The next morning, Jere surveyed on Twitter, where they were all shocked and relieved to find that thousands more had been threatened. “If I were just one of the recipients of letters, I would be very nervous,” he says.
Vastaamo had the largest network of medical assistants in Finland. In a country of only 5.5 million people – almost identical to the Minnesota government – it was “McDonald’s of psychotherapy,” a Finnish journalist told me. And because of this, the company’s invasion shook the whole of Finland. About 30,000 people believe they have received redemption; another 25,000 reported to police. On October 29, the headline in Helsinki time read: “Vastaamo Robbery Could Turn Into The Biggest Story In Finnish History.” This prophecy seems to have been fulfilled.
As a file of the magnitude of the destruction it was strange, and its cruelty. Not only because the writing was complicated; not only because the insurgent, or the insurgent, chose the sick as injured animals; and because, from all over the world, Finland must have been among those who could have avoided this. Along with neighboring Estonia, he became known as an electric pioneer. Since the late 1990s, Finnish leaders have adhered to the principle that citizen care, immovable, backed by professional businesses. Today, every Finnish citizen has the opportunity to gain immense protection called Kanta, where they are able to analyze their medical records and order prescriptions. Medical providers can use this method to match care.
Vastaamo was a business company, but it seems to work in the same way with professional-assisted and available services: You saved the healer with a little click, the waiting times were reasonable, and the Social Insurance Institution in Finland reimbursed a large portion of the unit (as long as you had a mental illness). The company is run by Ville Tapio, a 39-year-old writer and businessman with sharp eyebrows, green back hair, and a heavy jaw. He formed the company with his parents. He founded Vastaamo as a family-friendly business dedicated to improving the health of all Finns.
For almost a decade, the company did well. Obviously, some doubted Tapio’s intentions; Kristian Wahlbeck, chief development officer for a former Finnish non-profit company, says he was “disappointed” and “regarded him as a business man.” And yes, there were temporary reports of Vastaamo doing seemingly obscene things, such as using ads on Google to try to get patients out of a university hospital, such as a newspaper Evening papers reports. But people keep signing up. Tapio was very confident in what he did so he talked about taking his brand out.
Tapio says, “Vastaamo has done a lot for development.” He is now a former CEO, and the company he founded is selling well. “I’m saddened to see all the work going on and the prospects for the future being ruined suddenly,” he said. “The way he ended up suffering, unnecessary, and unjust.”
Tapio grew up the “peaceful and green” region of northern Helsinki during the economic crisis. His mother, Nina, was a depressed psychotherapist, and his father, Perttu, was a priest. His grandfather gave him a Commodore 64 when he was 10 years old, which made him interested in writing. Something in her brain is facing her own problems, she says. He also saw it as “a tool to build something real.”
Persistence continued: In middle school Tapio recorded his basketball team numbers, and in high school worked for the Helsinki Education department, showing teachers how to use their computers. Instead of going to college, he set up an online computer hardware store – his first business, funded by “tens of tens of euros,” he says. A few years later, at the age of 20, he joined a small support group.