The next time someone tries to crack a joke about “slow Estonians,” just reply with two words: “Rail Baltica.” With this project, we’ve landed in deep trouble and at the same time let down our Estonian neighbors, who—unlike us—aren’t dragging their feet and plan to finish their section of the route by 2030.
In theory, the root of all problems is the lack of money—at least that’s the mantra officials have been repeating for years. Moreover, there still seems to be a mistaken belief among Latvia’s ruling circles that 85% of the entire project will be covered by the European Union. Many well-paid individuals involved in designing, building, constructing stations and ramming piles into the Daugava still haven’t grasped that EU funds only cover the rail line itself—not the luxurious extras surrounding it. Want a spa, hotel, casino, or a fine dining restaurant at the Latvia-Estonia or Latvia-Lithuania border where the high-speed train passes? Go ahead—but pay for it yourself. The EU won’t cover a cent of that.
Unfortunately, neither the Latvian government, nor its bureaucracy, nor the people implementing this truly grand international project have understood that the world does not revolve around them. Otherwise, someone might have read the agreement signed back in 2017—“Agreement between the Government of the Republic of Estonia, the Government of the Republic of Latvia, and the Government of the Republic of Lithuania on the development of the Rail Baltic/Rail Baltica railway connection”—which clearly states: “The parties aim to ensure the railway’s construction and functionality by 2025, and launch operations by 2026.” The agreement also stipulates that coordination of obligations lies with Latvia’s Ministry of Transport.
Since the agreement, Latvia’s transport ministers have included Uldis Augulis (ZZS), Tālis Linkaits (JKP), Jānis Vitenbergs (NA), Kaspars Briškens (PRO), and Atis Švinka (PRO). Meanwhile, national leadership has alternated between ZZS (Māris Kučinskis’ government) and Jaunā Vienotība (the two Krišjānis Kariņš cabinets and Evika Siliņa’s current government). Yet none have explained to the public why the project is so delayed, why costs have skyrocketed, or what accountability there is among officials. There has been no accountability—just like there’s no responsibility among transport ministers or prime ministers for wasted time and EU/state funds. One crow doesn’t peck another’s eye—especially if they all belong to the same political flock.
Even back in 2022, the then CEO of the Baltic joint venture RB Rail, Agnis Driksna, promised that the international railway line Rail Baltica would be launched in stages between 2026 and 2030. It’s now May 2025, and the chair of Latvia’s Rail Baltica parliamentary inquiry commission, Andris Kulbergs, recently admitted at a hearing of Estonia’s anti-corruption committee: “Reaching Salaspils will take at least seven to eight years, so the earliest we can realistically expect to reach the Estonian border is 2035.”
Why did I say earlier that by mishandling this large-scale project we’ve let the Estonians down? It’s simple. At the hearing, Estonia’s infrastructure minister Kuldar Leis noted that if Latvia fails to meet the schedule, Estonia will have to start running domestic services and prepare tenders for trains operating only in Estonia. The joint international train procurement would happen later. When? Apparently when the “slow Latvians” finally figure out their golden bridge piles, Soviet-era track width problems, the misfit airport terminal, delays in land acquisition for Rail Baltica, and countless other unresolved issues.
The argument that we lack the funds to do what’s needed doesn’t hold water. Why do Estonia and Lithuania have enough money to complete their sections by 2030?
Estonia will have to spend millions on new domestic trains. Meanwhile, Latvia is stuck in a deeper hole—one that the political elite pretends not to notice. Take our decrepit railway catenary network, for instance. If left unaddressed, it threatens serious damage to our brand-new ViVi electric trains—or even fires. One such incident has already occurred due to faulty overhead lines. But for politicians, it’s water off a duck’s back. According to Andris Kulbergs on the TV24 program “Ziņu TOP,” funding to repair this infrastructure was already allocated in 2019—but it never reached the overhead lines. “We should have done this long ago. The money was allocated, everything was ready. […] Now that money is being used to patch up Rail Baltica’s concrete holes.”
At this point, it doesn’t even matter which transport minister greenlit that diversion of funds—it only proves our ruling elite’s “ribbon-cutting mentality.” You can’t brag to voters about overhead lines, but you can about “finding new funds for Rail Baltica” and claiming that “the project is progressing well” (people actually believed this just a few years ago).
It’s hard to say whether Latvia will finally complete its Rail Baltica section by 2035. But one thing is clear—if we don’t find funds to maintain railway infrastructure and repair the catenary systems, electric trains could become unusable. It would be a sad day if, in the middle of the 21st century, while the rest of the world races along in high-speed trains, Latvia is left with nothing but rusty Soviet-era diesel locomotives.