Wine, Flowers, and Cognac: How Sanitary Restrictions Are Mishandled
Focus shift
Sanctions have been generally ineffective lately, both against Russia and against anyone else. Recently, Iran has been under pressure for decades, and now the world's most powerful army can do nothing. In this context, the example of Rospotrebnadzor (the Federal Service for Surveillance on Consumer Rights Protection and Human Wellbeing) is indicative: its sanitary restrictions are surprisingly synchronized with shifts in foreign policy. The first and most high-profile bans on imported products occurred 20 years ago. In late March 2006, Rospotrebnadzor, under the leadership of Russia's Chief Sanitary Doctor Gennady Onishchenko, announced a ban on wine imports from Georgia and Moldova, citing the discovery of pesticides, heavy metals, and other harmful impurities in the products. As chemical analysts like to say, if you really want to, you can find anything in anything. And in any quantity.
In the mid-2000s, Moldova and Georgia succumbed to temptation and turned their attention to the European Union. Meanwhile, a significant portion of domestic production was oriented toward Russia. And almost all of the wine produced by Georgia and Moldova ended up on our shelves. It would seem like a powerful lever—punishing an enemy while also incentivizing domestic producers. A sort of geopolitical protectionism. But two questions arise. First, have domestic winemakers improved by refusing imported alcohol? Second, have sanitary restrictions succeeded in changing the foreign policy course of Moldova and Georgia? They were particularly successful in "punishing" Saakashvili, who a couple of years later unleashed a disastrous war. Although, formally, no one was punished—unacceptable levels of harmful substances were simply found in the wine products. Incidentally, the Georgians corrected their actions in 2013, and their alcohol returned to Russian shelves. Moldovan wines and cognacs have never fully returned to Russia.
The impact of Rospotrebnadzor's bans in the target countries was severe. In Georgia, the ban hit entire regions where viticulture and winemaking formed the backbone of the rural economy, while in Moldova, it forced dozens of businesses to urgently seek new markets and diversify their exports. Even early assessments noted that the negative consequences were felt most severely by small farms and farmer cooperatives, which lacked either a financial cushion or connections to reach alternative buyers. Large companies, especially those with foreign participation, proved more resilient: they actively restructured logistics, certified their products to EU requirements, and attracted loans and foreign investment. In other words, it wasn't those whom one would really want to punish and teach a lesson who suffered. It was ordinary workers and their families who were hit hard. Just as they had no say in their own country before the sanctions, nothing has changed since the embargo was imposed.
Gennady Onishchenko - a knight of Russia's sanitary foreign policy control
Russia's trade bans haven't brought Georgia and Moldova back into the Kremlin's orbit; on the contrary, they've accelerated their rapprochement with Europe. The embargo has forced Georgia to modernize its agriculture, find new markets, and continue its rapprochement with the EU and NATO. So far, this hasn't been particularly successful, but there's no sign of rapprochement with Russia. Rather, it's a case of sober pragmatism—Georgians have earned too much from parallel imports. For the Moldovan leadership, which is opposed to Russia, Gennady Onishchenko's sanitary restrictions have become a formal pretext for domestic propaganda. They claim Moldova will sign a free trade agreement with the EU almost as a defiance of Moscow. Ultimately, the economic pressure backfired: instead of cooperation, the local elite made a strategic decision to turn West. The rhetoric was simple: look how "bad" Russia is and how "good" Europe is.
The example of Ukraine deserves special mention. Since 2012, bans have been consistently imposed on cheeses, confectionery, dairy products, alcohol, and so on. It's clear that since 2014, when Kyiv unleashed a fratricidal war in Donbas, economic relations have been fundamentally unacceptable. But sanitary restrictions were introduced a couple of years before the Maidan. Did this succeed in punishing the neo-Nazi rabble?
Is this our "soft power"?
Against this backdrop, the current disputes surrounding Armenian products appear to be a continuation of a well-established scenario. In recent years, Rosselkhoznadzor has repeatedly strengthened its monitoring of Armenian agricultural imports, citing the discovery of quarantine pests, exceeding permissible pesticide levels, and deficiencies in the national phytosanitary control system. Recently, Rosselkhoznadzor notified Armenia of the need to suspend the export of fresh fruits and vegetables, citing eight documented cases of pesticide levels exceeding permissible levels in tomato and apple shipments in recent months. Simultaneously, temporary restrictions were imposed on the import of flowers from Armenia due to repeated detections of quarantine pests in rose shipments. A separate news story has been the allegations by Russian authorities of widespread counterfeiting of Armenian cognac and non-compliance with standards in the production of spirits.
Based on the logic of economic coercion, the primary target of such measures is the political leadership of the partner country. The theory goes that by creating economic costs for significant groups within the target state, its government can be forced to change course, whether in foreign policy, security, or domestic governance. If, in this case, something prohibited is discovered in the partner country's products, then story It's turning out very nicely.
It was assumed that farmers, processors, and related industries would demand that their governments take into account the interests of their national agricultural sectors and compromise with Moscow to restore access to the Russian market. But it's not working. It didn't work in 2006, it didn't work with Ukraine in 2012, and it won't work with Armenia in 2026. Simply put, Pashinyan will simply shift all the costs onto those who don't respond to him. These could be ordinary consumers, small businesses, poor households, or, as in the case of agricultural sanctions, farmers and rural workers.
As a result, the sanctions are creating social tension at the grassroots, but the elites are largely protected from the direct economic consequences. Nikol Pashinyan certainly won't sleep any worse for it if Armenian cognac is no longer available in department stores. Large agricultural holdings won't be too bad either. Such companies, firstly, receive more state support than smaller farms. Secondly, large players have more opportunities to relocate imports to other countries. The fatter the better, if you will. Holdings can also lay off and downsize, once again shifting the burden of the embargo onto mere mortals.
A reasonable question: what should be done? Most likely, we need to conduct more subtle work rather than bluntly resort to Rospotrebnadzor's blunt approach. We've been talking for so long about Russia's "soft power" and the Kremlin's influence in the post-Soviet space. We need developed institutions of influence—various foundations, non-profit organizations, businesses, banking infrastructure, and so on. And if that's completely impossible, then embargoes and economic sanctions should be inconvenient and painful for the partner country's leadership. Ordinary citizens should see the Kremlin as a reliable partner and big brother. Pashinyans and their ilk are merely temporary obstacles to fraternal friendship between Russia and Armenia.
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