Estonia - What Kind of Land Is That?
I first visited Estonia in the summer of 2012. As a recent graduate of architecture school at the time, my focus on the trip was rather single-minded. I have plotted out all the architectural monuments that I have reached ahead of time. From the UNESCO-inscribed Old Town Tallinn to the avant-garde office buildings of the Rotermanni Quarter, I was ecstatic to walk around Tallinn's architectural wonderland. Like many visitors to Estonia, I was immediately taken by the fairytale atmosphere and wondered why I had not learned more about Estonia beforehand.
Serendipitously, I included Tallinn’s Song Festival Ground among the list of architectural landmarks to visit in the Estonian capital. Located in the Kadriorg district, the song festival ground was far from the Old Town. As I entered the complex, I was immediately in awe of the vast expanse of the ground and the gracefully arched choir stage. A masterpiece of Functionalist architecture, the 1959 structure has a capacity of 15,000 singers, and its unique hyperbolic wooden roof structure fascinated me as an architecture student. Little did I know that visit opened my everlasting love for Estonian music and cultural traditions.
Estonian Open Air Museum (Eesti Vabaõhumuuseum).
If there is ever a Cinderella story coming out of the collapse of the Soviet Union, one shall look no further than the Republic of Estonia. With a population of just 1.3 million, this small nation on the Gulf of Finland has endured much hardship since its declared independence from the Russian Empire in 1918. Invaded by the Nazi German in 1941 and then illegally occupied in 1944 by the Soviet forces, the people of Estonia have faced As one of the smallest and linguistically distinct Soviet republics, Estonian SSR suffered the most under the intense Soviet Russification. It is often said that if the Soviet Union lasted an additional two generations, the Estonian language might have been lost.
One thing that held the Estonian nation together was The Estonian mass choir tradition, which started in 1869 in Tartu with just 845 participants. The event was organized as an extension of the national awakening moments in the Baltic region. For the first time, the concept of a modern nation-state for all Estonian-speaking people came into being. The gathering of Estonians became both a cultural and political event. The calling for self-determination has also been at the heart of Laulupidu until the establishment of the first republic in 1918. Merely 23 years later, the cry for an independent Estonia made a fateful return as the result of the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact between Josef Stalin and Adolf Hitler.
Sunset over Tallinn Town Hall.
Throughout the Soviet period, the song festivals were allowed to continue, partly utilizing it as a venue for Soviet propaganda. The folk songs from the pre-Soviet era were banned and replaced with glorifying songs for Lenin and Stalin. Perhaps miraculously for us, a few new-composed Estonian songs were permitted. Among them, one song by composer Gustav Ernesaks stood out. Set to the lyric by the late 19th-century poet Lydia Koidula, the song, Mu Isamaa On Minu Arm, was smart in concealing the nationalist sentiment under strict censorship. The song proved so popular that it was regarded as an unofficial and underground anthem during the Estonian SSR. Exemplifying Estonians' mastering of quiet protests under the Soviet framework, Gustav Ernesaks not only authored the most beloved resistant songs but was also the author of the anthem to the Estonian Soviet Republic.
It was perhaps inevitable that the heritage of mass singing served as an instrument of political struggle during the waning years of the Soviet Union. The mass singing tradition installed the discipline often absent in peaceful political struggles elsewhere. The non-violent outcome of the subsequent Singing Revolution spoke to the power of people speaking and singing with one voice. In the summer of 1988, the Tallinn Song Festival Ground saw a spontaneous gathering of 300,000, nearly one in three Estonians. This mass gathering was said to be the catalyst for the coming revolution.
Medieval old town of Tallinn.
Medieval fortification of Tallinn.
To this day, the Estonian Song Festival is still held every five years in July and in conjunction with the Estonian Dance Festival. Brian and I have been planning to attend the twentieth Laulupidu in 2019. You would be mistaken if the idea of a choir festival sounds boring. Song festivals of the Baltic nations, including Latvia and Lithuania, are dedicated to mass singing. Rather than a constant rotation of different local choirs, Laulupidu's performance is both impressive in sight and sound. The sound of 25,000 singers in unison is a sight to behold. Instead of obscure folk songs from the 19th century, the music program has always been mindful of its crowd appeal. Songs from the Singing Evolution are always crowd pleasers, and certain historically significant ones, such as Mu Isamaa On Minu Arm, are performed at every festival. But new music is also constantly introduced to each festival. New pieces are commissioned for each celebration. Laulupidu serves as a unique and powerful platform for young talents.
Among my favorite performances is Mis Maa See On (What Kind of a Land Is That) by Siiri Sisask. Although the song only made a single appearance at the Youth Song Festival in 2007, this song immediately made me fall in love with the contemporary music of Estonia. There is a primitive sublimity to this song; it is neither triumphant nor defiant. This is an unapologetic love song that is both fatalistic and prideful. The song outlined the treacherous past of the Estonian people so well. The pain and suffering throughout history are acknowledged and remembered, but they don't allow themselves to be defined by the past. This song is an interpretation of all of Estonia's current feelings.
“What kind of land is that? There are no mountains here; only forests, endless, and bog-pool swamps. But people here are full of magical might, and their song-stories are peculiar.
What kind of land is that? Sometimes night eats the day. Sometimes day is so long that swallows the night. Both pass here in the same manner. When a stranger rests, then local works.
What kind of land is this? Is it true that to be a slave is only befitting here for a human being? And who would eventually gather up this pain? So that there would be love and suffering would end?
What kind of land is where mercy is endangered? What kind of land is where freedom is buried into the ground? Where is justice here!? Where is the court of justice? Where should the vexed ones look for justice? What kind of land is that?
Compassion is rusty here. Embarrassment/shame is rusty, chests without hearts. I could flee from here, even running, but something still holds me back.
What kind of land is that which can hold on to me? And I don’t know by which means she does that. Well, she doesn’t cover me and doesn’t fee. But still, with i/herself she drags me
What kind of land is this? Can I ever understand her? Can I do without her anymore? What kind of land is that? How could she ever deprive all her children of a/their mother? What kind of land is that? There are no mountains here. Only forests, endless, and bog-pool swamps.
But people here are full of magical might and their song-stories are strange...”
We have perhaps all been asked what we love about our own countries. I think Siiri Sisak was telling us that one doesn’t need any particular reason to feel the longing for his or her homeland. Estonia's struggle for freedom is nothing short of inspirational. Like their Baltic neighbor, Latvia, and Lithuania, they are mindful of where they came from and, at the same time, optimistic that their best days are still ahead.
While there are still plenty of social issues in modern-day Estonia, primarily the slow assimilation of the ethnic Russian population and the increasing economic stratification, the aspiration of the Estonian nation is clear. Laulupidu is the best manifestation of Estonia, both past and future; it is a nation of shared memory, with one foot in the past and the other in the future. The song festival is a testament to its choral traditions and a living memorial to the past that will be carried on for generations to come.
