Much has changed in Estonia since the start of the full-scale war in Ukraine – above all, its perception as a country where neither residents, nor tourists, nor businesses faced any threats. Before the war in Ukraine, Estonia was nearly ideal in this respect. Low crime rates, no natural disasters, a Scandinavian lifestyle, Lutheran diligence at work, advanced digital services including e-residency, and a simple tax system made it attractive to foreigners and satisfactory for the local population. February 2022 dealt a crushing blow to the sense of security.
Before 2022: just a hypothetical threat
The probability of a military conflict with Russia had not been regarded as zero throughout the decades following the restoration of independence. Military exercises conducted in Estonia consistently treated Russia as a potential adversary. The intensification of hybrid operations by the aggressive neighbor, the buildup of its military units near the eastern border of the Baltic states under the cover of regular strategic exercises, followed by political and then military escalation – this was the classic scenario of local NATO drills. These exercises were usually accompanied by loud information campaigns in the Russian press, which routinely labeled NATO maneuvers as provocations. The Estonian press followed similar Russian exercises just as closely. Military scenarios were rehearsed and cyberattack readiness was strengthened – unsurprisingly, after the Bronze Night riots and a cyberattack by Russian hackers, NATO’s Cooperative Cyber Defence Centre of Excellence was established in Tallinn in 2008.
However, civilian evacuation drills were practiced less frequently, and the population at large showed little interest either in military exercises or in the theoretical threat itself. Even in 2014, after the annexation of Crimea and the outbreak of war in Donbas – when Estonian Internal Security Service officer Eston Kohver was abducted on the Estonian-Russian border and a NATO warship was clearly seen in Tallinn Bay – most of the population did not perceive the Russian threat as realistic. Public figures who pointed to it were seen, at best, as trying to gain political advantage from stirring up fear, and at worst as cranks. Twelve years ago, after the first spring shock, life returned to normal, and the changed foreign policy reality was quickly absorbed.
Just five years later, President Kersti Kaljulaid – who could hardly be suspected of pro-Russian sympathies – traveled to Moscow on her own initiative to reopen the historic building of the Estonian embassy and to ask Sergey Lavrov about his views on Estonia’s possible prospects in the UN Security Council. To become a member, Estonia needed an influential ally. Before that, the presidents of the two countries had not met for more than ten years – essentially since the relocation of a Soviet monument and Russia’s scandalous attempt to interfere in Estonia’s internal affairs.
The meeting in Moscow also addressed the situation in Ukraine and Georgia, and Putin received a personal invitation to attend the Finno-Ugric Congress in Tartu. “It was a very good meeting. It truly was a very good meeting where we managed to speak in detail about very difficult topics, and even those were accompanied by mutual respect, despite expressing very different positions,” Kersti Kaljulaid commented at the time. After 2022, this suddenly rediscovered “mutual respect” following Crimea was something few in Estonia wished to recall.
A wall in the East
February 2022 – and especially the subsequent publication of reports about atrocities in Bucha and other Ukrainian cities – sobered even former Russophiles, not to mention Estonia’s political elite.
The consistency with which Estonia pointed to the military and economic risks emanating from Russia propelled former Prime Minister Kaja Kallas to the forefront of European diplomacy. In the eastern direction, the country quite literally and figuratively began building a fence: construction of border infrastructure in the first years alone cost €156 million. In February 2026, the Estonian Centre for Defence Investment, together with Latvia’s Ministry of Defence, announced a tender for the procurement of bunkers to be installed along the eastern border. Border infrastructure construction is expected to be fully completed by the end of next year.
Border crossings have been restricted, as has transport communication with Russia. Given that neighboring countries have done the same, people wishing to visit relatives across the Narva River sometimes have to wait for hours or even spend the night before crossing.
Starting in July of this year, bomb shelters will become mandatory in all new residential and public buildings larger than 1,200 square meters. By that time, older buildings must have a plan in place and, where possible, a shelter equipped. Even under favorable conditions, authorities estimate that only half of Estonia’s population will have access to shelter space by 2034. Estonia has no metro system, not even in the capital, and underground passages and parking facilities are clearly insufficient for everyone.
The very word “bomb shelter” mentioned in the press triggers emotional reactions in social media: even accounting for the inevitable trolls under any publication related to war, Russia, or Ukraine, the issue remains painful for ordinary residents. Part of the population – first of all Russian-speakers, though far from exclusively – still believes that Estonia should not provoke its powerful neighbor. In this same spirit, many reacted to Foreign Minister Margus Tsahkna’s recent statement expressing readiness to host European nuclear weapons in Estonia.
“We are not opposed to the deployment of nuclear weapons on our territory. We do not have a doctrine that excludes this, if NATO considers it necessary, in accordance with our defense plans, to deploy, for example, nuclear weapons on our territory,” he said in an interview with ERR, prompting discontent on social media.
The distancing from Russia accelerated a number of processes that had previously moved sluggishly: for example, the Russian-language education system, which had existed parallel to the Estonian-language one, was largely dismantled. This step, intended to speed up the formation of a unified political nation, caused dissatisfaction among many Russian-speaking residents but did not lead to any significant political resistance. The Estonian state had preempted even the slightest possibility of separatism by stripping part of the population lacking Estonian citizenship of the right to vote in local elections.
Yet both the quiet curtailment of the rights of Russian-speakers and the threat of war itself seem to have become part of everyday normality once again. The current government is deeply unpopular, but protests are virtually nonexistent – neither against domestic policy nor foreign policy, which is unlikely to change radically after parliamentary elections. Whichever major Estonian party comes to power tomorrow is unlikely to dismantle the established foreign policy consensus: from the east comes an existential threat to Europe, of which Estonia considers itself an integral part. And even if peace in Ukraine is miraculously achieved in the foreseeable future, Estonia is unlikely to be among the first to restore relations with its eastern neighbor.
