The border closure is fueling fears of a labor shortage in certain professions.
image: afp
Since the border with Russia was closed, there has been silence in a Finnish village. Abandoned shops, record unemployment, separated families: the local economy is weakening and residents fear they won’t be able to hold out much longer.
March 9, 2026, 7:50 p.mMarch 9, 2026, 7:50 p.m
Mathieu RABECHAULT, Tohmajärvi, Finland / afp
Nobody happens anymore. The immaculate blanket of snow in front of Café Rajapysäkki and the tarpaulin-covered gas pumps of the adjacent gas station bear witness to the disappearance of any activity around the Niirala border crossing between Finland and Russia.
The 1,340-kilometer-long border that separates these two countries, and therefore the European Union and NATO, from Russian territory in this corner of the world has been closed since the end of 2023 – a result of the increased mistrust that Moscow has stoked since the invasion of Ukraine.
translation
This text was written by our colleagues from French-speaking Switzerland and we translated it for you.
But what is more worrying than the threat from Russia’s powerful neighbor is the economic damage of the lockdown in this region of North Karelia, a five-hour drive from Helsinki.
There used to be “almost two million border crossings” per year at the Niirala border crossing, remembers Mikko Löppönen, mayor of the municipality of Tohmajärvi, a town 15 kilometers away with 3,900 inhabitants.
“Now there are none, and that has had a direct impact on companies, which are now in a really difficult situation.”
Because it has lost its charm and is far from the main roads, the village has “changed a lot,” complains the mayor. He is frustrated that he cannot approve the installation of wind turbines – potential sources of income for the municipality – “because they interfere with radar and border surveillance systems.”
Nevertheless, this decision will “not be contested” by a population that continues to be shaped by local history, assures the lanky 42-year-old sports teacher, who has completed his mandatory military service in Finland and remains a reservist until the age of 65.
“Very quiet at the moment”
Most of Finnish Karelia, now a Russian republic, was incorporated into the USSR in 1940 after the Finnish-Soviet Winter War. Finland, which ended its decades of military non-alignment by joining NATO in April 2023, fears that Russia is orchestrating the arrival of migrants to destabilize the country. Finland has been making this accusation since around 1,300 migrants arrived in autumn 2023.
To protect the population, the country is completing the construction of a 200-kilometer-long fence equipped with cameras and motion detectors at strategic points such as Niirala. On the patrol route between the lake and the frozen fields on the Finnish side and the birch and spruce forest on the Russian side, border guard Ville Kuusela admits: “It’s very quiet at the border at the moment.” He mainly sees moose, bears or curious onlookers approaching. But the local economy is suffering.
In the sleepy streets of Tohmajärvi, a few older women come to the supermarket with their so-called Spark, a kind of snowmobile.
Record unemployment
Pilvi Pääskynen, owner of K-Market, remembers Russian customers stocking up on instant coffee and cheese while Finns crossed the border to buy gasoline, cigarettes or alcohol, which is significantly cheaper in Russia. “We were the closest village and shop to the border; Russian and Finnish tourists came by regularly,” explains the 35-year-old.
A little further on, the shop window of the Tavaratori Bazaar looks pretty desolate with its Cyrillic and Finnish signs. Changing this would be “too expensive,” said the managing director, who wishes to remain anonymous. The volume of sales, which range from winter boots to sweets, has halved. “It’s hard.”
Finland has the highest unemployment rate in the EU, at 10.2 percent in December, according to Eurostat. According to the Finnish Statistical Office, in Tohmajärvi it even reaches 18.2 percent – a record level that other border communities also record.
The economic impact of the border closure and the sanctions against Russia were significantly lower than feared, analyzes Tomi Kristeri, economist at the Finnish Institute of International Affairs (FIIA). “However, there are regional areas and certain sectors that are more affected,” such as tourism and machine tool production, he emphasizes.
And despite unemployment, the border closure is fueling fears of labor shortages in certain industries, such as construction, restaurants and health care, where many Russians worked.
In Joensuu, the regional capital, Esa Karvinen, head of the Riveria vocational training center in North Karelia, is worried. “Free training and the prospect of a job in Finland were very attractive factors for Russians,” he explains. In 2022, Riveria received over 2000 applications from Russia.
“Last year there were fewer than 200.”
“Nobody wants to live here”
Alexander Kuznetsov and Anjelika Hovi, members of a small, long-established Russian community in Tohmajärvi, also lament this grim situation. “Nobody wants to live in Tohmajärvi, there is no work,” scoffs 41-year-old hotelier Alexander.
Before the border was closed, the 14 rooms in his mini motel, where the toilets and showers are in the stairwell, were all occupied “two to three days a week,” he assures.
“People were able to stop and continue their journey – it was a good time. I only had eight customers this month.”
51-year-old nurse Anjelika watched as her older brother went to Joensuu to look for work as an excavator driver. He was sent to the border to help build the border fence.
Over a cup of coffee, both complain about being cut off from part of their family who remained on the Russian side in Sortavala, 60 kilometers from the border. Alexander Kuznetsov used to visit her once a week.
“It used to take me an hour to visit my wife and mother.”
Since the border is closed, “I haven’t seen my family for 15 months.” To get to Sortavala, he had to take a long detour via Narva, Estonia, where a pedestrian crossing is still open. The result: 27 hours of travel time and several hundred euros in expenses. «We try to stay positive. The situation is what it is,” he says philosophically, tossing his blonde hair back.
“But I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up because money is running out. Maybe six months, a year.”