How did you become a traffic psychologist?

We need to go quite far back in time. And to be completely honest, it was really a coincidence of coincidences. Back in the day, I was quite involved in sports, but after sustaining an injury, I had to stay home for a long time. Around the same time, well-known psychologist Tõnu Lehtsaar was conducting a social psychology practicum in Tartu, where students had to complete various observation assignments. I didn't want to fall behind in the course, so I started thinking about what I could do. I couldn't go to the theater, I couldn't take the bus...

But there was a traffic light near my home, so I started observing pedestrians. Who presses the button and waits for the green light? Who crosses on red? Are they mostly adults or children? And so on. The results turned out to be quite interesting and I started analyzing them mathematically. That got me thinking — what kind of research is being done in this field in other parts of the world?

But this was the 1990s and we didn't have the internet or the kind of communication possibilities we have today. So, using the channels available at the time, I started searching for literature and contacts abroad. And from there, things developed into what they are today.

You earned a doctorate on this topic in Germany.

I initially studied in Estonia and spent a lot of time learning from well-known psychologists like Aavo Luuk, Tõnu Lehtsaar and Heiki Krips. But yes, in the early 2000s, I had the opportunity to go to Germany.

The Germans told me that I wouldn't have much of a future unless I moved to the next level — that I had to pursue a doctorate. And eventually, I defended my PhD in Germany.

From an academic and research perspective, it was an amazing experience to see how things are done there. They are so far ahead of us that, honestly... it's a little sad that we don't have the same opportunities here.

But why do some people cross the street on a red light?

There are several reasons and people don't just cross the street on a red light here in Estonia — it happens all over the world. In some places, there are even unspoken agreements about when it's acceptable to cross and when it's not.

Maybe it actually makes sense to cross on a red light if it's clear that no cars are coming?

Speaking from my own experience — for example, in the U.S., where I've driven thousands of miles — it actually works that way. If you have a red light but there's no sign prohibiting it, you're allowed to make a right turn. Under certain conditions, this helps clear intersections quite efficiently and can even be a very positive solution.

What happens to a person when they get into a car, which in a way acts like a protective box? Do we see each other's faces through the car window or do we only notice the make of the car or its license plate? Does this affect our behavior and sense of responsibility?

According to self-determination theory, there are three key aspects: autonomy, competence and social relatedness. The point you brought up falls under autonomy. When a person gets into a car, they enter an environment where they are independent — they are on their own. They move where they want and have the freedom to make decisions.

But the car or vehicle itself doesn't inherently change anything. A person's attitudes, behaviors and daily habits — all the patterns they are used to — come with them into the car and stay with them while driving. It's important to understand that the way a person behaves in everyday life is the same way they will behave behind the wheel. This has been thoroughly studied from multiple angles in scientific research and there's no way around it.

That's quite unsettling — I enter traffic and I can't see the faces of other drivers to get a sense of what kind of person they are. Back in the '90s, you could tell that if someone was driving a BMW, they were probably a "tough guy." Can we still guess today who's behind the wheel based on the car brand?

That is how some "experts" occasionally try to explain it. But in the grand scheme of things, it's not something we should do. It's similar to a situation where you go out on the street in winter or cold weather — everyone is wearing jackets, hoods and hats, and you have no idea who is underneath those clothes or what they are thinking at that moment.

The same applies to cars. We don't know where a person is coming from — maybe they "lost their jacket" and, for their trip home, have put on someone else's "coat." Making broad assumptions based on a car's appearance isn't a good idea.

That said, if something stands out — let's say the car is painted in a very unusual color, has oversized rims or is packed with flashy accessories — then it's worth considering why that might be.

But this shouldn't lead to labeling or looking down on people. Stereotyping doesn't help anyone. Maybe someone is simply passionate about customizing their car, enjoys unique designs or has a hobby of modifying vehicles.

Another thing to keep in mind is that all vehicles produced by car manufacturers must meet certain standards. If something about a car is drastically different, law enforcement — especially in other countries — is more likely to check it. This is because, quite often, a modified feature may not meet the manufacturer's original specifications, which means the vehicle technically shouldn't be on the road at all.

My personal observation is that reckless overtaking isn't done by Mercedes or BMW drivers, but rather by white delivery vans. Why is that?

This group isn't noticeable only in Estonia but all over the world. Generally, they are likely couriers or people transporting goods on a tight schedule and they're always in a hurry because their income depends on it. That's why they'll drive through gaps between cars, overtake from the opposite lane or maneuver however they can to keep moving.

This is simply the nature of their work. And if they spend their entire day weaving through traffic and making quick deliveries, they eventually get used to that pattern. Over time, this habit becomes ingrained and when they get into their personal vehicle, it's not unlikely that they might drive the same way.

Recent statistics have shown that the number of traffic fatalities in Estonia has increased over the past ten years, despite the implementation of various programs and plans. Last year, 70 people lost their lives. Is that a lot?

There are multiple ways to approach this number. The correct approach is to acknowledge that every single fatality is too many. In a country like Estonia, no one should be losing their life in traffic accidents and achieving that should be possible.

Looking at it from another angle, if we compare it to the early '90s, when there were nearly 500 traffic fatalities per year, we've managed to bring that number down tenfold. Some progress has been made.

However, if we dig deeper into the numbers and examine the programs that have been implemented, the situation doesn't look very promising. Plans were made with the goal of significantly lower numbers, but since that goal wasn't met, it means the plan itself was flawed. And in Estonia, no one is actually held accountable for these plans. We can draft as many strategies as we want — officials spend hundreds if not thousands of hours writing them and get paid for it — but in the end, what has really come of it?

And now, after seeing that the plan didn't work, is anything going to change? If the same people who created the previous plan are still in charge of drafting the new one, on what basis can we trust that they'll do it any better this time?

What solutions could there be? How many people in Estonia actually have the proper education in traffic safety?

This is purely an internal security issue, but one the state doesn't really invest in.

And in my personal opinion — though I could be completely wrong — if we really want to bring order to traffic safety in Estonia, the Ministry of the Interior should be responsible for it. It should be handled by people who actually deal with these issues firsthand, like the traffic police, which has unfortunately been significantly downsized.

For example, regular patrol officers deal with real-life traffic situations daily — everything from minor disputes in parking lots where people can't resolve conflicts on their own to serious accidents. They see all of this firsthand and understand what real-life traffic issues actually look like.

Outside of the Ministry of the Interior's jurisdiction, there aren't really any trained experts in traffic safety. We have excellent automotive engineers and great road construction specialists — there's no doubt about that — but when it comes to actual traffic safety, there is, unfortunately, a significant gap.

But where does the problem start? Are driving schools providing inadequate education or do we simply live with the belief that nothing bad will ever happen to us?

It's a bit of both. When people sit behind the wheel, they don't necessarily think, "Nothing will happen to me." Rather, they simply don't know what could happen — they don't recognize risks and they don't fully grasp the limits of their abilities.

As for where the problem starts, Estonia is in an interesting situation... Let me take a slight detour here. When I was studying in Germany, I saw the incredible variety of traffic-related literature that was published there every year. They had fascinating materials — specialized literature for judges, prosecutors, defense attorneys and legal experts from the judicial perspective. There were also dedicated publications for automotive engineers on traffic safety, literature for traffic medics, psychologists and various traffic-related specialists.

How is the situation in Estonia?

This is just what I was getting to. If you went to a bookstore in Estonia today looking for traffic-related study materials, you wouldn't find anything. We don't even have a traffic textbook. There hasn't been one since Estonia regained independence.

You mentioned driving schools earlier. I'm most familiar with the German system, but I've also come across textbooks from other countries — books specifically designed for training traffic instructors or traffic educators. These are thick, highly specialized books that explain step by step how to teach, who to work with and what methodology to use.

In Estonia, we have certain methodologies, state-mandated curricula and a bunch of framework documents that are mass-produced. The whole system is very bureaucratic, shaped by officials who, frankly, don't know much about traffic safety. Yet they create regulations and guidelines that everyone is supposed to follow.

A real step forward would be to take all these officials — there are way too many of them — test their knowledge of traffic safety and then see who actually remains. I suspect the ranks would thin out quite a bit and the situation would change dramatically.

The issue is that many of these officials come from completely unrelated backgrounds. I have nothing against any particular field, but just as an example — if someone studied physical education, geography, textiles, design, marketing or economics — all of these are great fields. But if such a person suddenly becomes a "traffic safety expert," the question is: on what basis are they writing regulations?

I would assume they have at least attended driving school?

Probably, but maybe not. I'm not even sure that all of them have a driver's license.

You conduct risk prevention training for drivers. Who are the people who attend your courses?

These are intervention courses and they come in two types: prevention courses and rehabilitation courses.

The prevention courses started in 2007 in cooperation with the Road Administration (now the Transport Administration — ed.) and the police. I have personally conducted over 1,200 of these courses, with more than 50,000 participants.

The second type is rehabilitation courses, which are aimed at individuals who have committed traffic offenses. Currently, the focus is primarily on those caught driving under the influence.

Drunks.

That's definitely not the right way to refer to them. There are certainly people among them who have alcohol use disorders. It's true — they are problematic cases. And the sad part of working with them is that Estonia lacks a parallel support system where these individuals could receive proper clinical treatment on a large scale.

When I was training in Germany, there was a large addiction treatment clinic right across from our psychology institute. It was full of people from morning until evening and we had the opportunity to gain practical experience there.

Unfortunately, we don't have anything like that in Estonia. What we do instead is try to change people's attitudes and thought patterns as much as possible, hoping that we can contribute to making a difference.

How do you change a person who, when sober, promises they will never drive drunk, but then does exactly that when intoxicated?

It's clear that you can't change a person the way you switch a light on or off in a room. We have to acknowledge that there are certain people who simply cannot be reached at all.

But influencing traffic behavior is a systemic effort — it's the combined effect of many different disciplines. The work we do is just one piece of a much larger mechanism. Unfortunately, in Estonia, there is no structured, systemic approach to traffic safety. Everyone is just pulling the blanket toward themselves, so to speak.

So while we can try to do as much as possible from our side, if we know that the other end isn't covered, then it's just a bad situation overall.

Speeding is a whole other issue. It seems to me that the biggest speeders are motorcyclists who, unlike car drivers, aren't secured by seat belts and don't have airbags.

The issue of speed doesn't just apply to motorcyclists. Take an even simpler example — electric scooters, which can also reach high speeds. Just last week in Tartu, I saw someone riding an electric scooter in the middle of a traffic lane, weaving between cars and pulling ahead. The cars couldn't even keep up. Yet, legally, an e-scooter shouldn't go faster than 25 km/h.

If we have a speed limit — say, 90 km/h on rural roads—that applies to motorcycles, cars and any other vehicle designed to operate at that speed. When a motorcyclist speeds, it's no different from a car driver exceeding the limit or an e-scooter rider going faster than allowed. These are all deliberate actions. They don't happen by accident — people know exactly what they're doing and consciously take that risk.

According to the UN, crash tests on cars are conducted at speeds of up to 64 km/h. No car manufacturer guarantees safety beyond that speed. This means that even if you're wearing a seatbelt and have airbags, any speed beyond this in a collision becomes life-threatening.

Let's compare this to the fastest human runners. The world's fastest sprinters reach speeds close to 40 km/h — and they are in peak physical condition, with strong muscles, bones, and years of training. Even in indoor races, when they reach top speed in a 60-meter sprint, they need significant space to slow down safely without injuring themselves.

Now, imagine an average person who isn't in top athletic shape — if they were moving at the same speed, or if they were on a high-speed e-scooter and suddenly fell off at maximum speed, it would obviously be extremely dangerous. Depending on where it happens, it could be fatal. For the human body, 40 km/h is already a breaking point in terms of impact trauma.

Now, if we look at vehicle crash test speeds — 64 km/h — a collision at that speed, whether hitting a pole sideways or crashing into a tree, generates forces that are, in reality, deadly.

When someone speeds, sometimes it's because they're in a hurry, some just enjoy driving fast and others think their car is too good to be driven slowly. Who is the person that speeds?

The people who speed come from very different backgrounds — it's a diverse group. And the excuse "I was in a hurry" isn't actually a valid reason. The real issue is that the person has mismanaged their time.

But if we look at driving behavior — whether on rural roads or in the city, especially on long stretches without traffic lights — it's fair to say that nearly 90 percent of drivers exceed the speed limit.

I feel like we have a kind of unspoken agreement that we all speed a little and the police don't really fine you as long as you're not going too fast.

But why do people speed? This issue is hardly ever discussed. In driving schools, it's covered just enough to pass the exam — meaning we focus on the formal requirements but don't really address the substance of the issue. It's like, "Let's just get through it quickly and that's that."

Going back to the courses I mentioned earlier, we're currently developing a new module where we construct speed-related scenarios in virtual reality. This approach is likely the only way to properly convey the connection between speed, traffic safety and risk. Until now, we've been doing this with traditional paper-and-pencil methods.

Just yesterday, I finished a course with a Russian-speaking group. Out of eight participants, three said they had completely rethought their approach to speed. They started thinking about the numbers and said, "Wait, why do I need to drive 10 km/h over the limit in the city?" They decided to stick to 50 km/h, even if cars behind them were impatient. They realized that by the time they reached their destination, it made no real difference whether they had driven at 50 or 60 km/h — they arrived at the same time. But at 50 km/h, their journey was significantly safer.

Germany has a simple rule of thumb: If the speed difference is less than 20 km/h, overtaking is a pointless maneuver. And I think that's a fantastic approach.

For example, if a truck is speed-limited to 89 or 90 km/h and you want to overtake it, you're already exceeding the speed limit. But let's say you're driving 95 km/h — just a 5 km/h difference — on a long route like Tallinn-Pärnu or Võru-Pärnu, over a distance of 100-200 kilometers, you would gain only a few minutes at best. The real question is: Is overtaking even necessary? Especially if there's a whole line of vehicles ahead, these maneuvers don't provide any real benefit.

Another key issue on long routes is when multiple heavy trucks are traveling one after another with only 5-7 meters between them. If a car attempts to overtake and then needs to merge back into the lane, there's simply no room. These kinds of overtaking maneuvers involve unnecessary risks while yielding no real justification or practical benefit.w

Speed limits of 30 and 40 km/h have been introduced in Tallinn. Was this the right decision?

The debate between 30 km/h versus 50 km/h has been ongoing in many European countries for a long time and numerous studies have been conducted on this topic. There are quite a few nuances to consider.

Traffic functions like a living organism — it has an arterial and venous circulation system. This means that roads with high capacity should ideally allow a large number of vehicles to move through relatively quickly. But as you move away from major roads into smaller streets, it makes more sense to reduce speed limits accordingly.

However, lowering speed limits everywhere isn't necessarily a good idea. It can actually lead to an increase in exhaust emissions and higher noise levels.

We lack a competent traffic authority, people drive under the influence and speeding is common. What are the other main reasons why the number of traffic fatalities is actually increasing?

What we need is a systematic approach to this issue. Right now, proper training is almost nonexistent. I honestly don't understand how anyone is trained in traffic safety in Estonia, because there simply aren't any learning materials available.

Recently, when I visited a doctor, they looked at my symptoms, grabbed a medical book from the shelf, checked Google and then gave me a diagnosis. Even doctors rely on books.

The second major issue is punishment and this is where absurd situations arise. When people commit traffic offenses and cases go to court, judges often work against the system, meaning that many of the penalties issued by the police get reduced. It seems as though these people who are making penalties more lenient live in their own bubble and don't really grasp reality. In other countries, courts hand out significantly harsher sentences, but in Estonia, the whole system is essentially being devalued.

In Estonia, human life has no real value in the eyes of the system. People who take risks don't feel any real consequences — they think, "If I hit and kill someone, nothing will happen to me anyway." And if we look at actual court cases, families who have lost loved ones barely receive anything, maybe just enough to cover funeral costs at best.

This is completely wrong. It shouldn't be this way. The court fees should be significantly lower than the compensation awarded to victims' families. The state should not be profiting from these cases — the people who have lost someone should receive proper compensation instead.

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