He sits straight up in his chair with his hands flat on the armrests. His clothes are again starched and pressed. He’s the most military civilian I’ve ever met. He doesn’t even glance at the book. “I’ve read it,” he says. “I make it a point to read everything about historical events in which I’ve played a part.”
“I went to SUPO headquarters and found your file. Your version of events doesn’t hold water, because you and my grandpa, Toivo Kivipuro, had parallel careers. You entered Valpo service together. Bruno Aaltonen wrote letters of recommendation for both of you, and you and Ukki worked in the same duty stations at the same time. You even won the same medals. The odds of you and him being separated in 1941 and 1942 are almost nil. You said you didn’t know Ukki, but in fact, your families were associated before the war, and you were paired up for the duration of your careers.”
“Okay,” he says. “You got me. I was at 309 with Toivo. You say you want to make the Germans fuck off and leave me alone. How?”
“A statement from you admitting your presence at Stalag 309 but denying any participation in murder might do it. If it’s the truth.”
He smirks. “Nobody gives a damn about the truth. This is about payback. The story really started in 1999, when Martti Ahtisaari was president. He decided to honor Finland’s Nazi Waffen-SS volunteers during the Second World War by erecting a monument in the Ukraine, where the bodies of about a hundred and fifty Finnish SS volunteers are buried.”
Ahtisaari, president, diplomat and Nobel Prize winner, commemorates Finnish SS war dead and, by association, endorses our part in the Holocaust. Fucking amazing.
“Finland’s Jewish groups protested,” Arvid says. “The European Jewish Congress said that Ahtisaari undermined efforts to combat anti-Semitism. The Simon Wiesenthal Center said that by suggesting equality between its perpetrators and victims, Ahtisaari denigrated the memory of the Holocaust dead.”
“What does all this have to do with you?” I ask.
“Ahtisaari fucked up. The commotion resurrected nearly forgotten history. Suddenly the world remembered that Finland had around fifteen hundred volunteers in the SS. The Nuremberg War Crimes Tribunals held that all Waffen-SS troops were guilty of war crimes and crimes against humanity. This would include Finns. Heinrich Himmler formed a Finnish Waffen-SS Volunteer Battalion called Nordost. It was attached to the Nordland Waffen-SS Regiment of the Fifth SS Viking Division, a most vicious and fanatical bunch. Then Jewish groups recalled that rather than punish our SS volunteers, in 1958, the government exonerated them and then gave them full veterans’ rights. All this gave the Wiesenthal Center a hard-on for Finland. They want a scapegoat. It took them ten years to find the right one. A Finnish icon. Me.”
Arvid Lahtinen. National hero. Political football. I tap Pasi’s book. “There’s only one eyewitness account accusing you of murder,” I say, “and the accuser is dead. Say he made a mistake. Deny everything.”
“It won’t work,” Arvid says. “If they dig a little, they’ll find other witnesses.”
The implication gives me a start. “The allegations against you are true?”
“Actually, the account in the book is mistaken. I didn’t shoot that particular Commie, it was your grandpa, Toivo.”
It jars me like a punch to the head. I didn’t realize that, if I found out Ukki was a murderer, it would affect me so. I’m crushed. “Ukki was an executioner?”
“Not exactly. He and I and some of the others shot people, though.”
“Why?”
“We drank a lot in those days. Sometimes we got carried away in the spirit of things. Whacking the occasional political commissar didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Still doesn’t, really. He and I both killed hundreds of Bolsheviks. That was our job. Whether they were combatants or prisoners didn’t make any difference to us. We just wanted them dead. Toivo had a vicious streak, by the way, a lot worse than mine.”