Alar Karis is the president of the Republic of Estonia.
When the Berlin Wall fell in November 1989, I was a 31-year-old researcher at the Estonian Biocentre of the Academy of Sciences with two young children. And at home, in Soviet-occupied Estonia, just a few kilometers from an air base that housed heavy bombers carrying nuclear warheads, I watched as Berliners tore down the wall that had divided them for three decades.
I believed, hopeful, that my children would be able to live in a Europe without walls — mental or physical.
It was a time of great hope for many, and for me, the restoration of Estonia’s independence in August 1991 was its pinnacle. The moral might of the free world had come down in full force, and for the first time since World War II, over 220 million Eastern Europeans had the chance to embark on a path toward freedom and prosperity.
Today, many of that era’s dreams have come to fruition. However, our hopes for lasting peace, and our belief in the impossibility of war in Europe, have come crashing down. It presently feels like all of hell has emptied and the devils have been let free on earth, like the evil shadows of the 20th century — ghouls embodying a longing for Stalinist secret pacts, spheres of influence and brute force in place of international law — have resurfaced.
And in this time of conflict, the lines that we, as the West, have drawn are exacerbating the problem.
On Feb. 24, 2022, Russia launched a full-scale attack on its neighbor Ukraine, intending to seize Kyiv in three days and replace a democratic government committed to closer ties with the EU and NATO. It had already used the very same pretext to attack Georgia in 2008 and Ukraine in 2014.
In this geopolitical crisis — the greatest we’ve seen in decades — we must keep our heads up and be clear-sighted. Russia’s war on Ukraine is black and white: Russia is the aggressor; Ukraine is the victim.
No country is another’s backyard. No country can abolish the right of another to choose independent foreign and security goals. If an aggressor makes that attempt, if they cross that line, then we will come to the victim’s aid and punish the attacker. And Russia has crossed that red line.
Unfortunately, other restrictive lines also exist — ones that Western countries assume to be Russia’s red lines. And by making such assumptions about Russia’s intentions, we’ve now built a wall of our own. We’ve drawn a line with the belief that crossing it would mean escalation.
This is false! Our fear is unjustified.
A mere two-and-a-half years ago, many thought providing any military aid to Ukraine would be an escalation. It was not. Or that giving Ukraine tanks and fighter jets would be an escalation. It was not. The limits we’ve placed on ourselves have been repeatedly discredited. They merely reflect our fear, weakness and indecision — all feeding the aggressor, emboldening it, increasing its appetite.
Russia applies no restrictions to itself. Neither have North Korea or Iran limited how the Kremlin may use the weapons they supply. And those missiles, drones and bombs — provided caveat-free — are killing Ukrainian women and children. They’re killing Red Cross workers and smashing hospitals, shopping centers and striking ships transporting grain to Africa.
And yet, we have placed limits on how Ukraine can use Western weapons for its own defense. We’ve forbidden the country from firing at military bases and targets within Russia that are the source of missile attacks on children’s hospitals.
These restrictions are unfair, immoral and harmful. By applying them, we’ve built a wall where on one side, we valiantly assist Ukraine, and on the other, we impede the full use of our own assistance. We are intrinsically forcing Ukraine to fight its defensive battles with one arm tied behind its back.
Let us now lift these restrictions.
I will repeat what I said in my speech at the U.N. General Assembly last month: We may keep condemning Russia’s brutal atrocities, but without efficient action against the violence, history will be the one to condemn us. And I agree with former NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg when he said we could have provided military support to Ukraine before 2022 and maybe prevented this war.
I’ve been to Ukraine three times since this conflict began. On my latest trip, just a month ago, I visited a power plant reduced to rubble by missiles launched from within Russia and thought: What purposeful brutality. Yet another war crime intended to break Ukrainians’ endurance, leaving them without electricity in the winter, which in urban areas also means no running water or plumbing, no possibility of going to work or school.
When it comes to achieving its imperialist ambitions in Ukraine and Europe, Russia doesn’t care about the cost — whether in money or human lives. We have to make Russia understand that no country can ever impose its will on its neighbors through war. And this means that Russia cannot win this war.
In June 1987, U.S. President Ronald Reagan gave a speech in West Berlin, where he made a simple but powerful appeal to the barrier’s sentries: “Tear down this wall!” And two-and-a-half years later, on Nov. 9, 1989, Berliners did.
Decades later, we’ve paradoxically been building a wall ourselves, forcing Ukraine to fight its battle from behind it, hobbled, facing new Russian attacks and enduring more casualties every day.
So, to paraphrase Reagan, I appeal to us all: Let us tear down this wall of restrictions!
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