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An unusual war memorial stands in Barrack Square in old Helsinki. A giant sculpture of a soldier in a winter snowsuit, its polished steel body pierced with large round holes, as if standing still after being fired by cannon fire. It is Finland’s national memorial to the Winter War of 1939–40. During that conflict, Finnish troops faced off against the vast Soviet army for 105 days, inflicting heavy losses on the invaders before succumbing to the Red Army’s superior numbers. The Soviet Union imposed harsh terms, taking 10% of its neighboring territory. The peace proved fragile, and Finland soon became involved in the Second World War, fighting alongside Nazi Germany against the Soviet Red Army from 1941–44.
Unveiled in 2017, the memorial’s message is more timely than ever. The Winter War has new resonance for Finns. His country has known 80 years of peace. It is one of the most capable armies in Europe, supported by extensive military service and a large reserve for the youth. Yet, even after abandoning decades of neutrality to join NATO in April 2023, Finland remains at odds with Russia, its former imperial ruler and neighbor who share a 1,340-km border. “When Russia invaded Ukraine, it seemed as if Finland’s wars were happening yesterday,” says a member of a Finnish close organization. In fact, this old hand is worried about young Finns being “too bold” in condemning Russia. Membership of the EU and NATO is very good. But Finland is a small country whose fate has often been decided by great powers, and Russia always will be. “We know that adults can always agree on things that are way over our heads. We can always be alone.”
This is a moment for all of Europe to reflect on that monument on the Helsinki square. That worn, but still recognizable uniform – hollow and headless, with the sky visible through its many holes – poses an important question. What can a country lose, and what must it preserve, and still remain true to itself?
When the Cold War divided Europe, Finland made many sacrifices to survive as an independent nation. To maintain its capitalist system and parliamentary democracy, it became a neutral buffer state between the West and the Soviet Union. Until 1956 the Soviet Navy was allowed to lease a base on the Finnish coast within artillery range of Helsinki. KGB officers shamelessly interfered in Finnish politics and society (although some Finnish officials and military officers quietly sent intelligence to the West as well). Bound by treaty to take into account Soviet security interests, the country’s compromised form of sovereignty was dubbed “Finlandization” by critics. Finnish defenders of close relations with the USSR described their mission as “to cooperate without losing one’s soul”.
Today, Finlandization is back, this time as a model for Ukraine’s postwar relations with Russia. Days before Russia’s invasion in 2022, while on a doomed peacekeeping mission to Moscow, French President Emmanuel Macron called Finlandization “one of the options on the table” for Ukraine. Mr Macron may no longer use the term, as his views on Russian aggression have hardened. A lot since then. But if the war ends too soon, as US President-elect Donald Trump has insisted, leaders in Kiev can expect pressure from many sectors to make painful compromises that may become a price for peace. Then there will be a difficult question: how to safeguard Ukraine’s sovereignty in the future, given that some Western governments might encourage Ukraine to build a stronger military and economy and tie their political system to hers. European value. Other world leaders could pressure Ukraine to appease its neighbor by declaring itself neutral and accepting a place in Russia’s sphere of influence.
In Helsinki, foreign-policy thinkers have strong views on seemingly opposing approaches to security, because Cold War Finland tried to do both at the same time. Finland maintained such a strong armed forces that Soviet leaders were forced to balk at the potential cost of formally occupying the country. At the same time, it achieved peace with a number of compromises, some of which look frankly shabby in hindsight. In Helsinki today the term Finlandisation is taken as a slur.
Realism but not fatalism
Circumstances imposed foreign-policy realism on Finland. The country’s survival in the late 1940s could not be taken for granted. It focused on preserving the essential elements of its sovereignty, without provoking the neighboring superpower. But this was an objective realism rather than defeatism. Finland transformed its agricultural economy into an industrial powerhouse and worked hard to expand its trade with Nordic neighbors and the wider world. Despite strong opposition from Moscow, the country signed a free trade agreement with Europe in the 1970s. Finland’s post-war history saw “our step-by-step move towards the West”, says Heiski Haukkala, former chief of staff to the President of Finland and future director of the Finnish Institute of International Affairs. Ukraine peace based on allowing Russia to dictate the terms would not be a Finnish lesson,” he added. “It would be capitulation.”
A plaque next to the Winter-War Memorial offers a surprisingly geopolitical look at the horrors of those long ago. It blames the conflict on Hitler and Stalin’s secret agreement in 1939 to push Finland into the “Soviet Union’s sphere of influence”. The loss of more than 25,000 Finns is presented as an investment in a better tomorrow: a sacrifice for the preservation of Finland. Freedom, independence and the ability to develop into the Nordic welfare state it is known as today”. Finland did not choose its geography. But – even in its darkest times – it struggled to choose its own destiny. Literal Finlandization would be a terrible model for Ukraine, turning it into a Russian satellite. But Finland’s spirit as a nation, and its will to survive, is an example worth studying.
© 2024, The Economist Newspaper Limited. All rights reserved. From The Economist, published under license. Original content can be found at www.economist.com
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