Estonia's quiet presidential race could shake up politics

This autumn, Estonia will hold the elections that rarely capture public imagination but can unsettle the country's political class. Those are the presidential elections. On paper, they are the least visible of Estonia's major elections, ranking behind parliamentary, local and European contests. That is not because the presidency is without status. The president is Estonia's head of state, a constitutional guardian and an important voice in public life. The reason is more prosaic: the president is not elected directly by voters, but by the Riigikogu, and, if parliament fails, by a special Electoral College.

Presidential elections in Estonia are therefore less a mass campaign than a test of elite negotiation. Precisely because they depend on deals among parties and local representatives, they can become far more consequential than expected. In the past, presidential contests have helped bring down governments, reshape party leaderships, and even contribute to the disappearance of once-important political forces. An apparently ceremonial election can produce real turbulence, as history has proved.

The institutional design explains much of the drama. To elect a president in parliament, a candidate needs a two-thirds majority: 68 votes in the 101-seat Riigikogu. That is a high threshold in a fragmented party system. Only two presidents have cleared it in the parliamentary stage since Estonia restored independence: Toomas Hendrik Ilves in 2011, when he won a second term, and Alar Karis in 2021. More often, no candidate can command such broad support, and the election moves to the Electoral College, which brings together MPs and representatives of local councils.

That second stage changes the game. Local politicians may not vote exactly as national party leaders expect. Deals become harder to monitor. Abstentions, tactical voting and last-minute shifts can overturn carefully prepared plans. Estonia saw the consequences in 2016, when the Electoral College failed to elect a president and the process returned to parliament. Kersti Kaljulaid was eventually chosen as a compromise candidate, but only after an unusually messy and humiliating episode for the political establishment.

The destabilising potential of presidential elections is not theoretical. In 2001, Arnold Rüütel, a former Soviet-era official and later a symbol of continuity for many older and rural voters, won the presidency despite opposition from parties in Mart Laar's government. The coalition parties had backed other candidates but failed to unite around a single alternative. The defeat damaged trust among coalition partners and paved the way for the Laar government's collapse months later.

The 2016 election was even more dramatic. Several parties lacked clear preferences, and the process descended into confusion. The most consequential aftershock came inside the Centre Party. Its long-time leader, Edgar Savisaar, refused to support his own party's official candidate and was accused by critics of making side deals with rivals. The episode deepened an already serious internal crisis in the party. Jüri Ratas defeated Savisaar for the party leadership. Soon afterwards, the Reform Party-led government fell, the Centre Party entered government, and Ratas became prime minister. Thus, the result was not merely a new president, but the end of Reform's long, 17-year dominance in national office.

Presidential politics has also proved dangerous for parties that chose the losing side. After the 2006 election, when Ilves defeated the incumbent Rüütel, the People's Union, Rüütel's strongest supporter, soon became embroiled in corruption allegations involving land and property deals. The scandal accelerated the formerly prominent party's decline and eventual disappearance from Estonia's political landscape.

Could the 2026 election trigger comparable turbulence? Much depends on whether President Alar Karis seeks a second term and whether he can assemble support across party lines. If he runs, a parliamentary victory still looks difficult. The Reform Party and Eesti 200 have signalled reluctance or opposition, and without a late change of mood among government parties, the contest could again move to the Electoral College.

Two risk scenarios deserve attention. First, Eesti 200 is polling weakly and faces a difficult parliamentary election in 2027. For some of its MPs, the presidential vote could become an opportunity to reposition themselves or distance themselves from an unpopular government. Since Prime Minister Kristen Michal's cabinet rests on a narrow parliamentary base, even limited defections could seriously undermine government stability.

Second, if Karis does not run, or if his candidacy collapses, opposition parties that currently appear capable of cooperating may suddenly find themselves backing different candidates. This matters because the Centre Party and Isamaa are widely seen as plausible partners in the next government after the March 2027 parliamentary election. A bruising presidential contest could poison relations before those negotiations even begin.

Hence, what appears to be a low-key institutional ritual can quickly become a stress test for governing coalitions and opposition alliances. Estonia's presidential election may not dominate public debate, but history suggests that when elites lose control of the process, the consequences can be dramatic.