Imagine going into an election where the most important issues aren’t explained but weaponised. That’s the picture that emerges from Re:Baltica’s analysis of Latvia’s parliamentary election on October 3. In a country already on edge because of Russia’s war in Ukraine, security was always going to be on voters’ minds. But the campaign turned into something stranger: the other two topics that dominated the airwaves — immigration and the Istanbul Convention — were pushed to the front by politicians who used fear, distortion, and sometimes outright lies. Not all of it was foreign interference. Much of it was homegrown. Before a single ballot was cast, the forecasts already laid out two possible futures. The first, and more likely, is a pro-European but somewhat more conservative government, possibly led by Andris Kulbergs of the United List. Kulbergs became prime minister only at the start of the summer, but he quickly gained popularity through a moderately populist style, a business-minded approach, and constant personal communication on social media. To many voters, he looked like a breath of fresh air after seven years of what they felt was stagnation under New Unity. The second scenario — if the numbers didn’t add up for the first option — was that Latvia First could enter government. Latvia First is the latest political vehicle of Ainārs Šlesers, a former oligarch and admirer of Donald Trump. Its politicians openly criticise support for Ukraine and promise to restore cooperation with Russia as soon as “the war in Ukraine ends.” Unlike the parties with a realistic chance of governing, Latvia First uses disinformation as a standard political weapon, on everything from Russia’s invasion to the Green Deal, immigration, vaccination, and other sensitive issues. This was the battlefield: a campaign fought not just for votes, but for reality itself.
These two scenarios were not just about personalities; they pointed to very different futures for Latvia. Under Kulbergs, the country would likely stay on its current pro-European track, albeit with a more conservative flavour. His rapid rise said a lot about the mood. After years of watching New Unity — the party that had dominated the government — many voters wanted someone who felt less bureaucratic and more in touch. Kulbergs gave them that: he talked like a businessperson, posted like an influencer, and gave the impression of getting things done. But his style was also a warning sign for those who worry about substance. Moderately populist means exactly what it sounds like: a leader who responds to the public’s moods rather than leading them. Still, for a majority of voters, that was preferable to the alternative. Latvia First’s entry into government would be a different matter. Šlesers is a man with a long and controversial history in Latvian politics, close to oligarchic networks and increasingly drawn to Trump-style rhetoric. His party’s platform is a mix of social conservatism, anti-establishment anger, and a dangerous willingness to bend the truth. The promise to restore cooperation with Russia “as soon as the war ends” is deliberately vague. It lets him sound reasonable to one audience while reassuring another. That ambiguity is part of the method. It is also why other parties said they would not work with him. Yet in politics, promises are often only as solid as the polls that made them; if coalition arithmetic fails, the promise could easily be abandoned. The question was never just who would win, but whether the parties that genuinely believed in democracy and the rule of law would have enough votes to keep the more cynical forces out of power.
On security, the stakes were genuine. Russia’s war in Ukraine has made every Baltic state nervous, and Latvia is no exception. Re:Baltica, like Latvia’s security services, did not detect a spike in foreign disinformation in the immediate run-up to the election. But the constant baseline was already high. Russian and Belarusian propaganda is everywhere on Latvian social media, day after day. It is spread mainly by Russian-speaking bloggers, many of whom moved — or rather fled — to Russia or Belarus after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine and after Latvia’s security services started paying closer attention to them. Their repertoire is predictable but effective. They mix Latvia’s support for Ukraine with complaints about the economy. On Telegram, in long YouTube broadcasts, and in short TikTok clips, these bloggers describe Latvia as a failed, Nazi, Russophobic country that has been abandoned by the European Union. According to their narrative, Latvia is rattling its weapons, turning itself into a military training ground, pushing for war, and sending all its money to Ukraine while its own children go untreated. The most striking thing is the reach. On TikTok especially, these videos regularly pull in tens of thousands of views. Some of the stories are invented by the bloggers themselves. Others are taken directly from Kremlin channels. At the end of March, for instance, Russian media spread a false claim that Latvia was opening its airspace to Ukrainian drones or even launching them itself. The lie resurfaced in various forms in Latvia. A month later, when two more Ukrainian drones crashed in Latvia, Russian media again claimed that Ukraine had attacked a Latvian passenger train and an oil depot. Even worse, there were lies that a Ukrainian soldier had shot and killed three NATO troops in Latvia. None of it was true, but in the murky world of social media, truth is optional.
These narratives did not just float in a vacuum; they found political voices. In Latvia, the main amplifiers are the so-called pro-Kremlin parties. One is Sovereign Power, also known as the Young Latvians Alliance, which is expected to do best among Russian-speaking voters who are unhappy with the government. It repeats Kremlin propaganda and wraps it in conspiracy theories. Another is For Stability!, a party that peaked four years ago and has since partly disintegrated. Its leader, Aleksejs Rosļikovs, has been accused of inciting ethnic hatred and has fled to Belarus. Polling suggests neither of these parties has a realistic chance of entering the government. Latvia First is a different case. It echoes pro-Russian propaganda, but in a milder form. Šlesers tailors his message depending on his audience. Speaking Latvian, he calls Russia the aggressor. In Russian-language interviews, he mentions “the war” but never says who is responsible. His party members have repeatedly spread anti-Ukrainian disinformation. For example, after a devastating storm, several of them complained that Latvia was sending all its aid to Ukraine and was left empty-handed — even though the facts showed otherwise. These parties play on exhaustion and resentment, and their influence can be larger than their parliamentary prospects. Even if they never govern, they normalise the idea that Latvia’s problems are caused by foreigners, by Ukraine, by the West, by anyone but the people in power. They offer simple answers to complicated questions, and in a moment of crisis, simple answers can feel comforting. The cost of that comfort, however, is a public debate that becomes detached from reality.
If the eastern-facing side of the political spectrum tries to scare voters with war, the other side scares them with immigrants. The National Alliance and several smaller right-wing parties have made immigration one of their central campaign themes. On social media, they paint third-country immigrants as criminals, as men who attack Latvian women en masse, as a threat to the Latvian nation itself. The data supports none of this. Third-country nationals — excluding Russians, Belarusians, and Ukrainians — make up only about 1.5% of Latvia’s population. They commit offences less often than local residents. And while opinion surveys consistently show that Latvians are far more worried about the cost of living, healthcare, and security, these parties insist that the real danger is immigration. To make their point, they use stories that are fabricated from start to finish. One notable example: after a sexual assault report that later turned out to be invented, a prominent National Alliance politician referred to immigrants as “monkeys.” Another party member published an AI-generated video showing a white man whipping dark-skinned food couriers. It was pure racist fantasy, presented as fact. Latvia’s top officials did not publicly condemn any of this. Migration researchers who spoke to Re:Baltica warned that this kind of language has real consequences. It emboldens people. It normalises hatred. And the claim that women are under threat from immigrants is especially dangerous, because it can be used as a pretext for violence. What makes this even more frustrating is that it distracts from the real issues that people actually care about. Instead of debating how to improve healthcare, how to deal with inflation, or how to make schools better, the public was forced to react to outrageous statements and viral lies.
Taken together, the campaign offered a depressing lesson in how quickly fear can replace debate. The Istanbul Convention, the third major theme, followed the same pattern. The convention is fundamentally about protecting women from violence. But in the heat of the election, it was turned into a symbol of “gender ideology” and a threat to traditional values. Complex legal and social questions were reduced to slogans. That is the common thread between all three topics: security, immigration, and women’s rights. Each one touches on real anxieties. Each one deserves a genuine public conversation. Instead, voters were offered a diet of half-truths, caricatures, and manufactured outrage. Re:Baltica’s analysis shows that the most dangerous disinformation is not always imported from Moscow. It can be produced locally, by politicians who understand that fear sells. The ordinary voters who cast their ballots on October 3 were not just choosing a government. They were choosing whether the country would remain one where politics is based on evidence or one where the loudest lie wins. Perhaps the most human thing to say is this: people are tired. They want security, affordable prices, good healthcare, and a safe place for their children. The parties that understood that “boring” truth might have lost the loudest arguments, but in the long run, they are the ones who can actually deliver. The rest is just noise. And after an election season full of shouting, what voters deserve most is a little silence — and then a serious, honest conversation about the future.