For years, the Kremlin has aimed a steady stream of lies and half-truths at Estonia, hoping to wear down the country’s trust in its own institutions, in its Western allies, and in the very idea of a shared truth. But in a quiet but firm voice, Estonia’s foreign minister, Margus Tsahkna, recently said something that may sound almost like a dare to Moscow: Estonia has developed a kind of immunity. He made this statement not in Tallinn, but in Zhytomyr, Ukraine, during the opening of an educational center called EDUHUB — a place built to help Ukrainian children and communities keep learning even while under relentless attack. That setting was no accident. Standing in a country that has suffered the full, brutal weight of Russian aggression, Tsahkna’s words were both a tribute to Ukraine’s own resilience and a reminder that information warfare is not an abstract concept. It is a weapon used against real people, with real consequences. And Estonia, he suggested, has learned how to withstand it. According to Ukrinform, the minister explained that Russia has been pursuing a policy of disinformation against his country for years, but Estonia is no longer easily shaken. “We are immune to it because we know that Russia is an aggressor state,” he said. That simple sentence carries a world of meaning: the first line of defense is not a firewall or a law; it is memory, knowledge, and a clear-eyed view of who is doing what to whom.
Immunity, however, is not a gift. It is something Estonia has built deliberately and carefully, over decades and especially since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Tsahkna described the practical work behind this resilience. “We educate the public, work with social media and information resources, and shut down harmful websites,” he said. He also stressed the importance of disseminating truthful information — not just correcting falsehoods, but actively filling the information space with reliable, verifiable facts. This approach treats disinformation not as an unstoppable force, but as a problem to be managed, the way a public health system manages a virus. You can’t make every citizen immune through education alone, and you can’t quarantine every bad actor online, but you can raise awareness, build resistance, and limit the damage. For Estonia, this is not theoretical. The country shares a border with Russia, has a significant Russian-speaking minority, and has experienced everything from cyberattacks to orchestrated border provocations. In 2007, Estonia was among the first nations in the world to face a massive coordinated cyber assault, widely attributed to Russian actors, in response to the relocation of a Soviet war memorial. That experience was a wake-up call. Since then, Estonia has invested heavily in digital defense, media literacy, and civil society. But the deeper lesson from Tsahkna’s remarks is that the real shield is not technology. It is the collective consciousness of a society that refuses to be fooled. When citizens understand that the source of the message is an aggressor state with an interest in destabilizing their country, the message itself loses much of its power.
Russian disinformation is not always loud. Sometimes it is quiet, subtle, and designed to feel familiar. Tsahkna noted that the Kremlin does not limit itself to claiming that Russia has peaceful intentions or that the West and NATO are hostile. It also picks up issues that genuinely matter to Estonian society — migration policy, the COVID-19 pandemic, social inequalities, education, even local politics — and twists them to create fear, division, and distrust. This is a sophisticated strategy. It does not try to convince people that Russia is a friend; it tries to make people believe that no one is a friend, that their own government is lying, that the media is corrupt, and that the chaos is so great that the only safe harbor is a strong hand — perhaps a familiar one from the east. By latching onto real grievances and amplifying them, disinformation campaigns can grow inside a society like weeds in a garden. They exploit wounds that are already there. Estonia has seen this many times. One of the most dangerous narratives pushed by the Kremlin is that Estonia is a failed experiment, an artificial country that will eventually collapse, and that only Russia can protect the Russian-speaking population. Another is the claim that Estonia’s support for Ukraine is dragging the country into a war that is not its own. These narratives are not easily defeated by a single announcement or fact-check. They require years of patient, consistent work, and they require that the public itself becomes part of the defense. That is why Tsahkna’s mention of public education is so central. It is not enough for government institutions to be vigilant; ordinary citizens must also be able to recognize lies, question sources, and think critically about what they see online. This is not always comfortable work. It asks people to accept that their own media environment is a battlefield, and that they are both soldiers and civilians at the same time.
Estonia’s institutional response has become more sophisticated over time. Government agencies actively identify information attacks, analyze their origins, and take steps to neutralize them. This includes everything from official statements and press briefings to cooperation with social media platforms and legal actions against websites that spread Kremlin propaganda. But no country can do this alone, especially not a small one. Tsahkna emphasized that Estonia is drawing on Ukraine’s experience in combating information threats. That may seem surprising: Ukraine is often described as a victim of Russian disinformation, not a source of expertise. Yet in the years of war, Ukraine has developed some of the most effective communication strategies in the world. Ukrainian officials talk directly, honestly, and quickly. They use social media not just to spread messages but to build a sense of shared struggle and trust. They have also created digital tools to report and expose enemy propaganda, and they have learned how to turn even Russian lies into evidence against the Kremlin. By learning from Ukraine, Estonia is acknowledging that the fight against disinformation is not just about defense. It is also about creativity, courage, and a positive vision. The presence of the Estonian foreign minister at the opening of the EDUHUB center in Zhytomyr is itself an example of this partnership. EDUHUB is more than a building; it is a statement that education continues even under shelling, that knowledge is a weapon, and that the future belongs to those who are not afraid to learn. In that sense, the ceremony was a perfect symbol of what solidarity means: not just words of support, but practical investments in the minds of young people who will one day rebuild their country.
Tsahkna’s message to his own citizens, and to the wider world, is one of resolve and responsibility. He expressed support for Ukraine and urged everyone to treat Russian messages with a healthy dose of skepticism. This is not the same as telling people to stop reading Russian sources entirely, although some Western officials have suggested doing exactly that. Instead, it is a call to critical thinking. Read, listen, compare, verify. Ask who benefits from a particular story. Look for the source behind the source. Do not simply share content because it confirms your existing beliefs. This kind of media literacy is not a classroom exercise; it is a survival skill. And in a society where many people consume information across different languages and platforms, the risk of falling into a propaganda echo chamber is always present. That is why the Estonian approach is so important: it combines institutional action with personal responsibility. The government can close down fake accounts, but it cannot make every citizen a critical thinker. The state can spread truthful information, but it cannot force people to trust it. What Estonia has done, according to Tsahkna, is create an environment where truth is more available, more organized, and more visible than lies. It has also made it socially unacceptable to repeat Kremlin talking points without being challenged. That social element is often overlooked. When a society collectively rejects disinformation as a foreign weapon, the people who once tried to spread it find themselves isolated. They are not the clever ones who discovered the truth; they are the ones who fell for the oldest trick in the book. This shift in perception — from seeing disinformation as a legitimate alternative opinion to seeing it as a form of attack — is the very heart of Estonia’s immunity.
Ultimately, the story Tsahkna tells is not a simple story of victory, but one of constant, daily effort. Immunity, after all, does not mean that wounds cannot still happen. Estonia is not invulnerable. It has been targeted, and it will be targeted again. Russian disinformation campaigns will continue to evolve, using new technologies, new channels, and new emotional triggers. Artificial intelligence, deepfakes, and other tools will make the information space even more challenging. But Estonia’s experience suggests that resilience is possible. It grows from a shared understanding of history, from open conversation, from the courage to call things by their proper names, and from the humility to learn from others who have suffered more. The Estonian foreign minister’s visit to Zhytomyr was a reminder of all of this. It said that we are not alone, that knowledge is a shield, and that the fight for truth is not a cold war of servers and algorithms, but a deeply human struggle. It is a struggle for the minds of young people sitting in classrooms, for the trust of families debating around dinner tables, and for the confidence of nations that believe they have a right to be free, independent, and honestly informed. Estonia’s answer to the Kremlin is not just “we are immune.” It is “we remember, we learn, we teach, and we stand together.” And in that answer, there is a lesson for all of Europe, and for anyone who has ever wondered how to defend a democracy without losing its soul. The best defense is not a wall of silence, but an open society that knows its own history, values its own truth, and refuses to let anyone — especially an aggressor state — tell it who to hate, what to fear, or whom to trust.