Between two worlds: Russian minorities face Baltic language reforms

“We live next to each other, not with each other.” A repeatedly heard sentiment amongst the Baltic population. 

Heavily shaped by 20th-century migration under Soviet rule, Estonia and Latvia are among the more ethnically and linguistically diverse countries in the European Union. In Estonia, over 190 nationalities live together, and one-third of Latvia's population belongs to minority groups. 

Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine triggered a wave of anti-Russian measures across Europe. In the Baltics — home to large Russian-speaking minorities — this has resulted in sweeping language reforms in schools.

With Russian no longer a priority language, some fear the changes harm children’s education and will impact their futures. Beyond the classroom, the reforms ripple through communities, raising questions of identity, belonging, and social cohesion.

Classrooms in transition

In 2024, Estonia embarked on a landmark educational reform. The instruction of the Russian language in Baltics schools, a legacy of the Soviet era, began to be phased out. With the aim that by 2030 all mainstream instruction will be in Estonian only.

Estonian officials describe the reform as a turning point. The Ministry of Education called the shift “a historic moment,” noting that for the first time in independent Estonia all first-grade classes and preschool groups are beginning their education entirely in Estonian.

Education Minister Kristina Kallas has said the goal is to end the long-standing division between Estonian and Russian schools in the country.

“This is a new path that, in ten years, will hopefully lead us to a future where we no longer segregate children based on their native language within the education system,” she told Poland’s Press Agency.

Meanwhile, Latvia is going even a step further. Under new rules adopted by the government, starting from the 2026/2027 academic year, Russian will no longer be offered as a second foreign language in schools.

Instead, schools will be required to offer one of the European Union’s or European Economic Area’s official languages. Effectively ending Russian-language instruction as a standard option for new students. 

The transition will be gradual. Pupils who began studying Russian before Sep.1, 2025 may continue through 9th grade, but future cohorts may only study EU-approved languages.  

For decades, Russian was normalized in the Baltic education systems and the wider social sphere. Now, generations of children will grow up taught mostly in Estonian or Latvian — and many may never learn Russian formally. 

But to understand what these reforms mean in practice, it’s necessary to look beyond legislation and classrooms.

In both Estonia and Latvia, this transition takes place within societies where Russian-speaking communities remain a significant part of the Baltic demographic landscape.

How did they get here, timeline of events: 

Life inside Tallinn’s Russian community. 

Estonia has a significant Russian-speaking population. According to Statistics Estonia, nearly 286,000 ethnic Russians reside in the country today, making up 21% of the total population.

Much of the Russian population is concentrated in the North, particularly in the capital, Tallinn. East of the Old Town lies the Lasnamäe district. With around 66,000 Rusisians, they make up the majority. Only Narva, a border city in the Northeast, has a larger Russian population than Lasnamäe.

Growing up between two languages. 

Alina Romanova, a 29-year-old artist, grew up in the Lasnamäe district. She remembers a very different model to the one Estonian schools have today. 

“When I was in school, we had a system of 60/40. Sixty percent of the lessons were in Estonian, subjects like arts, physical education and history.” The remaining 40 percent were taught in Russian, allowing students to enter adulthood genuinely bilingual.

For today’s children, she fears the shift may be too abrupt. “Now it’s hard for children to learn Estonian when you don’t speak it at home.

Many Russian-speaking families still rely almost entirely on Russian for daily communication, especially in neighbourhoods like Lasnamäe where there is little pressure to use Estonian. 

Alina worries this gap could affect students’ ability to understand even the most basic subjects.

“I am afraid that children won’t be able to understand basic subjects like math, reading and writing. And that the overall level of literacy and education could decline due to the difficulty of learning in a language other than their native language. I’m glad I had the privilege of studying in Russian.” 

Tallinn is often presented as a bilingual European capital, but life in Lasnamäe tells a different story.

“I think most of Tallinn’s people speak Russian,” Alina says. 

Her social world mirrors this separation. “All my friends here are Russian; I don’t have Estonian friends. I don’t use this language in my life.”

Alina feels that for many Russian speakers, Estonian exists rather as a formal requirement rather than a natural part of their social identity, despite being a part of Estonia.  

A people separated by language. 

“For Estonians, English and Estonian are their main languages,” she says. “For Russians, we made some sort of hybrid with English, Russian and Estonian words.”

Despite this, Alina insists there is no hostility between communities. That they live beside one another rather than with one another. “We have our community, and they have their community,” she says.

This sense of parallel existence is also echoed online.

On TikTok, Alina observes that “Estonians get mad when people speak Russian, but I don’t see it that way. Maybe only the stupid people will.”

One Reddit user, under the name 'euphoricscrewpine', described the relationship between the two communities as “relative segregation,” writing that Estonians and Russians “generally get along, but mostly keep to themselves.”

While another commenter said tensions mostly arise when “Russian-speaking individuals haven’t managed to learn a word of Estonian in 20, 30, 40 years, yet demand to be communicated with in Russian.”

Yet the separation Alina describes is far from a universal feeling. Beyond Lasnamäe’s Russian-speaking bubble,. Russian is heard less often, and the divide between the communities feels far less pronounced. 

For many Estonians, the language carries no political weight at all. It is simply another tool for getting by. Jessica Saia, raised in central Estonia, embodies that quieter, more relaxed reality. 

“I speak a little bit of Russian. I used to study it in school, but I’m from the middle of Estonia, and there used to be no other Russians there.” Her Russian later improved through working in sales.

She notes that students often choose Russian for practical reasons. “There are two languages you can choose: Russian or German. And I can see many people choosing to learn Russian because it’s much more useful here.”

Removing Russian from schools feels unnecessary rather than protective for Jessica. “I think it's not nice because there are many Russian people out there, and it’s one of the main languages that you should know here.”

Despite this, she remains optimistic about the future. “I don’t feel a divide between Estonians and Russians, but I hope we can be more united in the future.” 

Her social experiences contradict the idea of deep divides. “My best friend is Russian, and we get along well. We both don’t like Putin and stuff, but he’s just a person from Russia and nothing else,” Jessica says. 

Judged by a language. 

“When you hear someone speak Russian, people judge them quickly these days,” Kristaps explains. “There is a lot of hate towards the Russian language and Russian speakers in general in Latvian society.”

Despite being fluent in Russian, many people in Latvia are cautious about using the language in public. “People are less likely to switch to Russian even if they know it,” he says.

Kristaps emphasises that discrimination against Russian-speakers in Latvia is often subtle rather than overt. “I wouldn’t say the hate is really visible, it’s more in social cues,” Duselis elaborates.

While these social biases exist, they rarely escalate into overt aggression. “There isn’t any obvious hate,” he continues. “People definitely wouldn’t get beat up or harassed for speaking Russian.” 

Kristaps shows understanding for the Latvian’s dislike towards Russia. “It’s because of who they are, what has happened in history, and what is happening now.” Referring to a brutal history of occupation.

At the same time, he sees value in preserving and respecting the Russian language. “It’s part of our history, and what shapes our identity today.”

For that reason, “It’s stupid to disregard the Russian language and to look down upon,” says Duselis. “I think it’s nice to speak a different language and there’s only positives from that,” He said.

Despite discrimination and increased hate towards Russians in recent years, Kristaps opposes to this behaviour. “I have nothing against people who are Latvian Russian-speakers,” he explains. “As long as they act in Latvia’s best interest, following its values and contributing good things to society, there is no reason to hate them, just because they speak Russian.” 

Pass or leave: residency at risk. 

Kristaps Duselis also mentions a recent change to the Latvian Immigration Law, adopted in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022. “There’s a law that requires Russian citizens and speakers residing in Latvia to pass a language exam to keep their passport.”

It requires residents aged 15 to 75 to pass a basic A2-level Latvian language exam. If they fail the exam three times, they have to leave the country, and their residence permit is revoked.

Because of that law, Kristaps thinks there will be fewer Russians in Latvia and therefore expects a further decline in Russian-speakers.

“Discrimination," says Moscow.

Latvia’s policies toward Russian speakers have also been strongly criticised by the Russian government. In a statement published by Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Latvia is described as a country where Russian-speaking residents face “the most severe discrimination”.

The ministry claims that Latvian authorities are trying to build a “mono-ethnic model of a state” and are “excluding everything that is Russian from public life”.

It also accuses Latvia of rewriting history, saying the government is “falsifying history to construct a parallel historic reality”.

According to the Russian Foreign Ministry, bans on Soviet symbols and restrictions on 9 May commemorations “deny a significant part of the population the right to preserve their memory and honour their forebears”.

The ministry links these measures to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, claiming that Latvia has used the war as “a welcome occasion to fulfil their Russophobic aspirations”.

Latvian officials reject these accusations, saying the measures are aimed at strengthening the Latvian language, addressing the legacy of Soviet occupation, and standing in solidarity with Ukraine.

Challenges of today, rooted in history.

Duselis notes the Russian annexation of Crimea in 2014 as a important turning point. “Since 2014 Latvia has experienced a bigger separation and division between Russian and Latvian communities in the country.”

This relates to decades of demographic shifts amongst Russians in Latvia. Explains Dainis Rižkins, historian and expert on Latvian occupation.

“Because of what we experienced in the '70s and '80s, when many people came to live in Latvia from the USSR, has left a lasting impact on society and the way people live today.” And Rižkins feels “not much was done to address this.”

The war in Ukraine has prompted stronger measures. “Latvian society and the Latvian government have really tried to side with Ukraine,” he says.

“They try to fight the Soviet symbols and monuments that glorify the Red Army and the Soviet Union,” he says.

This also extends to language. “You can see that a lot of signs are taken out which are Russian, and you see the Russian language less and less,” Rižkins says. “The Latvian state language is Latvian, and Russian was really prioritized during Soviet times.” 

Rižkins emphasizes that “People learn languages for opportunities.”

Implying that “Children will be more interested in learning English, French, Spanish or German, so that there will be more international opportunities.”

Rižkins does note that Russian still holds practical value in certain fields. “For those in business, knowing Russian gives you more people to work with. For history, you have more research material,” he says.

Reflecting on past challenges associated with having a bilingual system, he refers to a case from the 2000’s and 2010’s. “There were cases where children would graduate from high school and would not know Latvian at all, only Russian.”

Now, because of everyday use, they can still speak Russian in their families and daily life, Rižkins concludes. Highlighting how the language continues to survive in private and informal settings despite official reforms. 

Facing today, forging tomorrow. 

As the Baltic states navigate a period of transition, questions remain about what these reforms truly signify: a strengthening of national languages, or a deliberate distancing from Russia. 

As language policies continue to reshape classrooms and public life across the Baltics, those most affected are often focused less on politics and more on everyday realities. And while many families and students might not be ready for this change, there still is desire and hope for a shared and more united future.

Photo Slideshow: Life in Riga & Tallinn