Finland feels the Kremlin’s shadow lengthening over its borders

“The exercise involves a Red Army invading Finland from the north-east.” In explaining the objectives of the NATO exercise “Cold Response 26” to the international media, Finnish General Marko Tuominen never mentions the word ‘Russia’, yet everyone’s thoughts turn to Moscow. We are in Rovaniemi, the most important city in Lapland, in northern Finland. Together with Norway and Sweden, Finland welcomed 30,000 military personnel from 14 countries here in March. General Tuominen continues: “It is an Arctic war exercise. The aim is to test NATO’s plans to protect northern Europe. NATO defends the democratic world.” Today, Finland feels it is a frontline state. For seventy-five years, with its 1,343-kilometre border with Russia, it maintained its neutrality. But after the invasion of Ukraine, things changed. On 4 April 2023, Finland became the 31st member of the Alliance, followed a year later by Sweden. NATO has effectively doubled its border with Russia.

During the exercise, we encounter a new generation of soldiers. Take Ville, for example, who, at 23, has completed his compulsory military service and is now part of the reserves. “In Finland, every man must complete military service, after which he joins the reserves.” Finland can count on one of the largest armies in Europe, based on a system of reservists who can be called up until the age of 65. This amounts to one million soldiers, almost one in five of the population. For Ville, “it’s important to work for the nation’s security. I’ll do everything I can to ensure no one ever invades us; I’ll do my bit until the day I die”. Many young soldiers share his view. And not just Finns. Markus is twenty years old and comes from Gothenburg. “If Finland were attacked, we’d help. We can’t remain neutral forever.” Jacob feels much the same way: “If I had to go to war, I’d be scared. But I’d do it for my country.”

Since the end of the Second World War, Finland has built the largest civil defence network in Europe. Over 50,000 shelters capable of accommodating 86 per cent of the population. “In peacetime, they’re swimming pools or car parks, but in the event of war, they’d be cleared within 72 hours. Construction began in the post-war period and has never stopped.” Guiding us through a bunker dug beneath Helsinki is Lari, a young reservist who trains voluntarily twice a week. “The invasion of Ukraine made me want to return to active duty.” Having changed out of their civilian clothes, donned their camouflage uniforms and shouldered their rifles, Lari invites us to a shooting range for a session with his friends: “The number of members in my group has increased since 2022. We know there’s a dark cloud hanging over us. And we want to be prepared.”

Finland feels the Kremlin’s long shadow stretching across its borders. In November 2023, seven months after joining NATO, 1,300 migrants from Somalia, Syria and Yemen arrived at the border crossings. Helsinki viewed this as an act of hybrid warfare by Moscow and decided to respond by sealing the entire border. However, this measure is having serious economic repercussions, particularly in towns near the border. Imatra, just 7 kilometres from Russia, has for decades been a hub for trade with Russia. Today, it is almost a ghost town. Tuomas, who was born and works here, tells us that “Imatra has one of the highest unemployment rates in Finland. Everyone is hoping the border will be reopened. I think it should be reopened too. The war isn’t the fault of those who cross borders. Of course, a Russian is always a Russian, but we have to live alongside them. Russia has always been a trading partner for Finland.” For Tuomas, the economic disaster is epitomised by the hundreds of railway carriages standing idle on the line leading to St Petersburg. “They were used to transport timber from Russia. They used to be full. Now they’re empty and the workers have been made redundant.”

Despite the economic consequences, the majority of Finns are in favour of the closure. Take Tea, for example, who lives close to the border. “It’s about 700 metres from my garden to the border.” Surveillance is carried out by the Border Guard, which, a few years ago, began building a fence to protect the 200 km of the most sensitive stretch. “You can see the new fence over there. It was completed a few weeks ago.” For Tea, the renewed tension with Russia brings back memories of the old wounds left by the Winter War, which broke out in 1939 with the Soviet invasion. At the end of the conflict, after 105 days of resistance, 26,000 deaths and 400,000 displaced people, Finland ceded ten per cent of its territory. A spectre that today haunts the thoughts of Finns once more. “My father was born in a land that is no longer part of Finland. His family abandoned it when Russia occupied it. There is a fear that it could happen again.” For this reason, Tea has very clear views on closing the border. “As far as I’m concerned, it can stay closed forever. It’s true that there are Russian citizens with dual nationality in Finland, but they are free to return home. They just have to travel a bit further.”

There are over 30,000 citizens who hold dual Finnish and Russian citizenship. They used to cross the border freely, maintaining family and professional ties on both sides. Take Michel, for example: “I was born in St Petersburg but moved to Finland ten years ago for work. I chose Imatra because it takes the same amount of time to get to Helsinki as it does to St Petersburg. But with the border closed, I’m at a dead end.” Michel fears for his 87-year-old Ukrainian mother, who lives in St Petersburg and has cancer. “If she needed help before, I could get to her in a flash. Now it’s impossible.” St Petersburg is only 200 kilometres from Imatra. Since the border closed, the journey has become an ordeal. “Before, in ten minutes, you could reach the border, go through passport control and be in St Petersburg within two hours. Now, in ten minutes, I get to the station, where I catch a train to the airport. That’s two and a half hours, taking me another 200 kilometres further away from St Petersburg. Then a flight to Istanbul and another flight to get almost back home.” For Michel, the border closure violates a fundamental right such as freedom of movement: “Why am I being punished? Because Russia is at war with Ukraine? But I’m not at war with Ukraine; I’m half Ukrainian myself. They’re not punishing me for what I’ve done, but for who I am.”

In border areas, social cohesion risks becoming the first casualty of this situation. “Since 2022, I’ve lost all trust in the Russians. It doesn’t matter what they say. They could attack us the very next day. I keep my distance from them.” Sami works at the Imatra paper mill; he is a reservist and has prepared his home to cope with any situation. “It’s fitted with eight CCTV cameras and three alarm systems.” Inside, he has set up a control room from which he monitors the conflict in Ukraine. “These maps show what’s happening right now: what sort of missile strikes, whether there’s drone activity, how the troops are advancing.” We ask him why he’s monitoring all this. “If Ukraine falls this year, perhaps by 2030 Russia might attack Finland. So it’s worth learning.” For Sami, the real threat isn’t a ground invasion but one coming from the sky. “Faced with the threat of drones, everyone should do their best. I’ve already started using drones in my training.” When we ask him what might happen in Europe, Sami is certain: “The war in Ukraine brings back memories. Our grandparents made a great sacrifice. That’s why, under no circumstances, will this country be handed over to the enemy. Are we afraid? The answer is no. If we’re attacked, we’ll defend ourselves.”