The story of the Latvian flag begins not in the modern age, but in the 13th century. According to the medieval Rhymed Chronicle of Livonia, warriors from the town of Cēsis went into battle under a banner marked with dark red on both sides and a narrow white band through the center. The legend says the flag was soaked in the blood of a mortally wounded Latvian chief—his body wrapped in a white sheet, stained red on both sides by his wounds, leaving a white band in the middle where he lay. The soldiers, carrying this banner, went on to victory.

Whether fact or folklore, this tale was recorded by German chroniclers around 1280, making Latvia’s flag among the oldest in the world still bearing its original design. This symbolic beginning imbued the flag with meanings of sacrifice, unity, and enduring strength—values that would become crucial during centuries of foreign rule.

The red of the Latvian flag is unlike the bright scarlet of many European standards. Officially described as carmine red or Latvian red, it is a deep, earthy tone—almost brown in certain lights. The unique hue is intentional, chosen to distinguish Latvia’s identity and to carry connotations of groundedness, seriousness, and blood not of aggression, but of martyrdom.

During Latvia’s first declaration of independence in 1918, the flag was revived based on historical descriptions and was officially adopted in 1921. The color served as a visual and emotional connection between the fledgling republic and the heroic mythology of its medieval past. In this way, Latvia’s modern birth was consciously tied to ancient soil.

When Latvia was forcibly annexed by the Soviet Union in 1940, the red-white-red flag was banned. In its place came the hammer and sickle under a red Soviet banner—standard for all Soviet republics. Yet even in exile and repression, the Latvian flag lived on. It was preserved in memory, in diaspora communities, and quietly in the hearts of Latvians who refused to forget their true identity.

In Canada, the U.S., Australia, and elsewhere, Latvian emigrants raised their flag at cultural events and protest marches. It became a symbol of resistance—a quiet reminder that Latvia still existed, even when its sovereignty was denied. Inside Latvia, brave individuals sometimes hid flags or stitched them into clothing linings, waiting for the day they might be raised again.

That day came in the late 1980s, during the movement known as the Singing Revolution. As calls for Latvian independence grew louder, so did the visibility of the banned tricolor. People gathered in crowds, singing traditional songs and waving the red-white-red flag in defiance of Soviet control.

In 1990, as Latvia declared its restoration of independence, the flag was officially reinstated. On August 21, 1991—when independence was recognized internationally—it flew openly once again from public buildings, homes, and public squares. For many, it was more than a celebration; it was a spiritual homecoming.

Today, the Latvian flag is a familiar sight in the streets of Riga and rural towns alike. It adorns schools, government offices, and private homes. It flies from balconies during national holidays, and small flags are tucked into bouquets on Lāčplēsis Day and Proclamation Day. In cemeteries, tiny red-white-red flags mark the graves of those who fought for independence or suffered under occupation.

The flag is not used with loud fanfare or spectacle—it is treated with a kind of reverence. Its deep red, somber and dignified, reflects the spirit of a nation that has earned its place through struggle and endurance. It does not demand attention, but it commands respect.

Latvia’s flag tells the story of a country that was never meant to disappear. From a battlefield in the 13th century to exile across oceans, to quiet resistance under Soviet rule, and finally to the dawn of restored independence, the red-white-red banner has remained remarkably consistent. It is a flag that carries with it not just history, but memory—and not just identity, but hope.

To raise the Latvian flag is to honor the generations who fought for freedom and to affirm the belief that even small nations, when rooted in dignity and determination, can endure and thrive. It is not just a piece of fabric. It is the soul of a country, stitched in carmine and white.