been a single period where you could say – yes, this is it, everything looks great. And any attempts to say so have always been met with ridicule.

That explains why Latvians were so eager to jump on the cheap credit bandwagon. For the first time in decades, it seemed that, indeed, even the average Latvian could have a taste of "the good life" – and they were all too eager to seize the opportunity, often going way too over the top.

This also explains another thing that has puzzled a number of foreign commentators: why are Latvians so surprisingly patient? Why aren't they rioting against the stern austerity measures? Well, because the recession is nothing new to them: they believe that they have been living in one their entire lives.

Finally, that also explains why Latvians leave Latvia and settle for menial jobs elsewhere. Concepts such as "career advancement" or "personal growth" still are relatively new to Latvians; the main thing they expect from a job is to cover their daily needs, put their kids through school and perhaps buy a few luxuries. So don't be surprised if you run into an Irish garbageman who used to be a teacher in Latvia yet is completely satisfied – no, even proud – of his latest career achievement. The job pays a lot better, and that is what matters.

This does not mean that Latvia does not have its fair share of ambitious people – and perhaps we are even seeing the beginning of a generation change. This also does not mean that Latvia is a miserable and poor country where everybody struggles to make ends meet. But make no mistake: the Latvian economy still has a long way to go until it is reasonably well-off.

And, most importantly, it will take even longer before Latvians are confident enough to say: yes, this is it, everything looks great. But at least then you will know: if the ever-critical Latvians are finally optimistic, then we have really seen some fundamental – and lasting – changes.