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C o m p e t i n g C o n c e p t i o n s o f M u l t i e t h n i c D e m o c r a c y :
D e b a t in g M i n o r i t y In t e g r a t i o n i n E s t o n i a
VELLO PETTAI Lecturer
Department of Political Science University of Tartu
Estonia
Paper presented at the European Consortium for Political Research, Joint Sessions
workshop on “Competing Conceptions of Democracy in the Practice of Politics”
April 14-19, 2000, Copenhagen, Denmark.*
Comments welcomed: Department of Political Science, Ülikooli 18,
50090 Tartu, Estonia, e-mail: [email protected]
INTRODUCTION
Is nationhood—or a unified and consolidated social-communicative community—a
precondition for modern political development? Or does modern democratic theory in
fact require renouncing nationhood as well as nation-building, and instead conceive of a
different model of social-communicative cohesion as the bedrock for political society?
What are the minimal elements of social-communicative cohesion for a modern polity to
survive and function democratically? What are the possibilities for building such
cohesion democratically in states where it is lacking?
Estonia represents a test-case with regard to many of these questions as it struggles to
consolidate its democracy in the face of a deeply divided Estonian and Russian-speaking
population.1 Can it build social-communicative cohesion between these groups, brought
together largely as the product of Soviet colonization and still separated along linguistic,
social and political lines? If yes, then on what basis? Will this process be democratic?
What are some of the variables regulating these processes?
* I am grateful to Will Kymlicka for earlier comments on sections of this paper delivered as a lecture
entitled “Building Nations…the Right Way” at Central European University, Budapest, July 1999. 1 Currently, Estonians comprise some 65% of the population; Russians and other minorities whose major
language is Russian (hence ‘Russian-speaking’), comprise around 30%.
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The short answer in Estonia’s case is that nation-building is alive and well, but focused
essentially on language and linguistic homogenization of the population—a method I will
argue is relatively restrictive. The issue stems from the recent adoption of a new State
Integration Program and three years of debate, discussion, and decision-making prior to
that. Specifically, the new program lays out several dozen specific policy measures to
support the integration of the country’s Russian-speaking minority into Estonian society
in order to build national cohesion. The current lack of such cohesion is seen explicitly
in the document (and hence by the Estonian government) as a danger for Estonian society
as well as future development. Yet, the solution to the problem (as proposed in the
Integration Program) is a cohesion-building process based largely on the promotion of
Estonian language and Estonian language competence among minority members of
society. In this sense, I argue it is restrictive.
This assertion raises more specific questions about the inter-relationship between
language, social cohesion, modern state building, and modern democracy. As I will
argue in Part I, language is one of the more difficult elements of social communication to
appropriate by those who do not acquire it inherently. Hence, it can also be one of the
more controversial elements to promote as part of cohesion-building. Still, modern-day
states, which dominate social and economic development in contemporary society, have a
natural inclination (and perhaps even imperative) to impel language cohesion within their
populations, not only for reasons of bureaucratic rationalization or ethnicism, but also in
the name of maximizing human resources and society’s developmental potential. Greater
linguistic homogeneity means people can work more easily together, build greater trust,
and create more wealth. Thus, a contradiction threatens between minorities and states,
which I argue democratic theory does not as yet fully solve.
This paper will be a mixture of theory and empirical case study. In Part I, I will begin
with an extended discussion of nations, states, nation-building, and democratic theory. I
will argue for a functionalist-sociological definition of nations based on Deutsch’s
concept of social communication; however, I will also stress an historical dimension,
which concerns the pervasive role played by the modern, territorial state. It is the
mixture of, on the one hand, the perennial process of social communication building
among people with, on the other hand, the historically contingent phenomenon of the
modern, territorial state, which I argue generates a complicated dialectic for present-day
democratic theory. Stated in hypothesis form (although more for heuristic rather than
theory-testing purposes), the more a state undertakes nation-building by using social-
communicative elements, which are difficult for all target groups to appropriate
effectively (e.g. language), the more democratic principles in that society may be called
into question.
My review of the Estonian case study (which follows in Part II) is not meant to be a
definitive proof of this statement. After all, the Integration Program has only just been
adopted and its implementation still lies ahead. Nor do I mean to provide any kind of
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extended policy critique of the Program, for my interest is more political-theoretical.2
Lastly, my discussion will be qualified by the fact that I do not as yet have all the answers
to the contradictions that I will raise. For, particularly in the Estonian case I find them
quite vexing. However, I believe these contradictions do very neatly reflect competing
conceptions of multiethnic democracy, which is why I address them to this workshop.
1. DEFINING NATIONHOOD
The key to making sense of nations and nationhood is to adopt as functionalistic and
flexible a definition as possible. We can begin to operationalize or theorize the
implications of nationhood for democratic theory only if we break it down into tangible
and readily distinguishable sociological processes. This is what Karl Deutsch proposed
by defining nations as communities organized around a particular system of social
communication. (Deutsch, 1966)
Deutsch recognized the fact that individuals are held together in a community not so
much by the innate symbols, values, or other traits which they share, but by how the
commonalty of these elements is communicated between individuals and how this results
in links of consciousness. Identical traits can not achieve their power of mobilization if
they are not effectively communicated and reinforced between the group members
concerned. Thus, Deutsch’s focus with regard to social cohesion was on process and
performance, rather than substance and content. The community, which permits a common history to be experienced as common, is a community of complementary habits and facilities of communication. It requires, so to speak, equipment for a job. This job consists in the storage, recall, transmission, recombination, and reapplication of relatively wide ranges of information; and the “equipment” consists in such learned memories, symbols, habits, operating preferences, and facilities as will in fact be sufficiently complementary to permit the performance of these functions. (Deutsch, 1966: 96)
Deutsch implies here that all social communities do a “job” to the extent that they
achieve a level of social communication and establish a complementarity of
communicative elements. It is obvious that communites need “equipment” for this job
(including memories, symbols, habits, etc.), but ultimately it is the successful
performance of the job that matters. Complementarity or communicative efficiency is a function, an overall result. The same or a closely similar result may be reached by several
2 In this respect, I will not be discussing a number of other integration-related programs going on in
Estonia, undertaken for example by the United Nations Development Program and the Nordic countries, or
the European Union. While these projects are part of the aims and indeed mechanisms of the general
Integration Program, my focus here is specifically on how the Estonian government has sought to
conceptualize integration and multiethnic democracy, rather than offering a complete view of the
integration landscape.
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different combinations of elements, or even by the entire replacement of some elements by others. (Deutsch, 1966: 96)
As a result, complementarity is the real aspect of nationhood, which counts, not the
components of which it is made up. It is now clear why all the usual descriptions of a people in terms of a community of languages, or character, or memories, or past history, are open to exception. For what counts is not the presence or absence of any single factor, but merely the presence of sufficient communication facilities with enough complementarity to produce the overall result. (Deutsch, 1966: 97)
Indeed, Deutsch argues that if we remain fixated on the esoteric elements of culture or
ethnicity (attitudes, mentalities, sentiments), we lose sight of the fact that these are in fact
merely channeled reactions to internal and external stimuli. The real question is how
extensive are the communicative channels that groups create to order their emotional
demeanors.
Deutsch’s conception, therefore, seems to offer much room to work with, especially in
relation to nation-building. Using Deutsch’s definition, nation-building becomes simply
the identification and construction of more and more common elements of social
communication, which over time will lead to greater social cohesion. It does not get us
bogged down in fuzzy questions of identity nor does it rely on simple self-affirmations of
nationhood by ethnic groups themselves.3 To be sure, Deutsch’s stance was somewhat
clouded by his modernizationist perspective. During the 1960s he and other
modernization theorists were particularly concerned to understand nation-building
processes in the newly independent developing countries.4 However, his basic concept of
social communication is crucially important in order to get at what nations as social
communities are really about.
Deutsch’s virtue, therefore, is that he describes a perennial process. His fault, however, is
that he is also ahistorical. For in history we must recognize that the construction and
evolution of social-communicative systems among peoples has long ceased to be simply
the endogenous process of a given group.5 Rather, since the 17
th-18
th centuries such
systems have also been greatly influenced by the preeminent political force of our time,
the modern state. Starting from around 1700 human communities were transformed in
their character by the advent of the modern, sovereign state or the integration of coercive,
administrative, economic and ideological power across hitherto unprecedented expanses
of territory and time. (Giddens, 1987) This expansion of power represented a
revolutionary change in human history, which was brought about first and foremost by
advances in technology, developments in trade, as well as military competition between
3 Greenfeld (1992), Hastings (1997), Eriksen (1993), Gellner (1983), Hobsbawm (1990).
4 Thus for Deutsch, “If we [know] how to compare and measure the ability of groups and cultures to
transmit information, we might gain a better understanding of their behavior and their capacities.”
(Deutsch, 1966:93) 5 Where ethnic groups craft their social-communicative system endogenously, or what Anthony Smith
(1986) calls ‘ethnocentrism’.
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the major feudal powers of the late medieval period. From now on this power applied to
clearly demarcated, organized and maintained territories, subordinated to precise lines of
authority.
Of course, these transformations have all been extensively researched and documented by
numerous scholars of state formation.6 My point is simply that these changes also
precipitated a transformation in the way human beings were brought together and
interacted as social communities. Modern states changed the nature of social community,
for they represented an exogenous force affecting not only the coordination of
communicative elements, but also their spatial reach across greater territory. Thus, the
present-day nation is in my view a historical variant of social community brought about
by the unprecedented concentration of state power across more extensive areas of
territory and time.7 It is the modern state, which has bound people together in ways,
which they have hitherto never experienced.8
Thus, nation-building in the modern era relates as much to the power of the modern state
as it does to the innate social-communicative elements which make up social cohesion
within groups. It is the interaction of the two, which defines the nation-building process.
Nation-building is, therefore, as old, ubiquitous, and inevitable as the modern state itself.
Modern states will never be “nationless”, for modern social development requires a
degree of social cohesion or a unified social-communicative system in order to anchor
social trust and cooperation in society. The real question is, therefore, what kind of
nation-building occurs. And here we must go back to my definition of social-
communicative systems and critically examine each element to see what is the degree of
openness or appropriability of each element of national social communication in order to
understand what the potential of each system is for building harmonious nations.
The claim is simple: the more a nation is built (by the state or otherwise) upon relatively
exclusive or difficult-to-appropriate elements of social communication, the more
conflictual nation-building will be.9 If we take some of the simpler elements of
nationhood or social communication, such as a common flag, we can well imagine people
fairly easily appropriating that flag as an element of their social-communicative world, if
moreover the elements of that flag are fairly innocuous. For example, twelve yellow stars
in a circle on a blue background. Flags can be very inclusive bases for social
communication, since they require no particular intellectual capacities or skills in order to
recognize them or operate them. You simply have to have two hands in which to hold the
flagpole and begin waving. Likewise, architectural styles, clothing, or types of food are
fairly inclusive elements of social communication, once you learn how to follow the right
pattern or recipe.
6 Tilly (1975, 1992), Spruyt (1994), Giddens (1987), Mann (1993), Ertman (1997).
7 See Giddens (1987, 1990), but also James (1996), Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983).
8 Benedict Anderson (1991), of course, stresses the role of economic factors in nation-building, in
particular the homogenizing effects of 16th
century print capitalism on vernacular dialects in Europe. I do
not underestimate this factor. However, I believe it alone likewise neglects the role of the modern state. 9 Cf. Connor (1972).
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Values are a bit more difficult to appropriate because they require more serious reflection
and cognitive assessment. Do I believe in the particular norms of behavior accepted by
other members of the group and which serve as part of the basis for social trust? Or do I
prefer something else as the basis of my trust? Social customs also may be more
conflictual, for example rules of behavior between men and women, or rules about
women’s rights, etc. These may be increasingly exclusive.
Finally, however, we reach the domain of language and religion, both of which I would
argue are the most “unappropriable” elements of social communication, short of
extensive re-socialization or assimilation. As a result they are also among the most
hazardous elements upon which to forge nationhood. Language is difficult, first because
it requires a significant degree of cognitive skill to acquire, and second because in only a
few exceptional cases is one likely to acquire a new language well enough in order to
perform the act of social communication at a level sufficient both to feel accepted as well
as to be accepted as a full member of the social-communicative group. Language as a
form of social communication is one of the most complex, because it contains countless
nuanced elements, which can usually best be acquired only by native ability. Thus, when
the social-communicative system of a nation is based extensively on one language, the
people for whom that language is ‘learned’ and not begotten can feel themselves to be at
a disadvantage vis-à-vis other members of the nation. This is a hurdle, which few people
can get over easily. Likewise, religion can be a complicated, exclusive element of
national social communication, to the degree that religion generally contains a host of
other elements (including social norms, dress, food, spiritual beliefs), many of which may
be unacceptable to newcomers. Thus, a newcomer may have a more difficult time
overcoming this barrier than he or she would have overcoming a blue flag with yellow
stars.
So what does all this mean for democratic theory? It means that ideal nations would
represent social-communicative systems which have been crafted by the state to include
and indeed focus upon elements which are as “appropriateable” or accessible as the
ethnic diversity of the state’s subject population requires. The more ethnically diverse
the state, the more accessible should be the social-communicative elements. Obviously
one can begin with a flag or an appropriately-worded national anthem. But one can—and
indeed one must—also look at the more difficult elements of social communication to see
what compromises can be struck on these levels without burdening individuals’ cognitive
capacities or disadvantaging their life chances.
Between the two most difficult cases of religion and language, the former is one, which
has in fact been generally resolved, at least from the state’s point of view. The
secularization of the state and the absence of any religious requirements for citizenship in
most countries (or the legal bond through which an individual is recognized by the state
as part of the social-communicative nation) have both gone a long way toward removing
religion as a domain of contention. Beginning in the 18th century, states realized they
didn’t need to include religion in the definition of nationhood in order to secure the social
trust and cooperation they wanted for societal development; people could still work
together reasonably well if they were bound by other elements.
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Language, however, has continued to be a stumbling block, because it relates not only to
the ease of verbal communication, but also to the efficiency and cost of state
administration—something which religion has little bearing on. States can still easily
administer populations with different religions; they cannot, however, easily administer
populations with different languages. Thus, a state will always have an incentive to
reduce the number of languages within its territory, and it is this aim, which can
precipitate conflict.10
Newly democratizing as well as nation-building states must weigh these challenges
carefully. Within democratic theory, some scholars have recently attempted to argue for
weaker definitions of nationhood, which would concentrate on the more flexible elements
of social communication, such as symbols, general social practices, and/or a conscious
commitment to universal humanistic norms. (Kymlicka, 1995) The aim of such an idea
would be to generate a broad ‘societal culture’, which would help to secure social
harmony and tolerance among diverse ethnic groups. (Kymlicka, forthcoming)
Still, this prospect leaves open the dimension of the state and what its role is likely to be.
Clearly, a state could take the lead in crafting and promoting such a societal culture for its
society. Indeed, such cultures have been very successful in a number of multiethnic
states including India, the United States, Canada, Australia and others. However, the state
could also be motivated by a conservative stance and resist broadening its conception of
the nation because of bureaucratic rationality, state security concerns, or basic
ethnocentrism (hostility toward other ethnic groups). In this case, more rigid nation-
building is likely to prevail.11
For example, where language homogenization is one of the
state’s goals, it may be re-framed in the debate as part of a process of improving a
linguistic minority’s own life-chances or opportunities for social participation. The
discourse may be very inclusive, but contingent on certain conditions. How the state
conceptualizes its nation-building has a lot to do with what kind of democracy the state
will have.
2. THE ESTONIAN STATE INTEGRATION PROGRAM
The Estonian State Integration Program was formally adopted barely a month ago, on
March 14, by the right-of-center government of Prime Minister Mart Laar. (“Riiklik
programm”, 2000) The document, officially entitled “State Programme: Integration in
Estonian Society, 2000-2007”, was the culmination of nearly three years of discussion
and incremental decision-making aimed at crafting and approving a broad set of policy
measures to improve the social cohesion of Estonian society and specifically the
integration of the country’s sizeable Russian-speaking minority. The initiatives have won
praised from a number of outside observers, and they mark a clear shift in Estonian
government policy toward a proactive stance on integration issues. However, the
conception of democracy behind it reveals a largely language-based nation-building
10
On the rationalization of language processes, see Laitin (1992). 11
What Brubaker (1996) has termed ‘nationalizing states’.
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project. Estonian language is viewed as the key element of integration, to be promoted
(among other channels) through the state school system, adult educational training, media
ventures, as well as Estonian language requirements for service- and public-sector
employees.
It should be pointed out that the stress of the program is very clearly not on assimilation.
Indeed, the document devotes special attention also to the preservation and even
promotion of ethnic diversity. However, the ultimate goal is to strengthen Estonia as an
ethnic Estonian nation-state by progressively merging its people around a common core
of Estonian language, culture, and values. This extensive social project (for which in
2000 alone a total of over $4 million will be spent jointly by the Estonian government
and a number of foreign donors) therefore illustrates well some of the dynamics behind
ethnic groups, the state, and nation-building. Before examining these dynamics in greater
detail, some background to the situation is in order.
2.1. Building an Ethnic Control Regime
One of Estonia’s major legacies from the Soviet era was a population transformed ethno-
demographically by some 40 years of steady in-migration and semi-colonization from the
rest of the USSR. Beginning soon after World War II, tens of thousands of mostly
Russian administrative officials, technical staff, simple workers and their families
circulated in and out of the republic. This process was characteristic for the whole USSR.
However, in Estonia’s case net in-migration averaged around 4000-5000 people per year,
some times topping 10,000—this was in a population of barely one million during the
1950s and 1960s. In fact, the total number of in- and out-migrants per year was usually 2-
3 times this net figure.
For the Soviet center, the issue was initially one of post-war reconstruction, later, general
economic development. Yet, holding back the accomplishment of these goals was a
labor shortage in the republic (in part because of heavy war losses), which could only be
solved by in-migration. Yet, little attention was paid to the effects of this migration on
social cohesion or social integration within the republic. (Pettai, 1998) Although Soviet
officials attempted to deny this problem with heavy doses of communist propaganda
proclaiming the ‘internationalist friendship of peoples’, a social-communicative split in
fact developed over time between the Estonians and the steadily arriving Russian-
speakers. The generally dominant position of Russian language within the Soviet Union
as well as a set system of Russian-language schools, media channels, and social networks
for the Russians in the non-Russian republics meant that an entirely separate community
was built up within Estonia with only limited (and usually formal) links of social
communication with the titular community. (Kaplan, 1992) For example, Soviet
censuses, but also later independent sociological surveys showed that less than 20% of
the Russian-speaking minority had a functional command of Estonian language,
knowledge of Estonian history, culture and customs was cursory, and individual identities
were predominantly with the Soviet Union as a whole, rather than with the republic.12
12
Haav (1988), Saar, Kirch, Kivirähk (1988)
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Added to this was a high degree of territorial concentration among the Russian-speakers:
about half were based in Tallinn, and another 40% in three large towns in northeast
Estonia (Narva, Sillamäe, and Kohtla-Järve).
By the mid-1980s these socio-demographic trends generated increasing nationalist
sentiment among the Estonian population, especially after the rise-to-power of Mikhail
Gorbachev in 1985 and his liberalization of the Soviet system. At first, these sentiments
were largely defensive, in the sense that their aim was to stop the further encroachment of
Russian language and migration to the republic. The existing Russian population and
inter-ethnic relations were viewed as a problem; however, the first priority was to regain
political sovereignty. In mid-1988, Estonian ethnopolitical mobilization took off with,
first, the replacement of Karl Vaino (the Brezhnevite, half-Russian First Secretary of the
Estonian Communist Party) with Vaino Väljas (a local Estonian), and later, the creation
of the Estonian Popular Front, one of the first institutionalized opposition movements in
the Soviet Union. By the end of the year, the Popular Front dominated the political
agenda in the republic, and it eventually steered the country toward a demand for restored
independence. That struggle, however, would take until August 1991 to complete, when
Estonia (together with the other Baltic states) leapt to freedom in the chaos of the
conservative coup attempt against Gorbachev.
Yet, even with independence now in hand, Estonia continued to follow a largely
introverted nationalist stance, by adopting in November exclusionary citizenship
principles. These principles declared all Soviet-era immigrants in the country to be
essentially illegal aliens in as much as they had settled there under what was now
considered an illegal foreign (Soviet) occupation. Only citizens of the pre-war Republic
of Estonia and their descendants were recognized as citizens of the newly restored state.
Although these principles were essentially legal (and not ethnic) in nature, their
exclusionary ethnopolitical effect was undeniable, since the vast majority of Soviet-era
immigrants were Russian-speaking, while a similar majority of the citizens were
Estonian. In addition, a number of naturalization requirements were set as a precondition
for these non-citizens’ re-admission into the political community. These procedures
included an important Estonian language requirement, which soon became the essential
barrier keeping most non-citizens from becoming naturalized in the near future.13
These nationalist measures on the Estonians’ part were ‘introverted’, in the sense that
they served more to isolate the minority population, rather than consciously attempt to
deal with their ethno-social separation. To some degree, of course, the Estonian language
requirement for naturalization (as well as an Estonian civics exam, which was added in
1995) could be viewed as means to promote integration. In this regard, citizenship
represented merely a carrot for Soviet-era immigrants to undertake an effort to learn
Estonian language, familiarize themselves with Estonian culture and history, and thereby
integrate more fully into Estonian society. However, in reality this incentive system
served more as a perpetuator of exclusion rather than as a social integrator, since many
13
In the meantime, however, non-citizens did retain their essential economic and social rights. They were
also granted the right to vote in local elections. See Pettai (1996).
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10
non-citizens either objected in principle to undergoing a naturalization procedure or they
simply accommodated themselves to permanent resident status.14
During the early 1990s, therefore Estonia was in a median state in which it rejected
implicitly the legitimacy of its minority population (by using a legalistic interpretation of
citizenship to disenfranchise a majority of Russian-speakers), but it also did not seek to
undertake any assimilative nation-building (preferring instead somehow to contain the
minority as permanent residents). In regime theory, this formula amounted essentially to
an ‘ethnic control regime’ in which “the superior power of one [ethnic] segment is
mobilized to enforce stability by constraining the political actions and opportunities of
another segment or segments.” (Lustick, 1979:328) It was not ethnocracy, as there were
no outright ethnic criteria for rule (as in apartheid-era South Africa). However, it was far
from inclusive democracy, to the extent that a quarter of the population was non-citizens.
In many respects, Estonia could well have continued with this hierarchical system. For,
once installed, the dominant Estonian majority had little incentive to weaken its
superordinate position. (Pettai, 1998) Indeed, Estonia’s inaugural parliamentary
elections, held in September 1992 and based on the new restrictive citizenship principles,
produced an Estonian Riigikogu, or parliament, which was 100% ethnic Estonian. It was
this assembly, which went on to tighten the naturalization requirements with the addition
of a civics exam in 1995. It also adopted a tough Language Law, stressing Estonian as
the state language. While this generated a certain amount of polemics in Estonian
intellectual circles15
, the dominant consensus prevailed. If anything, Estonia was sinking
deeper into division.16
2.2. The Turn Toward Integration
It was only in the course of 1996-97 that attention began to shift toward developing a real
minority integration strategy. This effort was prompted by three factors: research by the
academic community, pressure from international organizations, and political opportunity
within the Estonian government.
The first impetus for a re-examination of minority integration came from a group of
prominent sociologists, who founded a project to consolidate existing research on the
non-Estonian community and examine more closely their social integration. This team,
which came to be known as the “Vera” group, was led (among others) by a sociologist
14
By 1995, Estonia had instituted a system of permanent residence permits as well as aliens passports for
foreign travel, which allowed the approximately 330,000 non-citizens in Estonia to live and work with
relatively few day-to-day problems. 15
See Ruutsoo (1995) for a dissenting view on Estonian ethnopolitical policy. He was rebutted, however,
by a number of follow-up articles in the same journal (Vikerkaar) by more nationalist Estonian politicians,
including Vahtre (1995) and Herkel (1995). See also Mihhailov (1995). 16
See also Kask (1998), who offers a statistical analysis of liberal and nationalist voting patterns among
Estonian parliamentary deputies. He shows that the liberal current among them faded dramatically after
1992, because the new parliament was elected largely by ethnic Estonian citizens, which meant that more
nationalist politicians won seats.
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11
and mass communication professor from the University of Tartu, Marju Lauristin, and a
social psychologist from the Tallinn Pedagogical University, Mati Heidmets. With
financial support from the Estonian Ministry of Education, they coordinated during the
course of a year a series of workshops with over two dozen other Estonian researchers on
integration and minority issues. While a number of large-n surveys as well as qualitative
work on the Russian-speaking population had already been done since the late 1980s,
much of this research was contradictory as well as unsystematized. Although the views
among Estonian researchers also varied considerably (depending on individual nationalist
inclinations), the consensus was that the integration problem needed to be addressed
more seriously on both scholarly as well as policy levels. In spring 1997, they released
their first volume, which was a compilation of recent work on integration, with a special
focus on Russian youth. (Järve, 1997). While this work did not attempt to produce a
policy prescription, it did argue the need to begin thinking about these issues, as many
authors stressed that the Russian minority was now a permanent part of Estonian society.
The second major factor to encourage greater political attention to integration came from
outside Estonia, namely, foreign pressure. International organizations such as the OSCE,
the Council of Europe, and the European Union were no strangers to Estonia’s
ethnopolitical problems. On the contrary, they had intervened on several occasions
during 1993 and 1994 to steer Estonia away from a number of even more exclusionary
policies, most notably in June and July 1993, when controversy erupted over the adoption
of an Aliens Law to regulate the status of permanent residents.17
Moreover, since
February 1993, Estonia had also been the site of an OSCE Mission, which regularly
monitored events not only in the capital Tallinn, but also in two outposts in northeast
Estonia. (Pettai, 2000) Yet, while numerous reports and statements by these Western
organizations called on Estonia to develop a plan for minority integration, little action
was forthcoming from the Estonian government. Indeed, in 1994 the government
eliminated the post of minister without portfolio for population and ethnic affairs from
the cabinet. The tightening of the naturalization rules in 1995, as well as the adoption of
the new, stricter Language Law also dismayed the international community.
International pressure had essentially therefore proven effective in stemming severe
ethnopolitical tensions, but it had had little success in prompting proactive measures by
the Estonian government on integration. (Pettai, forthcoming) Yet by 1997 Estonia had
entered into a critical phase in its relations with the West. Thanks to its general success
17
In this crisis, the Estonian parliament’s first version of the law included no guarantees that Soviet-era
non-citizens would be guaranteed new residency permits. The text left the way open for the government to
expel anyone it felt undesirable, even if they had lived in Estonia for decades or had in fact been born there.
The law incited a number of protests and demonstrations among the non-citizen community, which
prompted the OSCE’s High Commissioner on National Minorities, Max van der Stoel, to call on Estonian
President Lennart Meri to veto the law. Meri obliged and sent the measure back to parliament for review.
Following an additional analysis of the text by experts from the Council of Europe, the Estonian parliament
made substantial amendments to the law, which thereafter was signed into force by the President. In the
meantime, the controversy also led two mostly Russian towns in northeast Estonia, Narva and Sillamäe, to
stage territorial autonomy referendums in August. However, through an agreement brokered in part by van
der Stoel, the two towns agreed to have their actions later reviewed by Estonia’s Constitutional Court
(which declared the referendums invalid) in exchange for the Estonian government agreeing to not interfere
with the voting itself.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
12
in enacting radical political and economic reform policies, Estonia now stood a
reasonable chance of swinging a place on the list of first-round countries to begin
accession negotiations with the European Union. Estonia met a number of the essential
criteria for candidate status. However, given the country’s restrictive citizenship policy,
its debacle over the Aliens Law, as well as no official movement on integration, the
minority issue remained an important stumbling block for gaining first-round status.
How could the European Union take seriously a country in which a quarter of the
population was non-citizens, or essentially stateless persons? What would this mean for
EU citizenship as well as the free movement of persons, not to mention EU democracy?
If Estonia were to try and add one last feather to its cap before Brussels’ final decision in
July 1997, the time was ripe to adopt some kind of stance on integration.
As it happened, this imperative soon coincided with a third reason behind Estonia’s
change of heart: Prime Minister Mart Siimann’s need at that precise moment to shore up
his minority government with the support of a small splinter group in parliament, the
Progressive Party, led by Andra Veidemann. Veidemann had previously been a minister
without portfolio for European affairs. But amidst a May 1997 cabinet shake-up it was
decided to do away with that post in order to vest responsibility for EU accession with a
broader inter-ministerial council. Veidemann was thus temporarily out of a job, but by
that same token she was a perfect candidate for reviving the ministerial post on
population and ethnic affairs, which in turn would keep the Progressives inside the
government. This coincidence of events would not only allow Siimann to preserve his
government, but also bring Estonia plus-points in Brussels on minority integration.
What’s more, as would soon become apparent, Veidemann was set to take her new task
seriously and commit herself to making integration an active state policy. A new
conception of Estonian democracy would begin to emerge.
2.3. The First Policy Theses
Veidemann’s first move was draw on the same “Vera” group of academics and
researchers, who had raised the integration issue during 1996-97. She appointed a
number of them (including Lauristin and Heidmets) to a government commission charged
with drafting a set of general policy principles regarding minority integration. The
commission was comprised of some 18 members, and it included (alongside scholars) a
number of practitioners of integration such as schoolteachers. Veidemann’s goal was to
gain a degree of political cover on the issue by first seeking a neutral consensus from the
academic community. With this, she could more forcefully argue in the face of
nationalist critiques that an integration policy was necessary. At the same time, the
commission fell far short of including a broad range of minority representatives, which
might have left the impression of some kind of bi-communal negotiating process. On the
contrary, the starting point was clearly centered on preparing a political document for the
Estonian government and within the context of the new ethnopolitical balance. By year’s
end, the commission had succeeded in formulating a draft set of theses, which were
eventually approved by Mart Siimann’s government on February 10, 1998. (“Mitte-
Pettai-ECPR 2000
13
eestlaste…”, 1998) The theses were also later submitted to the Estonian parliament,
where they were approved in June by a wide margin.
The four-page document was a disappointment for many observers, who viewed it as too
general and lacking in concrete steps. Yet, it was fundamental for its unprecedented
statement of the key political principles, which would set the tone for future
policymaking. Indeed, because it had been drafted largely by Estonians as well as passed
by the Estonian-dominated government and parliament, it represented what was
essentially the predominant Estonian consensus on the issue, a bottom-line position on
what the Estonians would accept. Much of the 2000 State Integration Program would
flow from these same principles.
The theses document began with a relatively candid assessment of Estonia’s previous
ethnopolitical choices.
Estonia’s hitherto-existing policy on non-Estonians together with the legislation that has embodied it grew out of a specific societal-political context, which was characterized by the restoring of Estonia’s independence and the state’s emergence from its eastern neighbor’s sphere of influence. This context determined the contents of that policy as well as prevailing attitudes. As a consequence of the laws adopted [during that period], the non-Estonian community has become divided into four legal categories: Estonian citizens, citizens of other states, individuals with undetermined citizenship, and undocumented persons.18
While this statement was obviously not meant to cast doubt on the legitimacy of those
ethnopolitical changes, the document did argue that it was time to move on from that
period, since new challenges were emerging.
By the beginning of 1998 both the domestic as well as international situation has changed…New problems related to [Estonia’s] sizable non-Estonian population have come to fore. Domestically this concerns first and foremost the distancing of a substantial part of the non-Estonian population from Estonian society, their withdrawal into their own language community and mental world…Particularly worrying is the current situation among non-Estonian youth, where many talented young people have not found enough professional opportunities, while rising unemployment has provided fertile ground for a criminal subculture.
Such words marked a clear statement that benign neglect was no longer an option.
Yet, as many commentators would later observe, the essence of the policy was already
contained in its very revealing title, “The Integration of Non-Estonians into Estonian
Society.” In this formulation the process arrow was clearly unidirectional, which raised
questions about what the integration problem really was. For example, of the seven
18
All quotations of Estonian-language documents are translations by the author. Although in many cases
semi-official translations in English also exist, their non-native quality often means subtle nuances have
been missed.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
14
ultimate policy goals stated in the document, five dealt with improving the capacity of
non-Estonians to operate in Estonian society (including language, education, culture,
regional isolation, and political participation), and only one dealt with committing the
Estonian state to supporting this process. Not one addressed steps to be taken with regard
to the Estonian community.19
Admittedly, in emphasizing the importance of starting an integration policy, the
document did state that the process was also “a challenge to Estonians’ openness and
democratic essence.” It went on to add,
“Without an realization among Estonians as to the need for this next stage as well as a readiness to take steps of their own, there is no point in setting goals for integration.”
Yet, these necessary Estonian-oriented steps were not readily apparent in the initial
document, and it would take future policy statements before some of these would emerge.
The February 1998 document set an ambitious schedule for working out these next
iterations. It called for the drafting of a complete state program by the end of the year, so
that implementation could begin in 1999. In the event, the issue was slowed up by
political inertia. With parliamentary elections due in March 1999, the minority Siimann
government lost its steam by the end of 1998 to take up any new state program. Instead,
Veidemann succeeded in drafting an interim “Action Plan”, which was eventually
approved by the cabinet, albeit just five days before the March 7 poll (“Mitte-
eestlaste…”, 1999). Although this document was now somewhat longer (9 pages), in
essence it was really just a re-statement of the previous theses’ stress on the importance
of integration. In only a few issue areas did it offer any more specific policy goals.20
While it also commit the next government to working out a complete state program by
the end of 1999, this clause, too, was in no way a legal obligation.
2.4. Estonian Multiculturalism, Version One
Still, one significant aspect of the Action Plan was the formulation of an extended
definition of integration, which the document proclaimed “the Estonian version of a
multicultural society.” In a precursor of the stance that would be reflected in the final
State Integration Program, the Action Plan defined this vision using three central
19
The seventh goal—calling for a reduction in the number of non-citizens—can be viewed as a two-sided
process, focused on the one hand on getting non-citizens to go through the existing naturalization process,
while on the other hand pledging Estonian state support for that effort. 20
For example, it called for the creation of a Non-Estonians Integration Foundation, which would be a
semi-private institution charged with coordinating policy development as well as administering a special
government allocation of roughly $400,000 per year for grass-roots integration projects. In the event, the
Foundation was established in June 1998 (9 months before the Action Plan was finally approved by the
government) and has been working successfully ever since. For more on the Foundation, see
www.meis.ee.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
15
concepts: an individual-centered approach, a common societal core, and an Estonian
cultural predominance.21
By focusing on the individual, the Action Plan (and hence also the Estonian government)
sought to make it clear that the Estonian version of multiculturalism was not based on
collective rights or groups. It would not involve state recognition of corporate ethnic
groups as part of some consociational or even community-based approach. As a result, it
would not resemble the Swiss or Belgian, or even the Canadian or Australian models.
Rather, it would be an individual-level process, based on each individual’s personal
choice concerning his or her ethnicity.
An individual-centered approach means that together with a recognition of the right of minority groups to a cultural identity, each individual’s right to choose when defining his or her group affiliation or cultural identity is also emphasized. No one can be restricted in the development of his or her culture, just as no one can be ‘obligated’ to belong to a certain national group. The primacy of individual choice means also that multiculturalism is based not on legally fixed group rights, but rather on preferences and understandings as they emerge in society; as a result, the active cultivation of tolerance and openness among both Estonians and non-Estonians will be of central importance.
In this statement, the Action Plan clearly did not have any objections to voluntary
assimilation on the part of Russian-speakers, although officially the policy categorically
rejected assimilation as a goal.22
In this sense, the tolerance preached in the last sentence
of the quotation seemed to reflect a call for both Estonians and non-Estonians to accept
those who had decided to integrate (and/or assimilate); it was not as much a call for
tolerance among the two groups themselves.
This first element of Estonian multiculturalism already epitomized the fine line that
Estonian discourse on integration would attempt to follow as it sought to reconcile
nation-building and liberal norms. The second idea of a “common societal core” was
quite obviously from modern democratic theory. However, here too there were
noteworthy qualifications made as to the likely content of that common core, in particular
with regard to language and culture.
A multicultural society can work successfully only if its members possess a sufficient common core. This common core lays the foundation for
21
The conceptual part of the Action Plan was also used by its main authors, Marju Lauristin and Mati
Heidmets, for an article, which they published in the second volume of the “Vera” research group.
(Heidmets and Lauristin, 1998). A rough translation of this article (along with other integration-related
materials) is available on a special web page run by the Jaan Tõnisson Institute in Tallinn,
http://www.ngonet.ee. Again, however, the translations that follow are by own renderings, including the
three main concepts (indiviidikesksus, tugev ühisosa, eesti kultuuridominant). For additional integration
materials, see the Estonian Foreign Ministry’s web page, http://www.vm.ee/eng/index.html . 22
Already in the February 1998 theses it was stated explicitly that “Integration is not a change in ethnic
identity, but rather the removal of those barriers, which currently hinder many non-Estonians from fully
participating in Estonian societal life.” In the Action Plan, this was restated, “Integration is not losing
something, but rather gaining that, which is necessary for coping in today’s Estonia.”
Pettai-ECPR 2000
16
mutually enriching interaction and a sensing of common interests; it creates a situation where different nations feel secure. It is natural that a large part of this common core will derive from [ethnic]23 Estonian culture; both the state language as well as the dominant language of societal communication is Estonian; the day-to-day norms as well as behavioral patterns, which have evolved here, must also become part of the common core. Estonia’s minorities will contribute their share to this common core, just as an important part of this commonality will come from the ongoing Europanization process. The central task of today for both non-Estonians and Estonians is the adoption of both the rules of democracy as well as the norms of contemporary society.
This view therefore framed the situation as a modern, liberal, and constructable approach,
which in all likelihood, however, would rely on mostly Estonian social-communicative
elements, including behavioral norms. There was, admittedly, a clear recognition that
Estonia’s common core would equally be transformed both by the country’s minorities as
well as its integration with Europe. As both Estonians and non-Estonians would begin to
travel and have greater contact with Europe, their sense of being part of a broader
European space and community would grow, while their perceptions of mutual difference
would diminish. Still, according to the Action Plan, Estonia’s own societal core would
remain mostly ethnic Estonian. There was an implicit warding off of any kind of overly
diluted common core definition.
The Action Plan’s final component of Estonian multiculturalism seemed to reinforce
many of the previous points by citing (now explicitly) an “Estonian cultural
predominance”.24
This factor clearly derived from the bedrock view (enshrined, for
example in the 1992 Constitution) that Estonia was first and foremost a state for the
protection of the ethnic Estonian nation. Thus, much of this stance was logical given the
institutionalization of Estonian dominance in the political system after 1991. The Action
Plan, however, restated this issue.
Within the context of societal dialogue, all functioning cultures in Estonia are equal. In relations with the state, [ethnic] Estonian culture is in a privileged position. The objective and meaning behind Estonia’s statehood is the protection and development of the [ethnic] Estonian cultural space. As a democratic state, the task of the Estonian state is both to support the development of [ethnic] Estonian culture, as well as to ensure the developmental opportunities of minority cultures. Whereas society may become multicultural, that state is and shall remain Estonian-centered. Estonian nation-statehood is manifested in the state’s responsibility for the preservation and development of the Estonian cultural space within a globalizing, multicultural world.
23
This word (as used here and in other quotations) is placed in brackets to highlight the presence of the
Estonian word ‘eesti’ in the original text. This word, while generally translated as ‘Estonian’, has a
specific, ethnic connotation when it is non-capitalized. When written as ‘Eesti’ (for example, in the phrase
‘Eesti kultuur’), the meaning is broader, more societal in scope. 24
This is a largely approximate rendering of the Estonian phrase ‘eesti kultuuridominant’. A closer, though
less grammatically correct translation, might read ‘ethnic Estonian cultural dominant’.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
17
As we will see shortly, the nuances and wording of these three components would shift
somewhat within the text of the final State Integration Program. However, none of them
would disappear. The Action Plan was in this sense an important discursive marker
along the path to defining integration and promoting Estonian nation-building.
2.5. Adopting the Final State Program
Estonia’s March 1999 parliamentary elections saw the downfall of Mart Siimann’s
centrist coalition and the return to power (after defeat in 1995) of a right-of-center block
comprised of the Pro Patria Union, the Reform Party, and the Moderates-People’s Party.
As Pro Patria gained the most votes out of the three coalition members, its chairman,
Mart Laar, was propelled to the prime minister’s post. In negotiating his cabinet,
however, the question of continuing the post of an ethnic affairs minister came into
doubt.25
Indeed, during the preceding campaign only the left-leaning Center Party as
well as three small Russian parties had proclaimed their unequivocal support for
continuing the position; all three members of the new governing coalition had stated that
they would likely abolish it. Still, within the Moderates-People’s Party one of its
prominent leaders was Marju Lauristin herself. (Lauristin would go on to become the
party’s faction chair in parliament.) It was her influence that secured a renewal of the
ethnic affairs post; indeed, the position even went to a member of the party, Katrin Saks.
Although Saks had a background in broadcast journalism, she had recently become a
program director at the Soros-funded Open Estonia Foundation and was responsible for a
major project on minority integration.26
She was committed to continuing her
predecessor’s course, most notably by immediately beginning work on a full-scale state
integration program. To this end, she reorganized the government commission on
integration policy, which in turn named a smaller working group responsible for the
actual draft.
Although on the surface it seemed like the government was about to begin restating and
reiterating the same principles it had already enunciated in its theses and action plan, the
new policy document was, in fact, a significant step forward. This time the entire policy
would be laid out along guidelines designed for adopting large-scale state initiatives
(such as regional development programs or industrial sector planning schemes). This
meant in turn a much more thorough elaboration of detailed policy measures within
specific ministries or departments and with specific timetables, budgets and output
measures. When all of this had been put together, Estonia’s integration policy (including
appendices) now totaled nearly 100 pages.
25
Under Estonian law, the prime minister may name up to two ministers without portfolio and define at his
own discretion their specific policy areas. Such ministers usually have minimal staffs consisting of only 5-
6 advisors. Thus, Laar was free to choose whether to name a new ethnic affairs minister or not. 26
In early 1998, the Foundation had launched its own series of integration projects, including support for
Estonian-Russian family exchanges, language-training summer camps, and university fellowships for
Russian-speaking high school graduates.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
18
In terms of the conception of democracy and nation-building behind it, however,
relatively little had changed. In a 15-page introductory conceptual outline, the program
began by laying out the complete parameters of integration. It listed (1) all relevant
Estonian laws governing minorities and non-citizens, (2) all international treaty
obligations Estonia had in this area, (3) all other state policy programs possibly affecting
integration (e.g. an Ida-Virumaa development program for northeast Estonia), (4) and all
previous government policies and measures. By adding references to international
treaties and human rights law, the program aimed to mollify some critiques from Russian
minority activists (see below), who argued that the starting point for integration should be
international norms on the issue, not Estonia’s own version of multiculturalism.
Further, the document refined the domain of integration by breaking it down into three
parts: linguistic-communicative, legal-political, and socio-economic. This would allow a
better categorization of policy measures. However, it also indirectly contributed to
highlighting the very clear predominance in the program of linguistic-communicative
integration at the expense of the two others. In the realm of socio-economic integration,
the document noted that a large share of non-Estonians’ problems are related to either
inadequate Estonian-language skills (which make them uncompetitive on the job market)
or regional economic issues in Ida-Virumaa (where large Soviet-era factories and the
local oil shale mining industry have been downsized). Hence, it concluded that language
training (or linguistic-communicative integration) as well as other regional development
funds could better address these issues.27
Likewise, in relation to legal-political integration, the document cited as important the
fact that roughly 25% of the population are non-citizens and that one of the stated goals
of integration is to reduce the number of these people. Still, the program suggested only
linguistic-communicative elements to deal with these problems; for example, improved
Estonian language training and expanding the equivalency of different language exams.28
It proposed no amendments to the existing legal structures. Instead, it proffered a
relatively weak excuse based on the separation of powers: it stated that because this
document was for the executive branch, it could not take a stand on matters belonging to
the legislature. Of course, in many ways this was to be expected, as all three parties in
the new governing coalition (as well as most other ethnic Estonian parties) had explicitly
ruled out in their electoral platforms any changes to the country’s citizenship and
language laws. The consensus on these principles was absolute. However, with the
number of naturalizations per year dropping steadily, many non-citizen leaders continued
to call for a fundamental re-assessment of citizenship policy.29
27
While the document also mentioned the potential problem of ethnic discrimination against non-Estonians
on the job market (hence, another socio-economic problem), it did not follow this up with any policy
recommendations. 28
For instance, a graduate in a Russian-language high school, who has passed the state qualifying exam in
Estonian language will be exempt from having to take the separate language and civics exam for
naturalization. 29
In particular after the introduction of a civics exam for naturalization in 1995, the number of new citizens
plummeted. If in 1996, this figure still totaled 22,773, in 1997 it sank to 8,124. A year later it rose slightly
to 9,969, but in 1999 it fell by another 50% to just 4,534. (Kodakondsus- ja migratsiooniamet, 2000) For a
critique of citizenship policy, see Poleschuk (2000).
Pettai-ECPR 2000
19
2.6. Estonian Multiculturalism, Version Two
The final alteration in the new State Integration Program was a more neutral re-wording
of the three tenets of the ‘Estonian version of multiculturalism’. First, individualism was
dropped from that category and redefined as a “general principle” of integration policy,
alongside three other such principles (a special focus on youth, a need to view integration
as a challenge for all of Estonian society, and a stress on integration as building security
for all in Estonia). To fill the consequent gap in the tripartite definition of
multiculturalism, individualism was replaced by its near-opposite: “cultural pluralism.”
Now the document held forth:
Ethnic minorities living in Estonia are guaranteed the opportunity to preserve their linguistic and cultural distinctiveness, first and foremost through the organization of mother-tongue education as well as social life. The concept of pluralism also includes the promotion of minority cultural diversity in Estonian society. Therefore, the goal of integration is the adaptation of different ethnic minority cultures existing in Estonia, not their assimilation into [ethnic] Estonian culture. (Emphasis in the original.)
Likewise, the common core component of multiculturalism was now broken down into
four specific elements:
1. general humanistic and democratic values 2. a common informational field and Estonian-language environment 3. common state institutions 4. a general knowledge of the basic facts of Estonian history, an
appreciation of being an Estonian citizen, and a conscious awareness of the multiculturalism of Estonian society
The importance of common behavioral norms was now gone, however, the emphasis on
common Estonian language remained. “The strong common core of Estonian society is
territorially defined by Estonia itself and rests on a common language—Estonian—which
is the basis for the functioning of all public sector institutions.”
Lastly, the program no longer stressed the predominance of Estonian culture30
, and it
toned down the stress on Estonian dominance of the state. Instead, it took as its point of
departure the need to preserve and development the Estonian culture. Using more refined
wording, the document declared,
Within the context of societal dialogue, all functioning cultures in Estonia are equal. In relations with the state, however, the position of [ethnic] Estonian culture is different from that of minority cultures, to the extent that one of the goals of Estonian statehood is the preservation and
30
The expression ‘Estonian cultural predominance’ was replaced by ‘the preservation and development of
the Estonian cultural space’.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
20
development of the Estonian cultural space. Estonian society is multicultural and the task of the state is also to create the conditions for minorities to develop [their] culture; however, as a common cultural space for all, Estonia is and will remain Estonian-centered.
In many ways, these alterations represented a softening of the Action Plan’s more rigid
nation-building goals. Although the exact reasons behind this change are unclear, a
number of critiques leveled against the Action Plan related precisely to these original
formulations. As will be discussed below, many Russian and non-citizen leaders were
concerned not only about ‘integration vs. assimilation’, but also the general tenor of the
nation-building vision. Building a binational state was recognizably not an option;
Estonia would remain essentially an ethically Estonian-centered state. However, how far
would this nation-statehood be extended or pushed? Was there a way of finding a better
balance?
Looking at the actual list of policy measures to be taken under the Program and
enumerated in its main sections, there is little doubt that Estonian language remains the
key to integration. Of the four sub-programs presented, two deal with promoting
Estonian language, either through (1) a re-organization of Russian-language schools in
Estonia,31
or (2) an extensive Estonian language training program for adults (with
cooperation from the EU-PHARE program). Together they also account for over 81% of
the roughly $4 million in Estonian and foreign money set to be spent on integration in
2000.32
A third sub-program of the general policy lists measures to support minority
cultures and education (including Estonia’s smaller, non-Russian minorities); and a
fourth is devoted to building ‘societal competence’ through media projects, public ad
campaigns, exchange programs, civil society building, and more non-citizen
naturalizations. However, the budgetary shares of these sub-programs are just 4.5% and
7%, respectively.
2.7. Minority and Non-Citizen Reaction
While the debate in Estonia over national integration should have in theory included
strong participation by the Russian-speaking minority, in reality their voice was relatively
minor, as the substance of the Integration program already shows. While a number of
prominent non-Estonian leaders were included in the Estonian government’s integration
commission as well as on the boards of various integration projects, they have been
unable to influence the general thrust of the policy.
31
The Program calls for a gradual phasing out of state-financed Russian-language secondary school
education in favor of mostly Estonian-language teaching. The ostensible goal here is to prepare young non-
Estonians better for entry into Estonian universities as well as for their long-term professional
qualifications. Many minority activists, however, doubt whether this idea is feasible (given the lack of
teachers already in Estonian schools) as well as whether it is defensible from the standpoint of international
norms. 32
“Riiklik programm”, 2000:Lisa 2.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
21
Understandably, one of their primary issue areas has been citizenship. Since their first
election in 1995, Russian deputies in the Estonian parliament have repeatedly submitted
amendments to liberalize the country’s citizenship laws. Proposals have included
dropping the language requirements for pensioners, granting automatic citizenship to 10-
year residents of Estonia, and allowing applicants to take the civics exam in Russian.
Estonian politicians have rejected all of these out of hand. However, the contradiction
remains of trying to promote integration while hundreds of thousands remain non-
citizens. As one activist as written,
Effective integration of minority is a serious problem for every society. The integration of a large minority group, consisting of one third of the whole population, presents a more difficult case. But is it realistic to expect an effective and sufficient integration of a large minority group, when most of its members are disenfranchised? (Semjonov, 1998)
A second accusation has concerned the ‘fetishization’ of Estonian language as the key to
minority integration. This issue involves two aspects. First, activists argued, language is
merely a tool for communication, its use can not be taken as proof of real integration.33
Second, is it realistic to expect that Estonian can ever make much headway in
overwhelmingly Russian-speaking areas of the country such as Ida-Virumaa? While
some level of Estonian language knowledge will undoubtedly be needed there, Estonia
would do better to recognize some of the limits to its policy. In the opinion of some
Russian leaders, the answer would be to declare Russian a second official language in
these northeastern areas (and perhaps across the country). However, here again Estonian
politicians have steadfastly refused.34
Faced with Estonian opposition from within the country, a number of minority activists
have turned to international organizations and in particular international law for relief.
Using as toeholds a number of international conventions and treaties, which Estonia has
ratified, they have tried to argue for changes in minority policy based of apparent
violations of these accords. One success came in December 1998 after the Estonian
parliament finally passed an amendment to grant automatic citizenship to children born to
stateless persons in Estonia, as pursuant to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.
Likewise, Estonia’s 1996 ratification of the Council of Europe’s Framework Convention
for the Protection of Minorities has provided another standard against which to measure
33
As one activist wrote sarcastically, “One does not have to be a genius to understand that in all this there’s
no integration as such. The most important thing here is the beautiful and melodious state language. It is the
only means of integration, as well as a criterion of loyalty. The principle is the following: ‘If you don’t
want to, we’ll make you! If you don’t know, we’ll teach you!’” (Semjonova, 1999) 34
Nikolai Maspanov, leader of the Russian Party of Estonia, was an outspoken advocate of Russian
language rights during the 1999 parliamentary elections. Estonian politicians, however, have been
reluctant even to consider the active implementation of two paragraphs of the Constitution (§52 and §53),
which would allow the use of Russian for running local affairs in northeast Estonia. They have argued that
first it must be demonstrated that Estonian has made enough strides in that area before Russian can be
officially recognized. De facto Russian is already widely used in local government in northeast Estonia.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
22
minority policy. However, because the Framework Convention is not a legally binding
treaty, its monitoring effect has been limited.35
Aleksei Semjonov, the director of a human rights center in Tallinn, has summed up the
basic understanding of Estonian integration policy among non-Estonians quite
trenchantly.
[T]he Estonian dilemma, or predicament, might be put in the following way: either “integration through participation”; or “integration for participation”. The “integration through participation” approach is based on the assumption that minority groups are mature enough to take part in the process consciously. They must share objectives and goals of the process as well as their own rights and duties. Moreover, it presumes that the other side, i.e. the majority group, also has duties, not only rights. Integration, then, means a process of co-operation between individuals and groups and it could therefore be described in terms of human rights, minority rights and group accommodation. The “integration for participation” approach presumes that some people are not mature enough to be full-fledged members of society. They must be governed, taught, they have to pass certain procedures, which control for their maturity. They must periodically prove that they are mature enough, or loyal enough, or literate enough to obtain permission for participation in the public life. Their participation in public life will depend on whether it conforms with the interests of majority group, who create the rules and conditions for the test procedures. Sometimes it is a factor of simple mercy, or gestures of ‘good will’. (Semjonov, 1998)
For Semjonov, the first of these versions of can be qualified as ‘participatory democracy’.
The second, however, is akin to the tutelary democracy of the 19th
century. It is fitting,
therefore, to turn to my own conclusion and ask, what is the Estonian conception of
multiethnic democracy?
CONCLUSION
Using a definition of nationhood, which focuses on the existence of a unified and
consolidated social-communicative community, I have sought to show how Estonia has
dealt with this challenge during the 1990s given its Soviet-generated, deeply divided
Estonian and Russian-speaking population. From an initial stance of exclusion and
benign neglect, Estonia has moved toward a more open approach, calling on the Russian-
speaking population to learn Estonian language and integrate into Estonian society. This
conception, I have argued however, is a relatively restrictive one, since it concentrates on
an element of social communication (language), which can be difficult for all to
35
Moreover, when ratifying the Convention Estonia adopted a special declaration defining its national
minorities as only those who are citizens of the republic. This, therefore, excluded the entire non-citizen
population.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
23
appropriate short of large-scale re-socialization or semi-acculturation. Still, in many ways
that is what the Estonian State Integration Program envisions by devoting the bulk of its
energy to transforming the Russian-language school system in Estonia and promoting
wide-scale Estonian language training. While in the new policy there is a clear rejection
of assimilation as the end-goal of integration as well as a clear commitment to supporting
minority cultures, there is also a concerted effort to develop bi-lingualism and bi-
culturalism among the Russian minority, while Estonians themselves will remain largely
uni-lingual and uni-cultural.
In section 2.1., I characterized Estonia’s regime during the early 1990s as one of ethnic
control. Indeed, in many ways Estonia continues to be an ethnic control regime, as long
as such a substantial proportion of the population remains non-citizen. (Hallik and Pettai,
1999) However, if the new State Integration Program is successful, how might Estonia’s
ethnopolitical regime look in 10 years time? Will it be any more democratic than it is
now?
In recent regime theory one of the most intriguing concepts to emerge has been the idea
of ‘ethnic democracy’ as a hybrid of ethnic control and multicultural democracy.
Pioneered by the Israeli sociologist Sammy Smooha, ethnic democracy has been defined
as,
…the extension of political and civil rights to individuals and certain collective rights to minorities [combined] with institutionalized dominance over the state by one of the ethnic groups (Smooha, 1990:391)
In his practice, Smooha applied this concept to Israel to describe the attempts of the
Jewish state to encompass its sizable minority of Israeli Arabs. Although the concept
would appear to be oxymoronic and normatively shaky, Smooha has defended the idea,
stating most recently,
Although generally less democratic than most Western systems, ethnic democracy passes the minimal standards of democracy. It must also be mentioned that ethnic democracy is superior to liberal democracy in according recognition and certain collective rights to non-assimilating minorities. (Smooha, 1999:17)
Estonia is clearly headed down this path if it succeeds in its newly proclaimed nation-
building effort. Institutional dominance will remain with the ethnic Estonian community,
however, there will no longer be an attempt to contain the Russian minority through
separation. Russians will be free to join the system through integration.
But could Estonia ever move beyond ethnic democracy and conceive of its nationhood in
even broader, multicultural terms? This is the contradiction that is most vexing in
Estonia’s case. Is ethnic democracy the best we can do in this instance? Can we call this
democracy ‘consolidated’ even if it is ethnic? Although contemporary democratic theory
had begun to espouse very open conceptions of community and politics, the legacies of
Soviet rule as well as the anxieties of the Estonians as a small nation in a large world
seem to promise little in the way of a radical change in the Estonian perspective. Instead,
Pettai-ECPR 2000
24
the Estonians have adopted a nation-building program to preserve the integrity of their
ethnic community as best they see fit. For them, this will mean consolidated democracy,
be it ethnic or otherwise.
Pettai-ECPR 2000
25
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