Russia's Passportpolitik: Implications for the Baltic States

Posted: 29 August 2008

by Igor Khrestin

On August 8, after Georgian troops moved into South Ossetia, Russian President Dmitry Medvedev issued a short but momentous statement: “In accordance with the Constitution and the federal laws, as President of the Russian Federation it is my duty to protect the lives and dignity of Russian citizens wherever they may be.” Although at that particular moment, Medvedev undoubtedly meant his “compatriots” in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, leaders throughout the post-Soviet space must have shuddered in horror.

Over the last seventeen years, the Russian Federation has pursued a fairly duplicitous citizenship policy in Georgia by mass-granting Russian passports to those residing in South Ossetia and Abkhazia despite officially “recognizing and respecting” Georgian sovereignty. But the current clash with Georgia and the West has ominously transformed Russian “soft power” into a game of “Risk.”

While analysts look to Ukraine as the next potential flash-point, Russia’s passportpolitik also bodes ill for the Baltic states, particularly Latvia and Estonia.

About a third of the population in the two Baltic republics is ethnically Russian (in neighboring Lithuania, Russians constitute only 6 percent). The fact that only a fraction of these individuals are currently Russian citizens – about 10 percent of the population in Estonia (110,000, as of 2008) and merely 1 percent in Latvia (20,000, as of 2004) – offers little in the way of reassurance. The rest of the ethnic Russians still remain in legal limbo, classified as “non-citizens,” though provided with residence permits and rights similar to U.S. “green-card” holders. 

For Russia, the question of defending Russians abroad now squarely rests on political objectives, not legal precepts or population figures. The Russian constitution only broadly outlines Medvedev’s “duty to protect” claim, stating in Article 80 (2) that “The President shall be the guarantor of the Constitution of the Russian Federation, and of human and civil rights and freedoms.” Subsequent Russian legislation, such as the 1999 Law on Compatriots Abroad and assorted legislation on citizenship, calls for official protection of these “compatriots,” but scarcely defines official action once those rights are allegedly breached – much less authorizing military intervention. Russia’s latest Foreign Policy Concept, signed by President Medvedev on July 12, 2008, simply states that Russia will “provide comprehensive protection of rights and legitimate interests of Russian citizens and compatriots abroad.” 

Fortunately for the Baltics, they have nowhere near the levels of intrasocietal conflict – patrolled by Russian “peacekeeping” missions to boot – as at that of Georgia or Moldova. Furthermore, military intervention against EU and NATO members is a scenario feasible only in the minds of the most ardent Russian nationalists, but not yet the Kremlin elites. Despite the slow and tepid support the Georgians received from NATO and the EU following the crisis, there is every reason to believe that Messrs. Putin and Medvedev are aware of Article V of the NATO Charter and genuinely fear that the most powerful military alliance on the planet might just interpret it literally the next time around.  

The case of Russians in Turkmenistan would suggest the Kremlin will be rational in choosing its battles. In April 2003, the late Turkmen President Saparmurad Niyazov issued a decree abolishing dual citizenship for his country’s Russian minority. In a move reminiscent of other megalomaniacal tyrants of the 20th Century, such as Idi Amin or Robert Mugabe, the Russians were given 45 days to acquiesce or pack up and leave town. The Kremlin stood by and watched unperturbed. As RIA Novosti Washington bureau head Dr. Igor Zevelev concluded in a recent essay, “agreements on the purchase of natural gas outweighed the plight of compatriots in the minds of the Russian government.” Ironically, as economic benefits weighed in favor of Turkmenbashi’s regime, the military deterrent of NATO membership should hopefully keep Russia at bay in the Baltics. 

Still, as demonstrated by tensions in Estonia following the April 2007 relocation of the Bronze Soldier monument, it now only takes a tiny spark to ignite Russia’s post-imperial nostalgia. In the riots following the controversial decision by the Estonian government, over 1,000 people (presumably, majority ethnic Russian) were detained, over 150 injured, and one Russian citizen, Dmitry Ganin, died in the clashes with Estonia’s security services. Subsequently, the venom unleashed in Russian society against Estonia was staggering, ranging from Russian hackers taking down Estonian web infrastructure to Estonia’s Ambassador to Russia Marina Kaljurand being physically attacked at a press-conference in Moscow. The Kremlin publicly fulminated, called for “thorough investigations,” issued rounds of “double standards” accusations, but wisely limited itself to diplomatic demarches and its preferred method of retribution: slashing fuel transit through Estonian territory. 

After the Georgian invasion, however, the Kremlin crossed an important line in its compatriot policy: the intervention established that military instruments are now part of the definition of “comprehensive protection,” at least when the Kremlin says so. In addition, “territorial integrity” is now old bromide reserved for UN resolutions, whereas “duty to protect” and “humanitarian intervention” are the preferred nom de guerre for policy its neighborhood – and the West had better get used to it.

With Georgia on their minds, Baltic leaders are now officially put on notice: “comprehensive protection” could someday equal the Russian 76th Airborne Division – based in Pskov, just 20 kilometers from the Estonian border – dispensing Russia’s home-brewed compatriot justice. For Estonia, which still has not signed an official border agreement with Russia, and whose third-largest city – Narva – is nearly 90 percent ethnically Russian, the prospects of such Georgia-style “prinuzhdenie k miru” (“being forced to peace”) should be especially disconcerting.

Igor Khrestin is an analyst and writer specializing in Russian and East European affairs based in Washington, DC.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Center for European Policy Analysis.