From Belgium to Estonia, and Back

At the start of 2024, I wrote an opinion piece titled “Estonia is building bunkers, Belgium is ordering a study on the possibility of arming drones.”  The contrast in defence policy was striking and illustrated a sharp difference in threat perception.

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From Belgium to Estonia, and Back

At the start of 2024, I wrote an opinion piece titled “Estonia is building bunkers, Belgium is ordering a study on the possibility of arming drones.”[1] The contrast in defence policy was striking and illustrated a sharp difference in threat perception. I argued that we were actually in the same boat as Estonia, adrift under a looming storm of Russian aggression. Now, a year later, I find myself on a spring evening aboard the Jõmmu – the most iconic boat of Tartu, a picturesque city in eastern Estonia. The scenery could not be more peaceful. And yet, the threat from the East still looms. Although Belgium recently announced a significant budget increase from 1.3% to 2% of GDP, a clear gap in defence policy efforts between the two countries remains. But during my stay here, I have also seen just how differently Estonian and Belgian societies respond to the threat – far beyond the policy arena.

Two weeks earlier, when I arrived in Tallinn to meet fellow-academics at the start of my visiting fellowship, one of them said: “We are thirsty to understand why Western Europe’s assessment of Russia is so different from ours”. Unlike Western European countries, Estonia has always lived with the threat of an outside enemy. This does not mean 2022 was not a shock – quite the opposite. It shook the population into a heightened state of alertness. I am deliberately not using the word fear, because that is not what you feel in Estonia. Of course, some people are afraid. But overall, they are more steadfast than we are in Western Europe, precisely because an awareness of danger has long been woven into their culture.

During another boat trip, I met several men and women from the Estonian Defence League; a volunteer corps trained to support Estonia’s military forces. Around 18,000 people (out of a population of just 1.3 million) joined, a striking example of the dedication to resilience among part of the population. But on the same boat, I also spoke with two young women who saw things differently. They believed that preparing for conflict could be counterproductive. They acknowledged that Russia is aggressive, but they fear that a strong defence policy could send a wrong signal.

Estonia’s defence policy has indeed become more assertive since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. From the outset, Estonia has been one of the main advocates for moving toward a firmer form of deterrence. It is worth digging deeper into the shift from deterrence by denial to deterrence by punishment[2]. As colleagues at the Baltic Defence College explained to me, Estonia is now heavily investing in long-range missiles. The idea is simple: if Russia strikes Estonia – which many see as more likely than a full land invasion – Estonia must be able to strike back. Such an investment would have been politically unthinkable prior to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. In an interview that sparked national debate, a general even suggested that a pre-emptive strike could be an option[3]. Yet not everyone agrees with this approach. As one academic puts it: “That would be suicide for Estonia.”

This shift in defence policy is a testament to the combination of a heightened threat and a declining faith in Article 5. It is a delicate balancing act for a country that no longer fully trusts in mutual assistance – or at least, not in its timely arrival. Across the region, frontline countries are losing faith in automatic support from allies. A recent poll in Finland showed that as few as 16% of the population still believes the U.S. would provide military support to defend European countries[4]. But Finland has been preparing to fight alone for decades. Estonia faces a harsher reality. Even at 5% of GDP, its annual defence budget would be less than €2 billion. By comparison, Belgium, meeting only the outdated NATO norm of 2%, will try spending over €12 billion this year. More importantly, Estonia has not maintained a total defence system like Finland has.

While Estonians live with a higher probability of war, it is in Belgium that fear seems more present. That is hard to explain in towns less than a hundred kilometres from the Russian border. In Belgium, it is not that the perceived threat is higher, people understand that if Putin tests NATO, he will not begin with a land operation in the Benelux. It is the adaptability to a changing geopolitical reality that is different. Simply explaining Belgium’s few possible strategic targets – amongst which the port of Antwerp and Zeebrugge, the NATO headquarters, EU institutions and Euroclear’s head office – and suggesting the idea of acquiring basic air defence (Belgium currently has none) is enough to make people uneasy.

Evidently, a purely defensive system designed to intercept enemy attacks cannot possibly be scarier than the risk of a Russian land invasion. But it is this geopolitical adaptability – a vital part of resilience – that shapes the different mentalities. Part of Estonia’s resilience comes from the existential threat it faces, and the shared ideal of fighting for survival. But there is something else, something less visible. Estonians are, as I learned while travelling through the country – and as many themselves explain it – quite individualistic. Not in the sense that they do not care for one another. Rather, there is a shared understanding that everyone should be able to take care of themselves. This cultural reflex contrasts sharply with Belgium, where reliance on the state is strong. Both systems have their downsides, and whether you prefer one over the other depends on your ideological beliefs. Yet in times of global upheaval, it might be wise to learn from societies that have long adapted to geopolitical uncertainty.

Of course, we cannot expect Belgian society to simply copy Estonian resilience. It is historically embedded for a reason, and resilience is a process, not a quick fix. But neither geography nor a lower threat perception should be an excuse for failing to build it. Resilience is not just about preparing for war. It is about the ability to adapt to any form of change or crisis – including hybrid threats, natural disasters and pandemics. And in this, Belgium is just as vulnerable as Estonia. The Russian threat, too, is not limited to bordering countries. It is a systemic challenge: one that all of Europe faces. Belgium should more proactively engage its society in addressing this geopolitical challenge. Concrete initiatives could include integrating disinformation awareness modules into school curricula and organizing community-based emergency response training. Investing in resilience will only make societies stronger, and we need collective strength. Whether we already feel it or not, Belgium is still in the same boat as Estonia, and the storm is far from over.

[1] https://www.standaard.be/cnt/dmf20240215_95992040

[2]https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/official_texts_196951.htm#:~:text=This%20will%20help%20to%20prevent%20any%20aggression%20against%20NATO%20territory%20by%20denying%20any%20potential%20adversary%20success%20in%20meeting%20its%20objectives.

[3] https://www.err.ee/1609453037/vahur-karus-voime-vaenlast-tema-territooriumil-havitada-on-esmatahtis

[4] https://yle.fi/a/74-20157837

(Photo credit: Liisa-Lota Kaivo)