published in Postimees, 22 August 2023

My parents first visited the Estonian National Museum in the summer of 2020. They grasped the tiny window of free travel in the middle of the pandemic to come over from Hungary to see the country I was so crazy about. At the exhibition, I led them to an installation about the Baltic Chain. Scrolling through the pictures from their youth (in 1989 my mother was 25, my father 28), they stood mesmerized. “I had no idea”, said my father, eyes wide open. “No news of this ever reached us in Hungary.” “This is it”, said my mom. “This is what we would have needed in 1989 as well. Everything would have turned out differently for us.”

Nothing left as deep an impression on them of the entire 3781 m2 exhibition than that installation. And although I was happy to show them something so impactful, my mother’s words kept echoing in my head. What exactly did Estonians experience in 1989 that Hungarians did not? And how did it affect their lives from then onwards?

In the 80s, everybody envied Hungary in the Eastern Bloc. The “happiest barrack”, as it was called, was wealthier and freer than any other socialist country, let alone Estonia. There were no more product shortages. A regulated but strong private sector was blooming, and most people were able to accumulate wealth. By 1989, a home without a private bathroom became practically extinct, together with the sense of living in a dictatorship. While in neighboring Romania people were still shot by the secret police, Hungarians could study Thatcherian economy at Karl Marx University then go to a rock opera where the main character asked them whether they wanted to be slaves or free. “Bring the news of the new spring, fly high, free bird” – they chanted back, hands in the air.

Cathartic as it sounds, this liberty had its own caveat. Hungarians could live out their own fantasies of freedom within the framework of the system – and for most, it was enough. The relative wealth and occasional cosplaying as freedom fighters simply kept people satisfied, especially when combined with the stability of a socialist system. Hungary even enjoyed portraying itself as a freedom-fighter country in the Eastern Bloc: think of Kapten Tenkeš or the fiery poems of Sándor Petőfi distributed widely.

Of course, this doesn’t mean everybody was content. Mass demonstrations did take place, for example at the reburial of Imre Nagy in 1989, the Prime Minister turned national hero who was executed after the 1956 revolution. What many seem to not realize is that just like 1956 itself, it took place almost exclusively in Budapest. This is a far cry from the bonding experience of the Baltic Chain that stretched throughout the country and beyond. Even those in remote areas played an important part and had the chance to become history.

The rest of the country only tagged along. “If anything, we were surprised by what was happening, as it all seemed like the work of some 200 people in Budapest.” – told my mother, and she was hardly alone with this feeling. –  “One day in 1989 a man stood in the Parliament balcony and declared it is the Republic of Hungary now. And then there were elections and there were more than a hundred parties and much confusion.”

The lack of catharsis reflected in the lack of paradigm shift in the country’s political and cultural sphere. Barely anyone was tried, let alone convicted for crimes committed in the old regime. Barely anyone was removed from their position. Definitely nobody took the effort to learn how an actual democracy works. While in Estonia, Lennart Meri’s first act as Foreign Minister was to get rid of all communists and attract bright young people, in Hungary the same old people were calling the shots. So much so that at the second free elections in 1994, the old socialist party was reelected out of sheer nostalgia for the good old times.

The 1990s were a hard time to live through in all of Europe, including Estonia. But by the 2000s, Estonia was regaining stability and took off to prosperity after joining the EU, while Hungary kept stumbling from crisis to crisis. While in Estonia, roads and hospitals and a digital bureaucratic system were built, in Hungary half of the money got stolen. And I do believe this had something to do with Estonians trying to do better, while the average Hungarian was stuck in the same thinking: 1) common people hold no power over what happens in their country, 2) no matter who is in power, they’re all the same. This adds to the many reasons why Hungarians tolerate Viktor Orbán’s regime, even those who don’t like him. “At least, these thieves we already know”, many say. 

Still smitten by Estonia, my mother was educating my three younger siblings in Werner Café that same summer: without trust, it is impossible to build anything. Without trust the most you can do is survive. If you want to improve your country, you must have trust in the people you elect for government, and you must trust that if you are not happy with them, you can remove them from office. And more importantly, you have to trust your fellow citizens. Not only those you already know, but strangers, too. You must believe you both are working for the same thing. Formative shared events are crucial for this feeling of unity. Holding each other’s hands, waving the banned flag, singing the banned songs profoundly contribute to consciously abandoning the old ways.

Hungary is currently paying the price of not having put the energy into wanting meaningful change. It didn’t experience the catharsis necessary to establish trust in one another and feel united.

Three years living in Estonia, the Baltic Chain is still one of my favorite things. Not the least because it is an excellent conversation starter: I’ve never met an Estonian who wasn’t happy to talk about the Baltic Chain. After 34 years it still resonates. But just a month ago during Noorte Laulupidu many were voicing their doubts whether such display of patriotism is necessary in 2023.

If only I could show them how important these are. It is common and natural to be annoyed by your fellow citizens when they say stupid things, support stupid policies and vote for stupid parties and anyway, are taking your parking spot and mowing the lawn after 10pm. You surely feel like you have nothing in common with that stupid neighbor. But you do.

Mass events like Laulupidu, or even the memory of the Baltic Chain remind you that you have a common treasure.

What you see in Hungary now is the result of missing such shared joy.

published in Postimees, 25 October 2023

After my almost 4 years in Estonia, and more then 10 years as a Finno-Ugric scholar, I keep being amazed at how seriously Estonians take October as Hõimukuu. Not only is the third Saturday of October a flag day dedicated to Finno-Ugrians. But two (not one!) grand concerts are held in Tallinn and Tartu, along with countless other minor events organized by Fenno-Ugria or other organizations. Just this Friday the youth organization Hõimulõimed held a Finno-Ugric disco in Tartu with more than 100 participants.

It seems like knowledge and interest for Finno-Ugric peoples is ever-present in Estonia, in both everyday conversations and high politics – do Estonians know this phenomenon is unique to the world?

Nowhere else is a permanent exhibition at the National Museum dedicated to the country’s language family, let alone Finno-Ugrians. Nowhere else could I say that I research Mari language and not have to explain what it is. Nowhere else is “Finno-Ugric” a normal word in everyday conversation. Estonians might find this all self-evident, but cross the border in any direction, you will hardly find anybody who knows who the Finno-Ugrians are. Not even in Finno-Ugric countries.

I’ve lived in all of them. In Finland, being Finno-Ugric plays a much smaller role in the national identity than in Estonia. Finns generally consider themselves Nordic, and are usually much more preoccupied with whatever Sweden is doing than any of their Finno-Ugric relatives. Approximately half of the Finns I met had ever heard about being related to Hungarians, and few of them could name any other Finno-Ugric nation than Estonians, or maybe Karelians (in case they don’t consider the latter Finns).

In Hungary, the situation is much worse. Hungarians hardly see any similarity with any of their linguistic relatives – and as a thousand-year empire, nor do they really want to.  “Relatives that smell like fish” is a common Hungarian slur when talking about Finno-Ugric relatedness. Most of them believe the conspiracy theory that the Finno-Ugric relation was invented by the Habsburgs in the 18th century to humiliate our proud nation. This sentiment has been amplified under Viktor Orbán’s government, during which school textbooks have been rewritten to – unscientifically – depict the linguistic affinity to Finno-Ugrians as one of the possible, but likely false origin theories of the Hungarians.

So what is it about Estonia? Why do Estonians seem to care, even enjoy being Finno-Ugric?

First, Estonia is in the golden center in almost every aspect. In peacetime, it is relatively easily accessible from Finland, Hungary and Russia. It also has cultural similarities with all three of these countries, more than they have with each other. I know people from all three countries that chose Estonia as their new home over the other options because of this feeling of familiarity. (And I don’t mean the Russian language – most Finno-Ugrians learn Estonian quite fast.) Most importantly, it is the third most populous Finno-Ugric language, and the smallest with a country on its own.

As a result, Estonians can empathize with the smaller Finno-Ugric nations in a way Finns and Hungarians can’t. Estonians know what it is like to be overlooked, not taken seriously, harassed and oppressed by an empire. Estonians also know survival is not for granted but requires work. By work I mean making the choice of speaking and cultivating their language, because nobody else will do that for them. Therefore I find that Estonians’ attitude to their mother tongue is highly personal, which resonates well with the minorities under Russian rule.

Linguistic affinity is just one way of being related to other people. If we took genetics or culture, Estonians’ closest relatives would be Latvians. But somehow, linguistic affinity was the notion that great identity builders, such as those during the National Awakening, or later in the 20th century Lennart Meri or Veljo Tormis or even more recently Valdur Mikita would put the greatest emphasis on, and make it the centerpiece of the Estonian soul. As such, it has many aspects that could be (and is) examined scientifically, but I’m more fascinated by the real-life consequences of this core principle.

One of them is this never-fading public interest towards Finno-Ugric peoples. Another is the solid government support for Finno-Ugric scientific and cultural initiatives. Yet another was the Veelinnurahvaste Programm, a grant system for talented Finno-Ugrians to start their studies in Estonia, resulting in, among others, flourishing Mari and Udmurt communities in the country. Others got political asylum and a welcoming community here after being harassed in their homeland in Russia.

Estonians tend to see themselves as small and peripheral, but in the Finno-Ugric world, they have every reason to consider themselves large and central.

These times are not the easiest to love Russian subjects, or Hungarians. It would be a lie to deny that many Finno-Ugrians believe the Kremlin propaganda and support the war. They are also much more likely to be mobilized than ethnic Russians, as the Kremlin deliberately selects them to be drafted. Hungary keeps being Russia’s Trojan horse in the EU, trying to push through the Russian agenda and paralyzing the democratic institutions to the best of its abilities. Yet, most Estonians keep displaying a warm and welcoming attitude towards their kin. This reminds me that one day all Putins and Orbáns will die, but we will still be related, and maybe even better things will come. Maybe we will need each other. Maybe we already do.

A Sami woman pulled me to the side last October in ERM. In her home area in Norway, she constantly struggles with ignorance and disinterest towards Sami culture. She told me she could have never imagined so much care and investment in Finno-Ugric issues as she has experienced here. And although she really appreciated the advice and ideas she was given during her visit, at that point all she wanted was to go home and process the fact that a place like this exists. This year, ERM has already a working relationship and concrete plans established with her. This is Estonia. The center of the Finno-Ugric world.