A steady stream of reports about African swine fever (ASF) spreading in pig farms, along with mass cullings, is hitting a nerve in our society. The situation came to a head over the weekend at Nurme Farm in Viljandi County, owned by Saimre Agro.

The news of a decision to slaughter 4,500 pigs based on just one positive test result, 30 negative results and without waiting for the disease's incubation period to end sparked a wave of civic activism. Calls spread on social media and by Friday evening people from across Estonia had gathered at Nurme Farm to try to stop the cull planned for Saturday.

The "great massacre," as Saimre Farm representative Valmar Haava called it, was indeed prevented by the protesters. The Agriculture and Food Board (PTA) agreed to wait for the results of repeat tests from an independent laboratory in Spain, which will confirm whether or not the farm is infected.

PTA Director Raimo Heinam took a bold step, earning praise even from those who are normally quick to criticize government agencies and officials. Instead of delivering a one-way lecture along the lines of, "We're the authority, the law requires us to act and we will act," Heinam engaged in dialogue with the public, giving hope to those who had lost faith that democracy is still alive.

That's one way to view the events. A more realistic explanation for why the PTA agreed to wait lies in mathematics, namely, the understanding that one test result alone cannot be trusted. As physicist and science popularizer Aigar Vaigu explained in a social media post, the seemingly simple question, "If a test is positive, does that mean the animal is infected?" hides an important statistical trap. In other words, after a single positive result, the certainty that the animal is truly sick is only about 50 percent, essentially the same as flipping a coin.

The PTA's choice not to flip that coin was a strong and courageous move. This is especially relevant now, as global studies show that ASF is not only a veterinary-medical problem but also a socio-psychological crisis. Estonian University of Life Sciences agriculture doctoral student Alo Tänavots pointed this out in a recent opinion piece, noting that the virus has placed enormous mental strain on those tasked with testing, culling and overseeing animal health. Let's not, then, be relentlessly harsh toward officials — most of us can hardly imagine the pressure they work under.

The greatest burden, however, falls on pig farmers, for whom losing pigs to ASF is not merely the loss of a production unit but often the collapse of their life's work. Citing research, Tänavots stressed that pig farmers need not only financial compensation but also empathy, understanding and public visibility in the midst of the crisis.

That visibility happened at Nurme Farm. The public reacted to the farmer's bewilderment over such a major decision being made on the basis of a single test result. Now, all await the Spanish lab results with bated breath. The outcome will decide not only the fate of the pigs and the credibility of our labs but also shape society's attitude toward public protest.

After all, protest is one of the oldest and most democratic ways to defend the rights of the vulnerable, or your own. In recent years, however, it has often been drawn into the orbit of interest groups whose motives are less about solving injustices and more about undermining society. When Jevgeni Ossinovski was minister of health and labor and raised the alcohol excise tax, it sparked the "Taxes Are Driving Away!" (Maksud sõidavad) protest movement, which later turned out to be orchestrated from Russia. The same question arose sharply in the Nursipalu case, where the stakes — people's homes — were far greater than the price of vodka. Various interest groups immediately sought to exploit such an emotional issue for their own ends.

The protest at Nurme Farm was organized by entrepreneur and unregistered "Plan B Party" leader Indrek Pähnapuu, who has also been linked to spreading Kremlin disinformation. Such connections create a public image of protesters that the rest of Estonia meets with long, silent stares and labels, applied not only in private conversations but also publicly. Finance Minister Jürgen Ligi (Reform), for example, called all those who signed a petition against the high VAT on food products "fools."

In a recent interview, a well-known journalist asked a well-known Võru County musician: "Do people in Võromaa speak Võro about the idea of breaking away from Estonia?" The question itself reveals an attitude and it is such attitudes, more than a handful of influence agents, that ultimately divide society.

Labeling all protesters as Kremlin sympathizers or fools is about as justified as slaughtering an entire pig farm based on one positive test result. This is especially true when we, as a nation, often reproach ourselves for shaking our fists only in the sauna but never raising our voices for real. I'm reminded of a humorous meme my daughters sent me on July 1 from the Song Festival rehearsals: a side-by-side comparison of how the French and the Estonians respond to tax hikes. The French were shown with fists raised, rioting in the streets; the Estonians, in beautiful folk costumes, cheerfully dancing at the festival.

All of this raises the question: What do we actually want? If we remain silent, we feel disappointed in ourselves. If we speak up, there is immediate suspicion that our voice is not the "right" one or belongs to someone else entirely. Letting this belief take root is dangerous for society as a whole because it robs us of one of the most important tools we have for defending our rights.

I don't believe the Nurme Farm case will lead to mass protests, but it could give every Estonian the courage to stand up against something that doesn't seem right or is out of place. This is especially true if the results from Spain show that there is no swine fever at the farm.

--

Follow ERR News on Facebook, Bluesky and X and never miss an update!