I have always considered myself an empathetic person — someone who cares about the pain of others, who wishes that no one is left out, that no one is treated unfairly and that everyone feels valued. When someone has a problem, I take it upon myself, I internalize it and live through it. Whether it's with my loved ones, working with a youth orchestra or addressing these issues in my creative work. I thought this trait would prevent me from ever becoming a good conductor because I want to understand everyone, to consider everyone and to ensure that everyone feels comfortable.

Today, I have been made to understand that everything is different, as the classics have said. That I supposedly fail to see that some people in our society are marginalized, that I don't notice the weaker ones and that sign-language users who are deaf cannot, in the traditional sense, sing.

Believe me, I understand all of this. Our society faces increasingly serious issues — people feel forgotten, excluded, alone. There are cracks and divisions between us and we continue to find new reasons to oppose each other. It is exhausting and disheartening. That is why our decision not to allow the sign language choir to participate in the Song Festival is not an act of division between communities. Quite the opposite — it is about finding harmony among people through song.

But why is it so difficult to allow a sign language choir to sing at the festival? Who would they disturb?

The answer is — our sense of fairness.

Participation under the Song Festival arch is not a human right. Not everyone gets in and never has. Only those who can properly learn and perform the selected pieces are admitted. The threshold for participation is determined by the number of people who can safely fit under the arch, as dictated by the police and rescue services.

There are many who would like to participate but cannot — because they struggle with pitch, because there is no choir or choir director in their hometown anymore, because they cannot attend rehearsals due to poor public transport connections or health issues. Or because they were born deaf. But they can all experience the Song Festival as part of the audience, because the sense of unity that people come to feel extends beyond just those standing under the arch — it touches those on the field and those watching at home on their televisions or listening on their radios.

The criteria for participation in the Song Festival have always been the same for everyone: the selected songs must be learned, performed in auditions and rehearsed. Singing in a choir is a skill developed over many years of hard work. Allowing the sign language choir — currently a small community — to participate under the arch based on different criteria would create a separate path, a kind of back door. Because they cannot undertake the same year-long mental, physical and resource-intensive effort. And that is not fair.

It is not fair to those who work tirelessly to learn these songs, rearrange their lives around choir rehearsals and camps and continue practicing their parts at home. And even then, some choirs don't make it to the festival, simply because there is a limit to how many people can fit under the arch.

As a Song Festival conductor, the most unpleasant and uncomfortable duty is evaluating and selecting choirs. None of us want to put choirs — especially after an enjoyable rehearsal — into a stressful exam situation where we must decide whether they can participate. It is an extremely stressful process and we would gladly avoid it if we could. But we have no choice. And then, when a choir comes forward to sing, you see how much effort they have put in — how they have struggled to learn the pieces and coordinate their schedules, because some members work far away, others have moved, some have mobility issues, some have sick children and some are visually impaired. Yet, for many, this choir may be the only thing that regularly brings their village together. You watch them pour their hearts into their performance, knowing that, for some, this might be their last Song Festival due to their age. And then you have to tell them afterward that, unfortunately, their performance was not good enough to be accepted. It is a heartbreaking and unfair moment. And with this year's record number of applicants, we may have to turn away around a hundred choirs — thousands of singers. But we have no choice, because otherwise, singing "Ta lendab mesipuu poole" under the arch would no longer be safe.

We do not make exceptions for participation in the Song Festival based on social considerations, because that would not be fair. Village choirs with only a handful of singers, school choirs with just twenty children who cannot recruit more skilled singers — they all have to audition under the same conditions. The same applies to Estonian choirs abroad, for whom the Song Festival may be their only emotional connection to their homeland, a matter of life and death for their community.

But I have seen how, through hard work, people with mobility impairments, visual impairments, mild intellectual disabilities, hearing loss, hereditary or severe illnesses, members of ethnic or sexual minorities, survivors of domestic violence, suicidal individuals and those with depression, anxiety or ADHD diagnoses — all make it to the Song Festival. The Song Festival is accessible to anyone who can meet the musical requirements, regardless of social background, gender, sexual orientation or disabilities that do not prevent them from singing.

The Song Festival has always been a concert — the grand concert of the Estonian choir — not some other kind of social or mythological phenomenon. That has been its essence throughout history and its clear artistic vision and format have allowed it to endure. The conductors and choir leaders are simply its facilitators, qualified for this specific role and nothing else. Everything adheres to the artistic team's vision. In 2004, political pressure was exerted to include the European Union anthem in the festival program to mark Estonia's accession to the EU, and more recently, there was a push for a Russian-language song under the arch. Neither of these happened. Or if they had, it would have been a decision made solely by the artistic committee. That same 2004 festival did, however, include a piece called "Can You Hear Me?" which addressed deafness and featured the children's choir singing and signing together under the arch. But such decisions should not be made as mere social gestures or under external pressure.

Such pressures — especially when they arise unexpectedly during the most intense period of festival preparations, with rehearsals taking place daily across Estonia — could eventually lead to a situation where no one is willing to take on the artistic leadership of the Song Festival anymore. Choir directors want to make music, not be subjected to media scrutiny and bureaucratic demands. I know that several skilled professionals chose not to submit their artistic proposals for this year's festival precisely because of the media and legal pressures that began in December over the sign language choir issue. And in Estonia, where the pool of people capable of leading the festival is already small — countable on the fingers of just one or two hands — this is no trivial matter. Every capable person is invaluable.

Yes, you might say that dealing with public scrutiny comes with the job. But it doesn't. Over six months, I conduct 70 rehearsals, each lasting 4.5 to 5 hours, most of them outside Tallinn. I give up all my weekends, most of my evenings and I must constantly be at my best — listening to hundreds of performances of songs that are already imprinted in my mind and that I won't want to hear again for the next ten years. I must provide written feedback to the choirs — feedback that is honest yet sensitive. And I must avoid getting sick, because choirs across Estonia have been waiting for their audition moment for months. And let's not forget: this is all done alongside our regular jobs, because we still need to make a living and our own choir work must continue as usual. If someone takes on this role out of a sense of mission, a wish to give back to the community or love for music and Estonia, they should not then be made to look like fools in the public eye. Who would want to subject themselves to that now or in the future? You just wanted to make music together…

Returning to the current debate about changing the Song Festival tradition: for the past 30 years since the occupation, artistic decisions about the festival have been made by the artistic team, not public opinion or external pressure. If that were to change, the festival might one day no longer be what it has always been or what has drawn a record number of people this year to sing under the arch or to listen as part of the audience.

Public opinion should not dictate who stands under the arch, what songs are performed or who conducts. These decisions belong to those responsible for the event. A certain level of conservatism in tradition is a virtue.

Why did I write this? Because I feel that the Song Festival, its organizers, and by extension, myself, are being treated unfairly. That I am being portrayed as someone lacking empathy, as an opponent who disregards others.

I apologize if my words have offended anyone. That was not my intention. But as has been said before — the Song Festival cannot solve all of our country's problems. Let it remain what it is.

P.S. To my dear friends who have written to me urging us to allow the sign language choir under the arch — please forgive me for letting you down.

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