My children's great-grandfather recently gifted them a bowl full of coins as pocket money. To avoid inconveniencing cashiers and fellow shoppers with small change at stores, I suggested the children deposit the coins into their bank account using a coin machine. However, what seemed like a simple task turned into a long and fruitless saga, one that perhaps helps explain why the state is reluctant to implement a banking solidarity tax.

We live in Saaremaa, Estonia's largest [rural] municipality by area and population. Swedbank, valued at around €2 billion as of 2023, has only one branch in Saaremaa, located in Kuressaare.

Unlike residents of Kihelkonna, Orissaare or Sõrve, my children live close enough to walk to the coin machine. Nevertheless, a visit requires careful planning, as the branch is closed three days a week and only open for four hours on the other days. On one occasion, my son and I arrived at the branch, bowl of coins in hand, only to find the office closed.

After carefully reviewing the bank's opening hours and cross-referencing them with my children's school and extracurricular schedules, we found that none of the three could make it to the bank during the limited hours. Eventually, my eldest son found a gap in his schedule, and I sent him to the bank with the coins. Forty-five minutes later, he returned, saying he was told he needed to book an appointment beforehand.

I found it hard to believe that a client could no longer meet with a bank representative without prior booking. I assumed there had been some misunderstanding and promised my son that I would accompany him next time.

Finding a suitable time took nearly a month due to my work commitments and the children's school obligations. When the opportunity finally arose, my son and I grabbed the bowl of coins and headed to the bank. I explained the bank's procedures to him, including the machine at the entrance where one must select a queue number based on three categories: (1) prior booking, (2) private client or (3) business client. We took a number and sat on the waiting bench.

The queue was long, with several pensioners already waiting. Clients continued to arrive, some likely from distant parts of the island, as buses from Sõrve to Kuressaare run only twice daily. Ten minutes later, a bank representative approached an elderly customer to ask if they had successfully booked an appointment through the system. The pensioner explained their difficulties with digital tools and admitted they hadn't managed to secure one. The representative, adhering to the rules, stated that service was only available with a prior booking.

I quickly logged into the bank's system on my smartphone and managed to secure an appointment for later that day, just before the branch's closing time. We left the confused pensioners in the care of an increasingly frustrated bank employee and went home.

A few hours later, I returned to the bank with my younger son. By this time, I had already spent a significant part of my workday shuttling between the bank and home, but I was reassured by the thought that the coin deposit was now merely a formality.

At the appointed time, we took a queue number and waited for about ten minutes. When it was our turn, the bank employee informed us that the coin machine was out of order. Offering the bowl of coins as a potential donation to the bank's customer service fund yielded no results, as the bank declined to accept it. Disheartened, we left and decided to donate the coins to a collection box supporting children from underprivileged families.

In Saaremaa, one in four people lived in relative poverty last year, compared to one in five across the rest of Estonia. Relative poverty has been on the rise in recent years.

The collection box for national security is filled through broad-based new taxes in Estonia. However, Lithuania and Latvia, whose economies are currently in better shape than Estonia's, have introduced a banking solidarity tax, supported by their central banks, instead of sharply increasing the tax burden on individuals. This tax leverages the temporary surge in the Euribor rate.

Lithuania's defense fund received approximately €400 million in additional revenue last year thanks to this tax. According to Äripäev, if such a solidarity tax had been introduced in Estonia last year, it could have contributed over €200 million to the country's defense budget, with Swedbank alone accounting for a significant share.

But how could such a tax be implemented in Estonia, when the country has been in an economic recession for nearly three years? We have reached a point where even our most profitable companies cannot afford to hire enough local staff to keep the only branch in Estonia's largest municipality open or maintain its equipment in working order.

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