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India Gazette
02-05-2025
- Politics
- India Gazette
From the Mongols to NATO: Heres the real Russian doctrine
Moscows global playbook is shaped by history and focused on survival "Only crows fly straight," goes an old saying from the Vladimir-Suzdal region, where the revival of the Russian state began after the devastation of the Mongol invasion in the 13th century. Within 250 years, a powerful state emerged in Eastern Europe, its independence and decision-making unquestioned by others. From its earliest days, Russia's foreign policy culture has been shaped by a single goal: to preserve the nation's ability to determine its own future. The methods have varied, but a few constants remain: no fixed strategies, no binding ideologies, and an ability to surprise opponents. Unlike European or Asian powers, Russia never needed rigid doctrines; its vast, unpredictable geography - and its instinct for unorthodox solutions - made that unnecessary. Yet this distinctive foreign policy culture did not develop overnight. Before the mid-13th century, Russia's trajectory looked much like the rest of Eastern Europe's. Fragmented and inward-looking, its city-states had little reason to unify. Geography and climate kept them largely self-contained. It could have ended up like other Slavic nations, eventually dominated by German or Turkish powers. But then came what Nikolay Gogol called a "wonderful event": the 1237 Mongol invasion. Russia's strongest state centers were obliterated. This catastrophe, paradoxically, gave rise to two defining features of Russian statehood: a reason to unify and a deep-seated pragmatism. For 250 years, Russians paid tribute to the Golden Horde but were never its slaves. The relationship with the Horde was a constant struggle - clashes alternating with tactical cooperation. It was during this period that the "sharp sword of Moscow" was forged: a state that functioned as a military organization, always blending conflict and diplomacy. War and peace merged seamlessly, without the moral dilemmas that often paralyze others. These centuries also forged another trait of Russian thinking: the strength of the adversary is irrelevant to the legitimacy of its demands. Unlike the Western Hobbesian notion that might makes right, Russians have historically viewed force as just one factor - not the determinant of truth. A 16th-century song about a Crimean Khan's raid sums it up: he is called both a "tsar" for his military power and a "dog" for lacking justice. Similarly, after the Cold War, Russia recognized Western power - but not the righteousness of its actions. Demographics have always been a challenge, driven by climate and geography. Russia's population did not match that of France until the late 18th century, despite covering an area many times larger than Western Europe. And crucially, Russia has never relied on external allies. Its foreign policy rests on the understanding that no one else will solve its problems - a lesson learned through bitter experience. Yet Russia has always been a reliable ally to others. A pivotal moment came in the mid-15th century, when Grand Duke Vasily Vasilyevich settled Kazan princes on Russia's eastern borders. This marked the beginning of Russia's multi-ethnic statehood, where loyalty - not religion - was the key requirement. Unlike Western Europe, where the church dictated social order, Russia's statehood grew as a mosaic of ethnic and religious groups, all unified by a shared commitment to defense. This pragmatism - welcoming Christians, Muslims, and others alike - set Russia apart. Spain's rulers completed the Reconquista by expelling or forcibly converting Jews and Muslims; Russia integrated its minorities, allowing them to serve and prosper without renouncing their identities. Today, Russia's foreign policy still draws on these deep traditions. Its core priority remains the same: defending sovereignty and retaining freedom of choice in a volatile world. And true to form, Russia resists doctrinaire strategies. Fixed doctrines require fixed ideologies - something historically alien to Russia. Russia also rejects the idea of "eternal enemies." The Mongol Horde, once its deadliest foe, was absorbed within decades of its collapse. Its nobles merged with Russian aristocracy, its cities became Russian cities. No other country has fully absorbed such a formidable rival. Even Poland, a centuries-long adversary, was eventually diminished not by decisive battles but by sustained pressure. Victory for Russia has never been about glory - it's about achieving objectives. Often, this means exhausting adversaries rather than crushing them outright. The Mongols were defeated in 1480 without a single major battle. Similarly, Poland was gradually reduced in stature over centuries of relentless pressure. This mindset explains Russia's readiness to negotiate at every stage: politics always outweighs military concerns. Foreign and domestic policy are inseparable, and every foreign venture is also a bid to strengthen internal cohesion, just as the medieval princes of Moscow used external threats to unite the Russian lands. Today's geopolitical landscape is shifting again. The West - led by the United States - remains powerful, but no longer omnipotent. China is expanding its influence, though cautiously. Western Europe, historically Russia's main threat, is losing its relevance, unable to define a vision for its own future. Russia, the US and China all possess that vision - and in the coming decades, their triangular relationship will shape global politics. India may join this elite circle in time, but for now, it still lags behind. Does this mean Russia will pivot fully eastward? Unlikely. Classical geopolitics teaches that the main focus must remain where the primary threat lies. Western Europe may no longer be the center of global politics, but it remains the crucial frontier, the dividing line between Russia and American power. Still, the real opportunities lie in Eurasia. Peaceful, prosperous ties with eastern neighbors are essential for Russia's internal development. That, ultimately, is what will provide the resources for Russia's most cherished goal: the freedom to chart its own course. This article was first published by 'Expert' magazine and was translated and edited by the RT team. (
Russia Today
02-05-2025
- Politics
- Russia Today
From the Mongols to NATO: Here's the real Russian doctrine
'Only crows fly straight,' goes an old saying from the Vladimir-Suzdal region, where the revival of the Russian state began after the devastation of the Mongol invasion in the 13th century. Within 250 years, a powerful state emerged in Eastern Europe, its independence and decision-making unquestioned by others. From its earliest days, Russia's foreign policy culture has been shaped by a single goal: to preserve the nation's ability to determine its own future. The methods have varied, but a few constants remain: no fixed strategies, no binding ideologies, and an ability to surprise opponents. Unlike European or Asian powers, Russia never needed rigid doctrines; its vast, unpredictable geography – and its instinct for unorthodox solutions – made that unnecessary. Yet this distinctive foreign policy culture did not develop overnight. Before the mid-13th century, Russia's trajectory looked much like the rest of Eastern Europe's. Fragmented and inward-looking, its city-states had little reason to unify. Geography and climate kept them largely self-contained. It could have ended up like other Slavic nations, eventually dominated by German or Turkish powers. But then came what Nikolay Gogol called a 'wonderful event': the 1237 Mongol invasion. Russia's strongest state centers were obliterated. This catastrophe, paradoxically, gave rise to two defining features of Russian statehood: a reason to unify and a deep-seated pragmatism. For 250 years, Russians paid tribute to the Golden Horde but were never its slaves. The relationship with the Horde was a constant struggle – clashes alternating with tactical cooperation. It was during this period that the 'sharp sword of Moscow' was forged: a state that functioned as a military organization, always blending conflict and diplomacy. War and peace merged seamlessly, without the moral dilemmas that often paralyze others. These centuries also forged another trait of Russian thinking: the strength of the adversary is irrelevant to the legitimacy of its demands. Unlike the Western Hobbesian notion that might makes right, Russians have historically viewed force as just one factor – not the determinant of truth. A 16th-century song about a Crimean Khan's raid sums it up: he is called both a 'tsar' for his military power and a 'dog' for lacking justice. Similarly, after the Cold War, Russia recognized Western power – but not the righteousness of its actions. Demographics have always been a challenge, driven by climate and geography. Russia's population did not match that of France until the late 18th century, despite covering an area many times larger than Western Europe. And crucially, Russia has never relied on external allies. Its foreign policy rests on the understanding that no one else will solve its problems – a lesson learned through bitter experience. Yet Russia has always been a reliable ally to others. A pivotal moment came in the mid-15th century, when Grand Duke Vasily Vasilyevich settled Kazan princes on Russia's eastern borders. This marked the beginning of Russia's multi-ethnic statehood, where loyalty – not religion – was the key requirement. Unlike Western Europe, where the church dictated social order, Russia's statehood grew as a mosaic of ethnic and religious groups, all unified by a shared commitment to defense. This pragmatism – welcoming Christians, Muslims, and others alike – set Russia apart. Spain's rulers completed the Reconquista by expelling or forcibly converting Jews and Muslims; Russia integrated its minorities, allowing them to serve and prosper without renouncing their identities. Today, Russia's foreign policy still draws on these deep traditions. Its core priority remains the same: defending sovereignty and retaining freedom of choice in a volatile world. And true to form, Russia resists doctrinaire strategies. Fixed doctrines require fixed ideologies – something historically alien to Russia. Russia also rejects the idea of 'eternal enemies.' The Mongol Horde, once its deadliest foe, was absorbed within decades of its collapse. Its nobles merged with Russian aristocracy, its cities became Russian cities. No other country has fully absorbed such a formidable rival. Even Poland, a centuries-long adversary, was eventually diminished not by decisive battles but by sustained pressure. Victory for Russia has never been about glory – it's about achieving objectives. Often, this means exhausting adversaries rather than crushing them outright. The Mongols were defeated in 1480 without a single major battle. Similarly, Poland was gradually reduced in stature over centuries of relentless pressure. This mindset explains Russia's readiness to negotiate at every stage: politics always outweighs military concerns. Foreign and domestic policy are inseparable, and every foreign venture is also a bid to strengthen internal cohesion, just as the medieval princes of Moscow used external threats to unite the Russian lands. Today's geopolitical landscape is shifting again. The West – led by the United States – remains powerful, but no longer omnipotent. China is expanding its influence, though cautiously. Western Europe, historically Russia's main threat, is losing its relevance, unable to define a vision for its own future. Russia, the US and China all possess that vision – and in the coming decades, their triangular relationship will shape global politics. India may join this elite circle in time, but for now, it still lags behind. Does this mean Russia will pivot fully eastward? Unlikely. Classical geopolitics teaches that the main focus must remain where the primary threat lies. Western Europe may no longer be the center of global politics, but it remains the crucial frontier, the dividing line between Russia and American power. Still, the real opportunities lie in Eurasia. Peaceful, prosperous ties with eastern neighbors are essential for Russia's internal development. That, ultimately, is what will provide the resources for Russia's most cherished goal: the freedom to chart its own article was first published by 'Expert' magazine and was translated and edited by the RT team.
Yahoo
28-01-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Opinion - The real reason Russia invaded Ukraine
Since the start of the Russo-Ukrainian war in 2014, one Russian phrase has haunted me. It translates to 'They [Ukrainians] crucified a little boy wearing nothing but his underwear.' It sounds grotesque, like something from a macabre fairytale. And it never happened, of course. But for many people in Russia, it might as well have. Russian forces — disguised as 'local uprisings' — swept through the eastern provinces of Ukraine while Russian state television peddled this brazen fabrication to millions. The story's viral spread wasn't just sordid propaganda at work. It demonstrated how the state, media, intelligentsia and 'ordinary Russians' remain fatally entangled in the assertion of a colonizer identity that neither rulers nor the ruled are able to escape. Russia is not a country forged by shared values, common beliefs or a unifying purpose — it is an empire assembled by force, bound together by lies and sustained through the theft of other peoples' art, culture and history. It is true that conquest and cultural appropriation are nothing new in human history, but the existence of past colonial crimes by other powers does not justify Russia's attempt to erase Ukraine today. In 2021, Vladimir Putin penned a 5,000-word essay declaring that Ukraine does not exist — not as a culture and certainly not as a nation. Russians and Ukrainians are 'one people,' he claimed, as tsars and commissars had done before him. But this was no admission of kinship. It was a threat: Ukrainians must either accept that they are Russian or perish. Putin didn't just challenge Ukraine's right to self-determination; he framed it as Russia's duty to invade, kill, rape and torture. Moscow has had many chances but repeatedly failed to shed its imperial skin. Defeats in the Crimean War and the Russo-Japanese War did not prompt a reckoning. Unlike Spain, Portugal or Belgium, which relinquished colonies and transitioned into post-imperial nations, Russia viewed its losses as temporary setbacks. Even the Soviet Union's collapse after the humiliating defeat in Afghanistan didn't extinguish this imperial ethos. Russia's forerunner, Muscovy owed its rise in the 13th century to the role of a tax collector for the Golden Horde, allowing its princes to amass wealth and outmaneuver rivals. In contrast, Kyiv had already thrived for 600 years as a cultural and political hub before Moscow, founded in 1147, even emerged from servitude. In 1547, Ivan IV ('the Terrible') pulled off one of history's greatest cons. Crowning himself 'Tsar of All Rus,' he declared Moscow the rightful heir to Kyivan Rus, vaulting over five centuries of separation with a golden crown as a prop. At first, Europe refused to play along. Diplomats, travelers and scholars continued to refer to the realm as 'Moscovia,' seen in the maps and manuscripts from the time. The name 'Rus' was not inherited from Kyiv — it was stolen. Historian Janusz Bugajski points out that, from the beginning, Moscow relied on control through force as an organizing principle. To this day, the Kremlin crushes dissent, clinging to the past because it can offer no future. Moscow rules through humiliation and oppression to legitimize a governance model where it extracts resources from its provinces, treating places like Siberia or North Caucasus as internal colonies. Maybe it's the West's own tangled history with colonialism that makes us blind to the obvious. Academics have sidestepped the blood-soaked legacy of the Russian Empire, and we seem to struggle with granting agency to 40 million Ukrainians, a stateless nation until recently. Instead, we let Russia — the metropole — frame the discourse. Many in the West prefer to think that Putin is the problem. A tyrant, a thug, the kind of man history occasionally coughs up and then spits out. But Putin is not the exception; he is the rule. Russians are often seen as passive prey of state propaganda, unwilling participants in the horrors unleashed by their government. Yet 'Russia's war on Ukraine is popular with large numbers of Russians and acceptable to an even larger number,' writes Jade McGlynn in her book 'Russia's War.' McGlynn observes that Putin doesn't impose foreign policy views on Russians; he gives voice to what many of them already believe. The narrative from Moscow resonates not because it is forced but because it spares its audience from acknowledging its own complicity in an unjust, sadistic and criminal war. Russia's belligerence springs from a deep void of insecurity, impossible to fill. At home, its people are resigned to oppression, apathetic, always victims. Yet when they turn their gaze outward, the inhabitants of the Russian Federation assume the mindset of colonizers, seeking meaning in the subjugation of neighbors. This is not an innate trait, but a twisted cycle of projection, inflicting violence onto others as a means of coping with and suppressing the memory of the violence once suffered. Ukraine's fight today is a battle not for territory, but for historical justice and for truth. A little boy wearing nothing but underwear was never crucified, and the Russian people must learn this. Moscow's criminal war has forced the world — and Russians themselves — to confront the delusions that have sustained the empire. What this aggressive re-colonizer requires, more than anything, is a resounding defeat. Andrew Chakhoyan is an academic director at the University of Amsterdam. He previously served in the U.S. government at the Millennium Challenge Corporation and studied at Harvard Kennedy School and Donetsk State Tech University. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
28-01-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Opinion - The real reason Russia invaded Ukraine
Since the start of the Russo-Ukrainian war in 2014, one Russian phrase has haunted me. It translates to 'They [Ukrainians] crucified a little boy wearing nothing but his underwear.' It sounds grotesque, like something from a macabre fairytale. And it never happened, of course. But for many people in Russia, it might as well have. Russian forces — disguised as 'local uprisings' — swept through the eastern provinces of Ukraine while Russian state television peddled this brazen fabrication to millions. The story's viral spread wasn't just sordid propaganda at work. It demonstrated how the state, media, intelligentsia and 'ordinary Russians' remain fatally entangled in the assertion of a colonizer identity that neither rulers nor the ruled are able to escape. Russia is not a country forged by shared values, common beliefs or a unifying purpose — it is an empire assembled by force, bound together by lies and sustained through the theft of other peoples' art, culture and history. It is true that conquest and cultural appropriation are nothing new in human history, but the existence of past colonial crimes by other powers does not justify Russia's attempt to erase Ukraine today. In 2021, Vladimir Putin penned a 5,000-word essay declaring that Ukraine does not exist — not as a culture and certainly not as a nation. Russians and Ukrainians are 'one people,' he claimed, as tsars and commissars had done before him. But this was no admission of kinship. It was a threat: Ukrainians must either accept that they are Russian or perish. Putin didn't just challenge Ukraine's right to self-determination; he framed it as Russia's duty to invade, kill, rape and torture. Moscow has had many chances but repeatedly failed to shed its imperial skin. Defeats in the Crimean War and the Russo-Japanese War did not prompt a reckoning. Unlike Spain, Portugal or Belgium, which relinquished colonies and transitioned into post-imperial nations, Russia viewed its losses as temporary setbacks. Even the Soviet Union's collapse after the humiliating defeat in Afghanistan didn't extinguish this imperial ethos. Russia's forerunner, Muscovy owed its rise in the 13th century to the role of a tax collector for the Golden Horde, allowing its princes to amass wealth and outmaneuver rivals. In contrast, Kyiv had already thrived for 600 years as a cultural and political hub before Moscow, founded in 1147, even emerged from servitude. In 1547, Ivan IV ('the Terrible') pulled off one of history's greatest cons. Crowning himself 'Tsar of All Rus,' he declared Moscow the rightful heir to Kyivan Rus, vaulting over five centuries of separation with a golden crown as a prop. At first, Europe refused to play along. Diplomats, travelers and scholars continued to refer to the realm as 'Moscovia,' seen in the maps and manuscripts from the time. The name 'Rus' was not inherited from Kyiv — it was stolen. Historian Janusz Bugajski points out that, from the beginning, Moscow relied on control through force as an organizing principle. To this day, the Kremlin crushes dissent, clinging to the past because it can offer no future. Moscow rules through humiliation and oppression to legitimize a governance model where it extracts resources from its provinces, treating places like Siberia or North Caucasus as internal colonies. Maybe it's the West's own tangled history with colonialism that makes us blind to the obvious. Academics have sidestepped the blood-soaked legacy of the Russian Empire, and we seem to struggle with granting agency to 40 million Ukrainians, a stateless nation until recently. Instead, we let Russia — the metropole — frame the discourse. Many in the West prefer to think that Putin is the problem. A tyrant, a thug, the kind of man history occasionally coughs up and then spits out. But Putin is not the exception; he is the rule. Russians are often seen as passive prey of state propaganda, unwilling participants in the horrors unleashed by their government. Yet 'Russia's war on Ukraine is popular with large numbers of Russians and acceptable to an even larger number,' writes Jade McGlynn in her book 'Russia's War.' McGlynn observes that Putin doesn't impose foreign policy views on Russians; he gives voice to what many of them already believe. The narrative from Moscow resonates not because it is forced but because it spares its audience from acknowledging its own complicity in an unjust, sadistic and criminal war. Russia's belligerence springs from a deep void of insecurity, impossible to fill. At home, its people are resigned to oppression, apathetic, always victims. Yet when they turn their gaze outward, the inhabitants of the Russian Federation assume the mindset of colonizers, seeking meaning in the subjugation of neighbors. This is not an innate trait, but a twisted cycle of projection, inflicting violence onto others as a means of coping with and suppressing the memory of the violence once suffered. Ukraine's fight today is a battle not for territory, but for historical justice and for truth. A little boy wearing nothing but underwear was never crucified, and the Russian people must learn this. Moscow's criminal war has forced the world — and Russians themselves — to confront the delusions that have sustained the empire. What this aggressive re-colonizer requires, more than anything, is a resounding defeat. Andrew Chakhoyan is an academic director at the University of Amsterdam. He previously served in the U.S. government at the Millennium Challenge Corporation and studied at Harvard Kennedy School and Donetsk State Tech University. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
The Hill
28-01-2025
- Politics
- The Hill
The real reason Russia invaded Ukraine
Since the start of the Russo-Ukrainian war in 2014, one Russian phrase has haunted me. It translates to 'They [Ukrainians] crucified a little boy wearing nothing but his underwear.' It sounds grotesque, like something from a macabre fairytale. And it never happened, of course. But for many people in Russia, it might as well have. Russian forces — disguised as 'local uprisings' — swept through the eastern provinces of Ukraine while Russian state television peddled this brazen fabrication to millions. The story's viral spread wasn't just sordid propaganda at work. It demonstrated how the state, media, intelligentsia and 'ordinary Russians' remain fatally entangled in the assertion of a colonizer identity that neither rulers nor the ruled are able to escape. Russia is not a country forged by shared values, common beliefs or a unifying purpose — it is an empire assembled by force, bound together by lies and sustained through the theft of other peoples' art, culture and history. It is true that conquest and cultural appropriation are nothing new in human history, but the existence of past colonial crimes by other powers does not justify Russia's attempt to erase Ukraine today. In 2021, Vladimir Putin penned a 5,000-word essay declaring that Ukraine does not exist — not as a culture and certainly not as a nation. Russians and Ukrainians are 'one people,' he claimed, as tsars and commissars had done before him. But this was no admission of kinship. It was a threat: Ukrainians must either accept that they are Russian or perish. Putin didn't just challenge Ukraine's right to self-determination; he framed it as Russia's duty to invade, kill, rape and torture. Moscow has had many chances but repeatedly failed to shed its imperial skin. Defeats in the Crimean War and the Russo-Japanese War did not prompt a reckoning. Unlike Spain, Portugal or Belgium, which relinquished colonies and transitioned into post-imperial nations, Russia viewed its losses as temporary setbacks. Even the Soviet Union's collapse after the humiliating defeat in Afghanistan didn't extinguish this imperial ethos. Russia's forerunner, Muscovy owed its rise in the 13th century to the role of a tax collector for the Golden Horde, allowing its princes to amass wealth and outmaneuver rivals. In contrast, Kyiv had already thrived for 600 years as a cultural and political hub before Moscow, founded in 1147, even emerged from servitude. In 1547, Ivan IV ('the Terrible') pulled off one of history's greatest cons. Crowning himself 'Tsar of All Rus,' he declared Moscow the rightful heir to Kyivan Rus, vaulting over five centuries of separation with a golden crown as a prop. At first, Europe refused to play along. Diplomats, travelers and scholars continued to refer to the realm as 'Moscovia,' seen in the maps and manuscripts from the time. The name 'Rus' was not inherited from Kyiv — it was stolen. Historian Janusz Bugajski points out that, from the beginning, Moscow relied on control through force as an organizing principle. To this day, the Kremlin crushes dissent, clinging to the past because it can offer no future. Moscow rules through humiliation and oppression to legitimize a governance model where it extracts resources from its provinces, treating places like Siberia or North Caucasus as internal colonies. Maybe it's the West's own tangled history with colonialism that makes us blind to the obvious. Academics have sidestepped the blood-soaked legacy of the Russian Empire, and we seem to struggle with granting agency to 40 million Ukrainians, a stateless nation until recently. Instead, we let Russia — the metropole — frame the discourse. Many in the West prefer to think that Putin is the problem. A tyrant, a thug, the kind of man history occasionally coughs up and then spits out. But Putin is not the exception; he is the rule. Russians are often seen as passive prey of state propaganda, unwilling participants in the horrors unleashed by their government. Yet 'Russia's war on Ukraine is popular with large numbers of Russians and acceptable to an even larger number,' writes Jade McGlynn in her book ' Russia's War.' McGlynn observes that Putin doesn't impose foreign policy views on Russians; he gives voice to what many of them already believe. The narrative from Moscow resonates not because it is forced but because it spares its audience from acknowledging its own complicity in an unjust, sadistic and criminal war. Russia's belligerence springs from a deep void of insecurity, impossible to fill. At home, its people are resigned to oppression, apathetic, always victims. Yet when they turn their gaze outward, the inhabitants of the Russian Federation assume the mindset of colonizers, seeking meaning in the subjugation of neighbors. This is not an innate trait, but a twisted cycle of projection, inflicting violence onto others as a means of coping with and suppressing the memory of the violence once suffered. Ukraine's fight today is a battle not for territory, but for historical justice and for truth. A little boy wearing nothing but underwear was never crucified, and the Russian people must learn this. Moscow's criminal war has forced the world — and Russians themselves — to confront the delusions that have sustained the empire. What this aggressive re-colonizer requires, more than anything, is a resounding defeat. Andrew Chakhoyan is an academic director at the University of Amsterdam. He previously served in the U.S. government at the Millennium Challenge Corporation and studied at Harvard Kennedy School and Donetsk State Tech University.
