Our news department has a visiting journalist this year, Jürgen Klemm, a professional broadcaster from Estonia. His nation borders Russia; in fact, Estonia was occupied by the Soviet Union until 1991. We've learned a lot from hearing Jürgen's perspective, and think you will, too.
Two Estonians sit in a bar. First beer: “So, how have you been?” The other guy just grunts. Second beer: “How’s the family?” The other one grunts again. Third beer: “And how are things at work?” The other guy finally gives in and says, “Did we come here to drink or talk?”
This anecdote pretty much describes any Nordic culture — Estonians as well. According to the stereotype, people in the north aren’t too talkative, they keep to themselves, and in public places or social situations feel perfectly comfortable staying silent. You can say that Estonian culture is a culture of silence. What I mean by this is that for us silence can carry as much meaning or information as words. Silence is as natural a part of conversation as talking, and silence can be an answer as well as a question. Lack of words does not mean absence of information, and this can be a difficult concept to explain to anyone outside this culture.
Silence can be private space
Even today, my fellow Estonians are not considered especially fluent in small talk, because historically there has never been a need for a conversation for its own sake. Small talk is explained as a means to shrink interpersonal distance, and as a bonding ritual. People in my part of the world live in small communities separated by thick woods, with everybody minding their own business. So interpersonal distance is big and spread out, and no bonding needed — preferably. Breaking the silence isn't something we always consider a good thing. Quite the opposite, unnecessary conversation can even be an impolite intrusion of privacy.
It has been difficult for me to adapt to this lack of silence in a cultural context foreign to me. Living in San Francisco has been an experience of overwhelming amounts of information. People talking to each other on the streets, huge billboards and advertisements, the constant flow of entertainment and commercials on the radio, TV and online. It seems as if my engagement is expected everywhere I go. I don’t want that.
What happens if we forget to value silence?
I’m not saying that keeping silent and keeping others at a distance is a universally good thing. What I am trying to say is that if we forget the value of silence, we risk finding ourselves in midst of devalued information. Don't we?
Since I’ve been working as a journalist, I have always kept in mind a story I heard about something that happened on April 18, 1930. It was 6:30 p.m. and it was time for the BBC news broadcast. But then the newscaster announced “Good evening. Today is Good Friday. There is no news.” That guy is my hero, and saying these words on air is the pinnacle of my professional ambitions. It had been apparently judged that nothing newsworthy had happened. Piano music was then played instead of the current affairs update for a couple of minutes, before normal scheduling resumed.
Would a day without news be a good day? Or are we afraid of silence?
Correction: This post has been updated to reflect that Estonia was occupied by the Soviet Union until 1991. The language in the audio file has not been updated.