WHEN Estonia regained its independence in 1991, after the collapse of
the Soviet Union, less than half its population had a telephone line
and its only independent link to the outside world was a Finnish mobile
phone concealed in the foreign minister's garden. Two decades later, it
is a world leader in technology.
Estonian geeks developed the code
behind Skype, Hotmail and Kazaa (an early file-sharing network). In 2007
it became the first country to allow online voting in a general
election. It has among the world’s zippiest broadband speeds and holds the record for start-ups per person.
Its 1.3m citizens pay for parking spaces with their mobile phones and
have their health records stored in the digital cloud. Filing an annual
tax return online, as 95% of Estonians do, takes about five minutes. How did the smallest Baltic state develop such a strong tech culture?
The foundation was laid in 1992 when Mart Laar, Estonia’s prime minister at the time, defibrillated the flat-lining economy.
In less than two years his young government (average age: 35) gave
Estonia a flat income-tax, free trade, sound money and privatisation.
New businesses could be registered smoothly and without delays, an
important spur for geeks lying in wait. Feeble infrastructure, a legacy
of the Soviet era, meant that the political class began with a clean
sheet. When Finland decided to upgrade to digital phone connections, it
offered its archaic 1970s analogue telephone-exchange to Estonia for
free. Estonia declined the proposal and built a digital system of its
own. Similarly, the country went from having no land registry to
creating a paperless one. “We just skipped certain things…Mosaic [the
first popular web browser] had just come out and everyone was on a level
playing field,” recalls Toomas Hendrik Ilves, the president. Not
saddled with legacy technology, the country's young ministers put their
faith in the internet.
A nationwide project to equip classrooms
with computers followed and by 1998 all schools were online. In 2000,
when the government declared internet access to be a human right, the
web spread into the boondocks. Free Wi-Fi became commonplace. Rubber
stamps, carbon paper and long queues gave way to “e-government”. The
private sector followed: the sale of Skype to eBay in 2005, for $2.6
billion, created a new class of Estonian investors, who made tens of
millions of euros from their shareholdings—and have been putting their
experience, and their windfalls, to good use. Today Tehnopol, a business
hub in Tallinn, the perky capital, houses more than 150 tech companies.
Given the country’s tiny domestic market, start-ups have been forced to
think global, says Taavet Hinrikus, Skype’s first employee and
co-founder of TransferWise, a peer-to-peer money-transfer service whose customers are spread across Europe and America. According to the World Bank, over 14,000 new companies registered in Estonia in 2011, 40% more than during the same period in 2008. High-tech industries now account for about 15% of GDP.
How
can other countries—that lack Estonia's small size and its clean
sheet—follow its example? “It’s sort of obnoxious to say, ‘Do what we
did’,” says Mr Ilves. But he submits that Estonia’s success is not so
much about ditching legacy technology as it is about shedding “legacy
thinking”. Replicating a paper-based tax-filing procedure on a computer,
for instance, is no good; having such forms pre-filled so that the
taxpayer has only to check the calculations has made the system a
success. Education is important, too: last year, in a public-private
partnership, a programme called ProgeTiiger (“Programming Tiger”) was
announced, to teach five-year-olds the basics of coding. “In the 80s
every boy in high-school wanted to be a rock star,” says Mr Hinrikus.
“Now everybody in high-school wants to be an entrepreneur.”
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