Notes From Armenian Street: Lessons on How Moldova Defeated Russia’s Hybrid War

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First Impressions: Post-Soviet and European at the Same Time

I arrived in Chisinau by way of Istanbul. The organizers of the conference had booked my ticket through Istanbul, even though there are direct flights from Yerevan to the Moldovan capital. After the pandemonium of Istanbul’s airport, Chisinau’s felt small and calm. Passport control seemed both more Soviet and more European than Armenia’s. “Показываем обратный билет” (“show the return ticket”) the border guard said in Russian, in a tone that only post-Soviet law-enforcement officers have. Yet the arrangement of the passport control hall clearly showed I was in a country close to the EU. The booths were divided into two sections: “EU/Republic of Moldova” and “all passports”. If you had an EU passport, you were treated as equal to locals. No wonder, many Moldovans have Romanian passports, making them EU citizens (more about this later).

A bus stop stood right in front of the airport—a trolleybus stop, as I learned later. But I was too tired, so I ordered Yandex (yes, it exists in Moldova). The driver was an extremely young man named Mihail. To be honest, he seemed a bit too young to be legally allowed to drive. His driving wasn’t so bad, though he stayed on the phone throughout the entire trip. Mihail and his buddies spoke Moldovan (or should I say Romanian? More on this later), but they used a lot of Russian swearwords––the same ones popular with young people in Armenia. I arrived at my hotel fine and went out to try some local food: plăcintă, a local analogue of khachapuri, which turned out to be very tasty, a little greasy, and not expensive at all.

Chisinau (pronounced something like “Kishinau”) seemed much calmer than Yerevan. It’s also smaller, about 700,000 inhabitants, counting the suburbs. But size isn’t the only difference. Overall, Moldovans seem calmer, more disciplined, and less emotional than Armenians. The city has many parks, and the air feels much fresher than in Yerevan. Yerevan definitely wins when it comes to nightlife: there are many nice places to eat and to drink, and while Moldovan wine is famous, the evenings feel quiet. Maybe it was the weather, by late October, Chisinau is already quite chilly.

Compared to Yerevan, Chisinau feels both more Soviet and more European at the same time. Public transportation is a good example. The trolleybus is the most common way to get around. Chisinau’s trolleybuses are quite modern, with electronic displays showing the names of stops. You can also follow routes and arrival times on Google Maps—an achievement Yerevan municipality still hasn’t mastered. Tickets cost 6 Moldovan lei (about 135 AMD), almost the same price as in Yerevan. Yet the way tickets are sold brought back some Soviet flashbacks. There’s a ticket controller on the bus, usually an older woman with a fierce look, and you need to pay in cash. Moldovan friends told me they’re now supposed to accept card payments, but I decided not to challenge fate and borrowed a few coins, just in case.  

History and Identity: It’s Complicated

My hotel was in the center, one bus stop away from Strada Armeneasca—Armenian Street. Armenians have lived here at least since the Middle Ages. Chisinau has two Armenian churches. The older and larger one, Surb Astvatsatsin, was built in the early 19th century, when Chisinau was part of the Moldavian principality, a semi-autonomous region under Ottoman sovereignty. Following the Russo-Turkish war of 1806-1812, Bessarabia, which makes up most of contemporary Moldova, was ceded to Russia. Here, Armenians played a role. Merchant and diplomat Manuc Bei (Emmanuel Mirzayan) acted as a mediator: the peace treaty was signed in Bucharest, in a hotel that belonged to him. A few years later, Manuc Bei moved to an estate about 35 miles southwest of Chisinau. He died in 1817 in a mysterious horseback riding accident and is buried in the courtyard of the Armenian church.

The history of modern Moldova begins with the Treaty of Bucharest. Before that, the territory, known as Bessarabia, was part of a larger ethno-cultural space inhabited by Romanians. A debate persists in the country today: should the language and people be called Moldovans or Romanians? The question reflects the complex identity struggles rooted in Moldova’s post-Soviet history.

Historically, Moldavia and Wallachia were the two main Romanian-inhabited principalities that united to form the Kingdom of Romania in the 19th century. Today’s Moldova was historically called Bessarabia and formed part of the Moldavian principality. Most inhabitants spoke a Latin-derived language now known as Romanian. After the Russian Empire acquired the region in 1812, it kept the name Bessarabia. Following the collapse of the Russian Empire, Bessarabia joined Romania, but the Soviets rejected this union. Under the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, which divided Eastern Europe between the USSR and Nazi Germany, Bessarabia was annexed by the USSR. The Soviet Republic of Moldavia was then created by merging Bessarabia with the territory across the Dniester River, an area with a mixed Moldovan, Russian and Ukrainian population.

The Soviet-era name “Moldavia” is now considered colonial. Many Moldovans feel the same about the term “Moldovan language”. During Soviet times, the language was not only renamed “Moldovan” but also forced to use the Cyrillic script based on Slavic letters. Historically, Romanian has been written in both Latin and Cyrillic scripts, but Latin script became dominant in the 19th century. Romanian has been heavily influenced by nearby Slavic languages, especially in vocabulary and pronunciation. This is why Romanian speakers say, “We can easily understand the French and Italians, but they can’t understand us.” Romanians, mostly Orthodox Christians, have long been culturally close to their Slavic neighbors. Yet the Soviet treatment of the territory’s language and culture reflected Moscow’s colonial approach––constructing and destroying languages and identities according to its own interests.

Many Moldovans believe these Soviet policies were aimed at cultural and linguistic Russification. Even today, many Moldovans speak Russian in daily life, or mix Russian and their native language. In fact, Chisinau seems to be a bilingual city. And yet, speaking Russian doesn’t necessarily imply political attachment to the Russian project. Throughout my interviews in Chisinau, people repeatedly explained to me, in perfect Russian, why Moldova must fight Russian imperialism and move toward the European Union.

After independence, debates about what to call the language became a political battleground. A Constitutional Court decision in 2013 and a law adopted by the parliament in 2023 resolved the issue: the language spoken by most Moldovans is now officially Romanian. The switch back to the Latin script after independence was also contentious. Debates about spelling and orthography sparked by this change have continued throughout the post-Soviet period.

Post-Soviet Moldova: Between Russia and Europe

When Moldova became independent in 1991, there was talk of reunification with Romania. The Russian-speaking population in the region between the Dniester River and the Ukrainian border opposed the idea. They declared the region an independent republic called Transnistria. A conflict erupted, and Moscow used it, as in other cases, to keep Moldova in its sphere of influence. After clashes between local militias, the Russian army intervened on the behalf of the Russian-speaking separatists. The resulting agreement made Transnistria a de facto republic, with Russian forces remaining as “peacekeepers”. Tension also arose with another minority group, the Gagauz, a Turkic-speaking, majority Christian ethnic group. In 1994, the Moldovan government in Chisinau and Gagauz elites reached a compromise. Today, Gagauzia is an “autonomous territorial unit” that elects its own head, or “bashkan,” but otherwise accepts Chisinau’s sovereignty. Russia and Turkey both have significant influence in Gagauzia, but the region remains calm.

The Transnistria conflict differs from other post-Soviet conflicts because Transnistria and Moldova remain closely connected. The breakaway region is still integrated with Moldova socially and economically. Most inhabitants hold Moldovan passports and can vote in Moldovan elections, if they travel to Chisinau-controlled territory. Even Transnistrian football teams play in Moldova’s league. Most people I spoke with believe the conflict would have been resolved long ago if it was not for Russian interference. Those with pro-Russian views, however, blame Europeans and Romanian nationalists. In any case, the unresolved conflict has led Moldova to abandon the idea of reunification with Romania.

Many Moldovans have Romanian, and therefore EU, citizenship. Due to historical ties, Romania made its citizenship available to Moldovans. Even President Maia Sandu has dual citizenship and doesn’t try to conceal that fact. Pro-European Moldovans aren’t the only ones taking advantage of this opportunity. Dual citizenship is widespread among pro-Russian voters and politicians as well. During the 2024 presidential election campaign, the pro-Russian Socialist party tried to use Sandu’s Romanian citizenship against her, but this backfired––the candidate they supported also had Romanian citizenship. Many people in Transnistria often carry Romanian passports (some also have Russian and even Ukrainian passports).

Fighting “the Oligarchs”

Since many Moldovans are already EU citizens, Moldova was granted visa liberalization in 2014. The EU is a financial major donor—a recently approved aid package amounts to 18.9 billion euros. Yet close relations with the EU have not resolved the country’s economic hardships. Moldova remains significantly poorer than even the poorest EU members. A small landlocked country with few natural resources, it relies mostly on agriculture, particularly wine production. The issue of poverty is also psychological. While Moldova has made significant progress in the last decade, most Moldovans compare their standard of living to their European neighbors, especially Romania, and the comparison is unfavorable. For many young Moldovans, it’s easier to emigrate to the EU than to search for work or start a business at home.

Corruption has been one of the major causes of poverty. Moldova has been notorious for corruption for decades. The economy and politics of this small country have been dominated by so-called “oligarchs”—another phenomenon familiar to Armenians. Powerful oligarchs like Vlad Plahotniuc and Ilan Shor have influenced governments and politicians, both pro-Russian and pro-European. The pinnacle of Moldova’s oligarchy is the infamous “billion-dollar affair,” when literally a billion dollars disappeared from three Moldovan banks in 2014, most likely with the active participation of Plahotniuc, Shor and other oligarchs. The breakaway region of Transnistria has its own oligarch—Viktor Gushan, a former KGB officer who holds Russian, Moldovan and Ukrainian citizenship and is known by the nickname “Sheriff”. He also owns a successful football team and the largest sports stadium in Moldova, both named “Sheriff,” naturally.

The current government has made fighting corruption a priority, and “oligarchs” are no longer as powerful as they were a decade ago. The most powerful oligarch, Plahotniuc, is currently in Moldovan jail; he was extradited from Greece on September 25, just three days before the election. His “colleague” Shor is also wanted by Moldovan authorities. But Shor has been smarter: he fled to Russia, where he now claims to work with crypto-currencies and, according to Moldovan media, plays an important role in funding pro-Russian forces in Moldova. The fight against corruption has been successful, and people like Shor and Plahotniuc no longer control Moldovan politics and economy. But as in Armenia, many people remain unhappy and believe more should have been done. Arresting an oligarch or driving him into exile is one thing. Recovering stolen money is much harder. Repairing the damage to the economy is harder still. A powerful symbol of these troubles is the 17-story Hotel National, previously owned by various oligarchs. It still stands unused and looks quite depressing. The New York Times has called it a monument to corruption.

David vs. Goliath

How did this small country with a significant Russian-speaking population manage to defeat the Kremlin in hybrid warfare? When discussing the election of September 2025 and Russian meddling, one of my colleagues used the metaphor of “David vs. Goliath”. Indeed, the Kremlin’s failure to influence the outcome of the Moldovan election seems counterintuitive.

EVN Report has written about Russian interference, its methods, scale and the narratives propagated by pro-Russian media, politicians and chatbots. What interested me most was hearing the perspective of Moldovan civil society actors and comparing the situation with Armenia’s. What struck me was the solidarity within civil society around the need to oppose Russian interference. While almost everyone I met was critical of the current government, there was also a shared conviction: Russian interference is the biggest threat for Moldova’s security and sovereignty, and civil society must coordinate its efforts with the state to fight this threat.

I was told that this mobilization of Moldovan civil society was a response to the wake-up call that came in 2024. The presidential election on October 20, 2024, coupled with a referendum on European integration, nearly ended in disaster for pro-European forces. Former Prosecutor General Alexander Stoianolgo, supported by the pro-Russian Socialist party, made it to the run-off. In the second round, he was defeated by pro-European incumbent President Maia Sandu, but the trend was worrying. Similarly, the pro-European position won the referendum, but with a very narrow margin: 50.35% of the votes against 49.65%, hardly the convincing result that pro-European forces expected. My interlocutors attribute these results to Russian meddling. They explained that Moldovan civil society largely reacted defensively to Russian narratives instead of proactively building and promoting their own. This passive response allowed Kremlin-backed misinformation and manipulation to gain alarming ground.

The 2025 election cycle was different. Learning from past mistakes, the government and civil society adopted a proactive approach, focusing on “pre-bunking” rather than simply debunking Russian disinformation. By anticipating Kremlin narratives and countering them before they gained traction, Moldova significantly reduced Russian influence. Collaboration with Western security agencies played a crucial role in detecting and preventing Russian interference. Investigative journalists exposed covert Russian operations, while Moldovan state security and police tracked down vote-buying attempts linked to Russia. Some parties were barred from elections, some media outlets were taken off the air, and those involved in voter bribery were jailed, serving as a warning to deter others from similar activities.

Some observers criticized the Moldovan government, saying that it had gone too far with these efforts. Russia and pro-Russian forces highlighted that many voters who reside in Transnistria could not vote. Another criticism focused on the disparity in polling stations: while Europe hosted numerous polling stations for Moldovan citizens, Russia had only two. The debate continues over whether Moldova’s response to Russian interference crossed a line, whether it went beyond what is permissible in a democracy. Yet, despite initial claims of vote-rigging, the Constitutional Court confirmed the election results, and the pro-Russian opposition eventually took its seats.  

I was in Chisinau on October 22 when the new parliament opened its first session. It was hard to talk to Moldovans that day, everyone was glued to their phones, following the proceedings. They showed me memes about the MPs, made on the spot, and tried to explain why they were funny. I didn’t get the humor; apparently, it required at least some knowledge of the language. But I felt the similarity to how our own society follows parliamentary deliberations. I suppose in our time, the existence of memes about parliamentarians is a sign of vibrant democracy.

What Can We Learn From Moldova?

For Armenia, Moldova’s experience offers both inspiration and caution. We can learn from Moldova’s proactive approach while acknowledging our different realities. Moscow’s cultural and linguistic influence is significantly lower in Armenia, but we remain more economically dependent on Russia than Moldova. Both countries face political polarization, but in Armenia it’s amplified by the trauma of war and ethnic cleansing. This has left civil society and independent media more divided, creating highly emotional public discourse and vulnerability to disinformation—fertile ground for Russian interference.

Despite these differences, we can draw important lessons. First, we need a proactive approach. Moving beyond simply refuting propaganda is essential. Rational arguments are necessary but not enough: we must also engage people’s emotions, identities, and loyalties. When we focus only on refuting false narratives, we may win specific battles, but remain trapped in a framework shaped by our adversary. We need to create our own narratives, grounded in rational arguments yet emotionally compelling.

Second, we need to overcome polarization and conflict within the democratic camp. The Kremlin’s propaganda thrives on division. We must recognize that even though some of us can’t stand each other, we’re all in the same boat. If the Kremlin gains political control over Armenia, the consequences will be catastrophic. We should not forget Belarus, which effectively lost its independence and saw its civil society virtually wiped out. This must not happen to Armenia. Building inclusive dialogue across political and social divides is essential to reduce polarization.

Third, we need to accept that the state has a critical role: it must uphold transparent and fair democratic rules and hold accountable those who violate them. We must defend democracy from those bent on destroying it, especially when they have immense outside support. We need to remember the paradox of tolerance: one should not tolerate those who reject tolerance. Of course, we must be careful not to cross red lines—democratic rule-keeping cannot become an authoritarian abuse of power. I am always suspicious of the state: any government, if left unchecked, will gravitate toward autocracy. But when the choice is between an imperfect democracy and looming authoritarianism, the choice is obvious to me. And when the choice is between our own nation-state and a foreign empire trying to protect its neocolonial domination, the choice is obvious again. It seems the people of Moldova have made their choice. In Armenia, things will be even more difficult, but I am confident the people of Armenia will make the same choice. 

EVN Security Report

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