A month ago, a crowd gathered outside the Nurme farm, where African swine fever had been detected. Some turned the tragic event into political theater, while others were genuinely confused: Why were thousands of pigs being culled if the virus had only been confirmed in one? The answer was actually quite simple: the virus has a long incubation period and the pathogen can hide in places as small as dust particles or beneath manure slats.

Oddly enough, this rational message barely made it into the public conversation. And not just because of the noise generated by conspiracy theorists.

Instead of clearly explaining the situation, officials and politicians repeatedly pushed a narrative that seemed designed to shift blame — but only ended up adding fuel to the fire in the eyes of many: Estonia's hands were supposedly tied by European Union rules that mandate the destruction of all animals in such cases. On August 15, the chief veterinary officers of the Baltic states and Poland even issued a joint statement emphasizing that failure to follow EU law could damage a country's reputation and lead to sanctions from the European Commission.

That, of course, is also true. But in this case, cause and effect have become hopelessly muddled. The EU didn't put these rules in place to bully Estonian pig farmers — or because there's something in Brussels' drinking water that turns everyone evil, as some seem to believe. These rules exist because African swine fever is an extremely dangerous animal disease. Without drastic containment measures, it could wipe out Estonia's pig-farming industry, cause a continent-wide pork shortage and turn a rack of ribs into a luxury item.

The saga took another turn in early August when the government began preparing a potential burial site for infected pigs in Metsküla, Viljandi County. By that time, everyone understood the issue was highly sensitive and required careful handling.

But the blunders continued. Officials from the Environmental Board called about a dozen nearby residents and said they were coming to test the quality of water in their wells. When one person asked why, the caller said it had something to do with the Õisu forest district.

Although the Environmental Board later claimed that locals had been adequately informed about the burial site, in reality, not a word was said about any burials. Even municipal officials were left in the dark — and admitted they had been prohibited from speaking on the matter.

Instead of vaccinating people against conspiracy theories with open and thorough communication, the authorities once again mixed a toxic cocktail that made even the most level-headed people suspicious.

But African swine fever, in this case, is merely a symptom of a different epidemic. This virus eating away at society leaves behind simple questions and vague accusations; it obfuscates, conceals, lashes out. It's like Toots's sciatica — flaring up in a different place every time. One day, it's lavish agency summer parties being kept secret. Another, it's the quiet takeover of a critical social media group that had criticized a state-owned company. Then it's some absurd political pantomime staged in the Tallinn City Council...

The government's communication with its citizens swings between the unfiltered remarks of the education minister and dense bureaucratic jargon that's impossible to understand without a translator. Some flare-ups are serious, others just ridiculous — but each one chips away at public trust.

I don't know what causes this disease. Is it the distrust politicians and officials have toward the public? The belief that the less people know, the more satisfied they'll be? Clearly, that approach doesn't work. Or are we living in a world where even smart people start doing dumb things because that's what seems to bring success? I'm not sure that pays off in the long run. Especially as competition is always fiercer among the foolish.

In situations like this, communication usually takes the blame. But that suggests it's just one narrow sliver of a much broader problem. Society is communication. Take that away and there's not much left of civilization. Yet the root causes of poor communication choices run deeper — perhaps in a desire to be liked or to avoid blame? Apathy? Exhaustion? The loss of moral compass points?

This illness doesn't affect everyone. Now and then, we even get a shot of vitamin C — like at the end of August, when Urmet Lee, director general of Statistics Estonia, personally took responsibility for the release of flawed wage data, rather than burying his head in the sand. But the negative examples are far more frequent — and tend to overshadow the positive ones.

According to a government-commissioned study, trust in public institutions recently saw a small uptick. But compared to past years, it's still extremely low. And that survey didn't even account for many of the events that took place over the summer — let alone the start of election season.

We spend a lot of time debating budget cuts, the state budget deficit, the looming crisis in the Health Insurance Fund, national defense, the education system, energy, regional development, free kindergarten places and more. But overarching all these vital issues should be one critical task: preserving and restoring trust. Without trust, people won't want to pay taxes, serve in the military or have children.

The entire public sector should constantly keep one question in mind: How can this decision or action be made understandable to the public?

It's not impossible. But to do that, we need less spin from communications departments and more speaking from actual experts and leaders. We need real, substantive reasoning — not hollow slogans. We need people willing to take responsibility when needed — not shift the blame to someone else. And we need to make evidence and open data available from the start.

That's the only way people will trust the state — even in exceptional cases when, for national security reasons, not everything can be disclosed.

Trust can never be 100 percent. Even if you set aside the tinfoil-hat crowd who believe the world is run by lizard people — and wouldn't trust anyone anyway — in a free society, there must always be room for disagreement, and thus, a degree of mistrust. But wasting what little trust you have on foolishness? That's just plain stupid.

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