I recently found myself talking with some young people about how freedom returned to Estonia. They were especially interested in what happened during those days in August 1991 — who was where when a group of coup plotters in Moscow decided to seize power by military force, when paratroopers and an armored column were sent to Estonia and when the commander of the Baltic Military District announced that the coup leaders had entrusted him with supreme authority in the Baltic states. The main question the young people asked was: Weren't you afraid?

I remember the events of August 1991 very clearly. I even remember the sound of the armored column moving. To this day, that sound is inseparable in my memory from the desire to lock Estonia down completely. I was a student at the University of Tartu and had recently gotten married. During those days, I was staying at my parents' home in Tallinn. My mother, who was serving as a deputy minister, was on a business trip to Denmark for the "Women in Changing Europe" conference. My younger sister was in Sweden with her folk dance group. At the time, I had no idea whether they would be able to return to Estonia or when we would see each other again.

On the afternoon of August 20, 1991, my father and I sat in the kitchen of our apartment in Lilleküla, listening to the radio. Our family was certainly no friend of the Soviet regime. My mother was deeply committed to Estonia's drive for freedom and my father, through his work in theater and on concert stages, had created art that strongly reflected Estonian national identity. In the eyes of the military coup leaders, both would clearly have been considered undesirable elements, something that could have put their lives at risk.

After listening to the news, my father calmly said that if the situation had not become clearer in Estonia's favor by morning, we would first try to get to our family farm on Saaremaa and decide what to do from there. That evening, we did not have all the answers, but we knew that whatever happened, we would have to keep moving forward the next morning. My answer to those young people is that I do not remember feeling afraid. What I remember instead is my father's quiet, calm resolve. Looking back, that is my most important memory of those pivotal days. We calmly focused on what could be done at that particular moment.

As it happened, late on the evening of August 20, the Supreme Council of the Republic of Estonia decided to restore the Republic of Estonia and called on everyone to defend Toompea, the Tallinn TV Tower, the television building and the radio building. My husband, then a history student, was in Tartu working on coursework. He and his fellow students got on a bus and drove straight to Tallinn to help defend the radio building. I only learned later what the young men did there — and on the way there. For example, they made Molotov cocktails on the bus. From his memories as well, I know there was no fear, only a clear and calm inner resolve to act if necessary. In the end, there was no fighting. On August 21, the coup attempt in Moscow collapsed and Estonia truly became free.

Today, 35 years later, during the war in Ukraine, the world can once again see what an aggressive drive to subjugate others means. Its brutality continues to shock. I think we in Estonia have now raised several generations of children for whom freedom has always been a natural part of life. Among them are even those who might ask, much like the American tourists who, after hearing about Estonia's history, once wondered why we did not simply call the police when people were deported. But young people are genuinely interested in the story of Estonia's restored independence. We need to tell them those stories.

Today, we in Estonia spend a great deal of time thinking about preparing for crises and building resilience. Most often, we think in terms of emergency supplies and defense capabilities. But the experience of August 20, 35 years ago, reminds us that the next essential step in any crisis is mutual trust, along with calm but firm decisions made within ourselves and together with those closest to us. We know how to make those decisions. They are deeply rooted in our culture and sometimes decisions made in that spirit can shape the future of an entire nation. Yet that kind of decision-making cannot be learned or taught from a textbook.

We need to share these experiences with young people so they can acquire that way of acting for themselves. The roots of our resilience lie precisely in that quiet resolve.

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