We are not a particularly special people, neither especially ignorant nor exceptionally caring. Our ideal world includes everyone like us, including those who think the way we do. Then we can be mutually caring and sweet, patting each other on the back and praising one another for our attentiveness. Yet we never tire of being shocked and outraged whenever something clashes with our worldview, whenever something unfamiliar or foreign is "paraded, promoted or imposed." If something we like stands out, we take it as a sign of pure truth. Anyone who thinks like us must be wise.

All of this is human. In other words, it's just as true for Estonians as it is for everyone else — for those on the left and the right, for liberals and conservatives alike. Some more than others, but among our own, we tend to forget the difference between, say, what is "dangerous" and what is merely "foreign" or between what is "pleasant" and what is actually a "fact."

Christmas is the golden season of platitudes. That's why, amid elves, the scent of spruce and candlelight, it's worth remembering that we all have our blind spots and suffer from a kind of nearsightedness — yet that doesn't have to drive us into an addiction to outrage.

There is common ground

The goal of every political party — without exception — is the best possible future for Estonia. As the holidays approach, it's nice to affirm that everyone still wants a free and democratic Estonia with a thriving economy and growing well-being for its people. Non-party members want the same.

The debate is over how to reach that shared goal and how democracy should be interpreted. As long as there are passionate voices for and against, democracy is functioning and there's still hope. The worst, most damaging and ultimately deadliest thing is indifference and apathy, which, judging by the intensity of our debates, we do not suffer from. With that thought, we could declare a Christmas truce and go drink some mulled wine.

But we can't, because elves are dying in droves and hope is dwindling. Without elves, there's no one to deliver our wishes to Santa Claus. And nobody wants an ugly Christmas or a hopeless New Year.

What if, every time we feel the urge to emotionally write words like "idiot," "freak," "moron" or toss in some "witty" yet cruel jab at a political or ideological opponent, we simply took a deep breath and said, "I disagree" or "I see it differently"?

You don't have to be a psychologist or communication expert to understand which approach helps move things forward and which one shuts down any chance of collective progress. From an economic perspective alone, calling someone an idiot is wildly inefficient if you're hoping to land on the 1 percent who respond to insults with deep personal reflection. Odds are, you're speaking to the 99 percent who'll just snap back: "Takes one to know one."

Yes, it would mean trading snark for actual arguments, but that small mental effort pays off. By stepping out of our comfort zones, we can steer the country in any direction. After all, the goals are largely the same and we're speaking among our own, no matter which "side" we're on.

Above all, I'm looking in the mirror, because politicians' behavior reflects the attitudes of voters, meaning all of us. I can change my own tone and choice of words, so that's where I'll begin.

Democracy is slow

Democracy is just as slow as learning in general. It takes getting used to and requires daily practice, which is why we can't leave it for someone else to handle. The first steps are easy — stepping out of our comfort zones is made easier by the fine arts and culture more broadly. That's why even during Christmas it's worth practicing: by watching what feels unfamiliar, listening to what sounds strange and reading what seems odd.

Let the politicians live four years at a time, from one local election to the next parliamentary one. But the impact of our word choices and behavior stretches much farther than just those few years. However slowly, every small decision matters.

Economically, many are struggling, but in the bigger picture, we haven't failed. Estonia is an independent democratic country where governments change according to election results. Yes, also through political horse-trading, but bargaining over a cow isn't easy, nor is it illegal.

Everyone is free to express their opinions. A well-argued opinion doesn't require applause — it invites a well-argued response. And there's no need for insults or belittling those who disagree. At the same time, gut feeling is not a valid argument that moves anything forward. Speech that makes you angry isn't necessarily hate speech and a pleasant statement isn't necessarily a factual truth.

Ideally, media outlets should also ensure that opinions are well-argued and free of dripping bile. Just like the state, journalism depends on us — neither can be better than we are ourselves. We raise our voices on social media, but the tone we set there echoes into radio, television, print and online media.

If we can't live without social media, then please: give likes to those who lift others up, not those who tear people down. Support those who argue their points, not those who merely show off their wit. You can still choose to avoid posting angry rants on your own page or leaving mean-spirited comments under someone else's post. Social media arguments are hollow and meaningless; they serve only the platforms themselves — not you, not us and not the country.

That's why it might be wise to take a break from echo chambers too, from those spaces where every opinion spawns a chorus of friends gasping and snickering at the other side's foolishness. A hundred thumbs-up and a hundred hearts. But how does that help us move forward?

Listening and observing are the first exercises in democracy, which means there's no need to say anything at all. But if you can't agree with what's been said or feel compelled to push back, a good dialogue starts with a relevant question, not a harshly worded statement. That is, if we really do want to move forward together. And I think we do. Or is there another option?

"But what about them...!" I, too, sometimes lose my temper over something someone says. Yes, it really is hard not to lash out or respond with sarcasm. But then I think of the mass graves of elves born of all that rage and I calm down. People who are different and thoughts that are unfamiliar don't disappear just because we shout at them. In Tove Jansson's "The Invisible Child," the child became invisible because of her cruel, sarcastic aunt. Maybe in the new year, we could try not to be that aunt.

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