
Thousands celebrate traditional Estonian song and dance in Tallinn
Perhaps, it's because the four-day gathering is only held once roughly every five years, a tradition dating back to 19th century to honour Estonian cultural heritage. Nowadays, it's heralded as the 1980s event that inspired the defiant Singing Revolution, helping Estonia and other Baltic states break from from Soviet occupation.
The Song Festival Grounds, a massive outdoor venue in the Estonian capital Tallinn, was filled with spectators Saturday evening despite an enormous rainstorm, and packed out again on Sunday, with even more people attending.
This year, tickets to the main event - a seven-hour concert on Sunday featuring choirs, - sold out weeks in advance.
Kinship
National costumes, folk songs and patriotic anthems can be seen and heard throughout the celebration as both participants and spectators of all ages seem to burst with pride and joy, united in song and dance.
The theme of this edition was "Iseoma" or Kinship and that was demonstrated through traditionally sung patriotic anthems as well as a mix of folk songs sung in various dialects and regional languages. There were also new pieces written especially for the occasion.
The main concert on Sunday night culminated with a song called 'My Fatherland is My Love' – a patriotic tune Estonians spontaneously sang at the 1960 festival in protest against the Soviet regime. This anthem was the closing song of song celebrations since 1965, and many described it as the highest emotional point of the event.
This year, a choir of over 19,000 singers performed it, with the spectators singing along and waving Estonian flags. A few other songs followed, with patriotic chants in between, and after the concert was over, the audience spontaneously erupted in more singing.
Rasmus Puur, a conductor at the song festival and assistant to the artistic director, ascribes the spike in popularity to Estonians longing for a sense of unity in the wake of the global turmoil, especially Russia's war in Ukraine.
'We want to feel as one today more than six years ago (when the celebration was last held), and we want to feel that we are part of Estonia,' Puur told The Associated Press on Friday.
Soviet occupation
The tradition to hold massive first song-only, then song and dance festivals dates back to the time when Estonia was part of the Russian Empire.
The first song celebration was held in 1869 in the southern city of Tartu. It heralded a period of national awakening for Estonians, when Estonian-language press, theater and other things emerged, says Elo-Hanna Seljamaa, associate professor at the University of Tartu.
The festivals continued throughout a period of Estonia's independence between the two world wars and then during the nearly 50 years of Soviet occupation.
The Soviet rulers were into 'mass spectacles of all kinds, so in a way it was very logical for the Soviet regime to tap into this tradition and to try to co-opt it,' Seljamaa said in an interview.
Estonians had to sing Soviet propaganda songs in Russian during that time, but they were also able to sing their own songs in their own language, which was both an act of defiance and an act of therapy for them, she said.
At the same time, the complicated logistics of putting together a mass event like that taught Estonians to organize, Seljamaa said, so when the political climate changed in the 1980s, the protest against the Soviet rule naturally came in the form of coming together and singing.
The unity extended beyond Estonia's borders. During the Singing Revolution, two million people in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania joined hands to form a 600-kilometer (370-mile) human chain that protested Soviet occupation of the Baltics with a song.
In 2003, the United Nations' cultural body, UNESCO, recognized Estonia's folk song festival and similar events in Latvia and Lithuania for showcasing the 'intangible cultural heritage of humanity.'
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Euronews
5 days ago
- Euronews
Thousands celebrate traditional Estonian song and dance in Tallinn
Among the numerous music festivals spread across Europe each year in Europe, there are few which unite and spark an entire country's imagination like Estonia's Song and Dance Celebration. Perhaps, it's because the four-day gathering is only held once roughly every five years, a tradition dating back to 19th century to honour Estonian cultural heritage. Nowadays, it's heralded as the 1980s event that inspired the defiant Singing Revolution, helping Estonia and other Baltic states break from from Soviet occupation. The Song Festival Grounds, a massive outdoor venue in the Estonian capital Tallinn, was filled with spectators Saturday evening despite an enormous rainstorm, and packed out again on Sunday, with even more people attending. This year, tickets to the main event - a seven-hour concert on Sunday featuring choirs, - sold out weeks in advance. Kinship National costumes, folk songs and patriotic anthems can be seen and heard throughout the celebration as both participants and spectators of all ages seem to burst with pride and joy, united in song and dance. The theme of this edition was "Iseoma" or Kinship and that was demonstrated through traditionally sung patriotic anthems as well as a mix of folk songs sung in various dialects and regional languages. There were also new pieces written especially for the occasion. The main concert on Sunday night culminated with a song called 'My Fatherland is My Love' – a patriotic tune Estonians spontaneously sang at the 1960 festival in protest against the Soviet regime. This anthem was the closing song of song celebrations since 1965, and many described it as the highest emotional point of the event. This year, a choir of over 19,000 singers performed it, with the spectators singing along and waving Estonian flags. A few other songs followed, with patriotic chants in between, and after the concert was over, the audience spontaneously erupted in more singing. Rasmus Puur, a conductor at the song festival and assistant to the artistic director, ascribes the spike in popularity to Estonians longing for a sense of unity in the wake of the global turmoil, especially Russia's war in Ukraine. 'We want to feel as one today more than six years ago (when the celebration was last held), and we want to feel that we are part of Estonia,' Puur told The Associated Press on Friday. Soviet occupation The tradition to hold massive first song-only, then song and dance festivals dates back to the time when Estonia was part of the Russian Empire. The first song celebration was held in 1869 in the southern city of Tartu. It heralded a period of national awakening for Estonians, when Estonian-language press, theater and other things emerged, says Elo-Hanna Seljamaa, associate professor at the University of Tartu. The festivals continued throughout a period of Estonia's independence between the two world wars and then during the nearly 50 years of Soviet occupation. The Soviet rulers were into 'mass spectacles of all kinds, so in a way it was very logical for the Soviet regime to tap into this tradition and to try to co-opt it,' Seljamaa said in an interview. Estonians had to sing Soviet propaganda songs in Russian during that time, but they were also able to sing their own songs in their own language, which was both an act of defiance and an act of therapy for them, she said. At the same time, the complicated logistics of putting together a mass event like that taught Estonians to organize, Seljamaa said, so when the political climate changed in the 1980s, the protest against the Soviet rule naturally came in the form of coming together and singing. The unity extended beyond Estonia's borders. During the Singing Revolution, two million people in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania joined hands to form a 600-kilometer (370-mile) human chain that protested Soviet occupation of the Baltics with a song. In 2003, the United Nations' cultural body, UNESCO, recognized Estonia's folk song festival and similar events in Latvia and Lithuania for showcasing the 'intangible cultural heritage of humanity.'


France 24
17-06-2025
- France 24
Queer astronaut documentary takes on new meaning in Trump's US
But the story of astronaut Sally Ride, whose queer identity was a secret when she blasted off more than four decades ago, took on a "completely different meaning" after the re-election of President Donald Trump, Costantini told AFP. "When we started making the film, it didn't seem all that political to celebrate queer love or women astronauts," said the director of "Sally", which started streaming on Disney+ in many countries on Tuesday. "Just a few years ago, there was a pride flag that flew in space, and (NASA) had vowed the next person on the Moon would be a woman." But that vow has now been removed from NASA's website, just one of many changes at the US space agency since Trump returned to the White House in January. "Employees have been asked to remove symbols of gay pride, pride flags, trans visibility flags," Costantini said. Now, the director hopes the documentary "serves as a reminder that these rights are not guaranteed, that they were hard fought and they were won by people like Sally" and her partner Tam. "It's our responsibility to carry the torch and continue the fight for equality." 'It was hard on her' After boarding the Challenger space shuttle on June 18, 1983, Ride became the first US woman to fly to space. It was two decades after Soviet cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova made the voyage. NASA only started allowing women to apply as astronaut recruits in 1977. Ride, who had a PhD in astrophysics from Stanford University and was an accomplished tennis player, was one of six women selected out of more than 8,000 applicants in the class of 1978. Ride received the same training as male astronauts, but was treated quite differently. Journalists asked whether she cried when facing difficulty. NASA engineers asked about what make-up she would need in space. They even worried whether 100 tampons would be enough for her six-day journey into space. "I felt the women hadn't paid their dues like we had," Mike Mullane, another astronaut in the class of 1978, said in the documentary. When Ride returned to Earth, the image of the 32-year-old in her blue jumpsuit, curly chestnut hair, piercing blue eyes and confident smile was seen around the world. But Ride struggled to come to terms with her new status as icon. "It was too much for her," Tam O'Shaughnessy, who was Ride's partner for 27 years, told AFP. "She was an introvert and it was hard on her." The two women founded a nonprofit dedicated to teaching girls science. But the world would only learn they were in a relationship until after Ride's death from pancreatic cancer at the age of 61 in 2012. "Sally did not like labels," O'Shaughnessy said. "She was a queer woman. And so I think it's great that she's sort of become a part of the (LGBTQ+) community after death." O'Shaughnessy expressed concern at reports that US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth wants to change the name of a Navy ship currently named after famous gay activist Harvey Milk. "There's a research vessel called 'Sally Ride' and it crossed my mind that might change, too" she said. "It's just shocking. All of this is hard to swallow." © 2025 AFP


Euronews
13-06-2025
- Euronews
Why the UK and France are bringing Adolescence into classrooms
This week, the French government followed its UK counterpart by deciding to show schoolchildren 'Adolescence' - the gritty British crime drama about a 13-year-old accused of killing his classmate. The move comes in the wake of an alarming rise in violence in French schools as the scourge of knife crime spreads. There's also growing concern in both countries about the amount of time teenagers are spending on social media, in particular the sites being widely blamed for encouraging sexism and misogyny - and how that is affecting society and young people's behaviour. In this week's episode, we break down reactions to Adolescence and discuss other shows and films that have tackled the negative effects of social media. A group of artists have begun an experiment in the southern French countryside that could redefine the meaning of creative collaborations. The aim of the project is for researchers to study how the artists work without any links to the outside world, no natural light and no real-time information. Over the next two weeks, the members of Deep Time II will work dozens of metres underground in the Lombrives cave at Ussat-les- Bains to make diverse works. Unfinished projects must be completed outside within two months to be ready for an exhibition that's open to the public. It's the second such test of this type. Four years ago, a group of eight men and seven women volunteered to spend 40 days in confinement in a dark, damp and vast cave in the Pyrenees. They had no clocks, no sunlight and no contact with the world above. Scientists at the Human Adaption Institute leading the project say the experiment will help them better understand how people adapt to dramatic and drastic changes in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic. According to the organisers, our relationship with time has become one of the world's biggest concerns as many struggle with doomscrolling. We're faced with more devices and screens vying for our attention and offering us all non-stop content for our eyeballs and minds. More than 80 per cent of people believe that "time passes too quickly" and "that they don't have enough time". During the previous experiment, speaking from underground project director Christian Clot said: 'It's really interesting to observe how this group synchronizes themselves,' In partnership with labs in France and Switzerland, scientists monitored the 15-member group's sleep patterns, social interactions and behavioral reactions via sensors. One of the sensors was a tiny thermometer inside a capsule that participants swallowed like a pill. The capsules measured body temperature and transmitted data to a portable computer until they were expelled naturally. Although the participants looked visibly tired, two-thirds of them expressed a desire to remain underground a bit longer in order to finish group projects started during the expedition, Benoit Mauvieux, a chronobiologist involved in the research, told The Associated Press.