With the US turning its focus to the Middle East, speculation in Ukraine about what Russia might do in the Baltic states is heating up. The so-called ‘Narva People’s Republic’ is back in the spotlight. But how are these threats — and the intense coverage they get from Ukrainian journalists and politicians — viewed in Estonia? How is Tallinn responding to Russia’s hybrid tactics, and what lessons could the recent tensions in the Persian Gulf hold for the Baltic states?
The Ukrainian Week discussed these questions with Meelis Oidsalu, an Estonian security expert, Undersecretary at the Ministry of Defence from 2015 to 2021, and currently editor-in-chief of The Baltic Sentinel.
– Recently, Ukrainian media has focused heavily on the so-called “Narva People’s Republic” case and its role in Russian propaganda. As I understand it, the story originated from a Telegram channel with only a handful of subscribers. Yet the scale of attention it has received — both the incident itself and the wider narrative — seems to reflect what you described in your CEPA article as the “amplification paradox.” Some of the most vocal contributors to that amplification have been here in Ukraine, shaped by our own experience of a time when threats were underestimated. At the same time, when I raised this with a colleague who was in Donetsk in the spring of 2014, she remarked: “You cannot even imagine how marginal those who ‘initiated’ the Donetsk People’s Republic actually were.”
With that in mind, how would you assess the nature of Russia’s hybrid threats in Estonia? And how can one stay vigilant without overestimating — or misreading — the danger?
— The “Narva People’s Republic” is indeed an interesting case. As I noted in my article for CEPA, Estonian anti-propaganda volunteers also contributed to amplifying it. My criticism is not that they exposed the case: it is entirely legitimate to highlight such developments. However, anti-propaganda efforts should offer historical and methodological context: how such narratives emerge, why specific symbols are used, and how these elements fit into broader patterns of Russian information operations; otherwise, it becomes merely the transmission of news without added value. In this case, that context was largely missing.
Since Propastop (counter-propaganda web portal in Estonia — Ed.) has well-established channels, the story was quickly picked up and disseminated in the media space without sufficient framing. But it would be inaccurate to attribute this solely to Propastop. There is also a possible scenario in which someone picks it up or leaks it elsewhere, and the same thing happens.
Right now, Propastop is putting out a fire it helped to ignite. Still, such dynamics are not unusual. They do not fundamentally undermine the effectiveness of anti-propaganda work, which remains, in many respects, highly effective, even if such unintended amplification occasionally occurs. I would compare this to recent coverage in the Estonian media of severe storms in Tenerife. Some members of my extended family are currently staying there, and they say the reporting in our media has been rather exaggerated.
A similar dynamic applies here. When an inflammatory narrative resurfaces — especially one that has been used repeatedly against Estonia and the Baltic states over the past three decades — it easily gains traction. The idea of a “Narva People’s Republic” is not new; there have been at least five similar attempts in the Baltics in the past.
As Mark Galeotti noted in his podcast (In Moscow’s Shadows — Ed.), such initiatives are sometimes driven by local actors who are marginal or unrecognised and seek to signal to Moscow in the hope of gaining resources, funding, or status within their community. One way to achieve visibility is to appear dangerous.
For obvious reasons, narratives of this kind tend to attract attention. So yes, in this case, the story was overblown. At the same time, the broader context of hybrid warfare against Estonia is very real, and there are multiple examples that demonstrate this.
One example is Estonia’s energy prices, which have occasionally spiked following damage to subsea cables. Intelligence services in Finland and Estonia disagree over whether these incidents are deliberate. However, publicly available data shows that events of this kind — in this form and with such severe consequences — have only been recorded since 2022.
In this context, there is little doubt that security in the Baltic Sea region has deteriorated significantly. At the same time, there is also what could be described as evidence of attempts to bolster certain political parties in Estonia. One example is KOOS (“Together”), established in 2022. The party no longer has active members, as one of its leaders is in prison for treason.
Ahead of the 2025 local elections, another Russia-leaning political alliance, Plan B, was formed and is now part of Narva’s city government. KOOS secured a notable share of the vote (2.4%) in the 2023 parliamentary elections but did not make it into parliament. Plan B, meanwhile, took part in the 2025 local elections, won five seats on the Narva city council, and is now in negotiations to join the city government. The “Narva People’s Republic” story surfaced just as these negotiations began.
Intelligence pressure from Russian authorities is also considerable. If we look at the number of individuals expelled by the Estonian Internal Security Service for cooperating with Russian intelligence, it becomes clear that an aggressive recruitment campaign has been underway for several years, although it has not always led to severe consequences. It is also reasonable to assume that some cases remain undetected. Estonia is something of a European leader in identifying and prosecuting such cases, taking the issue more seriously than many other countries. According to a recent report by the Swedish Defence Research Agency (FOI), Estonia has convicted around 20 Russia-linked spies since 2008 — more than twice as many as Germany (8), despite Germany’s population being roughly sixty times larger.
Overall, this points to an ongoing hybrid war — one that extends beyond Estonia to the entire Baltic Sea region. What we are witnessing could be described as a low-boiling conflict in the Baltic Sea. This includes the operation of Russia’s so-called shadow fleet, as well as measures likely aimed at deterring Baltic Sea nations from interfering with its activities — such as drone presence at airports and other forms of disruption.
In this sense, Russia appears to be employing tactics similar to those used by Iran in the Persian Gulf, but in a much milder form, signalling both the willingness and the capability to carry out disruptive actions such as denial-of-service attacks or other asymmetric operations, if deemed necessary.
This approach has been effective to some extent. If we look at how Baltic Sea nations deal with shadow fleet tankers, actual interference has been quite limited. When it does happen, it is often prominently covered in the media. Footage of special forces boarding a vessel is visually compelling, but it remains more of a media event than a consistent or effective policy response. Yesterday, regional alliance (Joint Expeditionary Force) member nations met in Helsinki and promised to escalate their efforts. It remains to be seen whether this is reflected in the interception statistics of shadow fleet vessels.
At the same time, Russia has been reported to have initiated a military operation aimed at protecting these vessels. In this sense, one could argue that a low-boiling conflict has existed in the Baltic Sea since 2022 — in particular following the Nord Stream pipeline sabotage.
— Just how capable is Russia of threatening maritime security in the Baltic Sea?
— One of the key lessons from Iran — also evident in the Black Sea — is the effectiveness of asymmetric methods for hindering the naval presence. The Baltic Sea, much like the Strait of Hormuz, is relatively narrow, which makes it particularly vulnerable to such tactics. Drones launched from vessels or other platforms can pose a credible threat even in the absence of a large conventional navy.
Moreover, a significant portion of Russia’s Baltic Fleet has effectively been degraded in the Black Sea, largely due to Ukrainian operations. This has also triggered debates — including in Estonia — over whether investment in sea drones might be more rational than building traditional naval vessels that could become high-value targets in wartime.
So far, however, Baltic Sea navies have remained relatively conservative in their approach. Developments in the Strait of Hormuz, as well as one recent exercise in Germany, where Ukrainian sea drone operators successfully ambushed the German fleet, should serve as a wake-up call.
NATO countries have been quite slow to adapt. This was once again proven during this week’s drone incidents (Ukrainian combat drones crashed in all three Baltic states). I assume this is probably because the culture of quick adaptation is still a new concept for our militaries.
In Ukraine’s case, such adaptation was driven by existential necessity. Without comparable external pressure, militaries often find it difficult to adapt fast enough. At the same time, when it comes to narratives, there is another dimension worth noting. In Estonia, some criticism has emerged regarding waves of speculation in Ukrainian social media about an imminent Russian threat to the Baltic states.
I think this phenomenon has been present for several years, emerging in waves. You can also observe it in statements by Volodymyr Zelenskyi and consider the timing — why certain narratives are emphasised at specific moments. This raises questions about whether we are witnessing elements of information manipulation or coordinated messaging also from Kyiv. Of course, it may simply reflect the tendency of the media to amplify certain threat narratives. There is a phenomenon in the media that one could label as “threat porn”, a rush to collect clicks by presenting a narrative that has not been validated. Still, at times it creates the impression that not only Russia, but also Ukraine is shaping this narrative to some extent and to achieve its goals.
That said, it is important to ask why this is happening. In Estonia, we also need to be honest in our assessment. There has been a tendency, as we saw with Volodymyr Zelenskyi prior to February 24th, 2022, to downplay risks in order to avoid public panic.
In my view, this is ultimately the wrong approach. We need to be fully aware of our vulnerabilities and significantly accelerate our current pace of development. Only then can we credibly argue that the Russian threat is just spin.
If we look at the basic “mathematics” of the war, including disparities in capabilities — for example, in drone warfare — there is clearly some room for concern. Even if a threat is not imminent, a problem of deterrence still remains.
NATO has reportedly switched from deterrence by punishment to deterrence by denial in the Baltics. One could ask whether this is also reflected in the allied posture changes in the region. In 2025, two enhanced vigilance activities were announced by NATO in the Baltic Sea region — Baltic Sentry, to protect critical infrastructure, and Eastern Sentry, to protect airspace (after around 20 Russian drones entered Polish airspace). It is still not clear whether these are genuinely effective operations or an effort in strategic communications. At the same time, the United States is now allocating significant resources to the Middle East, which adds another layer of uncertainty.
— That brings me to my next question: with Washington’s attention on the Middle East, is Russia likely to exploit the situation?
— The US still has reserves and is unlikely to exhaust its capabilities in the Middle East — that would not be a rational course of action, as a country always needs to consider reserves for other contingencies. However, it is reported that some critical stocks are diminishing. The scale of war in Iran is somewhat different from that of the post-9/11 operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. However, this shift in attention has triggered debate in Estonia as well. For instance, our Foreign Affairs Minister, Margus Tsahkna, has stated that Estonia would be willing to support the US in the Strait of Hormuz, even mentioning the deployment of mine countermeasure vessels.
He was corrected by our former Navy commander, who pointed out that such ships would only be operationally ready for deployment in roughly two years, given the need for technical adaptation and logistical preparation. This has raised broader concerns about a degree of opportunism within Estonia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, particularly when public commitments are made that would, in reality, require parliamentary approval.
Whether Russia might seize the moment largely depends on how events unfold in Ukraine. The situation there remains central to Vladimir Putin’s calculations, and as long as the war continues in its active phase, analysts believe that the likelihood of a major escalation elsewhere remains low.
There is also some public speculation among defence officials in Baltic Sea countries that Russia could carry out limited, demonstrative actions: for example, seizing a small island or staging a provocation designed to remain below the threshold of NATO’s Article 5. Such a move could serve as a bargaining chip or a show of force: creating disruption, then de-escalating, while signalling that the West is unable to respond effectively. For Estonia, the good news is that “Narva is next” is by far not the only chokepoint narrative when discussing Russian opportunism against NATO. Norwegians talk about the Svalbard archipelago and suggest that northern Norway would be one of the first targets due to its proximity to Russia’s strategic nuclear assets. The Swedish chief of defence has said he is concerned about the Baltic Sea islands as a possible platform for Russia’s limited and demonstrative military show-off. Swedes have long been worried about the vulnerability of Gotland and have also increased defence readiness there during Russia’s naval exercises in the Baltic. Denmark is remilitarising Bornholm, an island that experienced a year-long Soviet occupation after WWII.
Baltic Sea nations need to establish a well-defended island chain similar to the US concept of island chains in the Pacific. It is not only about defending the islands, but also about projecting power in the Baltic Sea and denying mobility to Russia in case there is evidence that it is about to escalate.
So Narva is more of a geopolitical meme than a real, exclusive chokepoint of NATO. Narva’s inhabitants see the reality across the Narva River in the Russian city of Ivangorod. They do not want their city, which is modern, renovated, and cleaner than some other Estonian cities, to turn into Ivangorod.
There is also an ongoing debate — voiced, among others, by Kaja Kallas — that a Russian victory in Ukraine would significantly increase risks for the Baltic states. Actually, there is no difference whether Russia wins in Ukraine or not. If Russia is forced to scale down or freeze its campaign in Ukraine after significant losses, the incentive to demonstrate strength elsewhere could actually increase, in order to compensate for reputational damage. So, I think it is not a complete hoax to talk about the probable Russian threat to Baltic Sea nations. However, some narratives are currently clearly exaggerated, including by Ukrainian media.
We also hear from former foreign intelligence analysts claiming that Russia would never attack NATO. Such statements are simply not credible. They are not genuine intelligence assessments but rather psychological projections of the current situation into the future, designed more for strategic messaging and to soothe public concern than to reflect reality.
Meanwhile, let’s look at developments within NATO. Donald Trump, amid disappointment with allies’ limited engagement in the Strait of Hormuz, has once again raised the issue of Greenland. The question of Narva is much less acute than the question of Greenland.
— Defence and security reports place a strong emphasis on building societal resilience. The Nordic and Baltic states are probably the strongest in Europe in this regard. How is Estonia working to strengthen and develop societal resilience, especially since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine?
— I would not say this. In reality, the Baltic states are still in a relatively poor condition when it comes to societal resilience. The concept has existed for years, since the 2010s, when we introduced the idea of a “broad-based” defence strategy, but in many ways it has remained more of a political slogan than a fully implemented reform.
There are some visible signs of progress. For example, we now have air raid sirens — elementary, but we needed a lesson from Ukraine to install them. There are also plans related to food security, but they are not realistic and have not been tested against realistic scenarios, as our Public Audit Office recently stated.
There’s a lot of talk, but… just recently, I visited a school in Tallinn to speak with students about the war, the fear it brings, and how to respond. I asked how many of their families had actually discussed crisis preparedness. Out of around 400 students, only five or seven raised their hands. That, in itself, is quite revealing.
My view is that it often takes a real shock to drive meaningful change. Some improvements have been made: local governments in Estonia have started to take crisis preparedness more seriously. However, overall preparedness is still limited. This is particularly evident in the protection of critical infrastructure, which remains one of the key vulnerabilities across the Baltic states, especially in the face of what Russia is doing in Ukraine or Iran in the Middle East.
Our military capacities are relatively small, and they are not sufficient to provide meaningful protection to infrastructure such as the electricity grid, especially against emerging threats like drones, where there is a clear capability gap. The electricity system has been constructed in the spirit of Fukuyama’s “end of history.” Estonian electricity substations even have human-sized letters painted on them, marking that the building is a substation. The Estonian grid operator, Elering, has shown initiative and is investing over 200 million euros in the passive and active defence of critical elements. They have also acquired funds from the EU together with other Baltic states and Poland. So this “end of history” mentality in our critical infrastructure design is also about to end, but it will take years to implement.
There are some other positive developments at the regional level. Baltic Sea countries are increasingly cooperating on civil preparedness and working to coordinate evacuation plans, including cross-border scenarios. The media often labels this as “preparing for war.” In reality, it is normal contingency planning that we have overlooked since the end of the Cold War in the Baltic Sea countries — with the exception of Finland, which has been motivated by its long tradition of being a neutral country next to Russia.
Still, in substance, this is not something we can today present as a major success—certainly not when compared to countries like Ukraine or Israel. All this is part of security branding and deterrence by slogans. We have to snap out of it. Threats are real, and real threats need real, cost-effective measures that could be applied much more quickly than they are.
