Published on Monday, 31 March 2014 11:50
Written by Ruben
Martinez
Ruben Martinez is a freelance journalist based in Riga, Latvia and has collaborated with different international media in both Spanish and English.
This article originally appeared in New Eastern Europe issue 1/2013: Can Russia Really Change?
Walking quietly around the cobbled streets of Riga’s old town, Zanna explains
to a group of tourists about the particularities of the Art Nouveau style that
adorn many of the facades of the buildings in Latvia’s capital city. For many
years now, this 71-year-old woman has worked as a tour guide for Russian
visitors in the country where she was born after her father, who was born in
Russia, was sent to the Baltic shore to fight the Germans in the Second World
War. Zanna, born in 1941, never knew her father. He set off for the war one day
and never made it back.
Facing
reality was tough for her family after such a loss, but they opted to stick
together and stay in Latvia. They had no one waiting for them back in Russia.
Life was all about surviving in the western part of the yet to be vast Soviet
empire. Many years have passed since then, but in her voice there are still
shades of many bittersweet moments of her life. Zanna reflects on her mother’s
efforts to build a reasonable a comfortable life in Latvia, and how all that
changed from one day to the next.
Second class citizens
Recalling
the day the country regained its independence, Zanna says, “I literally went
from being an average citizen to being on some kind of a blacklist; I became a
second-class citizen of the country where I was born.”
Many
people took part in the 1991 referendum on re-establishing the country’s
independence, even those ethnic Russians who were either sent to Latvia to work
or, like Zanna, born in the country when it was a part of the Soviet Union.
They represented as many as 715,000 people in a country of little more than two
million inhabitants. The restoration of the 1922 constitution was among the first
measures the newly elected government of Latvia implemented, and individuals
who were citizens of the country as of June 17th 1940 were once again
recognised as Latvian citizens along with their descendants. All those who
didn’t fit this description were given a “non-citizen of Latvia” status,
limiting their rights at the social and political level in the newly
re-established independent republic. This action left contradictory feelings in
those left behind, turning their lives upside down, and the 71-year-old Zanna
recalls one example: “My family was given 30 per cent less privatisation
certificates than Latvian-born people, limiting our right to privatise our
apartment. For me it has always been clear about what happened –they improved
the lives of the others at our expense.”
During
the first years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the path to citizenship
was blocked for this large community, leaving them in a sort of limbo. Only in
1995 did the Latvian government pass the law on the status of the citizens of
the former USSR, making naturalisation an option for them. However, annual
quotas and so-called windows were imposed for the next three years, which
limited both the number and sort of people who could apply for Latvian
citizenship.
Latvia’s
“non-citizens” represent a unique status never seen before at the international
level. They are former citizens of the USSR, individuals who are neither
citizens of Latvia nor of any other country. Theycannot vote in any type of
elections, nor actively participate in Latvia’s political life. They can't work
in the public sector nor work in certain private businesses, and their pension
rights are restricted.
Failed referendum
Today,
around 315,000 of these non-citizens live in Latvia (14 per cent of the entire
population), down from approximately 715,000 in 1991. The data is still
relevant for such a small country of just 2 million inhabitants, and after two
decades of ups and downs, the non-citizens’ community seems to have finally
taken the initiative to try to achieve a change in their situation. Last
September, the social movement For Equal Rights submitted over 12,000
signatures to the Central Election Commission (CEC) in order to initiate a
referendum to grant full citizenship to all Latvia’s non-citizens. The bill
submitted by the petitioners stipulates that all non-citizens of Latvia who do
not apply to keep their status of non-citizens by November 30th 2013 would be
automatically granted Latvian citizenship on January 1st 2014. The CEC,
however, decided that the second round of signature collection for staging a
referendum, which would have needed petitioners to gather at least 10 per cent
of voters’ signatures (approximately 150,000 signatures), couldn’t proceed for
technical reasons.
The
Latvian authorities welcomed the decision, and then-Prime Minister Valdis
Dombrovskis said that the CEC’s decision was based on the incompatibility of
the bill with the country’s constitution and believes that it should contribute
to defusing inter-ethnic tensions in Latvian society. Officials also stated
that the automatic granting of citizenship to non-citizens would contradict the
European Union’s security standards, being also discriminatory to those who had
already been naturalised.
Nevertheless,
the initiative has already shaken the political arena in the country, with
Latvia’s president, Andris Bērziņš, saying during an interview previous to the
CEC’s decision, that “automatic citizenship for non-citizens is not the right
solution, although I believe that the problem requires an urgent solution.”
Evolution
The
OSCE Parliamentary Assembly and Amnesty International describe non-citizens of
Latvia as stateless persons, belonging to a state that does not exist anymore.
However, under Latvian law, they are long-term residents of the country who are
neither citizens of Latvia nor any other country. Tatjana Ždanoka,
Parliamentarian and co-chairperson of For Human Rights in United Latvia,
maintains that what happened in Latvia was “a clear division by origins”,
adding that parliament, “elected by all the people, deprived a large number of
the country’s citizens of some rights. Basically, it was the creation of
apartheid.”
Such
comparison could be dangerous, but clearly illustrates the bitter feelings,
especially for Ždanoka, who has made non-citizens’ rights one of her main
political pillars. Over the years, the situation of these people has been
evolving, in part, thanks to international pressure when the country joined the
EU and NATO back in 2004. Nils Muižnieks, a Latvian human rights activist and
since April 2012 Council of Europe Commissioner for Human Rights, believes that
the citizenship law has not really worked: “It has not promoted integration and
participation, and the majority of politicians are not very concerned about the
situation. In fact, some are quite satisfied with how things are.”
The
Latvian authorities believe that time has given them the reason. Latvian
culture and language are stronger than they were 20 years ago, and the small
Baltic country has been able to get on to its feet after the collapse of the
Soviet Union. “I truly believe that there have been no big mistakes at the
political level over the last two decades,” Roberts Zīle says. The Latvian
economist and member of parliament, who served as Minister of Finance from 1997
to 1998 and Minister of Communications from 2002 to 2004, considers
non-citizenship to be a non-issue. “We would not have become an EU member state
if we had not fulfilled the legal framework on citizenship. Being a non-citizen
poses no obstacles to work and contributing to the development of the country,
and I think the issue has been over exaggerated many times,” Zīle adds.
However,
the numbers speak for themselves; around 14 per cent of Latvia’s population has
the words “alien” and “non-citizen” printed in their passports. Such a large
figure proves that it is a large and diverse community which includes an
important number of elderly people, youngsters, and children. Alex Krasnitsky,
a journalist born in Riga, says he feels “cheated by all Latvian politicians
who do not represent us,” and notes that everyone was promised citizenship
during the “awakening period” of the late 1980s and early 1990s. “At the social
level there is no such problem between citizens and non-citizens, but I believe
we have been used politically many times. I love my country, but sometimes I
have felt alone and isolated from a political point of view. To be honest, I
think we have been forgotten over the years,” Krasnitsky adds.
Naturalisation
Non-citizens
have been offered the opportunity to naturalise since 1995. More than 135,000
people have taken advantage of this opportunity proving that they had lived in
Latvia for at least five years and knew the country’s constitution, language,
history and national anthem. Death rates and migration movements have also
contributed to bringing down the numbers of non-citizens in Latvia. Today,
however, naturalisation rates are very low, while the number of non-citizens
applying for other citizenships, mostly Russian, has increased slightly. There
are reasons to explain this phenomenon: poor knowledge of the Latvian language,
especially among older people, and a lack of motivation.
“Naturalisation
is acynical procedure introduced at the beginning of the 1990s,” 24-year-old
student Aleksandrs Filejs says. “I was born in Riga, so why should I pass an
exam to acquire citizenship of my own country? I believe it should be given to
me automatically.” Filejs, a highly active polyglot – speaking Latvian,
Russian, French, German and Spanish – mentions “a moral discomfort” when
talking about the right to vote in Latvian elections.
The
case of Yuri Petropavlovsky is unique. His naturalisation application coincided
with the education reform protests that took place in Latvia in 2004, when
hundreds of ethnic Russians took to the streets claiming their right to be
taught at school in their native language. Born and raised in Latvia, he passed
the naturalisation exams, but the government revoked his citizenship after
considering him disloyal to the country. In 2006 he took his case before the
European Court for Human Rights after being told that in Latvia “political
decisions of the government are not under the influence of the Latvian Court
system.” He expects to have a positive resolution in the near future, although
he says that it would only be “the end of a small battle”.
Language
However,
the naturalisation process also has its positive sides. Nadzezhda lives with
her husband, a non-citizen, and their daughter who has citizenship as she was
born in independent Latvia. Tired of feeling like an outsider in the country
where she lives and having to deal with endless procedures when travelling,
Nadzezhda naturalised because she wanted to be a “full-right citizen of Latvia,
take part in the social and political life of the country and freely travel
around Europe”. She had to take the naturalisation exam twice as she failed to
prove her fluency in the Latvian language the first time around. “When I passed
the exam, I felt very confident in myself for achieving something I had very
much longed for,” Nadzezhda says. Like her, most young non-citizens were either
born in the country or had their education in Latvian. Elderly people, however,
struggle to speak the Latvian, mainly because they can get around only speaking
Russian and refuse to learn the language after living for many years in the
country.
Language
poses a key element for the integration of such a large community whose mother
tongue is mostly Russian. Svetlana Djačkova, a social and human rights
researcher at the Latvian Centre for Human Rights, says that the state should
take more steps to further promote naturalisation, and believes that there is a
“lack of political will to promote social integration” in Latvia.
“International observers have advised easing some of the naturalisation
procedures for social groups such as the elderly in terms of language. However,
there is a lack of dialogue between the state, experts and minorities,”
Djačkova adds.
Voting
After
non-citizens were granted visa free travel throughout the Schengen Area and
Russia, the debate on how to further promote the integration process of these
people has focused on one of the most important democratic rights: the right to
vote and participate in politics; something that is sometimes taken for granted
in Western Europe.
Nils
Muižnieks points out that “people learn democracy through participation and
Latvia doesn’t see the drawbacks of having such a large community of
non-citizens … to promote participation and have their rights represented, you
have to promote naturalisation and voting rights at the local level.”
The
Latvian political elite doesn’t share such an approach. “Can you tell me of a
country where non-citizens can vote in national elections? I don’t know of
any,” argues Roberts Zīle, who also adds: “If you want to be politically
active, you have to be a citizen, and the doors are open for everybody. There
are no quotas or so-called windows as there used to be.”
Latvia
took important steps to address the situation of its non-citizens prior its
accession to the European Union, but once the country became a member state,
the problem was moved to the very bottom of the list of political priorities.
International pressure and therefore political will have disappeared, and the
EU, which says that citizenship issues belong to the internal affairs of
individual countries, limits its position.
Meanwhile,
Russia has not contributed positively to finding a solution to the problem.
Taking into account that these non-citizens are mostly ethnic Russians who were
either born or sent to the Latvian Soviet Socialist Republic during the time of
the Soviet Union, the messages sent from the Kremlin have been everything but
helpful, calling for external interference and for non-citizens to believe that
their situation in Latvia, and that of the Russian language, would change.
So
while Latvia has achieved important goals during these 20 years, non-citizens
have not. They may have got used to their status, but as long as they cannot
vote and lack representation at the political level, the social integration
process will not go forward in the country. Democracy sometimes doesn’t mean
fairness, and while some people promise to keep fighting for this cause, the
battle for the hearts and minds is yet to be won by Latvia.
