Finland sits on the border between Europe and Russia, both being staunchly anti-Moscow and still suspicious of being told what to do by politicians in Brussels. European Society editor Wilhelmiina Hietalahti looks at her experience growing up in rural Finland and speaks to educators and young people about their perspectives on Finnish and European identity.

As a 21-year-old, I belong to the first generation of Finns who have never known a time before Finland’s accession to the European Union in 1995. I have grown up with a sense of ease when it comes to moving around Europe: swimming in freezing Slovenian rivers one day and walking the streets of Venice the next, arranging to meet a friend somewhere in the middle of the continent, and crossing borders to participate in youth projects alongside people from twenty different nationalities.

As my memories and connections have spread across Europe, I have come to realise that many of my experiences are living proof of the successes of the European project. The thought crossed my mind one summer day walking the streets of Prague with my German friend discussing the political state of the world. It returned one evening in Strasbourg, laughing with Greek girls I had met only two days earlier.

Perhaps, I thought, we are indeed the first truly European generation. A generation that not only enjoys the freedoms created by political integration for their practical benefits, but also recognises the deeper value of a shared European identity. Yet, such an assumption can quickly be challenged. It risks overlooking the many factors that shape how different people understand Europe beyond simply belonging to the same age group.

According to political scientist Theresa Kuhn, European identity is formed through meaningful transnational interactions with other Europeans. Such interactions are most common with the rather small group of urban, internationally oriented, and highly educated young people.

It is therefore fair that my optimistic view of European identity is shaped by the social bubble I occupy. I am a middle-class, second-generation university student, raised by parents with a distinctly ‘cosmopolitan’ mindset. But outside of this bubble, many Finns continue with a tradition of emotional distance from the concept of “Europeanism”.

Between Finland and the rest of Europe

Although Finnish attitudes towards the EU are generally positive and trust in European institutions remains comparatively high, many Finns still struggle to identify as European. Finland is often imagined as a far northeastern “island,” standing apart from the traditional imagery of Europe associated with Central European cities and cultures.

This feeling persists even among young people who have enjoyed the freedoms of EU citizenship since birth. It remains visible in the discourse surrounding the European community where I come from, a rural area in the Pirkanmaa region of southern Finland.

The voting area of Viljakkala, in the countryside of the city of Ylöjärvi, illustrates the political landscape. The area has traditionally shown a heavy leaning towards the Eurosceptic, right-wing populist Finns Party. Even in a relatively prosperous region close to the growing Tampere metropolitan area, there remains an underlying sense of protest.

Often, this manifests itself through demands for lower fuel prices, but it can also take the form of scepticism towards deeper European integration. Agricultural concerns, as well as identity-driven anxieties about globalisation, continue to shape attitudes in many rural communities.

The role of education and environment

Jarno Leppänen, a social studies teacher at Viljakkala comprehensive school, explains that students often feel indifferent about European questions, which receive limited attention in the curriculum. Feelings of disconnection emerge particularly easily in an atmosphere where liberal internationalism is viewed as pretentious or even threatening.

Another characteristic of the region is the preference for vocational education over higher education, an attitude often inherited from home. If Kuhn’s findings are correct, this may reduce opportunities later in life to develop a stronger sense of European identity through international experiences. Leppänen also points to young people’s tendency to follow social media influencers and populist figures, sometimes repeating their opinions without much critical reflection.

Combined with values absorbed from family and community, this can contribute to polarised views and create a false opposition between national and European identities. When schools devote little time to European issues and public discourse presents only narrow narratives, such attitudes can easily persist into adulthood.

This is not to say that opportunities for cross-border engagement are lacking. Sofia Tomperi and Leevi Haapalainen, students at Hämeenkyrö Upper Secondary School, highlight Erasmus+ projects and short-term language exchanges as important efforts to broaden young people’s horizons. Tomperi also participated in the Euroscola programme, which brought her to the European Parliament in Strasbourg earlier this year.

These experiences undoubtedly matter. Yet, it remains unclear whether short-term exchanges alone are enough to foster a lasting sense of European belonging. Perhaps identity is built less through occasional educational programmes and more through everyday encounters, meaningful relationships, and a deeper understanding of how Europe shapes daily life.

A European identity without uniformity?

Even when the European Union is viewed positively, or more maturely as a complex institution with both strengths and weaknesses, there remains a distinction between being a European citizen in a legal sense and genuinely feeling part of a broader European community.

National and European identities do not have to be mutually exclusive. Ye, for some people, especially those with strong patriotic convictions, identification with a wider European community can still appear as a challenge to national unity. The absence of a strong common European identity remains a reality across the EU, including among generations whose entire lives have unfolded within an integrated Europe.

This raises an important question: should a stronger European identity even be the goal? A shared identity could strengthen the democratic legitimacy of the Union and represent a significant symbolic achievement for a peace project approaching its eightieth year. At the same time, a Union that prides itself on diversity must be careful not to reduce that diversity in pursuit of an artificially constructed sense of unity.

Perhaps, European identity does not emerge through grand declarations of belonging, but gradually and almost unconsciously, in the spaces where borders begin to matter less in everyday life. For many young Europeans, that process may already be underway. The challenge is that it is unfolding unevenly.

While some experience Europe through travel, study exchanges, friendships, and professional opportunities, others encounter it only through political debates, social media narratives, or distant institutions in Brussels and Strasbourg. The bigger question, therefore, is not simply whether Finnish youth feel European. Rather, it is under what conditions they come to feel European, and how those conditions can be expanded without undermining national identity.