Latvia’s parliamentary elections on October 3 are unusual for the country in that they do not include a party with any chance of entering parliament that represents the interests of Russian-speakers. The Latvian political mainstream has long been suspicious of such parties as a way for Moscow to exert influence. However, there are still plenty of Latvian citizens who speak Russian at home, and many of them do indeed regret the collapse of the Soviet Union. Latvia’s “Russia question” remains topical.

After gaining independence in 1991, Latvia adopted the principle of state continuity with the pre-World War II republic. For the Latvian majority, that represented historical justice following the Soviet occupation. For a significant proportion of the Russian-speaking population, however, the transition to the new system was difficult: They had to re-establish their place within the state via naturalization and loyalty checks.

This, in turn, led to the emergence of Russian-language political parties that focused on issues such as citizenship, the status of the Russian language and its use within the education system, and attitudes toward the Soviet past. Initially, a leading role was taken by a party named For Human Rights in a United Latvia, which later became the Latvian Russian Union. Subsequently, the cause was taken up by the Harmony party, which was always seen as “Russian” even though it supported Latvian unity and used the language of European social democracy.

Harmony was a catch-all party, appealing to various Russian-speakers, be it ethnic Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians, urban left-wingers, and pensioners, Latvian-Russian far-right activists, and pragmatic pro-Europe voters. All these people were united by a sense that they were not perceived as full-fledged members of the nation by the parties of the Latvian majority.

While Harmony was capable of winning parliamentary elections and governing the cities of Riga, Rēzekne, and Daugavpils, it was excluded from joining any national government coalitions because other parties feared being accused of having ties to Moscow. For Harmony, isolation was both a blessing (because it could claim to be defending voters from a state that rejected them) and a curse. 

That all came to an end with Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. While Harmony condemned Russia, its support base was deeply polarized. For some of its supporters, Harmony was insufficiently pro-Russian; for others, it was too pro-Kremlin and compromised by its former ties to the Russian political elite (Harmony had torn up its agreement with Russia’s ruling party, United Russia, long before the invasion—but it had not been forgotten).

In the 2022 parliamentary elections, Harmony did not win a single seat. The more radical part of its electorate backed the For Stability! party, which refrained from outright condemnation of Russia’s aggression in Ukraine. Although For Stability! won eleven out of 100 seats in parliament, its faction quickly disintegrated. By that time, the Latvian Russian Union had also lost all its influence. That marked the end of a period in which Russian-speaking voters had meaningful political representation at the national level. 

It would be a mistake to characterize all the “Russian parties” that have existed in Latvia as Kremlin projects. They genuinely articulated the wishes of some Latvian citizens when it came to issues such as the continued use of the Russian language in public life, the availability of Russian-language education, and political representation for Russian-speakers. At the same time, it would also be wrong to deny the obvious fact that Moscow tried to use these groups to cultivate influence.

For decades, Moscow saw Latvia’s Russian-speaking community as “compatriots,” and sought to bind them closer to Russia through funding, human rights organizations, cultural centers, conferences, legal assistance, and media projects. In practice, this also meant spreading Kremlin narratives and claiming that Latvia discriminated against Russian-speakers.   

There are a number of cases showing that the Kremlin exerted more influence over Latvian politics than was ever acknowledged at the time. In November 2023, a Latvian court convicted Jānis Ādamsons, a former member of the Latvian parliament for Harmony and Latvia’s interior minister in the 1990s, of spying for Russia. Andrejs Mamikins, a former Latvian member of the European Parliament, emigrated to Russia and began working for Russian propaganda (in January 2026, he called on the Kremlin to attack the Baltics with a nuclear-capable Oreshnik missile). And, in 2025, Latvia opened a criminal case against Aleksejs Rosļikovs, the former chairman of For Stability!, after he fled to Belarus. He is accused of aiding an aggressor state and inciting ethnic hatred.

Today, conversations about the Russian language, Russian-language schools, or representation of the Russian-language community tend to be perceived as promoting the Kremlin’s agenda. As a result, Russian-speaking Latvians who are loyal members of the Latvian state find themselves in a bind. Even when they condemn Russian President Vladimir Putin and can prove they are not linked to people like Ādamsons, Mamikins, and Rosļikovs, they are still regarded with suspicion.

Latvia no longer has an ethnic “Russian party.” There are projects working with the Russian-speaking community, but none has the kind of position Harmony held in the 2010s. This is undoubtedly a loss for the Kremlin. When the “Russian parties” were strong, Moscow could leverage the topic of “Russian compatriots” not only in the Latvian parliament, but also in the European Parliament and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe.

Instead, today, the Kremlin can only complain about how Latvia’s Russian-speakers are isolated. In some ways, though, this is a simpler and more convenient message. Russian officials and propagandists can argue that Latvia’s Russian-speakers do not have a political voice, and claim Riga is trying to destroy a Russian-speaking political and cultural community. Moscow announced in 2026 that it would bring a case to the UN International Court of Justice about “discrimination against Russian-speakers” in Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania.    

The risk for Latvia is that Russian-speaking voters end up embracing a full pro-Kremlin agenda. In other words, a political vacuum may empower those offering another way to be heard (Russian propaganda, Telegram channels, and pseudo-human rights groups). The Kremlin has long used the concept of “compatriots” to put pressure on neighboring countries. Theoretically, the narrative of the need to “protect Russian-speakers” could serve as a pretext not only for hybrid operations, but also for the use of conventional military force.

Having lost large “Russian political parties,” Latvia now has a new problem of representation. Perhaps paradoxically, an absence of supply does not mean an absence of demand. While it’s obvious that Latvia will not return to its previous discredited political model, a situation in which loyalty to the Latvian state means Russian-speakers cannot articulate their community’s interests could end up playing into the Kremlin’s hands.