MTÜ Kriisiuuringute Keskus

Presentation in Finland: resilience hubs are more than places with generators

kruk — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 09:18:09 +0000

Presentation in Finland: resilience hubs are more than places with generators

Our researcher Anne-May Nagel gave a presentation at the Finnish Political Science Association’s Annual Conference 2026 as part of the panel “Resilience politics and governance in an age of polycrisis”. The presentation focused on learning from Ukraine in local municipalities in Estonia and Sweden as part of broader efforts to strengthen civil defence capacities.

“The value of this panel was in bringing together crisis researchers from the Baltic Sea region, allowing us to focus on some of the most important issues facing our region: societal resilience to Russian hybrid warfare, crisis preparedness, and, importantly, the climate crisis, including the need to ensure water security in our societies,” noted Nagel, who is also a Doctoral Researcher at Tallinn University of Technology, TalTech.

Her presentation examined how learning from Ukraine has influenced crisis preparedness efforts in Estonian and Swedish municipalities, based on the adoption and development of resilience hubs inspired by Ukraine’s Points of Invincibility. “Efforts to learn from Ukraine are visible in many Baltic Sea countries, both at the national and local levels. Yet this is not an easy task. While technical solutions, such as procuring generators for resilience hubs, are relatively straightforward, ensuring long-term staffing for these places and involving communities or the private sector remain difficult challenges to solve during the preparedness phase,” Nagel noted.

In discussions with the region’s crisis management and security scholars, the urgent need to raise preparedness levels in the Baltic Sea region was emphasised. At the same time, participants highlighted the importance of addressing both technical needs and the realities of limited human resources. In addition, the discussions underlined the need to plan and prepare by taking into account the resources available within communities. This also requires legal clarity: to what extent, and in what ways, can community members be effectively included in crisis preparedness and response activities?

Foto: Crisis Research Centre presentation in Tampere (KRUK, 2026).

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We highlighted on ERR that the pace of cities’ crisis preparedness needs to accelerate

kruk — Fri, 12 Jun 2026 08:16:55 +0000

We highlighted on ERR that the pace of cities’ crisis preparedness needs to accelerate

On June 12, ERR’s Russian-language news portal covered Tallinn’s first public modular shelter and the preparedness of Estonian cities and towns for crisis situations. The topic was also commented on by Hannes Nagel, Head of the Crisis Research Centre, who noted that although positive steps have been taken in developing sheltering capacity, the current pace remains insufficient.

We highlighted on ERR that the situation has improved following the adoption of legislation setting requirements for shelters and public sheltering spaces in new buildings. At the same time, Estonia’s existing sheltering infrastructure remains insufficient. The issue concerns not only Tallinn, but also other Estonian cities and regions, where people’s actual access to shelter may depend heavily on the type of building, the period in which it was built, and the local spatial context.

For example, there are areas in Tallinn where the standard designs of high-rise buildings do not include basement floors. In such buildings, it is not possible to create shelters in the usual way or to adapt existing basement spaces for this purpose. This means that, due to the building type alone, part of the population may be left without a realistic nearby sheltering option in a crisis situation.

Tallinn’s initiative to establish modular shelters is an important and necessary step. However, individual pilot solutions cannot replace the systematic and broader development of sheltering infrastructure. More public sheltering spaces are needed, and their development should not remain only a question for the capital. Similar solutions are also needed in other Estonian cities and densely populated areas.

We also emphasised the issue of funding. If an apartment association wants to adapt a basement or a lower floor into a safer sheltering space that better meets requirements, this often requires significant investment. Many apartment associations do not have such resources. Therefore, isolated small-scale support measures are not enough. What is needed is a clear funding mechanism from the state and local governments that would help apartment associations and communities genuinely improve their sheltering capacity.

In the view of the Crisis Research Centre, civil protection must be treated as a permanent public responsibility, not as a project-based or temporary activity. Developing sheltering capacity, strengthening local-level crisis preparedness, and supporting communities require sustained political attention, sufficient funding, and a clear division of responsibilities between the state, local governments, and building owners.

🟠 Read and watch the ERR story here.

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CRISIS LENS | Time as a Weapon: The Logic of Iranian Warfare

kruk — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 10:15:37 +0000

CRISIS LENS | Time as a Weapon: The Logic of Iranian Warfare

In this instalment of the Crisis Lens series, we examine a country that appears again and again in Middle Eastern crises: Iran. The former empire is no longer what it once was, yet since the 1979 Revolution, Tehran has consistently sought to shape regional politics to its advantage. This raises two questions that haunt every new escalation: what does Iran actually want, and is it a strategically consistent state capable of playing the long game? A closer look at Iran’s confrontations with Israel offers little convincing evidence of overwhelming Iranian power or extraordinary cunning. Yet almost everyone in the region feels the extent of its influence. That influence does not need to be all-powerful to be sufficiently dangerous.

To understand Iran’s contemporary confrontation with the United States and Israel, one must look back not only to the 1979 Revolution, but also to an earlier period when the country’s relationship with the West became deeply contradictory.

The discovery of oil in the early twentieth century suddenly transformed Iran into a strategic resource hub and brought with it significant foreign influence, particularly from Britain. The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (today’s BP) exercised extensive control over Iran’s oil industry, leaving the country itself with a relatively small share of the revenues. This generated widespread public dissatisfaction and reinforced the perception that Iran’s wealth was effectively in the hands of foreign powers.^1,2

Tensions culminated in 1953 when Iran’s democratically elected Prime Minister, Mohammad Mossadegh, decided to nationalise the oil industry in an effort to restore the country’s control over its principal natural resource. In response, the United States and the United Kingdom orchestrated a coup that removed Mossadegh from power and re-established the authority of the pro-Western Shah, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi.³

The event left a deep imprint on Iran’s political consciousness. It reinforced the belief that Western powers were willing to interfere in Iran’s domestic affairs to protect their economic and strategic interests, and that the country’s sovereignty was ultimately conditional. In the decades that followed, the Shah sought to modernise Iran and integrate it more closely with the West. However, this process unfolded in an authoritarian manner and produced a profound structural contradiction. On the one hand, extensive reforms were implemented, including industrialisation, the expansion of education and the development of infrastructure. On the other hand, political participation was restricted and the regime relied heavily on a repressive security apparatus, most notably the secret police known as SAVAK (Sazeman-e Ettela’at va Amniyat-e Keshvar; Persian: سازمان اطلاعات و امنیت).⁴

Modernisation proceeded without political liberalisation, meaning that while Iran became more modern on the surface, it also became more fragile internally. This was further reinforced by what has been described as the “sovereignty paradox”: the regime emphasised Iran’s national greatness and independence while simultaneously depending heavily on American political and military support.⁵

Alongside economic and political tensions, a deeper identity conflict emerged. The Pahlavi regime promoted a secular form of nationalism and emphasised Iran’s pre-Islamic heritage, whereas a large segment of society—particularly the clergy and more traditional social groups—viewed this as the marginalisation of Islam’s role in public life.⁴ As a result, modernisation did not represent progress for everyone. For many, it signified cultural alienation and political repression. Over the decades, pressure accumulated that found no meaningful outlet through institutional politics.

The 1979 Revolution was the explosive culmination of these tensions. With the rise of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, Iran became an Islamic Republic—a system that consciously defined itself in opposition both to the Shah’s rule and to Western influence more broadly. The revolution was not merely a change of regime but an ideological turning point centred on the belief that Iran needed to free itself from external domination and restore its political and cultural autonomy.⁶ The seizure of the U.S. Embassy in Tehran and the subsequent 444-day hostage crisis were not isolated incidents but symbolic acts that cemented the revolution’s anti-Western identity and severed the strategic partnership that had previously existed with the United States.⁷

Since then, Iranian foreign and security policy has been shaped by a deeply embedded logic of self-defence. Tehran views itself as a state that has repeatedly been subjected to external interference and attempts at destabilisation. This perceived threat has become a central driver behind both the construction of Iran’s regional network of influence and its enduring confrontation with the United States and its allies.⁸ Subsequent events, such as the killing of General Qassem Soleimani, have further reinforced this narrative and strengthened the belief that the conflict with the West is not temporary, but structural in nature.

Seeking Survival — and, If Needed, Escalation Advantage

Thus, over the decades, Iran-backed groups have built an extensive network of influence across the Middle East, which Tehran refers to as the “Axis of Resistance”. This is not merely a flexible network, but a partially integrated operational space in which the activities of different groups can be timed and coordinated. The central logic of this network is simple: to keep confrontation as far away from Iranian territory as possible, while, if necessary, supplementing indirect warfare with limited direct strikes. It is a strategy that does not seek to win a decisive battle, but to wear down the adversary and gradually test the limits of escalation.

Iran’s real strength no longer lies only in indirect warfare, but in its ability to connect proxy groups, direct strikes, maritime pressure, drone warfare and political signalling into a sustained architecture of pressure. The influence projected through Gaza, Lebanon, Iraq and Yemen does not depend on weapons alone, but on a long-term ideological investment in which these groups are not simply mercenaries; they have become carriers of identity and narrative. More precisely, opposition to Israel, the United States and their closest allies forms part of a broader worldview that is not deterred by disruptions in arms supplies or the elimination of individual key figures. In an environment of sanctions and permanent crisis, Iran has built a system oriented toward endurance and adaptation.

Here lies one of the persistent misjudgements in strategies aimed at countering Iran: the assumption that eliminating key individuals can break the system. In reality, such strikes usually reduce only its coordination, tempo and strike capacity temporarily. They may not dismantle the system at all, but instead reinforce its own self-understanding: people can be replaced, facilities can be rebuilt, while the regime narrative constructed around resistance to an external enemy gains renewed legitimacy from the attack. The same applies to the Syrian front. Even if a key corridor has weakened, this does not yet mean the disappearance of Iranian influence, but rather its transformation into something more fragmented and harder to target. At the same time, it cannot be denied that recent years have also brought Iran serious setbacks. The weakening of Syria as a key land-connection hub directly restricts Iranian logistics and reduces the cohesion of its regional network, but the more likely response is not retreat, but dispersal, rerouting and more concealed recovery.

This is precisely where the particular nature of Tehran’s strategic culture becomes visible. Defeat does not necessarily mean withdrawal, but adaptation; and when direct influence declines, indirect pressure is applied instead. The rapprochement between Iran and Russia fits this pattern. It is not adorned by shared values, but driven by geopolitical objectives, where the parties need one another while never fully trusting each other. Iran receives at least partial military and diplomatic support from Russia and, in return, offers technological and defence-industrial cooperation. Yet this relationship does not fundamentally strengthen Iran’s strategic position. Rather, it indicates that Iran seeks both balance and escalation advantage depending on the situation, combining indirect and direct forms of attack. Even a possible ceasefire agreement or temporary arrangement between Washington and Tehran would not alter this basic logic; it would more likely mark an operational pause before the next cycle of adaptation and revenge.

From Indirect War to Nuclear Deterrence

In the long run, Iran could not afford a full-scale war. Yet the operation that began on 28 February 2026 shows that it may become drawn into one in a way that the regime later deliberately reinterprets as proof of its own survival. This situation has led — or may lead — not only to asymmetric responses, but also to limited symmetric retaliation: direct strikes, maritime pressure and a multi-layered strategy of attrition.

Symbolic missile strikes, drone attacks and the disruption of sea routes are not random acts. They are, for the most part, operationally calculated and riskier choices through which the boundaries of escalation are deliberately pushed. At the same time, the conflict no longer unfolds separately across military, economic or information-warfare domains, but simultaneously across all of them. Together, these form a single pressure complex whose impact must be assessed as a whole, not as isolated episodes.

The 2026 war against Iran has shown that drones are no longer merely a cheap supplement to missile capabilities, but an operational instrument in their own right. Their mass use makes it possible to increase the number of targets affected simultaneously, disperse launch platforms, pressure air defence systems and alter the adversary’s defence economy by forcing it to expend more expensive interceptors against cheaper attacking systems. The Strait of Hormuz and the Red Sea are not only spaces of economic pressure, but also instruments of political fragmentation: the more costly and unpopular the conflict becomes beyond the circle of direct participants, the more likely Iran’s opponents are to become divided and less able to intervene as a unified coalition.

The same logic applies in the military dimension: the purpose of attacks is not only to hit targets, but also to gradually exhaust the adversary’s defensive systems. The experiences of Ukraine and Iran show that it is especially important to force the defender to rapidly consume its air and missile defence stocks, because the depletion of interceptors can open the way for subsequent, more dangerous waves of attack. Such a strategy is not aimed at victory in the classical sense, but at gradually breaking the adversary’s tolerance. In the past, this approach has produced results, because even Iran’s opponents cannot endlessly absorb the economic, political and logistical costs of war; the narrower the coalition becomes, the more the continuation of the war depends on the domestic political endurance of individual capitals.

If we look at Israel’s actions, they reflect an entirely different strategic culture and policyᴬ — the primacy of prevention and decisiveness. Israeli airstrikes against Iranian targets, whether in Syria, Iraq or elsewhere, are not random acts, but part of a sustained campaign aimed at keeping the hostile network under constant pressure and, where possible, creating a sufficient operational rupture to temporarily postpone the threat, though probably not to resolve the Iranian question once and for all. These strikes no longer necessarily go unanswered, but Iran’s responses are often dispersed, indirect or temporally delayed, and therefore less politically legible than Israel’s direct strikes. This creates a situation in which Iran is forced to absorb tactical losses in advance, hoping that the factor of time will eventually turn the strategic balance in its favour. But this is precisely where the question arises: how long can such a situation last?

The question sometimes arises whether an India–Pakistan type of nuclear deterrence could be conceivable in the Middle East. The 2026 war against Iran, however, points rather in the opposite direction: Israel does not accept the emergence of strategic parity and uses preventive force to avoid it. Nuclear deterrence may therefore appear tempting, but it is an overly simplified solution. It is true that the existence of nuclear weapons between India and Pakistan has created a certain “cold stability”: both sides know that a full-scale war would lead to mutual destruction. This has forced the conflict to remain limited, in a form where crises do occur but do not easily escalate into existential war. Such a logic, however, requires several preconditions: clear state borders, a direct bilateral confrontation, functioning communication channels and at least some mutual understanding of red lines.

In the Middle Eastern context, these preconditions are much weaker. Iran’s confrontation is not limited to one state, but involves an entire network: Israel, the United States, regional allies and several Iran-backed armed groups. This makes the classical deterrence model far more ambiguous: if the conflict does not take place only between states, but also through their “extensions”, then whom exactly does deterrence affect, and how? In addition, there is no direct and reliable crisis communication channel between Israel and Iran, which, despite tensions, does exist in the India–Pakistan case.

A second problem concerns the logic of decision-making. The India–Pakistan model assumes that both sides will ultimately behave rationally and avoid crossing the red line. But the question of what happens if Tehran consciously decides to accept a higher risk of escalation is not merely rhetorical. This does not necessarily imply irrational self-destruction, but rather a situation in which political pressure, internal crisis or miscalculation leads to a decision that the opposing side interprets as escalation. In such an environment, deliberate “madness” is not required; miscalculation is enough. The more complex the conflict environment, the greater the likelihood of such an error.

It must also be recognised that nuclear weapons would not resolve the existing conflict, but would change its nature. If Iran were to acquire nuclear capability, indirect war would not end; it would become a permanent crisis under a nuclear shadow, where each subsequent move would carry a higher price of miscalculation. This may reduce the likelihood of direct war, but it would increase the danger of continuous crisis and the cost of mistakes. The India–Pakistan scenario is therefore not directly transferable to the Middle East. It may temporarily create an illusion of stability, but it would not resolve the systemic instability arising from a multi-layered conflict and the absence of mutual trust. Rather, it would mean a situation in which all parties live under conditions of constant risk, never fully certain whether the next move will cross the line.

To understand the complexity of possible solutions — whether they involve ideas of nuclear deterrence or something else — it is useful to interpret the region through its recent history. The year 1979 did not only change Iran’s political system. Before the revolution, Iran was not a close partner of Israel, but it was a pragmatic one. With Khomeini’s rise to power, the confrontation became ideological. Israel was no longer treated merely as an adversary, but as a phenomenon whose very existence was seen as a problem. This distinction is decisive: one can negotiate with a geopolitical rival, but not with an existential enemy. Importantly, this did not remain merely an idea; the Islamic Republic began to shape its regional strategy around it.

The creation of Hezbollah and later support for Palestinian armed groups have been part of this strategy: to bring the confrontation to Israel’s borders without entering the war directly. This is where the core of Israel’s threat perception emerges. The issue is not only Iran’s capability, but its intent, which has remained consistent for more than four decades. If a state says that you should not exist and at the same time builds a system capable of gradually pressuring you, then this is no longer rhetoric, but a strategy that can be practically realised.

The current war gives the regime, in its own eyes, a kind of retrospective justification: the external enemy against which the system was built appears to have been confirmed. This makes the response less accidental and more structural. As the old Arabic saying goes, kama tadīn tudān (Arabic: كما تدين تدان) — as you do, so shall it be done to you. Iran’s system should therefore not be assessed only by how severely it is currently under pressure, but also by how it can turn that pressure into new legitimacy, renewed mobilisation and, sooner or later, a desire for revenge.

Remarks

^AThe Begin Doctrine is a principle of Israeli security policy which holds that hostile states must not be allowed to acquire weapons of mass destruction, particularly nuclear weapons, and that preventive military force should be used if necessary to stop them from doing so. The doctrine takes its name from Prime Minister Menachem Begin, under whose leadership the principle was clearly articulated, although its roots extend further back. As early as the 1960s, for example during Operation Damocles, Israel sought to hinder the weapons programmes of hostile states through covert operations. During the 1970s, this approach evolved into a more systematic policy that combined diplomatic pressure with clandestine activities aimed at limiting the spread of nuclear capabilities in the region. The Begin Doctrine reached its definitive form in 1981 with Israel’s strike against Iraq’s Osirak nuclear reactor, an action justified by Israel as a response to an existential threat. Since then, the doctrine has remained a central element of Israeli strategic thinking, guiding the country toward preventive action even in situations involving significant escalation risks when the strategic balance in the Middle East is perceived to be at stake.

× Hannes Nagel’s op-ed was previously published in the Estonian Defence League magazine Kaitse Kodu! (Issue 4, 2026, pp. 48–53). Photos: illustrative drawings depicting Iran (KRUK, 2026).

Sources

¹ Kinzer, S., 2008. All the Shah’s men: An American coup and the roots of Middle East terror. John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

² Abrahamian, E., 2008. A history of modern Iran. Cambridge University Press.

³ Gasiorowski, M. & Byrne, M., 2004. Mohammad Mosaddeq and the 1953 coup in Iran. Syracuse University Press.

⁴ Keddie, N. R., 2006. Modern Iran: Roots and results of revolution. Yale University Press.

⁵ Bill, J. A., 1988. The eagle and the lion: The tragedy of American-Iranian relations. Yale University Press.

⁶ Arjomand, S. A., 1988. The turban for the crown: The Islamic revolution in Iran. Oxford University Press.

⁷ Bowden, M., 2006. Guests of the Ayatollah: The first battle in America’s war with militant Islam. Atlantic Monthly Press.

⁸ Takeyh, R., 2009. Guardians of the revolution: Iran and the world in the age of the Ayatollahs. Oxford University Press.

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KRAKO project brings crisis preparedness knowledge to Tallinn communities

kruk — Mon, 18 May 2026 11:22:12 +0000

KRAKO project brings crisis preparedness knowledge to Tallinn communities

The Crisis Research Centre will launch the KRAKO project on August 1, 2026 focusing on strengthening community crisis preparedness and empowering local leaders in Tallinn.

The Crisis Research Centre is launching the KRAKO project (Knowledge and Resilience Alliance of Key Organisers) in Tallinn to support people’s ability to cope better in emergencies and crises, and to help carry crisis preparedness knowledge forward at the local level. The project is part of the Crisis Research Centre’s wider 2026 programme, which focuses on empowering community crisis preparedness through practical discussions, learning activities and local-level cooperation.

KRAKO does not approach crisis preparedness only as a matter of supplies, guidelines or institutional responsibility. Instead, it treats preparedness as part of a broader question: how communities can better understand their strengths, vulnerabilities and opportunities for cooperation. The project’s central starting point is that official plans alone are not enough in crises — people also need knowledge, skills, contacts and trust to rely on in difficult situations.

“Crisis preparedness often starts with very simple things: whether people know what to do in the first hours, whether they know other active people in their community, and whether they are able to communicate information calmly. KRAKO helps strengthen exactly this local level, where official preparedness and people’s everyday capacity to act come together,” said Hannes Nagel, Head of the Crisis Research Centre.

KRAKO is aimed at residents of the Haabersti, Mustamäe and Nõmme districts in Tallinn and will run from August 1 to December 31, 2026.

The project is co-funded by the City of Tallinn and the Tallinn Municipal Police, together with the NGO Crisis Research Centre.

As part of the project, community-based crisis preparedness activities will be carried out in Tallinn for adult residents and local leaders. The aim is to train up to 160 people who want to contribute to the safety of their community, share crisis preparedness knowledge and strengthen neighbourhood cooperation. The project builds on the Crisis Research Centre’s previous practical experience and learning materials, helping to broaden the foundation of community-based crisis preparedness in Tallinn.

More broadly, KRAKO is also linked to the impacts of climate change, extreme weather, disruptions to vital services and other societal crises. These developments have made it increasingly clear that crisis preparedness should be understood not only through national plans, but also through people’s everyday environments, community ties and local capacity for cooperation “Community-based crisis preparedness does not mean shifting responsibility onto people. On the contrary, it means giving people better opportunities to understand their role, notice risks and cooperate both with each other and with local institutions. A well-functioning community does not replace public-sector crisis management, but in a crisis it can provide very important support to it,” Nagel added.

Through KRAKO, the Crisis Research Centre will continue working to make crisis preparedness understandable, practical and connected to local life. The project supports community awareness, strengthens the role of local leaders and helps make preparedness part of everyday cooperation, rather than only an exceptional task when a crisis occurs.

Photo: community crisis preparedness training and the KRAKO project logo (KRUK, 2026).

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Presented a conference paper at the IRSPM 2026 conference in Australia

kruk — Sat, 02 May 2026 15:40:00 +0000

Presented a conference paper at the IRSPM 2026 conference in Australia

The research of the Crisis Research Center has reached Australia! We shared the results of the research, which was conducted last year in the PIMA project. The aim of the project, funded by the Swedish Institute and carried out in cooperation with Malmö University and NGO Poruch in Ukraine, was to study how to bring the experiences gained from the Ukrainian war to Estonia and Sweden to develop resilience centers.

Our center’s researchers participated in one of the world’s largest conferences bringing together political science researchers, IRSPM 2026, held in Perth, Australia, from April 8 to 10. There they also gave a presentation, in panel 34, entitled Governing Through Crisis: Adaptive Public Management in Contexts of Conflict, Instability, and Extreme Events, the focus of the presentation was the development of resilience centers in Estonian and Swedish local governments as a way to learn from the experiences of Ukraine.

“Participation in a high-level scientific conference is an important quality indicator for the research work done by our people, who are also researchers in universities. We were very happy to hear that other crisis researchers, for example from the United States of America, were very interested in how and to what extent learning from one context to another takes place – i.e. the transfer of crisis lessons from Ukraine to Estonia and Sweden,” noted Anne-May Nagel, who gave a presentation at the IRSPM 2026 conference and is also a junior researcher-doctoral student at Tallinn University of Technology.

“Learning from Ukraine is very important, but it has remained somewhat unclear how exactly this happens. Previous research shows that a 1:1 transfer from one context to another is not possible, including comparisons of seemingly simple solutions, such as resilience centers. In our research, we found that this has also been the case with learning from Ukraine, that there is no one-to-one transfer and that certain aspects of crisis preparedness are rather emphasized in the development of resilience centers – for example, a great focus is placed on the tangible – the acquisition of generators, for example. However, some other aspects remain in the shadows, such as questions about who will staff the resilience center and keep it open in the long term if necessary,” mentioned Hannes Nagel, the head of the Crisis Research Center and a junior researcher and doctoral student at Tallinn University, who also participated as a speaker.

A research article will also be written about the research that forms the basis of the conference presentation. More on this in the second half of 2026!

🧡 Anne-May Nagel’s participation in the IRSPM 2026 conference in Perth was supported by the Kristjan Jaak Scholarship Fund for doctoral students, while Hannes Nagel’s participation was supported by Tallinn University. Photos: Crisis Research Center in Perth, Australia (KRUK, 2026).

🔸 The PIMA project (Points of Invincibility for Multi-level Adaptation) brought together local-level actors responsible for resilience and preparedness hubs in Estonia, Sweden, and Ukraine to develop a network and a conceptual framework for Points of Invincibility. Through a practical guidance document, the project aims to support municipalities in better understanding the establishment, equipping, and management of such centres. Read more about the project results here.

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We launched EDENTallinn to strengthen community gardens’ role in food security

kruk — Fri, 01 May 2026 05:40:14 +0000

We launched EDENTallinn to strengthen community gardens’ role in food security

On May 1, the Crisis Research Centre launched the EDENTallinn project, focusing on the potential role of community and educational gardens in supporting urban residents’ crisis preparedness, food security and environmental awareness.

The Crisis Research Centre has launched the EDENTallinn (Educational and community gardens for Disaster preparedness, Empowerment and Neighbourhood resilience) project in Tallinn, aiming to bring community and educational garden leaders, urban gardening practitioners, experts and city-level stakeholders into a shared discussion space. The project focuses on the realistic role that community and educational gardens can play in supporting food security, community cooperation and crisis preparedness in urban environments.

The project does not approach urban gardening narrowly as a hobby or environmental activity, but as part of a broader discussion on how urban communities can better understand their dependencies, strengthen cooperation and reflect on the role of everyday environments in crisis situations. “Community gardens cannot replace food supply chains or solve the question of urban food security on their own. However, they can help increase residents’ awareness, practical skills, neighbourhood ties and understanding of where food comes from, as well as what limitations may emerge in a crisis,” said Anne-May Nagel, co-founder of the Crisis Research Centre.

As part of the project, an expert seminar will be held in Tallinn in autumn to discuss the potential role of community and educational gardens in supporting food security and crisis preparedness. The project will also produce a publication that communities and partners can use to introduce the topic further and identify opportunities for cooperation.

EDENTallinn is aimed at Tallinn residents and adult participants and will run from May 1 to 31 October 31, 2026.

The project is co-financed by the City of Tallinn, the Tallinn Urban Environment and Public Works Department, and the NGO Crisis Research Centre.

“EDENTallinn helps us look at community and educational gardens not only as part of green urban space, but also from the perspective of crisis preparedness. For us, it is important to keep the discussion realistic: a community garden is not a magical solution in a crisis, but it can be a place where people learn, meet, share skills and better understand the vulnerability of urban food supply chains,” Nagel explained.

The project is part of the Crisis Research Centre’s broader 2026 programme, which aims to support community crisis preparedness through practical discussions, learning materials and local-level cooperation. Climate change, extreme weather events, supply chain disruptions and the vulnerability of vital services have made it clearer that crisis preparedness needs to be addressed not only through national plans, but also through people’s everyday environments.

“Crisis preparedness often begins with very simple questions: do people know their neighbourhood, are they able to cooperate, do they have practical skills and do they understand what their everyday coping depends on? In this sense, community gardens are a useful space for discussion, as they bring together environmental awareness, food, community and local capacity to act,” added Anne-May Nagel.

Photo: community garden and EDENTallinn project logo (KRUK, 2026).

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2026 Fuel Crisis | What is the “Lion City’s” secret weapon in the fuel crisis?

kruk — Sat, 18 Apr 2026 18:06:00 +0000

2026 Fuel Crisis | What is the “Lion City’s” secret weapon in the fuel crisis?

Singapore’s fuel crisis does not primarily appear as empty petrol stations, but in prices, electricity bills, shipping, and the question of whether an energy-import-dependent city-state can maintain its role as a hub during a crisis. Singapore is vulnerable because it lacks a large domestic energy base, but strong because it is one of the world’s most important port, refining, and bunkering centres. This paradox is precisely what makes the Singapore case useful for Estonia: it shows why small-state crisis resilience does not begin with reassuring statements about reserves, but with a precise understanding of which dependencies will actually continue to function during a crisis.

Singapore’s fuel crisis does not primarily appear as empty petrol stations. It appears in prices, electricity bills, shipping, refining, regional demand, and in the question of whether a small city-state dependent on energy imports can keep both its domestic market and its role as an Asian energy intermediary functioning during a crisis. If Australia’s spring 2026 fuel shock became visible through long distances, diesel prices, and local supply disruptions, Singapore’s story is different: the country is vulnerable not only because it depends on imports, but also because others depend on it.

Singapore’s smallness is deceptive. On the map, it is a Southeast Asian city-state located between the Strait of Malacca and the South China Sea, with a population of just over 6 million people: 4.20 million residents and 1.91 million non-residents.¹ But from the perspective of an energy crisis, Singapore is not simply a small island state. It is a port, a trading hub, an intermediary for petroleum products, and one of the world’s most important centres for marine fuel, or bunkering. This is where Singapore’s paradox lies: the country is vulnerable because it lacks a large domestic energy base, but strong because it has built itself into a hub through which fuel, goods, capital, and trust move.

Singapore’s protection does not come from independence in the classical sense, but from controlled interdependence: it depends on the world, but the world also depends on it — more than one might assume. This means that an energy crisis affects not only the domestic market or households, but the wider system through which goods, services, and capital move across the region. In Singapore’s case, the decisive question is therefore not only how much fuel the country itself consumes, but also how much the functioning of other countries, companies, and supply chains depends on Singapore’s reliability.

Major energy intermediary

Singapore’s role is best understood through energy flows. In 2024, the country imported 149 million tonnes of oil equivalent in energy products, 59% of which were petroleum products. At the same time, Singapore exported 78 million tonnes of oil equivalent in energy products, almost all of which were also petroleum products.² These figures capture Singapore’s specificity: it imports on a very large scale, but it is not merely an end consumer. Singapore processes, stores, trades, and redirects fuel to regional and global markets. At the same time, the country’s everyday functioning depends heavily on imported energy. This is illustrated by the fact that in 2024, 94% of Singapore’s electricity generation fuel mix came from natural gas.² As a result, a fuel crisis does not affect only cars, buses, or ships. It affects the entire technosphere of the city-state: from air-conditioning systems to hospitals and shopping centres, as well as the products and services that rely on them. If gas prices rise or supply becomes less certain, the pressure quickly reaches the ordinary functioning of the whole city.

Bunkering, or refuelling ships, is not a side service for Singapore; it is part of the country’s international role. Since most global trade moves by sea, it constantly needs fuel, insurance, maintenance, port services, and reliable logistics. Singapore’s strategic importance is especially visible in maritime activity, as shown by last year’s records: in 2025, the port reached a new high, with vessel arrival tonnage at 3.22 billion GT, container throughput at 44.66 million TEU, and almost 57 million tonnes of marine fuel sold to ships.³ These are figures of a scale that would give any maritime state confidence. This is also what makes Singapore’s crisis position difficult. The state must maintain domestic supply, keep the port and bunkering system functioning, and preserve its reputation as a reliable energy centre. If it restricts fuel exports too sharply, it damages its role as a regional hub. If its domestic buffer is too weak, pressure returns to the home market. The core of Singapore’s crisis management lies in this balance: protecting its own supply security without losing trust in its role as an international energy intermediary.

The Hormuz shock reaches Singapore through prices

Geographically, Singapore is far from the Strait of Hormuz, but in terms of energy flows it is much closer. In 2024, around one-fifth of global oil and petroleum product consumption and about one-fifth of global LNG trade passed through the Strait of Hormuz. For Singapore, the Asian dimension matters most: 84% of the crude oil and 83% of the LNG that moved through Hormuz went to Asian markets.⁴ This affects energy prices, shipping, insurance, refining, and electricity generation across the region. Even if Singapore’s port is operating and petrol stations have fuel, the shock still travels through prices. When crude oil, diesel, aviation fuel, or LNG become more expensive, the impact eventually reaches pump prices, electricity bills, transport costs, and the price of goods.

In spring 2026, this quickly became visible in Singapore. By late March, diesel prices had risen above S$4 per litre. On 30 March, Shell, Esso, and Caltex were selling diesel at S$4.13 per litre, SPC at S$3.92, and Sinopec at S$3.72. At the same time, 95-octane petrol remained at around S$3.40–S$3.42 per litre.⁵ The change was significant because, as recently as late February, diesel had been clearly cheaper than petrol at the major fuel retailers.⁶ Diesel price increases are central from a preparedness perspective. Petrol mainly affects private consumers and everyday car use, but diesel keeps goods, people, and services moving. In Singapore, this means buses, minibuses, vans, logistics companies, refrigerated goods, and a wide range of services.

The same price pressure also reaches electricity. Singapore depends on energy imports, and around 95% of its electricity is generated from imported natural gas.⁷ When oil and gas prices rise, the full impact does not appear immediately, because electricity and gas tariffs reflect earlier fuel costs. This makes energy crises deceptive: society may already be inside the crisis, while part of the cost pressure reaches consumers only later.

Protected, but not untouched

Singapore’s strength lies in the fact that its preparedness does not rest on a single solution. The country has diversified gas sources, fuel reserves, power plants that can switch to diesel, a strong port, energy trading capacity, refining capability, and diplomatic relationships. This does not make Singapore invulnerable, but it gives it more room for manoeuvre than a country dependent on a single terminal, pipeline, or supplier. Singapore cannot cut itself off from the global market. Its system reduces the risk of a sudden physical shortage, but it does not shield consumers from higher prices. This is especially visible in the electricity system. Natural gas reaches Singapore both through pipelines from Malaysia and Indonesia and as LNG from global markets. Power generation companies are required to maintain gas reserves and diesel reserves as an alternative fuel. If necessary, power plants can switch from natural gas to diesel and use the Standby LNG Facility.⁸

A contingency plan therefore does not only mean that there is a storage tank somewhere. It also means having the technical ability to switch the system. The same logic applies to national crisis management. Following the Middle East crisis, the Homefront Crisis Ministerial Committee was activated to coordinate the government’s response to energy, food, supply-chain, security, communication, and diplomatic risks.⁹ This matters because an energy crisis does not stay within the boundaries of one ministry. It touches foreign policy, ports, internal security, food supply, household coping, and public trust at the same time. In Singapore’s case, it is therefore necessary to distinguish between supply security and price security. The country has built a system in which a sudden physical shortage is less likely. But this does not mean that price increases will not reach consumers. Reserves, contracts, and diversified supplies help keep the system functioning, but they do not make a global crisis cheap. Preparedness does not make the world market cheaper. It helps avoid the worst.

Refining and bunkering as a layer of protection

Singapore’s protective layers are not limited to reserves. The country is the world’s third-largest oil trading centre and the sixth-largest exporter of refined products.⁹ This position is the result of deliberate industrial and trade policy. Refining gives Singapore a role that a purely consuming country does not have: it participates in the chain where crude oil becomes diesel, petrol, aviation fuel, marine fuel, and other chemical industry products. In a crisis, this gives Singapore access, weight, and information. The movement of large fuel volumes through Singapore means that the country is not at the edge of the market. Other countries’ need for Singapore’s refined products creates reciprocal relationships. Being at the centre of energy trading and port activity also gives Singapore early signals about where the market is moving.

The same capability also creates vulnerability. Refining requires feedstock, shipping, insurance, labour, electricity, and a functioning market. If crude oil, middle distillates, or semi-finished products become harder to obtain, a refinery cannot save itself on its own. If pressure on the Strait of Hormuz or other maritime chokepoints persists, it will eventually reach the refining hub as well. Singapore therefore cannot be only an intermediary or an observer in a crisis. It must seek alternative sources, maintain reserves, use diplomatic relationships, and ensure that domestic needs do not collide with international obligations. The same applies to bunkering. Readers often think of a fuel crisis through cars or petrol stations, but in Singapore’s case, it is also necessary to think about ships. When a container ship, tanker, or bulk carrier enters the Port of Singapore, it needs fuel to reach the next port. If fuel becomes more expensive or bunkering is disrupted, the impact quickly reaches logistics, insurance costs, and eventually the price of goods.

Singapore is protected by a balanced network

Singapore’s geopolitical position makes an energy crisis especially sensitive. The city-state cannot rely on one great power, one supply chain, or one political guarantee. Its economy needs open sea routes, rules-based trade, functioning relations with both the United States and China, strong ties with Australia and New Zealand, and a solid position within the ASEAN regional system. This is not neutrality in the sense of indifference, but deliberate balancing. Singapore cooperates with Western countries on defence and security, maintains economic relations with China, links itself closely to Australian and New Zealand supply chains, and seeks to preserve its role as a reliable, rules-abiding trading hub. In an energy crisis, this position becomes a practical layer of protection: when a country does not have large natural resources of its own, relationships, reputation, and agreements become part of supply security.

This is illustrated by Singapore’s relationship with Australia. One is a continental state and a major resource producer, but also a vulnerable importer of refined fuels. The other is a small city-state, but a major refining and trading hub whose electricity generation depends on imported gas. In a crisis, this relationship becomes a form of mutual energy insurance: Australia is an important LNG supplier for Singapore, while Singapore is a key source of refined fuels for Australia. This is not an ordinary seller-buyer relationship, but a mutual dependence between supply chains. It shows that fuel security is not only about what is located within a country’s own territory. It also depends on which relationships, agreements, and dependencies have been built before the crisis. When disruption comes, these links become practical: Australia can turn to a country with refining and trading capacity, while Singapore can rely on a politically close and reliable LNG supplier. The broader strategic partnership matters, but in a fuel crisis the question becomes very concrete: who can provide which critical resource to whom.

The same network also sets limits. Singapore cannot simply close the market during a crisis and keep everything for itself, because doing so would damage its credibility as a port, refining, and trading hub. At the same time, it cannot ignore domestic price pressure.

Singapore’s crisis management therefore depends on holding two levels together: the country must function internally while remaining reliable externally.

Lesson for Estonia: the state must know where its reserves will actually start working

Singapore’s example does not provide Estonia with a model to copy. Estonia cannot adopt Singapore’s strengths, such as refining capacity, the role of a bunkering hub, or a position in global energy trade. This is precisely why the lesson is sobering: if Estonia does not have the protective layer of a Singapore-type hub, it must know much more precisely what it can actually rely on in a crisis.

Reserves do not help enough if it is unclear how they will start moving during a crisis. The existence of fuel reserves is necessary, but it is not the same as functioning crisis capability. Reserves may exist in national accounting, but the practical questions in a crisis are different: how will fuel reach the places where it is actually needed, which sectors will receive it first, and how will this decision reach the petrol station network, companies, and local-level crisis managers? If these questions have not been thought through, a gap may emerge between official supply security and actual continuity of services. The state may have reserves, but a local service may still fail to access them in time. A municipality may have the task of opening an evacuation site, but no guaranteed access to generator fuel. Social transport may be listed in a crisis plan, but its contracted provider may not have assured refuelling access. In that case, the problem is not only the quantity of fuel, but the usability of the reserve.

This is where overly reassuring messages such as “crisis reserves exist” should be avoided. That may be true, but it does not yet answer how the reserve will work during a crisis. The public needs to know whether petrol stations will remain open, whether the state will restrict sales, whether critical services will receive priority access, and what ordinary people should do to avoid intensifying panic buying. Decision-makers need an equally clear situational picture: where commercial stocks are located, which petrol stations are critical, which regions are more vulnerable, and which transport corridors must remain operational. Without that information, crisis management quickly becomes guesswork.

“Fuel” must be broken down into concrete needs in crisis plans. The general word “fuel” can be deceptively convenient in a crisis plan. In reality, diesel, petrol, aviation fuel, generator fuel, and gas are not simply interchangeable. They keep different activities running and create different vulnerabilities. Diesel is critical for freight transport, agriculture, heavy machinery, waste management, generators, and many services that support continuity. Petrol is more closely linked to everyday mobility and some service providers. Aviation fuel is connected to connectivity and evacuation capacity. Generator fuel becomes critical when electricity supply is disrupted or when evacuation sites, communication points, care homes, or other critical facilities must remain operational.

For Estonia, this means that crisis plans should not merely ask stakeholders how much fuel they have stored. They need to ask more uncomfortable questions: what exactly is the fuel needed for; which services would fail first if, for example, diesel became harder to access; and which local government tasks depend on contractors who may not themselves have crisis-time refuelling rights? It also needs to be discussed which services are resilient on paper, but in practice depend on a single petrol station, a single carrier, or the assumption that the market will continue to function during a crisis.

If these questions are not addressed, responsibility can quickly shift downward in a crisis. The state may assume that municipalities will reorganise services locally. Municipalities may assume that service providers will find their own solutions. Service providers may assume that petrol stations will continue to operate. Residents may assume that the state will intervene before the situation affects them directly. This chain of assumptions may appear to work under normal conditions, but in a crisis it can reveal that each level has been relying on someone else’s capacity.

Estonia must also plan according to what it does not have. The most sobering lesson from Singapore is the need to recognise limits. In a crisis, Singapore can rely on its role as a hub for energy trading, refining, port services, and bunkering. Estonia does not have that position. This does not mean that international cooperation is unimportant. On the contrary, Estonia depends on it. But cooperation must not be treated as a vague sense of reassurance. It is necessary to distinguish between binding agreements, political promises, realistic supply channels, and wishful thinking. International belonging is necessary, but it does not replace a practical supply plan. In a crisis, concrete details matter: which ports are operating, which transport routes are usable, which companies can deliver, which fuel types are prioritised, which countries are competing for the same resources, and which agreements provide real access rather than general political support.

A fuel crisis cannot be treated only as a question of the size of reserves or international membership. It must be understood as a question of distribution capacity, local continuity, priorities, and responsibility. The most important thing is not to say that reserves exist. It is to know when, to whom, and how they become usable in practice. Domestic and regional layers of protection therefore become more important: clear prioritisation, rehearsed distribution decisions, a realistic role for municipalities, mapping the fuel needs of critical services, understanding the vulnerability of the petrol station network, and honest communication with residents. Small-state resilience does not begin with imagining the country as larger or more central than it is. It begins with knowing exactly when official assumptions no longer hold.

Photoe: Singapore fuel crisis illustrations (KRUK, 2026) and Singapore highrises (Pexels/Ethan Tran, 2023).

Sources

¹ [Anon]., 2026. Latest news and data: Population and population structure. Singapore Department of Statistics.

² [Anon]., 2025. Singapore energy statistics 2025. 24.10.2025, Energy Market Authority.

³ [Anon]., 2026. Singapore sees record port performance in 2025. 13.01.2026, Channel NewsAsia.

⁴ Dunn, C. & Barden, J. 2025. Amid regional conflict, the Strait of Hormuz remains critical oil chokepoint. 16.06.2025, U.S. Energy Information Administration.

⁵ Ganesan, N. 2026a. Diesel surges past S$4 a litre: Singapore businesses caught between rising costs and reluctant customers. 31.03.2026, Channel NewsAsia.

⁶ Ganesan, N. 2026b. CNA explains: Why is diesel now more expensive than petrol? 02.04.2026, Channel NewsAsia.

⁷ [Anon]., 2026a. Middle East conflict’s impact on prices of electricity and town gas. 31.03.2026, Energy Market Authority.

⁸ [Anon]., 2026b. How Singapore’s energy supply affects you. 10.04.2026, Energy Market Authority.

⁹ Shanmugam, K. 2026. Ministerial Statement on the impact of the Middle East situation on Singapore. 07.04.2026, Ministry of Home Affairs Singapore.

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2026 Fuel Crisis | How the shock of the Strait of Hormuz affected daily life in Australia

kruk — Mon, 13 Apr 2026 07:24:00 +0000

2026 Fuel Crisis | How the shock of the Strait of Hormuz affected daily life in Australia

Australia’s 2026 fuel crisis clearly shows how a geopolitical conflict taking place far away can, within a short period of time, become a very ordinary problem: more expensive refuelling, higher grocery prices, uncertainty in peripheral regions, pressure on the transport and agriculture sectors, and a political debate over how much fuel the state itself should be able to stockpile.

Australia’s spring 2026 fuel crisis is not only a question of how much petrol costs at service stations in Perth, Sydney, or Melbourne. It is a broader test of crisis preparedness, bringing together price increases, supply security, public trust, regional inequality, and the country’s dependence on imported liquid fuels. On the one hand, it is a price crisis, because rising fuel prices quickly feed into everyday household costs. On the other hand, it is a matter of national fuel security pressure and local supply disruptions, rather than a nationwide exhaustion of fuel. Third, it is a crisis of trust: when people fear that fuel may run out, they buy more than usual, and this can create local shortages even before national stock levels have actually fallen to a critical point.^1,2

From geopolitical shock to everyday price pressure

Australia’s example is important from the perspective of crisis studies because it shows how a geopolitical event taking place far away can very quickly become an ordinary and local problem. The Strait of Hormuz is not an everyday reference point for Australian households, but in spring 2026, instability in the region became visible in fuel prices, food supply chains, road transport, regional air connections, and the political debate over how much fuel the state should be able to secure on its own. A fuel crisis is therefore not only an energy policy issue, but a test of how well a society understands its dependencies before they become visible in a crisis.

The root cause of the crisis lies far from Australia. The war in the Middle East and the uncertainty around the Strait of Hormuz have unsettled energy and shipping markets. For Australia, the problem is particularly acute because the country’s liquid fuel supply chain is long, import-dependent, and linked to Asian refining centres. Australia does not depend only on the price of crude oil, but also on the availability of refined petrol, diesel, and aviation fuel, shipping routes, exchange rates, terminal costs, taxes, and retail margins. As a result, a disruption in the global energy market can reach Australian consumers even if fuel does not physically disappear from the country. The impact appears first in prices, then in supply-chain pressure, and finally in people’s behaviour.

Australia’s vulnerability does not stem only from the fact that fuel comes from far away. It also stems from how Australian society and the economy function. The country is very large, settlement is uneven, and many forms of life and economic activity require long distances. Mines, agriculture, road transport, regional air connections, ports, refrigerated food supply chains, and remote communities all need fuel every day. In some densely populated European countries, rising fuel prices may primarily mean more expensive car travel. In regional Western Australia, however, they can mean direct access to work, healthcare, school, food, and business activity. This is precisely why a fuel crisis cannot be assessed only by the price per litre. The question is also whose mobility, services, and income come under pressure first through that price.

Crisis management before empty petrol stations

In late March and early April, the crisis became increasingly visible politically in Australia. From April 1, the federal government reduced the fuel excise by 26.3 cents per litre for three months and also reduced the road user charge for heavy vehicles for the same period. The aim of the measure was to ease price pressure on households and the transport sector at a time when the international fuel shock had already begun to reach the Australian market.³ The excise cut was a quick and politically understandable step, but it did not address the cause of the crisis. Tax relief may reduce the price at the pump, but it does not create additional fuel, shorten supply chains, or reduce the country’s dependence on imported liquid fuels. In other words, it helps to soften the symptoms, but it does not remove the systemic vulnerability.

Australia’s national response was based on a four-level fuel security plan. Its aim was to keep the country moving even in a situation where the international fuel market was unstable. The four levels of the plan were: plan and prepare, keep Australia moving, apply targeted measures, and protect critical services. In the early phase of the crisis, all states and territories, including Western Australia, were at the second level of the plan. This meant that fuel was still available at the national level, but governments were taking precautionary measures, monitoring the market, and urging people to buy only the amount of fuel they needed.⁴

This four-level logic is important because crisis management does not begin only when fuel has run out. It begins earlier, when the system is still functioning but already needs to be actively managed. If a state waits until petrol stations are empty on a large scale and critical sectors start competing with ordinary consumers, the room for manoeuvre is much smaller. Australia’s situation illustrates precisely this grey area: the country is not in full deficit, but normal market-based logic may no longer be sufficient to ensure reliable, even, and fair supply.

Diesel as the real nervous system of the crisis

Diesel has a particular significance in this crisis. Petrol directly affects many households and everyday car use, but diesel keeps much of Australia’s economic metabolism running. It is needed for freight transport, agriculture, mining, construction, regional services, and parts of critical infrastructure. By early April, the price of diesel had risen very sharply again, even though the fuel excise had been cut. The reason is that demand for diesel is much less flexible than demand for ordinary petrol: people can reduce weekend trips, but food, goods, construction materials, and mining inputs still need to be transported.⁵

As a result, a diesel crisis quickly feeds through into transport costs, food prices, agriculture, construction, retail, and the functioning of regional services. When diesel becomes more expensive or harder to access, the issue is not only the cost of filling one truck’s tank. The question is how much more expensive it becomes to move food from farm to shop, how much pressure small freight operators come under, and when businesses begin passing additional costs on to consumers.

The crisis was particularly visible in Western Australia, where vast geography, regional dependence, the mining economy, and practical supply-chain constraints intersect. In early April, FuelWatch data showed that several service stations in Western Australia were without one or more fuel types. As of April 3, 16 service stations in the state had neither diesel nor petrol, 29 had no petrol, and 33 had no diesel.² This does not mean that the entire state was without fuel. It does show, however, how an international supply shock can become a local access problem: in one area fuel is available, in another it is temporarily unavailable, in a third only some fuel types are available, and in a fourth the main problem is price.

This is where the regional inequality of crises becomes visible. Perth may experience the fuel crisis as higher prices, constant checking of fuel apps, and inconvenience, but in more remote parts of Western Australia the same crisis can mean a practical risk of service disruption. When the nearest petrol station is far away, there are fewer alternative suppliers, and public transport is absent or very limited, fuel is not simply a consumer good. It is a condition of access. From a preparedness perspective, this means that the same national level of supply can translate into very different local realities.

For the Western Australian government, FuelWatch became not only a price comparison tool during the crisis, but also a crisis management instrument. In early April, it was decided that from 1 May the FuelWatch reporting obligation would be extended to all fuel retailers in the state, adding around 200 additional regional retailers to the system. Penalties for breaching reporting requirements were also increased, and the system was emphasised as a way to help consumers find cheaper fuel and help the state see more clearly where fuel shortages were emerging.⁶ In a crisis, information is not a side issue. If decision-makers do not know precisely enough where fuel is located, where it is moving, and where the first disruptions are emerging, crisis management becomes guesswork.

The crisis also forced Western Australia to deal with very practical logistical questions. On April 7, decisions were made to support the transport and aviation sectors: regional airfare caps were to be maintained, part of the fuel costs for critical regional flights was to be covered, and the use of larger road trains was expanded to reduce the number of truck movements and improve the movement of goods to regional areas.⁷ On April 9, an additional measure allowed accredited trucks, road trains, and milk tankers to carry up to 10 tonnes more milk and perishable goods per trip under certain conditions.⁸ These examples show that a fuel crisis is simultaneously an issue of energy, food, transport, agriculture, regional policy, and social policy.

It is important to be precise about sales restrictions. Australia has not introduced a nationwide general refuelling limit or a single uniform sales restriction applying to all drivers. However, the possibility of rationing has been discussed, and the national plan allows for fuel to be directed to critical sectors in the worst-case scenario. The public has not been given one precise date or threshold for when rationing would be introduced, because the government has to maintain trust, avoid panic, and prepare for possible supply disruptions at the same time.¹ This is a classic crisis communication dilemma: too much ambiguity can undermine trust, but too specific a warning can trigger panic buying.

A fuel crisis affects people very differently. A higher-income person living in a city, who can work from home or has an electric vehicle, experiences the crisis differently from a regional worker, a young trainee, a small business owner, a carer, or someone whose ability to get to work depends on daily car use. In such cases, rising fuel prices are not an abstract inflation indicator. They become a question of whether commuting to work is still worthwhile, whether a child can get to school, whether an older person can reach a doctor, and whether a small business model remains viable at all.

By mid-April, the Australian debate had reached a point where the need for short-term measures was clear, but their limits were equally visible. The fuel excise cut reduces prices, but not dependency, and FuelWatch improves visibility, but does not create additional fuel. Higher vehicle load limits may reduce the number of trips, but they do not remove logistical vulnerability. Rationing plans give the state a tool for the worst-case scenario, but their use would already indicate that normal market-based distribution is no longer functioning sufficiently. The central significance of the crisis is therefore that it has exposed the dependency of the liquid fuel system, regional inequality, and the need for decision-makers to gain a much clearer view of the supply chain.

The most important lesson is that fuel security cannot be treated only as a technical calculation of reserve days. Reserves are necessary, but the crisis shows that transparent information, distribution capacity, an understanding of regional differences, public trust, and long-term dependency reduction are just as important. When fuel is simultaneously an input for the economy, a condition for everyday mobility, and a prerequisite for critical services, a fuel crisis is never only a fuel crisis. It is a test of how well a society understands its own vulnerabilities before they become fully visible.

The existence of fuel reserves does not yet mean crisis resilience.

Lesson for Estonia: reserves alone are not enough

Estonia can learn from Australia’s fuel crisis precisely because the two contexts are different, while the underlying crisis logic is similar. Estonia is not the size of Western Australia and its distances are shorter, but liquid fuel is also a critical input for transport, rescue services, the police, ambulance services, food logistics, agriculture, local services, and people’s everyday coping. When the price or availability of fuel comes under pressure, the impact does not remain at the petrol station. It moves on into services, prices, and people’s sense of security.

Reserves must be linked to distribution, information, and trust. Although Estonia has a certain level of fuel reserves and their maintenance is regulated by law, which forms an important basis for preparedness, the decisive issue in a crisis is not only the size of the reserve but also its usability: how fuel reaches petrol stations and critical services, which sectors receive it first, and how panic buying is prevented. An up-to-date overview of commercial stocks, distribution capacity, and local disruptions is equally important. If the public is only told that “reserves exist” without an explanation of what this means in practice, rumours, queues at petrol stations, and social media will fill the information gap. Fuel reserves must therefore be accompanied by clear communication: whether petrol stations will remain open, when the state will intervene, which services will be prioritised, and what ordinary people should do in different phases of the crisis.

A crisis plan must distinguish between different fuel types and local-level needs. A fuel crisis cannot be planned for using only the general term “fuel”. Petrol, diesel, and aviation fuel play different roles in society. Petrol directly affects many people’s everyday mobility, but diesel is critical for freight transport, agriculture, heavy machinery, waste management, generators, construction, and food logistics. This also directly affects local governments, even though they do not manage the fuel market. Social transport, home care services, school transport, the work of crisis committees, the opening of evacuation sites, the operation of generators, and assistance to residents all require access to fuel even when the market is under pressure. Crisis plans should therefore answer not only how much fuel is in reserve, but also what different fuel types are needed for, by whom, and in what order of priority during a crisis.

A fuel crisis is also a question of social vulnerability and reducing dependency. A fuel shock does not affect everyone equally. Some people can work from home, reduce trips, or use alternative transport. Others do not have that option. A person living in a rural area, a family with care responsibilities, a lower-income worker, or a small business owner may come under pressure much faster than someone whose mobility needs are more flexible. In the longer term, Australia’s experience shows that fuel reserves are necessary, but they cannot be the only answer. If critical services, the movement of goods, and everyday life remain heavily dependent on liquid fuels, every global energy market shock remains potentially dangerous. For Estonia, this means that fuel security must be discussed alongside demand reduction, alternative modes of transport, electrification, the continuity of local services, and the diversification of critical supply chains.

Australia’s experience shows that a fuel crisis is not solved only when fuel is already scarce. It is addressed earlier: through data, distribution plans, reliable communication, local preparedness, and a realistic understanding of what society actually depends on.

Photos: Crisis Research Centre in Australia and fuel crisis illustrations (KRUK, 2026).

Sources

¹ Armstrong, C. 2026. Experts say trigger for fuel rationing is not a “precise” date. 31.03.2026, Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

² Bescoby, T. 2026. FuelWatch: See the list of WA service stations with no petrol or diesel. 01.04.2026, PerthNow.

³ Tregenza, H. 2026. Government halves fuel excise for three months to ease cost of petrol, diesel. 30.03.2026, Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

⁴ [Anon]., 2026a. National Fuel Security Plan to co-ordinate response to fuel shock. 30.03.2026, Government of Western Australia.

⁵ Miller, A. & Terzon, E. 2026. The Iran war prompted a cut to the fuel excise, so why is diesel so expensive? 11.04.2026, Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

⁶ [Anon]., 2026b. Cook Government strengthens FuelWatch to help WA motorists. 05.04.2026, Government of Western Australia.

⁷ [Anon]., 2026c. Cook Government supporting industry to keep WA moving. 07.04.2026, Government of Western Australia.

⁸ [Anon]., 2026d. Further changes to support transport of milk and perishable food. 09.04.2026, Government of Western Australia.

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DISCUSSION | “The Narva People’s Republic” narrative as an example of today’s complex information environments

kruk — Sun, 05 Apr 2026 10:47:59 +0000

DISCUSSION | “The Narva People’s Republic” narrative as an example of today’s complex information environments

Crisis Research Centre intern Polina Odarych (Tallinn University) discusses the complexity of today’s information environments and how emotions, repetition, and information noise can shape public perception even in situations where the factual basis is weak or fragmented. How do propaganda strategies function under conditions of information overload, and why should crisis preparedness include not only physical security but also the ability to cope with complex and rapidly changing media environments?

The recent story of the “Narva People’s Republic” – an alleged initiative to create an independent “People’s Republic” on the territory of Ida-Virumaa – has relatively quickly attracted the attention of both the Estonian and international public. What began with a fairly concise report by the Estonian NGO Propastop¹ on a relatively fringe local phenomenon, which at the time indeed was exactly that, has since reached the front pages of countless national and international media outlets (despite what appears to be little genuine public support among locals).

Without going deeper into the chronological details, the story of the “Narva People’s Republic” remains a topic that is widely speculated upon and closely followed. It is emotional, attracts attention, and sparks curiosity; yet beyond what has already been covered by local and foreign journalists, the phenomenon should also be recognized — as the title of this article suggests — for its potential to illustrate the complexity of situations in which attention directed at such sensitive topics may itself create additional vulnerability.

With this post, I would like to recommend the article The Russian ‘Firehose of Falsehood’ Propaganda Model: Why It Might Work and Options to Counter It by Christopher Paul and Miriam Matthews (2016), and to highlight with it how complex Russian information strategies can become.² Which is why I am writing this post: the “Narva case” and the authors’ findings complement each other, helping to make sense of the situation using an example that is already familiar and close enough. In this post, I will discuss some of the important aspects that this should point us to.

First, we all feel that in today’s information environment, the instinct for many is to do as much as one can to stay up to date with the reality of the surrounding world. But what I also see is how, when the flow of information is already overwhelming in volume, repeated speculations and convincing claims about this or that nature and origin of the phenomenon of the so-called “People’s Republic” on the border of the country overflow the tabloids worldwide, it may be good to take a step back. What we could do instead is examine what processes may be taking place that shape our perception of this already huge “elephant in the room.” After all, crisis preparedness is far from only being about physical safety concerns. What I aim to do is review some of the distinct characteristics of the Russian propaganda enterprise, particularly the one most common nowadays.

Modern propaganda is far from simple. Often, it does not follow the usual path of presenting itself as the ultimate “truth,” which Paul and Matthews (2016) call the “traditionalist approach” to propaganda. Made possible thanks to familiar dynamics of online environments — now overflowing with content and opinions, and increasingly difficult to navigate — this approach relies on so-called “partial truths,” confusion, and fragmented information. In a fast-moving and unstable stream of details, propagandists can take advantage of inconsistency and the audience’s uncertainty for their own benefit. Even so, what this creates can still produce narratives that feel convincing. In fact, such narratives often flourish precisely within this type of information clutter, born as a product of today’s overly saturated media environment.

As we have seen, early reports suggested that this narrative was initially marginal, originating from only a small number of online accounts on a single social media platform. Yet, as it reached wider audiences when leading Estonian media started covering the case, attention grew very quickly, and so did the scope of discussion, unleashing a stream of conflicting interpretations, concerns, and reactions into the media landscape after the bubble popped. For me, the most interesting part was how this caught so many local residents off guard, as did the wave of foreign journalists who arrived in the city shortly after. In the span of days, it suddenly exposed them to an issue they had not even heard of before. For many people, it was, and still is, a real shock.

It is worth paying attention to how emotional reactions influence responses to the flow of controversial content like this. Without doubt, the “Narva People’s Republic” case has sparked a wide range of reactions, from concern and frustration to humor and disbelief. Content and discussions like these, which can quickly evoke strong emotional responses, are inherently risky. Returning to the previous argument, this happens because such recirculation may further increase the reach and perceived significance of the information.

Another important aspect to consider is the role of recurrence in emotion-provoking content. Christopher Paul and Miriam Matthews (2016) strongly point out that information encountered repeatedly across multiple channels has a higher chance of being perceived as credible, even when it is not, and that this repetitiveness makes processing easier. Such induced familiarity makes complicated subjects easier to digest — and, as a result, more readily accepted. In media landscapes already saturated with information, like the one in our example, this means that even highly controversial or complex narratives can be accepted and shared on the basis of familiarity and visibility rather than factual accuracy.

These dynamics have direct implications for crisis preparedness at the community level.

In the end, resilience should not be understood only as the ability to identify misleading information. It also involves understanding how the impact of information can grow out of many small, subtle factors working together, and how it does not always depend on factual accuracy. We should recognize how fragmented narratives that gain momentum through public attention may become powerful through circulation, sustained visibility, and emotionally driven reactions. In such processes, factual accuracy can easily be lost in a wave of emotion and surrounding noise. In a high-volume information environment such as ours, crisis preparedness should also concern how well individuals are equipped to deal with the pressures and complexity of modern media landscapes.

Staying informed remains important, but it is equally important to understand how influence is constructed within these environments and to be able to navigate the layered and dynamic nature of information surrounding us.

🟠 Since 2024, the Crisis Research Centre has provided students of the School of Governance, Law and Society at Tallinn University with opportunities to complete professional internships, and, where possible, students are also involved in cooperation projects. Photo: illustration of the border bridge and screenshot from the Propastop website (KRUK, 2026).

Sources

¹ [Anon.], 2026. Separatist “Narva People’s Republic” idea spreads on social media. 11.03.2026, Propastop.

² Paul, C. & Matthews, M. 2026. The Russian “Firehose of Falsehood” Propaganda Model: Why It Might Work and Options to Counter It. 11.07.2026, RAND Corporation.

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PIMA report published: recommendations for policymakers on developing resilience centres

kruk — Wed, 11 Mar 2026 11:29:00 +0000

PIMA report published: recommendations for policymakers on developing resilience centres

The recently published PIMA project report presents international recommendations for developing local and community-level resilience centres.

The PIMA project brought together local government representatives from Estonia, Sweden and Ukraine to explore how community-based crisis centres providing essential services — such as water, food, heating, electricity, internet access and reliable information — can strengthen local resilience. The project was not simply about transferring Ukraine’s experience, but about understanding how elements of Ukraine’s Points of Invincibility model could be adapted to different socio-cultural contexts in order to build comparable capacity in the Baltic Sea Region. Particular attention was given to inclusiveness, accessibility and the effective use of existing local needs and resources.

The example of Ukraine clearly shows that resilience is not something achieved once and for all. On the contrary, it is repeatedly tested over time. Continued power outages and pressure on infrastructure in 2025 further underline that resilience centres must remain flexible, community-based and integrated into the everyday practices of local governance. Through research, webinars and international knowledge exchange, participants explored how municipalities can establish and maintain such centres together with communities and partner organisations. The project resulted in a concept paper on good practices for resilience centres, a thematic webinar on inclusive crisis centre development and an international conference held in Malmö.

The initiative also led to the creation of the PIMA+ network — the first local-level civil protection initiative of its kind in the region, promoting cross-border cooperation and supporting the shared goal of strengthening community-based societal resilience.

To join the PIMA+ network, please contact here the Crisis Research Centre, which coordinates the network’s development and cooperation in Estonia.

Photos: PIMA report (Crisis Research Centre, 2026).

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