In the lead-up to the elections for Latvia’s 15th Saeima, the country’s public conversation was filled with the usual noise of political promises, sharp accusations, and competing visions for the future. But amid the debates, there was also a quieter, more patient work taking place: fact-checkers from the Re:Check project, run by the Baltic investigative journalism outfit Re:Baltica, sat through the arguments and compared the words of politicians against official records, budget documents, and statistics. What they found was not a story of outright conspiracy, but something perhaps more human and more concerning: a series of exaggerations, conflations, and genuine misunderstandings that, in the heat of an election campaign, can distort public perception and undermine the very basis of informed voting. In a democracy, voters rely on accurate information to choose their leaders, and when those leaders stretch the truth about how public money is spent, or how policy is working, the damage can be as subtle as it is significant. The Re:Check review focused on three key policy areas—the cost of the state apparatus, healthcare funding, and the rental housing programme—and in each case, the gap between what was said and what the numbers actually showed offered a useful reminder that political rhetoric, however confident, must always be tested against reality. This is not about condemning individual politicians, but about understanding the context, the nuance, and the complexity behind the figures they cite, and about recognizing that the truth is often more complicated—and sometimes more reassuring—than the version presented on stage.
The first claim examined by Re:Check came from Prime Minister Andris Kulbergs of the United List party, who spoke during a debate about the size and cost of the Latvian state apparatus. Kulbergs correctly noted that the number of employees working directly in the ministries is around 3,500, a figure that aligns with official statistics. But then he made a sweeping and much more dramatic assertion: that this state apparatus, with those 3,500 employees, costs the country €2 billion. He repeated the claim on social media after the debate, reinforcing an image of a bloated, top-heavy bureaucracy that swallows enormous sums of taxpayer money. On its face, the statement sounds alarming—two billion euros for a few thousand ministry workers would indeed suggest a shocking level of waste. But Re:Check looked at the actual budget, and the reality is considerably different. The €2 billion figure that Kulbergs cited refers to a much larger category of state spending: the core budget allocation of €1.97 billion for this year, which is primarily intended for the salaries of employees at all state budget institutions, not just the ministries. This includes firefighters, police officers, doctors, judges, military personnel, and many others—nearly 60,000 people in total, who serve the public in countless essential roles. These are not anonymous bureaucrats sitting in ministry offices; they are the people who respond to emergencies, keep neighborhoods safe, treat the sick, and uphold the law. When the prime minister described this allocation as the cost of the ministry apparatus, he was conflating two very different things: a small core of policy-making civil servants, and the vast network of public service professionals who work across the entire country. It is a distinction that matters deeply, because the public deserves to know exactly how its money is being spent, and it deserves a leader who can explain that spending without resorting to misleading shorthand.
The details behind that €2 billion figure are worth exploring carefully, because they reveal the difference between political perception and administrative reality. According to Re:Check, only about €133 million is planned this year for the salaries of those approximately 3,500 ministry employees. That is a substantial sum, to be sure, but it is a far cry from €2 billion. The remaining money is distributed across the wider public sector, funding the wages of the teachers in Latvia’s schools, the nurses working long shifts in hospitals, the border guards protecting the country’s frontiers, and the scientists, social workers, and cultural workers who form the backbone of a functioning society. When a politician says that a particular group of employees “costs” €2 billion, it creates the false impression that the state is run by a small group of overpaid officials. In reality, the state apparatus is not a monolith; it is a collection of real people doing difficult, often undervalued work. The Prime Minister’s Chancellery later acknowledged that Kulbergs was mistaken, which is an important admission, but the damage to public understanding may already have been done. In an election context, such claims can reinforce cynicism about government and fuel the belief that public money is wasted on elites, when in fact the overwhelming majority of state spending goes toward essential services that every citizen relies on. The fact-checkers’ job is not to absolve the government of all criticism—there are certainly legitimate debates to be had about efficiency, accountability, and priorities—but to ensure that those debates are grounded in accurate numbers. A €2 billion cost figure that ignores 95 percent of the actual budget cannot be the starting point for a meaningful discussion about the future of Latvia’s public sector.
The second area of concern involved healthcare funding, a subject of intense public interest in any country, but especially in Latvia, where the health system faces significant challenges and where citizens often feel the pressure of waiting times and out-of-pocket costs. During an episode of the LTV programme “What Is Happening in Latvia?”, Edmunds Jurēvičs, the head of the New Unity parliamentary faction, made a bold claim: that healthcare funding had increased by €400 million during the time of Health Minister Hossam Abu Meri, who took office in September 2023. At first glance, such an increase might sound like a major triumph, a powerful commitment to improving the nation’s health. But Re:Check examined the actual budget figures, and the real number is far more modest. According to the fact-checkers, state funding for healthcare was €1.8 billion in 2023, while just under €2 billion is planned for this year. That represents an increase of approximately €200 million—not the €400 million that Jurēvičs claimed. The difference is significant: the politician’s figure doubled the actual growth of healthcare spending, perhaps through a misunderstanding of how the numbers were calculated, or perhaps through the natural temptation to make good news sound even better. The truth is still that healthcare funding has increased, and that is a positive development for a system that needs resources, but the exact scale of that increase matters. If voters believe that funding has grown twice as much as it actually has, they may form unrealistic expectations about what the system should be able to deliver. They may become angrier when hospitals remain overcrowded or when certain services are still hard to access, not realizing that the additional money, while helpful, was not the windfall they had been led to believe. Conversely, a more accurate understanding of the roughly €200 million increase would allow for a more honest conversation about the enormous challenges facing healthcare in Latvia, from rising costs and an aging population to longstanding structural inefficiencies. Fact-checking here is not about attacking a politician’s motives, but about protecting the quality of public debate so that promises are judged by what they actually mean in real terms, and so that the health system is evaluated on the basis of verifiable facts rather than inflated claims.
The third claim addressed by Re:Check concerned housing, another deeply emotional and practical issue. During a leaders’ debate in Riga, Viktor Valainis, chairman of the Union of Greens and Farmers, spoke about a programme run by the state financial institution Altum that was designed to build rental apartments for young families. Valainis said that 1,200 new rental apartments were being built under the programme, a statement that would suggest a substantial tangible achievement in a country where housing affordability and availability are pressing concerns. Young families in Latvia, like many places across Europe, struggle to find stable, reasonably priced rental accommodation, and government programmes that attempt to address this scarcity are often viewed as lifelines. But Re:Check’s investigation revealed that the actual number of apartments built so far is approximately 470. The figure of 1,200 refers to the estimated number of planned homes, not the number of completed units. This is a classic and very human error: confusing a target with an outcome, or perhaps reading a progress report and interpreting the projected numbers as accomplished reality. To his credit, Valainis acknowledged that he was mistaken, which shows a willingness to correct the record. But the episode still illustrates a common tendency in political discourse to present aspirations as achievements, to speak about what is on the drawing board as though it already exists. For a young family struggling to find a place to live, hearing that 1,200 new apartments are being built might create a sense that the housing crisis is being solved, when in fact only 470 have materialized and there is still a long way to go. That gap between promise and progress can lead to disillusionment, and it can also distort policy debates, because if the public believes a programme is more successful than it really is, there may be less pressure on politicians to expand it, fund it differently, or fix its flaws. Housing policies require patient, long-term investment, and residents deserve accurate updates on what has actually been delivered, not just what is hoped for.
Taken together, these three fact-checked claims point to a broader reality about political communication in Latvia and indeed everywhere. Politicians are not always dishonest; they are often simply human, prone to rounding numbers in their favor, conflating categories, and letting optimism outpace evidence. But in the context of elections, these small human errors carry outsized weight. The choices made by voters determine the direction of the country for years to come, and those choices must be based on a clear understanding of how public money is raised and spent. The Re:Check project’s work is therefore not merely a technical exercise in number-crunching; it is a vital act of citizenship, a service to the public that helps ensure accountability and transparency. The specific findings from this election season—the €2 billion state apparatus that was actually a €1.97 billion allocation for nearly 60,000 essential workers, the €400 million healthcare increase that was really about €200 million, and the 1,200 rental apartments that were really 470 built and 1,200 planned—are not just trivia. They are reminders that language is powerful, and that the words spoken by leaders, repeated on social media, and absorbed by the public can shape attitudes toward institutions and policies for years. A voter who believes that the state is vastly overstaffed may support reckless cuts; a voter who believes healthcare funding doubled may be bitterly disappointed when the system does not transform overnight; a voter who believes housing is being solved may overlook the ongoing crisis. By carefully, patiently checking the facts, Re:Check helps to restore some balance and to give the public a truer picture of what is happening. In a healthy democracy, this is not an act of hostility toward politicians; it is an act of respect for both the truth and the electorate. And as Latvia moves forward past the election, one can only hope that leaders, whatever their party, will take these lessons to heart—not just in the heat of a campaign, but in the quiet work of governing, where the real promise is kept not with words, but with actions that can withstand the scrutiny of fact-checkers.