Urmas Reinsalu is a man who demands decisions. In his speeches at the Riigikogu and in his open letters to prime ministers, he frequently insists that the government must decide, the prime minister must decide — everyone must decide. Indecision costs hundreds of millions of euros, he declares. And if the government fails to act, then according to him, it is economically hostile, undermines trust and paralyzes governance.

But when the discussion turns to Tallinn and decisions must be made about who to govern the city with, that decisiveness vanishes and Reinsalu suddenly falls silent. Not completely silent — because a silent Reinsalu doesn't exist — but he transforms into a generator of vague talk. This is his paradox: a man who urges others into action is, in real life, like a goat stuck between two haystacks.

On one side is the Center Party, which Reinsalu and his fellow party members have spent years labeling as pro-Russian and corrupt. A party that, according to Reinsalu, Mihhail Kõlvart has turned into a political home for Russian-speaking voters and under whose leadership Tallinn has "resisted pro-Estonian policies."

Riina Solman has remarked that the Center Party "has been unable to shed its tendency toward corruption," and Kristjan Järvan has described its politicians as people who speak to entrepreneurs "in the language of winks and nudges."

On the other side are the Social Democrats, Parempoolsed and the Reform Party — a bunch of liberals. If only EKRE had made it into the city council, they could've reassembled the good old EKREIKE coalition in the city, Reinsalu sighs, casting a longing glance toward Stenbock House. Power calls, after all. But it also paralyzes.

This paralysis is most evident now, as Isamaa finds itself in Tallinn's power game, yet would gladly tear a handful of pages from the calendar to bring the 2027 parliamentary elections closer. The question is how to get to 2027 without anything going wrong in the meantime. On one side of the scale are principles; on the other, positions.

There's no small irony in the fact that Isamaa now includes several former Center Party members, like Jüri Ratas and Jaanus Karilaid, who just a few years ago voted in the Riigikogu against transitioning to Estonian-language education. Has Reinsalu asked them how they now feel about Estonian-language schooling? As the old Estonian saying goes: clean your own doorstep before you start looking for mud at your neighbor's.

Against this backdrop, it's not hard to see that Isamaa's circus is playing out not just on the political stage, but also in the media spotlight. Isamaa's game isn't so much about finding solutions as it is about keeping attention. And the media plays along, every day, with every headline, with every comment. If the cameras were to turn away for even a moment, the performance by Reinsalu and Solman would come to an abrupt halt.

Reinsalu titled his latest open letter to the prime minister: "How long will this dead dog be tossed over the fence? Prime Minister, explain yourself!" Golden words, Urmas. Now go stand in front of your mirror at home and ask yourself that very question. If the government doesn't decide, it's a crime. But if Reinsalu doesn't decide, it's strategy. And maybe it is, because indecision can sometimes be the safest way to avoid responsibility.

Urmas Reinsalu talks a lot but says little. And perhaps that's exactly why there's always room for one more new opinion — just in case the old one no longer fits. At the same time, he earnestly asks voters not to judge him by his words or actions, but simply for the fact that he exists.

On Tuesday, the Center Party and Isamaa announced in a joint statement that they are beginning coalition talks in Tallinn, but nothing has been decided yet. The show goes on.

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