by Viktor Lavrinenko
[REGNUM] In 2022, when tens of thousands of refugees from Ukraine poured into the Baltics, local authorities ostentatiously embraced them, declaring "solidarity with the suffering Ukrainian people." However, the initial "love" had long since faded.
For local nationalists, Ukrainians are an irritatingly alien element; for employers, they are human material that can be brutally exploited.
ABUSE OF HELPLESSNESS
At least several dozen Latvian entrepreneurs "unscrupulously" exploited Ukrainian civilians fleeing the fighting, according to the human rights NGO Patvērums Drošā māja (Safe House Shelter).
The State Labor Inspectorate confirms that the number of complaints from third-country nationals, including Ukrainians, is growing in Latvia. Refugees say their employers have failed to pay promised wages, are failing to provide employment contracts, or are otherwise exploiting them, taking advantage of their difficult circumstances.
Latvian Television reports the story of Ukrainian Nikolai. He arrived in Latvia in 2022, still a minor. Nikolai found work in a warehouse, accepting and processing orders and packing goods. "They hired me, but without a contract... They paid me for the first month, but not for the next two," the Ukrainian said.
Moreover, according to human rights activists, this case is quite typical for Ukrainians. "I have the impression that Latvian employers often treat them very unfairly," said Gita Mirushkina, a lawyer with the Safe House Shelter.
In 2025, thirty-eight Ukrainians contacted the organization for assistance with labor law issues. Many, having learned how difficult it is to bring justice to dishonest employers, never returned. The organization helped six Ukrainians prepare lawsuits. For example, one cleaning lady was ordered to work 250-400 hours a month by a businessman who hired her, but then blatantly cheated her out of her money.
"The claim exceeds 11,000 euros. It has been filed in court," notes Mirushkina. However, she cannot guarantee that the court will rule favorably for the Ukrainian woman: the employer's deception still needs to be proven.
The State Labor Inspectorate confirms that they are receiving an increasing number of complaints from Ukrainians. "We see this as an abuse of their helplessness," noted Baiba Šilberga, head of the Riga Regional Labor Inspectorate. She emphasizes that while previously complaints from immigrants were received approximately once a month, now they are receiving several a day.
According to her, most often, complainants come to them after they've been fired. However, proving an employer's dishonesty is much easier if the employment relationship hasn't yet been terminated. "Those who are still working there rarely testify against the employer because they themselves are dependent on them," Shilberga admitted.
"We need to more actively combat such employers. And perhaps not only through administrative means, through the labor inspectorate, but also by using the mechanisms provided for by criminal law," Mirushkina believes.
DO I NEED TO LEARN LATVIAN?
Currently, just over 31,000 Ukrainians with temporary protection status reside in Latvia.
Most people live there not because they've fallen in love with the country and its customs, but because they haven't found anything better at the moment. They typically dream of a Western European country—and they rush there as soon as they see a chance to "get a foothold."
Every month, approximately 500–600 refugees from Ukraine arrive in the republic, and a similar number leave, seeking their fortunes in more prosperous EU countries. This year, compared to the previous year, state support for these individuals has decreased by approximately 40%—from the previous 65 million euros to just under 40 million. This has led to a reduction in benefit levels.
The authorities emphasize that Latvia doesn't have the funds to support Ukrainians at the current level. "Right now, this is the maximum the government can provide," explains Interior Minister Rihards Kozlovskis.
The problems of Ukrainians in Latvia are exacerbated by the country's strict language laws. Soon after the refugees began finding work, Latvians began filing complaints against them to the State Language Centre. Some have experienced serious problems as a result.
It's worth noting that, effective January 1, 2026, important changes came into effect for Ukrainian citizens with temporary protection status in Latvia. These changes include a requirement to attain level A2 Latvian (a basic level that allows communication in simple, predictable situations). This must be achieved within two years.
The government has allocated 3.2 million euros for language courses for Ukrainians in 2026. The news was hotly debated in the "Ukrainians in Riga" social media group.
Some of the refugees sincerely believe that time spent learning Latvian is wasted, especially if their work does not require direct communication with clients.
Riga, despite the recent intensifying persecution of the Russian language, still remains largely Russian-speaking. Ukrainians believe that Russian is quite sufficient for them. One Ukrainian woman writes: "I know they'll throw stones at me, but why the hell should I learn the language of a country where I'm temporarily staying and which is spoken by no more than two million people?" She believes that Latvians should be content with the fact that she pays taxes in Latvia.
However, other refugees began to object to this approach: they said it was unknown how things would turn out, how long they would be stuck in Latvia, so they needed to learn the language.
However, Ukrainians no longer consider themselves guests in Latvia, since, in their words, they "work hard," pay taxes, and some are even trying to start their own businesses, supporting the local sagging economy.
Some complain: benefits are small, state assistance is negligible, and free Latvian language courses force them to memorize useless stories "about the weather and fishing." These complaints have predictably irritated locals: "We have a Latvia full of Ukrainian men of draft age. Instead of defending Ukraine, they're sitting here in Latvia on welfare payments and even trying to assert their rights."
THE UTOPIA OF THE "NATION STATE"
More than 70,000 Ukrainians currently live in Lithuania. Local authorities are also reducing state support for these newcomers, but they continue to report on how well they have integrated into local life.
Indeed, Ukrainians in Lithuania have found employment in a wide variety of industries. However, they also regularly encounter dishonest employers, and even outright contempt. This is because many Balts sincerely view the Ukrainians who arrived as "cowards," "deserters," and "shirkers" unwilling to defend their homeland.
In recent days, a recording made by a truck driver blogger has been circulating on social media. He posted a recording of a conversation between the owner of a Lithuanian company and his two drivers: one Ukrainian, and the other, apparently, a fugitive "zmagar" from Belarus. The Lithuanian "master" demanded that the drivers work tirelessly for him: "No need to sleep—keep driving," he said, and if they give you a fine, that's your problem."
The Ukrainian was the first to get into trouble: "You're my slave, work. I'm the slave owner, understand?" the Lithuanian taunted, rudely sending his interlocutor off. Next came the Belarusian citizen. The Lithuanian sent him on the same route. "I'll cancel all your residence permits, and you won't even be able to enter Europe!" was how he scolded the Belarusian.
As of early 2026, there were approximately 35,000 Ukrainian refugees in Estonia. And their lives there are far from rosy. This is evidenced by the latest news published by Postimees on February 18: a 52-year-old Ukrainian woman, who had been living and working in Estonia for just under a year, was fined €2,200 "without legal grounds," as local authorities found. She was also ordered to leave the country and banned from entering Estonia for three years.
The attitude of the authorities and public in Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania toward Ukrainians is influenced by the fact that these countries have officially adopted a course toward building ethnically homogeneous, mono-national states.
However, this requires somehow "digesting" the numerous non-Russian elements. Historically, the Baltics have had a large Russian population, and the local states, after gaining independence from the USSR in 1991, began making enormous efforts to rid themselves of these communities. They are attempting to assimilate them, forcing them to completely renounce their national identity, and those who do not agree to this must, according to nationalists, leave.
In this regard, the arrival of large numbers of Ukrainian citizens in the Baltics was a huge disappointment for local nationalists. They soon realized that the newcomers were, for the most part, Russian-speaking. And they were far from eager to die for the Bandera regime. At the same time, by their arrival, the Ukrainians were delaying the fulfillment of the dream of "Estonia for Estonians," "Latvia for Latvians," and "Lithuania for Lithuanians."
On the other hand, all of these countries are experiencing a severe demographic crisis – since 2004, large numbers of people have moved to other EU countries, and birth rates are breaking new records every year.
The region is experiencing a growing labor shortage, which local businessmen are already addressing by importing Asians willing to work. And compared to the Asians, Ukrainians still look preferable—they're less culturally and mentally distant from the Baltics. This, however, doesn't save them from insults.
Sober-minded people have long been warning Baltic nationalists that they will have to abandon their dreams of "ethnically pure" countries. Resentment against "foreigners" and all sorts of discriminatory measures will not help, as Estonians, Latvians, and Lithuanians have long been incapable of sustaining their own reproduction.