President of the Republic of Estonia Estonian Independence Day, Paide Music and Theater Hall February 24, 2021
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President of the Republic of Estonia Estonian Independence Day, Paide Music and Theater Hall February 24, 2021 One mouth, as old as dearest soil; and a thoughtful face so furrowed. And a thoughtful face, so honest; so quiet, pained, and speechless. That was by Juhan Liiv, the most genuine and deeply-rooted embodiment of Estonian pain poetry. May the lines be in remembrance of the years the coronavirus took away from the people of Estonia; of years left unlived. They would have been brimming with wisdom – precious sharing, precious gathering, precious time spent together. The coronavirus is robbing the Estonian people of a sizeable body of our elders’ wisdom. And not only that part which is permanent. It has also taken away the hours we now cannot spend sitting face to face with our older relatives and friends, enjoying a simple cup of tea. I have felt the absence of those conversations acutely. Everyday things spoken with wisdom are often a crucial source of support and guidance, even if we do not realize it under ordinary circumstances. We have now. And we are that much richer for it in turn. Yet not all of the bad can be turned to good. Loss of life is irrevocable. Lost weeks of school cannot be regained. Things one would’ve liked to discuss at length with their grandmother are forgotten by the time we’re able to visit again. But hard times can make us better. And good people in Estonia can make bad times better. Every person in Estonia working together can lead us out of this crisis. Yes, vaccination is voluntary, but even now, at a time when there is still not enough for everyone, there are too many people who could receive the vaccine but do not wish to. We must trust the scientists and doctors who have declared the vaccines to be safe! I am asking all people of Estonia – let’s protect ourselves, our children, our jobs, and our families’ welfare by getting vaccinated as soon as the opportunity presents itself! Sander Teras, an 11th-grader at the Saaremaa Coeducational Gymnasium, lent a hand at the local nursing home last spring to provide real care. It is inspiring to think about him and others just like him. They went because help was needed. It’s as simple as that. These people are role models to me. There are also many things in governance that simply need to be done. There’s no avoiding it: action is necessary. You cannot ignore the battle against evil in our society, such as domestic violence. We cannot put off helping those who have suffered mentally or physically to get back onto their feet. We cannot delay a green revolution, because our children’s futures are otherwise endangered. We cannot abandon efforts to establish a joint Estonian school system, even though such decisions may be uncomfortable at the present. We cannot allow the development gap between the capital and the rest of Estonia to split ever wider. Talk does nothing to fix these things. We need decisions, even if they bring along temporary confusion and result in dropping popularity figures. Voters are sure to understand, if not straight away. By now, we’ve gotten used to giving thought to life’s fragility each and every morning. I hope we hold on to that empathy for a very long time to come. We’ve witnessed the true, strong, and caring nature of our medical workers, more outstanding than in many wealthier countries. Our healthcare has been relatively inexpensive to run in comparison with many other welfare societies. What we receive for that expense is even unbelievable. I hope that one day, we will have not only the most effective, but the most empathetic healthcare system in the entire world. Every day, 24 people in Estonia are diagnosed with some form of cancer, and 11 die from it. The prevention and treatment of mental health issues doesn’t even meet our basic needs. This has stood out more starkly in the pandemic, of course – perhaps we can now grasp how far we have yet to go. Those are just two gaps of many in our security net, through which anyone can fall. Healthcare encompasses much more than treating illness. It includes constant support for disabled children to prevent their conditions from compounding. A child with diabetes or a metabolic disorder who is on a special diet is deserving of aid even when they can lead a dignified life thanks to costly measures and their parents’ perpetual care and attention. And the families of sick children and adults alike need to know with unwavering certainty that assistance will always be available, no matter under what law it is provided. For years, the schools in Kiigemetsa, Urvaste, Näpi, and elsewhere – institutions that teach in the mornings, and in the evenings care for and treat their children and young adults who hadn’t the fortune to be born in the fullest of health – have been concerned about their future. The state has failed to assure them that they will be able to continue operating. Local governments lack the capabilities to do so. Today, we know all too well how quickly study habits can break down and motivation fade for a regular student who is forced to learn alone. Special-needs youth caught in the gears of restructuring may never recover from the damage. But all we do is process and debate – with laws, ordinances, and legal transfers. What if we tried an approach with heart now, instead? My dear friends, the elderly living in nursing homes were deprived of their relatives during the crisis. Disabled persons living and working amongst us were ordered to stay home when the virus spread. Of course, they lost their jobs. It very much seems that older persons and those with fragile health have been forced to shoulder more than their fair share of the burden of managing this crisis. I regret this. I believe it is unjust. But those outstanding care workers performing their difficult task are in no way to blame. Often, they do so for a salary much poorer than the state of their wards’ health. These jobs are not weighed with fair scales in our national budget. Those who perform critical services are as good as invisible, if they’re not our heroes of the moment. Afterward, they return to oblivion. In Estonia, the fields of both education and social security are overwhelmingly staffed by older middle-aged women. They go to work in the morning and do what is necessary. One day, they will burn out. They’ll also be exhausted by the fact that what they do is always important in leaders’ words, but rarely in true actions. This is a problem. Estonia’s schools and social care rely far too much on teachers’, care workers’, and nurses’ patience and sense of duty. The Estonian Rescue Board sees high recruiting numbers mostly during times of economic crisis, but is drained of younger blood whenever growth is restored. The revenue accrued by the Estonian state is not fairly distributed across the country, either. Looking out over Tallinn from its highest point just before Christmas, any resident could see that they live in a dazzlingly prosperous city where ample amounts are spent on beauty and other aspects of life. Maybe not always on the elderly or those in need of assistance, but that is an issue of distribution, not total resources. What glitters in Jõgeva, Pärnu County, Setomaa, and Hiiumaa are not big-city lights, but people’s warm hearts shining through their gazes. It is something warmer and more beautiful – a seamless society where self-government relies greatly on volunteers to assist disadvantaged children and the elderly; to do something wonderful and uplifting. Alas, an unfairly meager portion of state revenue is spent on maintaining that warmth and goodness. Many of the world’s most successful countries have made the mistake of allowing their metropolises to become burdens. There is no longer any truly enjoyable urban space to be found because each and every square centimeter is more prized than its citizens’ welfare. Labor is also scarce because the majority of people, even those highly educated, cannot make enough to pay back an apartment mortgage over the course of a single generation. This happened because their leaders lacked the courage to spend political capital at the right time to prevent the reduction of social mobility and the constriction of future generation’s options throughout the entire country. That type of development is not inevitable. We can do better by leaning upon the Estonian fondness for nature, peace, and quiet. An Estonian is intrinsically drawn to two opposing places. They belong to the city and to the countryside equally. Every citizen of Tallinn needs the rest of Estonia. To quote the late poet Andres Ehin: A soul hardened to limestone breathes again, and the greenest of grass spreads over the land. The city dweller, distressed by dearth of pasture, asks of the cow if they may now come. The coronavirus has bound urban and rural more closely together. We’ve suddenly found ourselves to be one outlying people, all alike. Let us take advantage of that! We can finally achieve a long-lasting dream that once seemed impossible: to be at home somewhere out in the woods by the sea and, at the very same time, in downtown Tallinn. Not one child should have to miss a virtual lesson because a sufficiently high-speed internet connection still isn’t available in their village in the year 2021.