On Tuesday, the Government Office joyfully announced that, for the first time, the Estonian government will hold a cabinet meeting, a government session and a press conference in a building on Toompea referred to as the "Estonian Representative House." The announcement went on to explain that the "Estonian Representative House, formerly known as the Estonian Knighthood House, is a more than 300-year-old complex that the government decided to renovate in 2014 to host official state events."

But no — it's not "formerly known as the Knighthood House." It was, is and will remain the Knighthood House. The fact that this beautiful historic building now serves as Estonia's official representative venue is a wonderful and practical decision — one that gave the previously crumbling structure a long-awaited new lease on life. But that doesn't mean its identity should be stripped away or replaced with a sterile, history-less name.

What's troubling is the Government Office's apparent eagerness, observed over the past few months, to officially replace the centuries-old name of the Estonian Knighthood House with the bland and soulless title of the "Estonian Representative House." This trend points to a broader mindset that's increasingly visible in society: a desire to sanitize history, to strip everything down to something colorless, tasteless, scentless and soulless — a hollow, sterile world devoid of identity or meaning.

I don't know who coined the term "Estonian Representative House," but it's less important to identify the individual and more important to recognize the mentality behind it. This mindset follows a general trend toward making everything as inoffensive and neutral as possible — names, terms, symbols. It's as if the goal is to avoid reminding anyone of anything that might be meaningful, controversial or even memorable.

As my friend Aivo Vask pointed out in a Facebook discussion on this topic, this problem goes beyond just the Knighthood House. It's a wider issue and one that shows up in the naming of other buildings and institutions as well — for example, "the joint building of ministries" and similar titles. These names are designed to be as bland and non-specific as possible, so that they don't offend anyone, don't evoke any memories and, ideally, don't stick in anyone's mind.

I'm reminded here of a speech given by Toomas Kiho, editor-in-chief of the journal Akadeemia, at the newly and beautifully renovated Knighthood House on December 1, 2024. The occasion was the presentation of Küllo Arjakas' book, "Riigivanem Juhan Kukk." In a speech reminiscent of President Lennart Meri's style, Kiho said:

"Look — are we a state or not? One defining characteristic of a state is the ability, and above all, the courage, to own its history. A state collects historical events and puts them in its breast pocket, carrying them with pride.

If we have the courage to continue calling the former church of the Baltic nobility Toomkirik (St. Mary's Cathedral), if we name the government building after the count who commissioned it — Stenbock House — if the Riigikogu operates in Toompea Castle and if we confidently refer to the History Museum's building as the Great Guild Hall, then we have demonstrated our capacity to embrace our past.

We've even managed to shed the Soviet-era name Jaan Kreuks Cultural Palace and restore its rightful historical name — House of the Blackheads.

So, my dear friends, it should be clear that today we can greet one another in none other than the Knighthood House. That is the name of this building, both in the mouths of the people and in the eyes of history."

Interestingly, the Government Office — so eager to replace the historic name Knighthood House with the sterile "Estonian Representative House" — has no issue with proudly calling its own headquarters Stenbock House. This name honors Count Jakob Pontus Stenbock, who used the building as his city residence.

As noted on the Government Office's own website:

"Although the building complex at Rahukohtu 3 has had various owners and served different functions throughout its history, it has consistently been referred to as Stenbock House in artworks, historical records and academic research."

This same historical continuity applies to the Knighthood House. The building has housed various institutions over the years — the Foreign Ministry before the war, a library, an art museum and even a faculty of the Estonian Academy of Arts. Yet, throughout history, it has always been remembered as the Knighthood House.

If we follow the logic of the Government Office's renaming efforts, perhaps it would be appropriate for them to abandon the name Stenbock House as well. Why not call it something as bland as "Administrative Facility at Rahukohtu 3, which is not owned by the State Real Estate Company but is included in its contractual property management portfolio, formerly known as Stenbock House"?

But, as art historian Juhan Maiste reminds us in his 2018 work "Refuugium," the history of these buildings is deeply intertwined. The very first Knighthood House, destroyed in the Great Fire of 1684, once stood near the edge of the limestone cliff — exactly where Stenbock House now stands.

The opinion piece was originally published on Toomas Mattson's Facebook page on January 7, 2025. ERR News is publishing the commentary with the author's permission.

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