We recently came across a New York Times article from late December writing of the plight of Russians who have never passed the language competency test and now risk losing their permanent resident status. In “In a Baltic Nation, Fear and Suspicion Stalk Russian Speakers” (published December 18, 2023, updated December 20, 2023), Andrew Higgins, reporting from Daugavpils and Rīga, begins:
The Russian-speaking widow was born in Latvia 63 years ago, when it was still a part of the Soviet Union, got married there and raised a family. She has never lived anywhere else.
So it came as a nasty surprise this fall when she received a curt official letter saying she had lost her rights to residency, a state pension and medical care. “You must leave the territory of the Republic of Latvia by Nov. 30, 2023,” she was informed.
With nowhere to go, the widow, Nina Marcinkevica, who has heart and lung problems and high blood pressure, said she collapsed from shock and spent the next three days in bed weeping.
The article goes on to paint this action as a product of Latvian fear of Russia, of fomenting against Russians in response to the invasion of Ukraine, and (our paraphrasing) using testing for basic fluency in Latvian, the sole official state language, as a litmus test of loyalty to Latvia.
Whose apartheid?
While Russia’s invasion of Ukraine was a precipitory factor for renewed pressure to insure language proficiency enforcement, Marcinkevica’s plight also represents a choice. For decades, many of Latvia’s Russophones have lived in a self-perpetuated Russophone bubble, shopping Russian-speaking stores, consuming Russian-language broadcast and printed media, getting by without needing to know a word of Latvian. The Kremlin and Russian media, on the other hand, would have us believe Russians’ fervent longings to join Latvian society are being actively repulsed by the Latvian state; they have denounced Latvia’s authorities repeatedly for marginalizing their Russian population and for creating state-sanctioned apartheid: RT, Vzgljad, Baltnews, Rubaltic, Rambler.ru, and Rueconomics, among others, have been complaining about Latvia’s “apartheid” regime in their headlines for years.
Three decades of choosing to not learn Latvian
Marcinkevica was born in 1960. Putting aside various declarations by Soviet Latvia et al. on the reclamation of sovereignty, the USSR recognized Latvia’s independence on September 6, 1991, thus she was 30 or 31 at the time. The only reason to not to learn the native language during the intervening 32 years since is not feeling a need to learn the “pig language”—as I was present to hear it on Latvian talk radio circa 1992. (My relatives interpreted for me.)
All that is required to maintain permanent residency is to demonstrate a basic knowledge of Latvian, which brings up the proficiency test. I looked at it years ago and it seemed to me that I could handily pass it with a refresher of high school ‘Spanish I’ were the test in Spanish. So, what are the specific testing requirements?
Language proficiency requirements
Technically, the applicant must demonstrate “A2” level proficiency in Latvian as a foreign language (from the perspective of the applicant). The A2 test as of this writing is available here (PDF). The applicant must achieve a passing score of 60% each in listening, reading, writing, and oral proficiency. Other than any essays or oral examinations, answers are multiple choice.
What is “A2” proficiency? From a description on the British consulate’s web site in Spain:
Level A2 corresponds to basic users of the language, i.e. those able to communicate in everyday situations with commonly-used expressions and elementary vocabulary. It is important to bear in mind that the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (CEFRL) is the system that defines and explains the different levels of oral and written expression and comprehension for languages such as English [and in this case, Latvian]. It consists of 6 levels of reference: three blocks (A or basic user, B or independent user and C or proficient user), which are in turn divided into two sublevels, 1 and 2.
SKILLS AT LEVEL A2
One of the questions you might ask yourself when you read this information is, what language competences characterise a person who can prove they have a level A2 in English [or any other language]? The CEFRL specifies the following:
He/she can understand sentences and frequently-used expressions related to the areas of experience most immediately relevant to him/her (e.g. very basic personal and family information, shopping, places of interest, employment, etc.).
He/she can communicate in simple, everyday tasks requiring no more than a simple and direct exchange of information on familiar and routine matters.
He/she can describe in simple terms aspects of his/her past, environment and matters related to his/her immediate needs.
Put another way, how much of the local language would you need to learn to get by if no one spoke any language you knew? And let’s say all you had was a small “basic phrases” booklet upon your arrival. Surely over the span of thirty years you could learn to competently ask the price of a head of cabbage.
Oppression or reasonable and legitimate expectations?
This is far from the first controversy over the imposition of Latvian as the one and only state language. The same occurred under the Ulmanis (post-coup) regime. Ethnic schools were abolished, instruction was standardized in Latvian, and the multiple dialects of Latvian itself standardized. Today it is popular to portray that as a manifestation of “Latvia for the Latvians” ethno-nationalism, of a Latvian cultural xenophobia. This is simply untrue.
Ulmanis’ agricultural studies were a core influence to his politics. He had attended the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology Zurich, continued his studies at Leipzig University in Germany, then, following political unrest, ended up studying at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln where he earned a Bachelor of Science degree in agriculture. Ulmanis learned the essential role of communications to economic planning and development; he understood that unless all Latvia’s citizenry conversed in a common language, the prospects for future economic development of a small country like Latvia were severely limited.
To whose benefit?
Who has benefited from Russian self-apartheid over the past three decades? Other than the personal convenience of Russophones, it can only be seen as a net loss to all of Latvia’s inhabitants, citizens and non-citizens; and a benefit to the Kremlin, whose primary goal is to sow societal divisions in its neighbors. Indeed, one of the most vociferous critics of Latvia’s “apartheid” policies over the past three decades, Latvia’s EU parliamentarian Tatjana Ždanoka, was just revealed to have been a Russian FSB asset working for two different handlers, minimally from 2009 to 2017.
None of this is to say that we do not feel sympathy for those who have lived in Latvia all their lives and who, based on easy—if now problematic—choices in the past, face losing their resident status. Nor are questions and impact of perceived or actual loyalty to the Kremlin easily resolved, especially given Putin’s current campaign of genocide in Ukraine.
Those affected have been granted an extension to 2025.
