On September 28, Moldova, a country of about 2.6 million people tucked between Ukraine and Romania, will hold parliamentary elections. For most Americans, Moldova is a little-known place. But the outcome of these elections matters: the vote will test whether Russia can continue to shape politics in Europe through subversion, money, and cyber operations, and whether Europe can deliver on the promise of a better life that feels distant to many Moldovans.
Moldova emerged from the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 as one of Europe’s poorest states. Reform has been halting, corruption persistent, and hundreds of thousands have left in search of work abroad. A Russian-orchestrated conflict in Transnistria, a breakaway region where 1500 Russian troops remain stationed, has kept the country in a geopolitical gray zone. Over the past years, however, Moldovan politics have been dominated by pro-European leaders led by President Maia Sandu, who has sought to align the country with the European Union, opening talks on accession with the bloc and distancing it from Moscow.
That course has come at a cost. Angered by Moldova’s westward turn, Russia stopped its energy supply to the country and spent hundreds of millions of dollars to sway the political class and public opinion. Moldovan authorities say Moscow spends about €200 million, roughly 1% of Moldova’s GDP, in just last year’s presidential elections to buy votes, fund pro-Russian actors, and amplify its presence in the information space. Sandu, reelected in 2024 with strong support from Moldovans living abroad (the diaspora vote was decisive), has warned that the same tactics are in play again.
Moldova is an easy target for Moscow. Many Moldovans speak Russian and watch Russian government-run channels. Everyday frustrations such as low wages, crumbling roads, and rising prices also run deep. The war in Ukraine has only made things worse. The Orthodox Church, closely tied to Moscow, adds another layer of influence, with priests often echoing Kremlin talking points from the pulpit. The difficult socio-economic realities allow Moscow’s allies to gain traction by promising stability, lower costs, steady pensions, and a quieter relationship with Russia, even if those assurances rest on shaky ground.
Beyond money, sabotage, and promises of a better life, Russia’s most effective tool in Moldova is fear. The war in Ukraine has convinced many in Moldova that defiance could bring the same destruction to their own towns. That pushes voters toward candidates who argue for accommodation with Moscow. Yet history shows the limits of that logic.
In the early 1990s, Moldova was weak, officially neutral, and had no ambitions of joining NATO or the European Union, yet Russian troops intervened and never left. Being a partner of Russia did not shield the country; rather, it left it more vulnerable. Explaining this takes time, but the images of devastation next door in Ukraine are immediate. For many Moldovans, that makes fear feel more persuasive than facts.
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European leaders have recently tried to counterbalance Russian influence. Last month, French President Emmanuel Macron, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz, and Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk visited Chişinău to mark Moldova’s Independence Day. They used the occasion to voice support for Europe’s backing of Moldova’s pro-Western trajectory just a month before the vote. But symbolic gestures do little to ease discontent.
For many Moldovans, EU accession and its perks feel distant, while Russia’s troops remain on their soil.