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Yahoo
a day ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Opinion - The Donbas is a poisoned chalice that neither Russia nor Ukraine should want
Whichever side in the Russo-Ukrainian War wins the Donbas loses the war. That is the savage and largely unacknowledged irony at the core of the struggle over the Donbas — a territory that has recently come to occupy center stage in President Trump's post-summit thinking about how to end the war. Inasmuch as Russia has occupied most of the industrial basin known as the Donbas since its first invasion of Ukraine in 2014 — and is highly unlikely to be driven from that territory anytime soon — Russia has already lost the war, regardless of how long it continues and whether or not a U.S.-brokered ceasefire or peace becomes a reality. The Donbas was the industrial powerhouse of the Soviet Union for decades, but the region was already going into decline by the 1970s and 1980s. When Ukraine became independent in 1991, it inherited what had largely become a value-destroying territory. The Donbas fed the corrupt appetites of local politicians, oligarchs and organized crime. Its working-class residents claimed to have an exalted status belied by a wretched reality. As the economist Anders Aslund put it in 2015, 'The Donbas is a rust belt of old mines, steel mills and chemical factories. Almost all the coal mines and chemical factories are inactive … The rebels have blown up railway bridges, complicating bulk transportation.' In 2016, Aslund estimated that it would cost some $20 billion to revive the Donbas. By 2025, the estimated cost of Ukraine's reconstruction had zoomed upward to $524 billion, a 26-fold increase. Much of that money would need to go to the Donbas, where most of the heaviest fighting has taken place. A reasonable guesstimate of how much it would cost to rebuild just the Donbas today is $200 billion — nearly one-tenth of Russia's reported annual GDP and slightly more than Ukraine's. If the fighting continues indefinitely, that sum will surely double or even triple. Neither Ukraine nor Russia has that kind of cash. It is conceivable that Vladimir Putin's fascist regime could squeeze some money out of its subjects, but Ukraine's democracy could not. Fixing the Donbas would bankrupt either state, especially as the international community and business are unlikely to offer much in the way of assistance. But the burden of owning the Donbas isn't just financial. It is also demographic, environmental and political. According to Aslund, writing in 2016, 'Ukraine claims 1.2 million internally displaced persons, while Russia reports half a million refugees from the Donbas, and the United Nations estimates that some 100,000 have fled elsewhere. If these numbers are reasonably correct, 1.8 million have fled and 1.5 million remain. Apart from some 45,000 fighters, the remaining population largely consists of pensioners and the destitute.' This was the Donbas 10 years ago. We don't know how many people fled after the full-scale Russian invasion of 2022, but the numbers must be substantial. In addition, the armed militias that served in the phony Luhansk and Donetsk 'People's Republics' were thrown at the front and suffered enormous losses. Whatever its exact size, the Donbas's overwhelmingly aged and impoverished population can hardly be the basis of an economic boom. And how many refugees will return? How many people will move there from other parts of Ukraine or Russia if and when peace is attained? The questions are largely rhetorical, especially as the Donbas is an environmental hell hole. According to the Conflict and Environment Observatory, the fighting since 2014 has 'created a risk of environmental emergencies and will leave a lasting legacy of groundwater contamination from flooded coal mines.' Moreover, 'following Russia's invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, hundreds of environmentally sensitive sites have been caught up in the conflict.' The Donbas will also become the site of endless political instability. If Ukraine inherits the territory, pro-Russian elements, in cahoots with the Russian security services, are sure to stage provocations, assassinate local officials, sabotage plants and so on. If Russia keeps the Donbas, Ukraine is sure to engage in equally subversive activities. How fair and free elections could take place under such conditions is anybody's guess. Despite these similarities, there is one fundamental difference. Putin's fascist regime will thrive on repression and violence; Ukraine's democracy won't. Indeed, while Putin can crush whatever opposition he encounters, Ukraine will have to mollify and integrate it — a test it failed before 2014 and one that it is unlikely to pass after years of war. Will failing this test make Ukraine more or less likely to overcome existing hurdles and join the European Union and NATO? Again, the question is rhetorical. The Donbas's transformation into a permanent source of instability will have at least two negative consequences for Putin. It will divert Russia's coercive resources from other, equally unstable parts of the Russian Federation. It will also encourage some non-Russian regions — the north Caucasus comes immediately to mind — to press for greater autonomy and less Kremlin oversight. France and the German states fought for centuries over Alsace-Lorraine and the Rhineland. That made some sense, since both regions were economically, politically and socially developed. Not so the Donbas. It is a black hole and will remain so for years to come. For better or for worse, neither Ukraine nor Russia can just turn their backs on the territory without violating their constitutions and courting mass demonstrations. Of course, as far as Putin is concerned, a constitution is just a piece of paper. Even so, to abandon the Donbas would be to admit defeat and experience political suicide. Ditto for Ukraine and its president, Volodymyr Zelensky. If winning means losing, does losing mean winning? Regardless of how they answer that question and what the terms of a possible peace deal might be, Ukrainians may take some consolation from the fact that, thanks to Putin's heady territorial ambitions, Russia will be stuck with that black hole for years to come. Indeed, Russia itself will progressively come to resemble the Donbas. That could be Ukraine's greatest victory. Alexander J. Motyl is a professor of political science at Rutgers University-Newark. A specialist on Ukraine, Russia and the USSR, and on nationalism, revolutions, empires and theory, he is the author of 10 books of nonfiction, as well as 'Imperial Ends: The Decay, Collapse, and Revival of Empires' and 'Why Empires Reemerge: Imperial Collapse and Imperial Revival in Comparative Perspective.' Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. Solve the daily Crossword
Yahoo
a day ago
- Business
- Yahoo
Opinion - The Donbas is a poisoned chalice that neither Russia nor Ukraine should want
Whichever side in the Russo-Ukrainian War wins the Donbas loses the war. That is the savage and largely unacknowledged irony at the core of the struggle over the Donbas — a territory that has recently come to occupy center stage in President Trump's post-summit thinking about how to end the war. Inasmuch as Russia has occupied most of the industrial basin known as the Donbas since its first invasion of Ukraine in 2014 — and is highly unlikely to be driven from that territory anytime soon — Russia has already lost the war, regardless of how long it continues and whether or not a U.S.-brokered ceasefire or peace becomes a reality. The Donbas was the industrial powerhouse of the Soviet Union for decades, but the region was already going into decline by the 1970s and 1980s. When Ukraine became independent in 1991, it inherited what had largely become a value-destroying territory. The Donbas fed the corrupt appetites of local politicians, oligarchs and organized crime. Its working-class residents claimed to have an exalted status belied by a wretched reality. As the economist Anders Aslund put it in 2015, 'The Donbas is a rust belt of old mines, steel mills and chemical factories. Almost all the coal mines and chemical factories are inactive … The rebels have blown up railway bridges, complicating bulk transportation.' In 2016, Aslund estimated that it would cost some $20 billion to revive the Donbas. By 2025, the estimated cost of Ukraine's reconstruction had zoomed upward to $524 billion, a 26-fold increase. Much of that money would need to go to the Donbas, where most of the heaviest fighting has taken place. A reasonable guesstimate of how much it would cost to rebuild just the Donbas today is $200 billion — nearly one-tenth of Russia's reported annual GDP and slightly more than Ukraine's. If the fighting continues indefinitely, that sum will surely double or even triple. Neither Ukraine nor Russia has that kind of cash. It is conceivable that Vladimir Putin's fascist regime could squeeze some money out of its subjects, but Ukraine's democracy could not. Fixing the Donbas would bankrupt either state, especially as the international community and business are unlikely to offer much in the way of assistance. But the burden of owning the Donbas isn't just financial. It is also demographic, environmental and political. According to Aslund, writing in 2016, 'Ukraine claims 1.2 million internally displaced persons, while Russia reports half a million refugees from the Donbas, and the United Nations estimates that some 100,000 have fled elsewhere. If these numbers are reasonably correct, 1.8 million have fled and 1.5 million remain. Apart from some 45,000 fighters, the remaining population largely consists of pensioners and the destitute.' This was the Donbas 10 years ago. We don't know how many people fled after the full-scale Russian invasion of 2022, but the numbers must be substantial. In addition, the armed militias that served in the phony Luhansk and Donetsk 'People's Republics' were thrown at the front and suffered enormous losses. Whatever its exact size, the Donbas's overwhelmingly aged and impoverished population can hardly be the basis of an economic boom. And how many refugees will return? How many people will move there from other parts of Ukraine or Russia if and when peace is attained? The questions are largely rhetorical, especially as the Donbas is an environmental hell hole. According to the Conflict and Environment Observatory, the fighting since 2014 has 'created a risk of environmental emergencies and will leave a lasting legacy of groundwater contamination from flooded coal mines.' Moreover, 'following Russia's invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, hundreds of environmentally sensitive sites have been caught up in the conflict.' The Donbas will also become the site of endless political instability. If Ukraine inherits the territory, pro-Russian elements, in cahoots with the Russian security services, are sure to stage provocations, assassinate local officials, sabotage plants and so on. If Russia keeps the Donbas, Ukraine is sure to engage in equally subversive activities. How fair and free elections could take place under such conditions is anybody's guess. Despite these similarities, there is one fundamental difference. Putin's fascist regime will thrive on repression and violence; Ukraine's democracy won't. Indeed, while Putin can crush whatever opposition he encounters, Ukraine will have to mollify and integrate it — a test it failed before 2014 and one that it is unlikely to pass after years of war. Will failing this test make Ukraine more or less likely to overcome existing hurdles and join the European Union and NATO? Again, the question is rhetorical. The Donbas's transformation into a permanent source of instability will have at least two negative consequences for Putin. It will divert Russia's coercive resources from other, equally unstable parts of the Russian Federation. It will also encourage some non-Russian regions — the north Caucasus comes immediately to mind — to press for greater autonomy and less Kremlin oversight. France and the German states fought for centuries over Alsace-Lorraine and the Rhineland. That made some sense, since both regions were economically, politically and socially developed. Not so the Donbas. It is a black hole and will remain so for years to come. For better or for worse, neither Ukraine nor Russia can just turn their backs on the territory without violating their constitutions and courting mass demonstrations. Of course, as far as Putin is concerned, a constitution is just a piece of paper. Even so, to abandon the Donbas would be to admit defeat and experience political suicide. Ditto for Ukraine and its president, Volodymyr Zelensky. If winning means losing, does losing mean winning? Regardless of how they answer that question and what the terms of a possible peace deal might be, Ukrainians may take some consolation from the fact that, thanks to Putin's heady territorial ambitions, Russia will be stuck with that black hole for years to come. Indeed, Russia itself will progressively come to resemble the Donbas. That could be Ukraine's greatest victory. Alexander J. Motyl is a professor of political science at Rutgers University-Newark. A specialist on Ukraine, Russia and the USSR, and on nationalism, revolutions, empires and theory, he is the author of 10 books of nonfiction, as well as 'Imperial Ends: The Decay, Collapse, and Revival of Empires' and 'Why Empires Reemerge: Imperial Collapse and Imperial Revival in Comparative Perspective.' Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. Solve the daily Crossword
The Hill
a day ago
- Business
- The Hill
The Donbas is a poisoned chalice that neither Russia nor Ukraine should want
Whichever side in the Russo-Ukrainian War wins the Donbas loses the war. That is the savage and largely unacknowledged irony at the core of the struggle over the Donbas — a territory that has recently come to occupy center stage in President Trump's post-summit thinking about how to end the war. Inasmuch as Russia has occupied most of the industrial basin known as the Donbas since its first invasion of Ukraine in 2014 — and is highly unlikely to be driven from that territory anytime soon — Russia has already lost the war, regardless of how long it continues and whether or not a U.S.-brokered ceasefire or peace becomes a reality. The Donbas was the industrial powerhouse of the Soviet Union for decades, but the region was already going into decline by the 1970s and 1980s. When Ukraine became independent in 1991, it inherited what had largely become a value-destroying territory. The Donbas fed the corrupt appetites of local politicians, oligarchs and organized crime. Its working-class residents claimed to have an exalted status belied by a wretched reality. As the economist Anders Aslund put it in 2015, 'The Donbas is a rust belt of old mines, steel mills and chemical factories. Almost all the coal mines and chemical factories are inactive … The rebels have blown up railway bridges, complicating bulk transportation.' In 2016, Aslund estimated that it would cost some $20 billion to revive the Donbas. By 2025, the estimated cost of Ukraine's reconstruction had zoomed upward to $524 billion, a 26-fold increase. Much of that money would need to go to the Donbas, where most of the heaviest fighting has taken place. A reasonable guesstimate of how much it would cost to rebuild just the Donbas today is $200 billion — nearly one-tenth of Russia's reported annual GDP and slightly more than Ukraine's. If the fighting continues indefinitely, that sum will surely double or even triple. Neither Ukraine nor Russia has that kind of cash. It is conceivable that Vladimir Putin's fascist regime could squeeze some money out of its subjects, but Ukraine's democracy could not. Fixing the Donbas would bankrupt either state, especially as the international community and business are unlikely to offer much in the way of assistance. But the burden of owning the Donbas isn't just financial. It is also demographic, environmental and political. According to Aslund, writing in 2016, 'Ukraine claims 1.2 million internally displaced persons, while Russia reports half a million refugees from the Donbas, and the United Nations estimates that some 100,000 have fled elsewhere. If these numbers are reasonably correct, 1.8 million have fled and 1.5 million remain. Apart from some 45,000 fighters, the remaining population largely consists of pensioners and the destitute.' This was the Donbas 10 years ago. We don't know how many people fled after the full-scale Russian invasion of 2022, but the numbers must be substantial. In addition, the armed militias that served in the phony Luhansk and Donetsk 'People's Republics' were thrown at the front and suffered enormous losses. Whatever its exact size, the Donbas's overwhelmingly aged and impoverished population can hardly be the basis of an economic boom. And how many refugees will return? How many people will move there from other parts of Ukraine or Russia if and when peace is attained? The questions are largely rhetorical, especially as the Donbas is an environmental hell hole. According to the Conflict and Environment Observatory, the fighting since 2014 has 'created a risk of environmental emergencies and will leave a lasting legacy of groundwater contamination from flooded coal mines.' Moreover, 'following Russia's invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, hundreds of environmentally sensitive sites have been caught up in the conflict.' The Donbas will also become the site of endless political instability. If Ukraine inherits the territory, pro-Russian elements, in cahoots with the Russian security services, are sure to stage provocations, assassinate local officials, sabotage plants and so on. If Russia keeps the Donbas, Ukraine is sure to engage in equally subversive activities. How fair and free elections could take place under such conditions is anybody's guess. Despite these similarities, there is one fundamental difference. Putin's fascist regime will thrive on repression and violence; Ukraine's democracy won't. Indeed, while Putin can crush whatever opposition he encounters, Ukraine will have to mollify and integrate it — a test it failed before 2014 and one that it is unlikely to pass after years of war. Will failing this test make Ukraine more or less likely to overcome existing hurdles and join the European Union and NATO? Again, the question is rhetorical. The Donbas's transformation into a permanent source of instability will have at least two negative consequences for Putin. It will divert Russia's coercive resources from other, equally unstable parts of the Russian Federation. It will also encourage some non-Russian regions — the north Caucasus comes immediately to mind — to press for greater autonomy and less Kremlin oversight. France and the German states fought for centuries over Alsace-Lorraine and the Rhineland. That made some sense, since both regions were economically, politically and socially developed. Not so the Donbas. It is a black hole and will remain so for years to come. For better or for worse, neither Ukraine nor Russia can just turn their backs on the territory without violating their constitutions and courting mass demonstrations. Of course, as far as Putin is concerned, a constitution is just a piece of paper. Even so, to abandon the Donbas would be to admit defeat and experience political suicide. Ditto for Ukraine and its president, Volodymyr Zelensky. If winning means losing, does losing mean winning? Regardless of how they answer that question and what the terms of a possible peace deal might be, Ukrainians may take some consolation from the fact that, thanks to Putin's heady territorial ambitions, Russia will be stuck with that black hole for years to come. Indeed, Russia itself will progressively come to resemble the Donbas. That could be Ukraine's greatest victory. Alexander J. Motyl is a professor of political science at Rutgers University-Newark. A specialist on Ukraine, Russia and the USSR, and on nationalism, revolutions, empires and theory, he is the author of 10 books of nonfiction, as well as ' Imperial Ends: The Decay, Collapse, and Revival of Empires' and ' Why Empires Reemerge: Imperial Collapse and Imperial Revival in Comparative Perspective.'
Yahoo
04-04-2025
- Science
- Yahoo
Stunning images show Arctic glaciers' dramatic retreat
Editor's Note: Call to Earth is a CNN editorial series committed to reporting on the environmental challenges facing our planet, together with the solutions. Rolex's Perpetual Planet Initiative has partnered with CNN to drive awareness and education around key sustainability issues and to inspire positive action. Swedish photographer Christian Aslund is riding a small boat along the coast of Spitsbergen, an island in the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard. Here, deep into the Arctic Circle and midway between Norway and the north pole, he is investigating the health of the glaciers, by comparing them to what they looked like in archival photos. He takes a picture, trying to place his boat in the exact position occupied by an explorer who took a similar photograph over 100 years ago. But the difference is striking: in the shot from 1918, the boat is heading towards a massive glacier. In the image Aslund took in 2024, he is heading toward what looks like almost bare land. The comparison is part of a series that Aslund worked on in collaboration with the Norwegian Polar Institute and Greenpeace, to document the retreat of Svalbard's glaciers over the last century. He visited the area twice — in 2002 and in 2024 — and picked which sites to photograph based on historical images that he found in the institute's archives. 'In 2002, the widespread knowledge, or acceptance, of climate change wasn't as broad as it is now,' Aslund says. He published the first set of photos over 20 years ago to create awareness of how much the glaciers were receding. But to his surprise, he received some comments suggesting that the images had been 'Photoshopped,' that the glaciers were just expanding and contracting naturally, or that he had taken the pictures in the summer and compared them to archival shots taken in the winter: 'But they are not — if you look at at the archive photos, you see that they don't have any sea ice and not enough snow on the mountains (for it to be winter). And also, in the winter, it's permanently dark.' In the summer of 2024, he decided to return, taking pictures at the exact same locations as before. 'I had a feeling that the glaciers would have receded even more,' he says, 'and that was confirmed. We wanted to show that these glaciers are not going back and forth. They are constantly being pulled back by a warming climate. It's a major difference.' The Arctic has been warming twice as fast as the rest of the world since the year 2000, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, but according to other estimates it has warmed even more — four times faster than the global average since 1979. NASA says summer Arctic sea ice is shrinking by 12.2% per decade due to warming temperatures. As sea ice melts, it reflects much less heat back into space, and that heat is instead absorbed by the seawater. The melting of glaciers, on the other hand, contributes to a rise in the global sea level, which carries the risk of submerging inhabited areas. 'Both are melting in response to warming temperatures,' says Julienne Stroeve, a professor of Polar Observation and Modelling at University College London, who adds that the fresh water that goes into the ocean can also disrupt global ocean currents and have disruptive biological implications for marine life. 'Over the last century we have seen a reduction of the overall amount of ice in the Arctic Ocean, reducing in area and thickness,' Stroeve continues. 'Today's end-of-summer ice cover is 40-50% less than it was 100 years ago and all climate models and observationally based studies suggest the first ice-free summers will occur by 2050.' This, she adds, will create a profound transformation and is something that hasn't occurred for at least 130,000 years. It will further warm the Arctic, leading to enhanced ice melt from places like Greenland, and thaw permafrost, destabilizing communities all around the Arctic Ocean. Aslund says that when he released the latest pictures from his 2024 series, he faced some of the same criticism that he received in 2002. 'I'm amazed how in 2024 people are still not believing what they see. The whole point of this project is that an image shows more than a thousand words, and that this is real, but still people have problems believing in it,' he says. 'I wouldn't be surprised if 10 years from now, most of what we documented will completely disappear. Unfortunately, if we don't pull any major handbrake very soon, I think that will be that will be the case.'
CNN
04-04-2025
- Science
- CNN
Stunning images show Arctic glaciers' dramatic retreat
Swedish photographer Christian Aslund is riding a small boat along the coast of Spitsbergen, an island in the Norwegian archipelago of Svalbard. Here, deep into the Arctic Circle and midway between Norway and the north pole, he is investigating the health of the glaciers, by comparing them to what they looked like in archival photos. He takes a picture, trying to place his boat in the exact position occupied by an explorer who took a similar photograph over 100 years ago. But the difference is striking: in the shot from 1918, the boat is heading towards a massive glacier. In the image Aslund took in 2024, he is heading toward what looks like almost bare land. The comparison is part of a series that Aslund worked on in collaboration with the Norwegian Polar Institute and Greenpeace, to document the retreat of Svalbard's glaciers over the last century. He visited the area twice — in 2002 and in 2024 — and picked which sites to photograph based on historical images that he found in the institute's archives. 'In 2002, the widespread knowledge, or acceptance, of climate change wasn't as broad as it is now,' Aslund says. He published the first set of photos over 20 years ago to create awareness of how much the glaciers were receding. But to his surprise, he received some comments suggesting that the images had been 'Photoshopped,' that the glaciers were just expanding and contracting naturally, or that he had taken the pictures in the summer and compared them to archival shots taken in the winter: 'But they are not — if you look at at the archive photos, you see that they don't have any sea ice and not enough snow on the mountains (for it to be winter). And also, in the winter, it's permanently dark.' In the summer of 2024, he decided to return, taking pictures at the exact same locations as before. 'I had a feeling that the glaciers would have receded even more,' he says, 'and that was confirmed. We wanted to show that these glaciers are not going back and forth. They are constantly being pulled back by a warming climate. It's a major difference.' The Arctic has been warming twice as fast as the rest of the world since the year 2000, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, but according to other estimates it has warmed even more — four times faster than the global average since 1979. NASA says summer Arctic sea ice is shrinking by 12.2% per decade due to warming temperatures. As sea ice melts, it reflects much less heat back into space, and that heat is instead absorbed by the seawater. The melting of glaciers, on the other hand, contributes to a rise in the global sea level, which carries the risk of submerging inhabited areas. 'Both are melting in response to warming temperatures,' says Julienne Stroeve, a professor of Polar Observation and Modelling at University College London, who adds that the fresh water that goes into the ocean can also disrupt global ocean currents and have disruptive biological implications for marine life. 'Over the last century we have seen a reduction of the overall amount of ice in the Arctic Ocean, reducing in area and thickness,' Stroeve continues. 'Today's end-of-summer ice cover is 40-50% less than it was 100 years ago and all climate models and observationally based studies suggest the first ice-free summers will occur by 2050.' This, she adds, will create a profound transformation and is something that hasn't occurred for at least 130,000 years. It will further warm the Arctic, leading to enhanced ice melt from places like Greenland, and thaw permafrost, destabilizing communities all around the Arctic Ocean. Aslund says that when he released the latest pictures from his 2024 series, he faced some of the same criticism that he received in 2002. 'I'm amazed how in 2024 people are still not believing what they see. The whole point of this project is that an image shows more than a thousand words, and that this is real, but still people have problems believing in it,' he says. 'I wouldn't be surprised if 10 years from now, most of what we documented will completely disappear. Unfortunately, if we don't pull any major handbrake very soon, I think that will be that will be the case.'
