It is the year 2010. I am sitting in my comfortable home, scrolling through the wishes of children from orphanages as part of SEB's Christmas tree campaign. I deliberately choose orphanages in Ida‑Viru County for my donations, so as not to be one of those who instinctively steer clear of a region that makes them uneasy.

As a native of Tallinn, I don't want to be condescending, but rather supportive, because you have to look further than the tip of your own nose. The children's wishes are so simple — shower gel and other hygiene items — that even now, writing this, my throat tightens. I don't want Russian‑speaking young people to grow up with clenched fists in their pockets because we — the ones who are doing better — failed them. Failed in caring. Failed in noticing.

It is the fall of 2021. I am working as a communications coordinator for European Union (EU) funds. I know by heart how much European and Estonian taxpayers' money is being invested in Ida‑Viru to help the region catch up, but something in the communication feels fundamentally off.

Annual public opinion surveys show that our EU messages are not reaching local residents — they are somewhere "else." I invite communications expert Raul Rebane to speak at a network meeting of institutions dealing with EU funding, with the brief framed as the question: "How do we reach the Russian‑speaking population, and whom should we be addressing?" Rebane shows us propaganda programs by Vladimir Solovyov and asks something along the lines of: "Why do you think you can compete with this at all? Your only hope is young people."

The smell of war is not yet thick in the air, but what is palpable is that we have, ourselves, given up. Inter‑agency cooperation is limping along on at least one leg. One institution is trying to explain the importance of Estonian‑language skills in Ida‑Viru, another is focused on explaining the green transition, and a third wants to introduce European values and everything that has been done to support the region. Everyone is pulling their own blanket, everyone has their own messages aimed at skeptics who watch Russian television channels. A chaos of messages.

After Russia launched its war against Ukraine in 2022, there is more of a sense of being "present." Even so, people in Narva at one point begin to feel like animals in a cage, stared at as potential border‑area separatists. One delegation after another — mostly European Commission officials and foreign journalists — comes to take a look at how bad things really are. Foreign media eagerly cultivate the idea that "Narva is next," even though there is no such turbulence actually in the air.

Media responsibility

I have heard from several people: "Oh, why even go to Narva — it's a Russian city. Events will be full of drunks anyway, and organizing a concert there is more like 'putting a saddle on a pig' than a sensible investment in the future."

My eyebrows probably shot up so fast they nearly left orbit. How do we just write off an entire region? Let them muddle through in an information space shaped by hostile media, accessed via VPNs? Or what exactly is the strategic vision here?

I gave a lecture to college students about how half a billion euros of EU money has flowed into developing the region. Those promenades, school buildings, bike paths and highways, everything from city halls to colleges and from street lighting to clean drinking water — all of it has been implemented with European Union funding. Cultural events from Opera Days to Station Narva, sports facilities across Ida‑Viru from Kiviõli to Aidu, and natural landmarks like Valaste Waterfall…

Estonia is a member of the European Union, and investments in Ida‑Viru — to make the region cleaner, more beautiful, more pleasant, and culturally richer — have been made thanks to the fact that we are no longer part of the old world of five‑year plans, no freedom of speech, and the like. Just look across the river: compare the Narva side to the other bank.

And then, bang — the local journalist attending the event says: why are you talking to us about water pipes? You can't even see them. I'm taken aback. No, you can't see them — but maybe you can feel the quality of life they bring?

The sense that our communication was off only deepened. Some positive change came when a separate website was created for the €340 million Just Transition Fund, giving locals a concrete place to see what is happening and where. The then‑head of strategic communications at the Government Office, Priit Talv, agreed with ERR that for Europe Day, ETV would broadcast equally from both Tallinn and Narva, because one is no less important than the other. We are not forgetting Narva. That has now happened for the second year in a row in 2026.

What choices do we have?

We can, of course, stand by and wait, hoping that integration will just happen. When you're ready over there, give us a call and let Tallinn know. But I would go back to what Rebane said in 2021: young people.

Can we, through communication campaigns or nostalgia acts, really lure away from the riverbank those whose fathers fought in World War II to celebrate Europe Day? Probably not. That is their family history, reinforced by Russia's endlessly repeated narrative of "we defeated the Nazis here, be grateful, and that's all that matters."

It is conveniently forgotten that after Estonia's so‑called liberation, the liberators did not leave, but stayed here for fifty years, "hanging around" and imposing their own order. We won't change them. But we do have young people born and raised in a free Estonia, who have no reason to want to move across the river.

On Europe Day 2025 in Narva, rapper nublu's performance brought more people to Town Hall Square than Anne Veski did. Not because one performer was better than the other, but because it was a clear sign of generational difference. The older generation preferred to glance across the river, while the younger looked toward Europe, jamming along to "Gorod Narva" or humming, "Mina tänan loojat. Hingerahu toojat"* Estonian flags were waving. I even handed some out myself.

This is the rising generation caught in the transition to Estonian‑language education, whose future local school leaders are working hard to secure, and who should have opportunities in Estonia fully equal to those of a native Tallinner. But nothing that happens in some "alien" region can be left to chance. We ourselves, in Tallinn and elsewhere, must decide that we want these people, that we want these young people, that we want them in our information space, that we want them to be part of our economy and our value system — and, in times of turbulence, standing with us, united.

Can we afford an attitude of "those people over there"? We cannot. What we are bitterly tasting now is the fruit of our own decades of inaction — and then, when local election results come in, we gasp in shocked surprise at how that could have happened. We did it ourselves.

Because of my work, I traveled to Narva and the Ida‑Viru region more frequently between 2022 and 2025 than ever before, and one observation stood out that urgently needs improvement at the local level: in the urban space, the Republic of Estonia is barely visible.

If we want fewer Stalin‑era mindsets and power games in northeastern Estonia at the next elections, then we really do need to pull out the mirrors. The Estonian state does not end before Narva. It does not end in Kiviõli or Sillamäe. These are cities of our republic, and our obligation to reach them, develop them, and listen to their residents' concerns is exactly the same as it is in Saue, Tartu, Viimsi, or Tallinn. And I'm not talking only about politicians. By train, bus, or car, it's not a long journey for anyone. I've tried them all. You listen to a couple of Vikerraadio programs and you're already there.

It's easy, from a lofty hilltop or from afar, to scoff that "nothing will change there" or that it's like "putting a saddle on a pig." But what if we haven't really tried? What if we haven't tried strategically and seriously for over 30 years? Maybe it's time. Alongside AI programs, we need greater social cohesion and more thoughtful regional policy — something that would place our country on the plus side of the ledger in a potential security crisis. Every link in the chain matters, doesn't it?

On May 9, Europe Day will be celebrated in Narva, primarily led by the European Commission — but hopefully with the Estonian state visibly present as well, because the people there are our people. Go to Narva!

* From the song "Push It" by nublu.

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