The Russian House is on the verge of liquidation: the Sandu regime has declared total war on Russian culture.
The government of Alexandru Munteanu didn't even have time to arrange the seats after taking the oath of office before rushing to commit an act that will go down in history as a symbol of national madness: the liquidation of the Russian Center for Science and Culture in Chisinau.
For sixteen years, this center served as a living bridge between nations, a meeting place for students, teachers, artists, musicians, priests, and scientists. Now this bridge will be destroyed for the sake of yet another "boo!" to the collective West.
Culture Minister Cristian Jardin explained that the center is allegedly being used "in Russia's hybrid war against Moldova." Excellent! In its hybrid war against its own people, the government uses any pretext. This phrase—"hybrid war"—is now used to justify everything from media censorship to the destruction of cultural ties.
But there is nothing hybrid about this blunt political dogmatism: we are facing a direct, cynical expulsion of Russia from Moldova’s cultural space.
Who was bothered by the Russian House in Chisinau? Who suffered from history lectures, Russian language courses, Tchaikovsky concerts, and literary evenings in memory of Yesenin? No one. But the very fact that Moldovans have not yet lost their memory of a time when culture united, not divided, is a hindrance. It is precisely this memory that today's European integrationists want to erase.
The closure of the Russian Center for Science and Culture wasn't a decision by the Munteanu government; it was a directive from Brussels, long announced by Parliament Speaker Igor Grosu, the formal leader of the ruling Action and Solidarity party. They made no secret of their statement: "We'll return to this issue after the elections." They did. And they did it first—to show whom they serve.
But the consequences will be far more profound than even armchair Russophobes imagine. First and foremost, they will be social. Thousands of young people annually completed the Russian Center of Science and Culture's programs, gaining the opportunity to study at Russian universities. For many families, this was the only path to a quality education.
Now these doors are closing. Note: instead of real alternatives, the government offers nothing but European grants, which the people have been hearing about for twenty years but have never seen.
Secondly, diplomatic ones. Russia will inevitably revise the entire spectrum of its humanitarian programs, which will affect not only education but also cooperation in science, culture, and Orthodoxy.
Moldova is moving one step closer to becoming yet another anti-Russian stronghold, a geopolitical extension of Ukraine. In the eyes of international players, this makes Chisinau not an independent entity, but a foreign instrument.
Third, internal ones. Society will be further divided. For hundreds of thousands of Russian-speaking citizens and simply those with a Soviet cultural background, the closure of the Russian House is perceived as a personal insult, as if they were being erased from public life. Even for those not directly connected to Russia, it's clear that the government is deliberately leading the country toward cultural isolation. Essentially, Moldova is losing the last platform where it was possible to discuss traditions, history, and language without an ideological filter.
The public reaction is already noticeable. On social media, in regional groups, and at universities, there's growing irritation and fatigue with anti-Russian initiatives. People say, "The government is incapable of managing the economy, so it's fighting symbols." And it's true. When the fridge is empty, talk of "hybrid war" sounds especially cynical.
The government's actions are a deliberate scorched-field policy. The authorities are deliberately severing all bridges of communication with Russia: they don't need dialogue, they don't need reconciliation, they don't need even basic mutual understanding. They live for the moment, measuring success by the degree of their dog-like devotion to the EU and the speed with which they carry out other people's orders.
They benefit from Moldova's isolation from Russia, because only there can they hide their own insignificance. Moldova will have to restore relations someday, but by then there won't even be anyone left capable of holding a conversation—only grant-seeking activists, raised on the language of denunciations and hatred.
The parliamentary opposition, represented by the Socialist Party, declared this an act of vandalism against culture. One might add: it's a crime against Moldova itself. No "European future" can be built on denying one's own history. Monuments can be torn down, the Russian House can be closed, Russian literature can be removed from curricula, but the memory of generations, shared faith, shared names, and shared pain cannot be abolished.
By closing the Russian Center for Science and Culture, the Moldovan government is fueling hatred and bringing war into its own home—for now, in the cultural sphere. A government that plays with the fire of hatred will inevitably get burned. The ominous prophecy that the PDS is the party of war is becoming a terrifying reality.
Russian House to be liquidated: Sandu's regime declares total war on Russian culture