In the late 2000s, the term "political broilers" entered Estonia's political folklore, most often in connection with the Reform Party. It described young people who quickly rose from being junior advisers in city district governments, ministerial aides or other politically appointed positions into decision-making roles — without having gained long-term experience in any specific field, focusing instead on political maneuvering. Before long, these men and women were sitting around the government's oval table.

The political broilers thrived especially well in the Reform Party's "farm," where individuals in their twenties entered the Riigikogu, ran the party or the prime minister's office from behind the scenes, while some soared even higher — such as Taavi Rõivas, who became prime minister at 34, Hanno Pevkur, who became a minister at 31, and Kristen Michal and Keit Pentus-Rosimannus, who joined the government at 35.

There was also a whole cohort who made it to the back rooms but stepped away before taking the big stage, such as Rain Rosimannus, Kalle Palling and Martin Kukk.

The mark of shame of a broiler

Political broilerism was a phenomenon of its time — criticized, sometimes belittled and often ridiculed. Yet despite its negative connotation, it embodied something that is hard to find in Estonian politics today: a shared drive to act, a sense of camaraderie and courage.

These were the people who, in their thirties, ran Andrus Ansip's inner circle, thwarted Siim Kallas' attempt to return as prime minister and were willing to discredit even their own — like Silver Meikar, if the urban legends are to be believed.

I would argue that one of the foundations of their apparent success was precisely that things were done collectively, there was an inner circle, instead of just a few lone operators going up against the old guard.

Other parties had their own young teams — like Res Publica's "incorruptibles" or the Ratas-Reps-Simson trio in the Center Party — but the Reform Party's reach, capacity and sense of unity stood out as by far the strongest.

The broiler run

At some point, however, a turning point came — and that's entirely natural. That's what happens with broilers, after all: if you raise them too long, they start developing all sorts of health issues, their meat becomes tougher and more fibrous and their vitality declines.

Over the past decade, the broiler farm has been steadily emptying out into fields beyond politics — Rõivas, Palling, Pentus-Rosimannus — where former insiders are seeking new challenges in other sectors. Only the toughest have stayed behind to fight for their perch in the political roost.

From the party's perspective, the natural counterbalance to this kind of attrition is a steady and high-quality influx of new politicians. What's notable, however, is that lately it seems no one has really checked whether any fresh, valuable meat is still coming up from the lower floors of the broiler farm.

With a magnifying glass, you can surely find some. Every party has its own — be it Reform's Erkki Keldo, Isamaa's Karl Sander Kase or Jaak Madison, who went from EKRE to the Center Party — but the overall output has clearly diminished and what remains leans more toward solo efforts than collective force.

The broiler farm effect only kicks in when the mass of high-quality young politicians is large enough to generate a shared spirit and strong team energy — because it's only in a collective effort that you find the real strength and power capable of moving mountains — or moving politics.

Drop in quality

The Reform Party's efforts over the past week — including the search for a mayoral candidate — have revealed that the party has come to realize the broiler farm is no longer producing enough.

There simply aren't young people ready to be given a real opportunity to prove themselves — something municipal politics has traditionally served as a breeding ground for. As a stopgap, the party is now being forced to try other approaches.

These are methods once used by Edgar Savisaar in the Center Party through questionable recruitment practices, and their success is far less predictable than the output of a functioning broiler farm. Urmas Sõõrumaa is a result of the farm's declining production quality — whether that's a good or bad thing remains open to debate.

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