The debate over whether the EU should impose a blanket ban on short-term visas for Russian citizens has gained momentum since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. In Finland and across the Baltic states, the proposal has been framed as a form of solidarity with Ukraine, a way to punish Russia’s aggression by limiting mobility for ordinary Russian passport holders. Yet as I reflect on this debate, I see profound risks in conflating support for Ukraine with the expansion of border restrictions. A visa ban may appear symbolic, but in practice, it closes off one of the few legal escape routes for Russians facing persecution, while further entrenching the broader system of EU border violence.
Visas as Pathways to Safety
When the first trains from St. Petersburg arrived in Helsinki after February 2022, many celebrated that Russian citizens had “voted with their feet.” Yet few recognized that those who managed to leave did so because they already held short-term Schengen visas—often labeled “tourist visas.” While commonly associated with leisure travel, such visas are in fact a lifeline. They allow people to leave Russia quickly and legally, creating the possibility of later applying for asylum once in Europe.
International asylum law requires individuals to leave their country of origin before seeking protection. In practice, this means visas are often the only legal alternative to perilous irregular journeys. Research shows that after the anti-government protests of 2011–2013, many Russians obtained visas explicitly as a safeguard. One journalist explained that friends began to view visas not as travel documents but as emergency exits—a way to prepare for the moment when it would no longer be safe to stay.
To ban tourist visas outright would close this exit door and trap dissidents inside an increasingly authoritarian state.
The Mirage of “Humanitarian Visas”
Some policymakers have suggested that humanitarian visas could replace tourist visas for those at risk. Lithuania’s foreign minister, for example, has pointed to cooperation with NGOs to identify vulnerable individuals. Yet in practice, humanitarian visas are riddled with limitations. Their definitions vary, often narrowed to family emergencies such as illness or death. More importantly, activists report that dissidents may have less than 24 hours to flee after a protest or arrest warrant—hardly enough time to navigate bureaucratic procedures.
The humanitarian visa proposal sounds compassionate but functions as a mechanism of exclusion, filtering out precisely those most in need of immediate protection.
Citizenship and Inequality
The debate exposes a broader truth: citizenship itself is a lottery of birth that reproduces global inequality. Russian passport holders are not only ethnic Russians but also members of minority groups, many of whom face compounded discrimination and repression. To treat all holders of Russian passports as interchangeable extensions of the state is to erase this diversity and to ignore how authoritarian governments target marginalized communities most harshly.
When some European leaders claim that “visiting Europe is a privilege,” they normalize a hierarchy in which mobility is restricted for much of the world. Travel to the EU is not a privilege for most; it is either impossible or deadly dangerous. By adopting this rhetoric, even progressive actors risk legitimizing the very border violence they once opposed under banners like “no borders” and “refugees welcome.”
The Futility of Symbolic Sanctions
A visa ban will not pressure the Russian state. Elites already shield themselves through alternative citizenships, golden passports, and extensive financial resources. After the 2014 sanctions, Russian tourism merely shifted to Georgia and other destinations. Similar patterns will emerge again, with wealthy Russians finding new ways around restrictions. The real losers will be those with limited means: anti-war activists, dissident journalists, and members of persecuted minorities.
Nor is it realistic to expect that travel restrictions will spark uprisings inside Russia. The state has long dismantled protest infrastructures, imprisoned opposition leaders, and silenced independent media. Blocking ordinary people from leaving will not strengthen resistance—it will merely trap vulnerable individuals in a tightening web of repression.
Border Controls and Double Standards
Perhaps the most unsettling element of the visa ban debate is how quickly it aligns with longstanding practices of EU border militarization. Ukrainian refugees have, so far, been granted special status, but history suggests that this treatment may not last. The same logics of racialized control that govern other asylum seekers could eventually be applied to Ukrainians as well. To cheer on new restrictions in the name of solidarity is to endorse tools that have long been used against migrants from the Global South.
This contradiction reveals a double standard: while condemning Russia’s violence abroad, the EU risks replicating forms of violence at its own borders.
Towards Genuine Solidarity
If the aim is to support Ukraine and weaken Russia’s authoritarian regime, there are more effective avenues. Direct support to Ukrainian civil society, military aid, and sustained humanitarian assistance are all critical. But solidarity should also extend to Russian anti-war activists, journalists, and minority groups who challenge the state from within. These individuals need mobility, safety, and the possibility of asylum—not the closing of doors.
Ultimately, to stand with Ukraine requires resisting the temptation to weaponize borders. A visa ban may satisfy the urge for swift punishment, but it entrenches practices that harm the very people who oppose war and repression. If we are serious about both justice for Ukraine and the protection of human rights, we must reject policies that reproduce inequality and border violence.
