The Station Narva festival held last week has, both during and after the event, received abundant praise for its atmosphere, artists, and diverse program, which includes not only music but also art, discussions, excursions, and culinary experiences. Equally important is that this festival has, over nine years, matured in increasingly close cooperation with the capital and local people.

The organizing team led by Helen Sildna, in which the share of Ida‑Viru County residents themselves is steadily growing, has succeeded in making people believe that this festival is done precisely for Narva and Ida‑Virumaa, and not at their expense. That it is not a traveling circus that sets up its tent on site, collects money from locals for the tricks shown, and moves on to the next city. Rather, it is entirely a local thing.

Some distrust between those who live and operate daily in Ida‑Virumaa and those who come from the capital has existed throughout the ages. It intensifies and sharpens when something bigger is undertaken and the parties look only to their own interests.

Hendrik Agur, who moved to Ida‑Virumaa seven years ago and first led Kohtla‑Järve High School and then the Ida‑Viru Vocational Education Center Cosmos, wrote this spring in Põhjarannik newspaper that the development of Ida‑Virumaa is hindered by fragmentation, behind which are specific human patterns: ego, the need for recognition, and the habit of being the only "right voice," and intolerance of another's success.

To those who come from elsewhere, it may seem that some locals are indeed in a defensive circle and do not particularly want to let anyone beside them, because there is a risk that their job, money, and position will be taken away. What has happened in the leadership of some Ida‑Viru towns in recent years also gives reason to feel this. But it is not only an Ida‑Virumaa syndrome, where extreme provincial patriotism and the arrogant attitude of the capital intersect and ruin even initially good intentions. A reasonable and fruitful middle ground often remains unfound.

In Ida‑Viru Russian‑language social media groups, the attitude is constantly reinforced that people have come here from elsewhere in Estonia who are incompetent in their field, but whose only trump card or magic wand is their knowledge of Estonian. One group that has to operate amid such accusations includes, among others, the hundreds of teachers who have come in recent years to help Ida‑Virumaa schools by teaching in Estonian. Let us acknowledge their patience and steady nerves.

Some newcomers, however, create distrust toward themselves when they take the attitude that before them nothing was done here. Or if it was, then completely wrong.

The pot of money in Ida‑Virumaa in recent years called the Just Transition Fund has attracted people who sincerely want to accomplish something transformative for Ida‑Virumaa by investing their time and money.

But certainly there are also those who have little warmth or coldness toward Ida‑Viru, yet still see an earning opportunity through certain projects or programs whose usefulness or positive impact on the region is, to put it mildly, questionable. When support measures open, the winners are primarily the acrobats of project linguistics, of whom there are inevitably more in capital‑city agencies than on site. Thus part of the money intended to improve life in Ida‑Viru tends to accumulate in companies or institutions in the capital.

The best success story is born when local people and capital‑city experts who truly care about Ida‑Virumaa's well‑being manage to create a balanced team. A good result comes from combining the know‑how of experienced actors with the experience and initiative of local people, where both sides feel dignified and equal.

The Station Narva organizers have succeeded in this remarkably well, and that is the key to the festival's success. And this is also what Hendrik Agur strives for at Cosmos, although in that large educational institution it is a much more complicated task.

The atmosphere at this year's Station Narva was a stark contrast to the repulsive power struggles and throne games over positions that have gone on for years in the same municipality.

Among the festival visitors, about half were people from Ida‑Virumaa and the rest were guests from farther away. This is a mutually beneficial ratio. For many open‑minded local people, this is the most anticipated event of the year, by which they set their calendar. Guests, in turn, get a direct personal experience of Ida‑Virumaa and become friends of this region. It is important that a festival visitor brings Ida‑Virumaa emotionally closer to the rest of Estonia. In terms of kilometers, it is close anyway, just a two‑hour drive.

In addition, only at this festival can one experience unique surreal feelings. You stand between the walls of a 700‑year‑old castle. On one side, a couple hundred meters away, is Narva City Hall; on the other side, across the river, equally close, is hostile Russia. Between them are people with gloomy faces waiting at the border point to be let into that country. The castle courtyard is full of joyful and exuberant people. On stage is Propeller, and Peeter Volkonski, gripping the microphone tightly with both hands, sings passionately: "Eila veel muretu ja meeldiv maailm näis…". ("Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…" – an Estonian-language punk song inspired by The Beatles – ed.)

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