Latvia just held a parliamentary election that, by the standards of a country used to geopolitical storms, was almost boring. There were no dramatic cyberattacks, no last-minute Russian interference operation powerful enough to tilt the result, and no scandal that forced the nation to hold its breath. The outcome, too, looked reassuring from the outside: an emphatic victory for the sitting prime minister, a Europe-friendly orientation confirmed, and a vote that seemed to reward stability over chaos. But people who watch the region more carefully know that a quiet election can still produce a loud and messy aftermath. The calm of polling day masks a deeply uncomfortable reality. The new Saeima will be filled with politicians who built their careers on social media rather than in committee rooms, who are comfortable with misinformation when it suits them, and who treat human rights, civil society and media freedom as annoyances rather than achievements. There will also be more openly pro-Russian voices in parliament than there were before. The election may have passed without fireworks, but the next four years could be a very different story. The center is still standing, but the edges of Latvian politics have grown sharper, louder and much more willing to play with the truth.
The man at the center of this new era is Andris Kulbergs, a prime minister who has been in office for only four months and yet pulled off one of the most remarkable victories in Latvian political history. His United List won 41 of the 100 seats in parliament, a record level of support for a single political force in the country’s modern history, and even he seems surprised by its size. Kulbergs is not a classic polished statesman. He speaks bluntly, records daily vlogs on his phone, and uses them to rail against the old elite, the supposedly rampant bureaucracy, and the waste of public money on non-governmental organizations. He has promised a fresh start: smaller state administration, no new debt, an end to what he calls squandering. It is a formula that clearly resonates with voters, even if the substance is thinner than it appears. Latvia’s fact-checkers at Re:Baltica rated his statements as misleading or false more often than those of any other politician during the campaign. He twisted facts when convenient, exaggerated his own achievements, and ignored the work of others. His victory is a reminder that in modern politics, energy and certainty can matter more than accuracy. For now, Latvia’s foreign policy under Kulbergs remains firmly pro-European and supportive of Ukraine. Domestically, though, the uncertainties are real. United List is actually an alliance of three different parties, and Kulbergs himself is not a member of any of them. The group he leads into parliament contains dozens of people with no political experience, a broad range of views, and a number of controversial figures, including some who spread Covid misinformation, expressed homophobic or racist opinions, and promoted “natural family” ideology. Steering that group toward coherent decisions will not be easy.
The shape of the next government is still being worked out, and the negotiations are likely to be difficult. Kulbergs’s closest ally so far has been the National Alliance, a party that ran a campaign built largely on fear of immigrants and consistently used distorted facts, open racism and anti-immigrant rhetoric. On that issue, however, the two parties do not see eye to eye. Kulbergs speaks for many business owners who complain constantly about labor shortages and want to make it easier to recruit workers from third countries. The National Alliance, by contrast, wants stricter borders and less migration. It is an awkward alliance that could produce frequent public disagreements. Another possible partner is New Unity, the party that led Latvia for many years but barely scraped past the 5 percent threshold this time. It would bring experience and a more moderate profile to the coalition, but it is also tainted by association with the old politics that Kulbergs has spent months denouncing. Some observers believe Kulbergs might choose to govern as a minority government, with the United List taking sole responsibility for decisions and relying on ad-hoc support in parliament. Whatever path he chooses, the governing coalition is likely to be unstable. The record number of new, inexperienced MPs means that discipline will be hard to enforce, and the wide range of views inside the United List means that almost every vote could become a small political drama. The new government may be pro-Western in foreign policy, but at home it could be chaotic, improvisational and difficult to predict.
If the coalition is a cause for worry, the opposition is an even bigger warning sign. The largest opposition force will be Latvia First, a party that in many ways resembles the political style of Donald Trump: constant social media presence, aggressive rhetoric, and a disregard for factual accuracy. It has nearly doubled its representation, winning 17 seats. Its founder, Ainārs Šlesers, is a former oligarch who has launched no fewer than eight political projects over the years. He created Latvia First during the pandemic, when he gathered together people who opposed vaccines and restrictions. Since then, he has continued to play on those fears, adding themes such as the European Green Deal, “117 genders,” national bankruptcy, and other perceived catastrophes. In the new parliament, Latvia First will have more MPs who do not hesitate to use distorted facts to mislead the public about Latvia’s support for Ukraine, and some of them openly repeat Kremlin disinformation. This is not an opposition that will hold the government accountable in a constructive way; it is an opposition that will feed suspicion, anger and division. The party’s success shows how successful social media can be at mobilizing people who feel left behind, but it also means that the political debate in the Saeima will be coarser, more confrontational and often detached from reality. The line between entertainment and politics has collapsed, and Latvia First is one of the main beneficiaries.
The new parliament will also contain more openly pro-Russian voices than before, something that is deeply sensitive in a country with a large ethnic Russian minority and a painful history with Soviet occupation. This niche has traditionally existed in Latvian politics, with parties changing names and leaders but not the underlying ideology. This time it is filled by the alliance known as Sovereign Power/Young Latvians Alliance, which won 15 seats. Its leader, Jūlija Stepaņenko, is an experienced politician who has won support by defending what she calls family values and campaigning against vaccination and wind energy. She also opposes strengthening Latvia’s security and supporting Ukraine. During the campaign, she had to explain nearly half a million euros in gifts from her father, who lives in Russia and whose construction company supplies, among others, the Russian army. The other half of the alliance, the New Latvians Union, is led by Rūdolfs Brēmanis, a former diplomat who was dismissed from Latvia’s foreign service and is now on trial for allegedly defrauding the state of 100,000 euros. Fact-checkers have debunked his claims more often than anyone else in the country’s history, and he is often called Latvia’s chief disinformer. He spreads chemtrail conspiracy theories and other nonsense with the confidence of a true believer. In fact, Brēmanis is one of four people facing criminal charges who have been elected to the new Saeima; the other three are from Latvia First, including its leader Šlesers. These are not accidental outliers; they are representatives of a growing trend in which legal trouble and political success go hand in hand. Many of these politicians are coming directly from Riga City Council, where their constant filming, endless speeches, obstructive proposals and occasional brawling brought normal work to a standstill. The council was quietly relieved to see them go. There is no reason to believe they will behave differently in parliament.
On a more positive note, the election itself was relatively clean, and one week after the vote, no one had officially challenged the results. There were fewer stolen-election claims online than in previous elections, and the usual misinformation about ballot swapping and suspicious delays was less widespread. Some confusion was inevitable when the start of the vote count was delayed by several hours after polling stations closed, and some purveyors of falsehoods seized on that delay as proof that ballots had been switched in the meantime. Early voting figures and exit polls were also used to mislead, as they always are. But none of this had the impact it once may have had. The infrastructure of disinformation is still there, but it seems tired, repeated and less effective. Still, the overall picture remains troubling. A quiet election does not guarantee a quiet parliament. Latvia has chosen a record-size ruling group with little experience, an opposition that embraces disinformation, and a vocal pro-Russian bloc that will do everything it can to cast doubt on Ukraine support and Western values. The new Saeima will be rowdier, more polarized and less respectful of facts than the one before it. That is not a prediction based on fear; it is a simple consequence of who was elected. For ordinary citizens, the next four years may feel less like a period of stability and more like an experiment in what happens when politics is run by influencers, vloggers and professional provocateurs. The election itself was calm, but the noise is only just beginning.