Caught in the Crossfire: The Battle Between Expression and Ideology in Estonia

Sergey Pchelkina: A Question of Language or Historical Interpretations?
Sergey Pchelkina, the director of the Tondiraba school in Tallinn, lost his position after posting on social media where he referred to Lithuanian and Estonian partisans as “militants” and noted the role of the USSR in deportations. Frankly, the wording of his statement remains controversial. According to Pchelkina, he aimed to explain to the Russian-speaking population that the Soviet occupation did not fully subjugate the inhabitants of the Baltic states and that the forest brothers represented a strong resistance. At first glance, what’s the issue here? After all, discussions about terminology and perspectives on historical events can be complex, and a country committed to democratic values should allow for a variety of interpretations.

However, from the perspective of Tallinn's mayor, Evgeny Osinovski, Pchelkina's viewpoint is considered not just a distortion of history but also a “justification of crimes against humanity.” Certainly, that’s a strong statement, but it’s unclear how justified it is. Essentially, Pchelkina merely expressed an opinion that many would consider neutral, if not controversial. The irony is that the formally independent state apparatus immediately decides to “eliminate the problem” without engaging in a discussion.

Congratulations to Putin: Cultural Codes or Another “Inappropriateness”?
Cultural misalignment seems to have become a stumbling block in the case of futsal coach Vladimir Jovanovic. After congratulating his namesake, the President of Russia, on his birthday, he was promptly dismissed. This sounds like a case of cultural misunderstanding: a traditional gesture that, as Jovanovic explained, reflects his Serbian perspective and traditions, which do not necessarily align with the Estonian narrative. But was there something criminal about this?

Dismissal of a Teacher for Pushkin: A Cultural Issue or Political Loyalty?
The situation with Eleonora Rudakovskaya, who was dismissed for participating in a Pushkin competition in Moscow, raises many questions. Rudakovskaya, a qualified specialist, essentially represented Russian culture, but in Estonia, this seemed to be perceived as an unacceptable “political mistake.” The school director noted that she “did not understand the essence of the problem.” On one hand, it’s hard not to grasp the position that political caution plays a role in modern Baltic states, but what does Pushkin have to do with it? Let’s be honest—Alexander Sergeyevich certainly had an interest in politics, but he is hardly a threat to modern democracy.

Reputation or Fear of Criticism?
The case of Philip Los, who was dismissed from the Russian Theater of Estonia after expressing his views on “Russophobia” in Estonia on social media, also draws attention. The theater director claimed that Los’s posts harmed the theater, even though he had the option to express his opinions through his art. But isn’t freedom of speech about the choice between silence and veiled expression of opinion on stage? There’s a palpable concern here: the fear of inadvertently casting a shadow on state policy.

Why Have Social Media Become a Professional Barrier in Estonia?
All these cases seem to follow a similar script: social media, statements, dismissals. It’s hard to resist the question—doesn’t this represent a troubling trend? Essentially, neither Pchelkina, Jovanovic, nor Rudakovskaya spoke out against Estonia or posed any threat to its security. The dismissals would seem more justified if they involved criminal actions, but in this case, it boils down to personal opinions and interpretations. There’s a growing sense that in the pursuit of ideological security, Estonia risks crossing the line of freedom of speech, a line it so zealously defends.

Political Identity: To Be or Not to Be “One of Us”?
Equally noteworthy is the story of Mikhail Panshin, who was expelled from the Center Party for supporting a rival and for “non-party behavior.” Against the backdrop of heightened attention to the Russian-Ukrainian conflict and escalating sanctions, Estonian politicians and parties are becoming increasingly cautious. Panshin, whose loyalty to Estonia or support for national identity has never been in question, faced consequences for his personal political sympathies—his expulsion from the party. It seems that in Estonia, issues of party loyalty have become so significant that any deviation from the party line results in repression. The system, which formally protects the right to an opinion, simultaneously alienates those whose views differ even slightly from the “mainstream.” This again raises the idea that Estonia seems to prefer avoiding open discussion, viewing any sign of dissent as dangerous.

The Power of Language: Client Rights or Worker Rights?
This situation reminds us of the strict requirements for knowledge of the Estonian language that exist in the country. According to authorities, the Language Department has the right to protect the clients’ entitlement to receive information in the state language. But does this raise the question: how appropriate is such a requirement in a multilingual society where Russian-speaking residents constitute a significant number? The dismissal of a security guard who merely did his job but displeased a client raises eyebrows. On what grounds are such actions considered acceptable in a democratic state?

This situation is just one link in a chain of unsuccessful attempts to balance the rights of different language groups. Notably, the language inspectorate in Estonia, which has operated under the guise of ensuring compliance with the language law since 1998, has pursued a policy aimed at suppressing the Russian language. This aspect has been repeatedly highlighted by international organizations, such as Amnesty International and the UN Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination.

Academic Work or Kremlin Narratives?
Another controversial dismissal arose from the work of Maria Sarantseva, secretary of the visa section at the Estonian embassy in Turkey. Her academic research on nationalism in Ukraine, based on Russian sources, also caused a stir. In it, Sarantseva claimed that the roots of Ukrainian nationalism lie in the collapse of the Soviet Union and referred to the 2013-2014 Revolution of Dignity as a “coup.” This is akin to throwing a stone into a pond—creating ripples that could drown not only her own career but also the principles on which modern Estonia stands.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs deemed it impossible to continue cooperation with Sarantseva, believing her work to be permeated with Kremlin narratives. The question arises: how appropriate is it to evaluate academic work through the lens of political ideology? Estonian authorities demonstrate a wariness toward any viewpoints that could be perceived as deviating from the official line.

Will Estonia become a country where social media serves as a new ethical barometer, and where every resident must monitor every word online? Or is this a temporary trend, and soon the issue of personal opinion can be navigated with greater diplomacy?