One of the pitfalls of diplomacy, so the traditionalists assert, is when the representative of the foreign nation goes native. It is one thing to understand the country in which you are stationed; it is quite another to appreciate it too much. But what happens when, by all the available indices, that country really is a model to be emulated?
That is the problem that Ross Allen has grappled with during his five-year tenure as Britain’s ambassador to Estonia. As his posting comes to an end, he has written a eulogy toward the Baltic nation, which in foreign and security policy and the delivery of public services is setting the example for the world. It is appropriately called Estonian Lessons.
One of the pitfalls of diplomacy, so the traditionalists assert, is when the representative of the foreign nation goes native. It is one thing to understand the country in which you are stationed; it is quite another to appreciate it too much. But what happens when, by all the available indices, that country really is a model to be emulated?
That is the problem that Ross Allen has grappled with during his five-year tenure as Britain’s ambassador to Estonia. As his posting comes to an end, he has written a eulogy toward the Baltic nation, which in foreign and security policy and the delivery of public services is setting the example for the world. It is appropriately called Estonian Lessons.
His analysis broadly accords with mine in Braver New World, my new book, which looks at expressions of political courage, imagination, and resilience around the world.
Much of Estonia’s strength revolves around digital technology. It has the highest number of start-ups per capita and the second highest number of “unicorns” (start-ups that have grown to over $1 billion in value) per capita, after Israel but in front of Singapore and the United States. It is ranked among the most efficient systems of e-government, alongside one of the strongest systems of cybersecurity. It is also a perpetually good performer in human rights and press freedom, backed up by a modern approach to education.
Why did Estonia become so advanced? Allen provides one theory from an official who said his countryfolk “avoid small talk and go out in bad weather.” Other factors in helping create social cohesion and inclusion that are offered, largely tongue-in-cheek, include singing and saunas.
With most major European economies floundering—and with Germany, France, and the United Kingdom looking over their shoulders at surging populist parties—there seem to be few examples remaining of successful mainstream politics. It has become commonplace to highlight the performance of Nordics and Baltics as a counterweight to the gloom, but the reasons underlying the strength of these countries are often not properly understood.
Digitization plays a major part. When the Iron Curtain fell in 1991 and Estonia regained its independence after 50 years of occupation under the USSR, it had almost no money and no resources. It hadn’t always been like this. At the end of the 1930s, Estonians and Finns had almost identical incomes and life expectancy. However, by the end of the 1980s, Finns lived four years longer and earned eight times more.
That’s why Estonia took an all-out bet on digital—every aspect of it. On e-learning, e-government, and e-security. In English it was known as the “Tiger Leap.” There was no blueprint when it started, yet within a decade and a half the country had become one of the world leaders in digital literacy, cybersecurity, internet freedom, and e-government.
Each of Estonia’s 3,000 state services can be accessed online, and at the latest count, more than 97 percent of Estonians do just that. The intriguing result is that people are potentially glued to their computers for less time than in other countries because it takes them far less time to do the basic, often boring, things.
The government estimates that the average Estonian wins back five days a year by not having to deal with a stifling bureaucracy. It takes no longer than five minutes (some do it in three) to fill out tax returns because they are pre-populated with answers from previous years. Compliance has increased. The tax agency has shed nearly half its staff. Some 2 percent of GDP is estimated to be saved each year by e-government.
Yet it is about far more than economic efficiency and personal convenience. What Estonia has done is to refashion the state and its relationship to the citizen. Through digital ID and a series of passwords, individuals control their data. They can check if anyone has snooped on them and can challenge that access if it lacks a sound reason. Intelligence services have certain exemptions, while police do not need permission during a criminal investigation, but once the work is complete, its actions are disclosed.
This belief in a benign role for government strikes me as remarkable, even more so in these darker times. Estonia is also doing what it can to help other young democracies that are at risk.
After 1991, its second big moment of change happened 16 years later. The year 2007 is remembered in Estonia as Web War I, the outbreak of Russia’s hybrid war on the West. Amid a dispute over the moving of a Soviet war memorial from a prime spot in the center of Tallinn, much of Estonia’s digital infrastructure was taken down in a massive wave of distributed denial-of-service attacks. Ministries, parliament, banks were taken down. Much of the country was shut down.
A year later, NATO founded its Cooperative Cyber Defense Center of Excellence (CCDCOE), locating it deliberately in Tallinn. Estonia also established its own Defense League Cyber Unit, a voluntary organization of programmers, computer scientists, and software engineers. It is part of a larger national Defense League that incorporates reservists across society, all of whom function under a unified command in times of war. The cyber experts carry out regular weekend exercises on behalf of the military to prepare for contingencies as part of larger units of regular and irregular soldiers.
Then came the Russian attack on Ukraine in 2014. Through CCDCOE, NATO more widely, in the EU, and bilaterally, Estonia has become one of the staunchest and most practical supporters of Ukraine.
The sharing of digital and cyber capabilities is not seen as an act of generosity but mutual dependence, a relationship that has grown even stronger since the full-scale invasion in 2022. Within weeks of Russian troops marching in, the Estonians sent the Ukrainians valuable software and hardware, including generators and drones.
Ukraine’s use of digital technology has been vital for its self-defense, not just militarily but also in terms of more basic day-to-day services that would have been hard to deliver under constant fear of bombardment. Its main portal is Diia, an acronym for Derzhava i Ya (the State and Me), an app and website that provides more than 130 online services.
This newfound trust is born of need. It is easier to carry out radical change at times of adversity—pandemics, famines, threats, or wars. In the meantime, larger European countries languish in a sour mood of incrementalism and suspicion; many citizens see government as either hostile or weak. This leads to a vicious circle—paralysis and obduracy of the state, frustration and anger of voters, and a fertile base for extremism.
Estonia and other countries—small but also large—have examples to share across a wide range of policy areas. It requires humility and self-awareness (but not self-flagellation) to tap into them. States that are open to best practice from afar will provide greater protection from perils ahead: a little less lecturing others and a little more learning from others.
