For citation, please use:
Kiriyanov, O.V. and Subeom, Ch., 2026. The Northern Sea Route as a Field of Deferred Russia-South Korea Cooperation. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 208–223. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-208-223

In recent years, the Northern Sea Route (NSR) has firmly established itself as one of Russia’s key long-term projects: not only a transport artery, but part of a broader Arctic policy that integrates logistics, resource exports, energy infrastructure, and the spatial development of northern territories (Presidential Decree, 2020). In this sense, the NSR is a long-term geo-economic project.

The NSR’s development is proceeding under severe external constraints, primarily sanctions, which have significantly limited opportunities for international cooperation, and increased Russia’s dependence on a limited number of partners. This increases the need for diversified external relations that can supply strategic options in the future.

In this context, the intersection of South Korean and Russian interests in the Arctic and the NSR is of special relevance. South Korea holds strong positions in maritime logistics, shipbuilding, and complex infrastructure projects. But Seoul’s cooperation with Russia has in recent years been restrained by commitment to Western sanctions.

However, reducing South Korea’s position on the NSR to the lack of practical cooperation would be an oversimplification. Since June 2025, South Korea’s new government has displayed interest in rapprochement with Russia, North Korea, and China (while maintaining the alliance with the U.S.). Notably, development of the NSR has been included in the new government’s key objectives (National Policy Tasks, 2025, p. 118).

South Korean experts and businesses are also discussing the NSR as a promising opportunity to transform global logistics and ensure South Korea’s long-term national interests. Such discussions do not displace government policy, but can serve as a basis for planning longer-term cooperation.

This article discusses how Russia-South Korea cooperation in the Arctic can be conceptualized amid the current political and economic restrictions. Particular attention is paid to the approaches of the South Korean government, experts, and businesses. We describe possible medium- and long-term ‘deferred cooperation’ between Russia and South Korea regarding the NSR, which for now would involve the development of various options and the enactment of measures to lower future transaction costs.

The Northern Sea Route in Russia’s Geo-Economic Strategy

Official Russian documents and policy increasingly describe the NSR not as a backup transportation route, but as an independent infrastructure axis. It is part of a broader strategic project, the Trans-Arctic Transport Corridor (TATC), intended to become a year-round logistics artery and the shortest sea route between Europe and Asia. The TATC also includes major rivers, railways, and roads in the Arctic (Kraev, 2026).

Economically, the NSR transports energy and other resources from Russia’s Arctic, and is thus necessary for the realization of major resource-extraction projects in the region. It will complement existing global logistics corridors. And it is linked to the development of Russia’s technological and energy autonomy, including the construction and modernization of Russia’s own icebreakers and port infrastructure.

However, the NSR’s high capital intensity and its technological complexity, as well as the need for investment that is long-term and reliable, narrow Russia’s choice of partners. Sanctions have further reduced Russia’s access to Western technologies, financing, and insurance. Russia’s critically-important Arctic agenda thus needs a diversification of external partners—not for immediate project implementation, but for medium- and long-term cooperation.

South Korea could be useful here, even while maintaining its own interests.

South Korea’s Arctic Policy

Main Contours

South Korea’s polar research policy took shape later than that of other Arctic states. However, in recent decades, Seoul has transitioned from an observer to a full-fledged participant in international activities in the polar regions. Notably, South Korea’s Arctic policy combines research, economic, and diplomatic objectives, and (lacking direct access to the region) relies on international cooperation and the country’s technological advantages.

South Korea’s polar policy dates to the late 1980s, when research infrastructure and dedicated scientific institutions were created. Since the late 1990s, economic factors have intensified interest in the Arctic: South Korea’s export-oriented economy is almost entirely dependent on maritime transportation, hence the importance of new transport routes (primarily the NSR).

Since Arctic phenomena influence Korea’s climate, South Korea also has an interest in climate research there.

A key feature of South Korea’s approach is its treatment of the Arctic and Antarctic as interconnected areas of research and economic activity. South Korea focuses on areas of competitive advantage: shipbuilding, maritime logistics, polar technologies, and scientific research. By creating an icebreaker fleet and research stations, and participating in international scientific programs, South Korea has gained a firm foothold in the system of global polar cooperation (Kiriyanov, 2023).

With Seoul’s acquisition of observer status in the Arctic Council in 2013, its policy became more institutionalized. Its plans have shifted from purely scientific (international cooperation and research) to also economic (transportation, resources, and technology).

In 2022, the Law on Stimulating Activities in Polar Regions enshrined the government’s responsibility for advancing polar research, infrastructure construction, human resources, and international cooperation.

The Arctic Strategy Until 2050 was also adopted, declaring the goal of becoming a leading power in sustainable Arctic governance through participation in international climate change programs, involvement in the region’s sustainable economic development, expanded Arctic diplomacy, and development of the national research and technological base.

Finally, The Medium-Term Plan for 2023–2027 repeated those objectives, acknowledged the growing competition in the polar regions, and the need to strengthen South Korea’s position by developing the icebreaker fleet, satellite monitoring, environmentally-friendly shipping technologies, and international cooperation (Kiriyanov, 2023).

South Korea’s Arctic policy is generally pragmatic and multifaceted: scientific activity legitimizes its presence, diplomacy compensates for the lack of territorial access, and technology and logistics underlie long-term economic interests.

The NSR in the Lee Jae-Myung Government’s Strategy

The NSR is named a priority in all of South Korea’s polar laws, programs, and plans.

In 2017, at the 3rd Eastern Economic Forum in Vladivostok, South Korean President Moon Jae-in proposed ‘Nine Bridges of Cooperation,’ including several Arctic-related areas: the NSR, shipbuilding, port development, and gas supplies (Seo, 2021, p. 184).

The new South Korean government, led by Lee Jae-myung, which came to power in June 2025, has elevated the NSR’s importance, making its development a priority—not within a regional or scientific agenda, but within South Korea’s maritime and logistics strategy.

This policy is enshrined in National Policy Task No. 56: “Creating a K-Sea Power, Leading the Era of the Northern Sea Route.” Essentially, it links the South Korean maritime industry’s future to the development of new Arctic transport routes and the creation of infrastructure supporting South Korea’s participation in the redistribution of global logistics flows.

The South Korean government is ready to start practical implementation of this project, with pilot voyages along the NSR, followed by the route’s transformation into a commercially viable corridor. To this end, the government intends to financially support national shipping companies in the construction of icebreakers and the development of technologies for transport in icy conditions (National Policy Tasks, 2025, p. 118).

The port of Busan is planned to become a key logistics hub for servicing Arctic cargo flows. There are also plans to build port facilities for containers, LNG, and oil, and to modernize port infrastructure with environmentally friendly and smart technologies. More generally, South Korea plans to increase its transport fleet’s capacity and environmental friendliness, which should enhance its competitiveness on new routes. South Korea’s strategy also emphasizes the need to intensify international cooperation through participation in global maritime forums and through partnerships in Arctic shipping. The NSR is viewed as a transport project, but also as a source of new technologies, an incentive for shipbuilding, and a source of future economic advantages (Ibid).

Yet Seoul’s plans for the NSR’s development face a dilemma. From the very beginning of Russia’s Special Military Operation in Ukraine, South Korea has supported Western sanctions on Russia, including in the Arctic. With Lee Jae-myung’s accession in 2025, rhetoric has noticeably softened, but so far without any concrete change. While Seoul is not at the forefront of Western efforts to impose new sanctions on Russia, it strictly adheres to existing ones. It is generally believed that progress in Russia-South Korea relations will be possible only if the West softens its approach to Russia, since Seoul follows its main military and political ally, the U.S.

But effective use of the NSR, lying along Russia’s coast and running through its exclusive economic zone, is impossible without Russia. Hence Seoul is seeking ways to resume cooperation with Russia on the NSR, without violating the current sanctions regime (Pak, 2026).

South Korea’s Search for New Ways to Use the NSR

The Expert and Business Perspective: Rational Caution

South Korean experts and businesses approach the Arctic and the NSR from a longer-term pragmatic perspective, weighing opportunities and risks in light of national interests.

Expert discussions, which often include government officials, tend to shift focus from the current political situation to structural changes in global logistics and energy. The NSR is seen not as requiring immediate action, but as an element in the future transformation of global maritime routes, one whose importance could increase as traditional corridors become more congested and risky.

South Korean analytical papers emphasize that the NSR is “not just the shortest route between Asia and Europe, but a strategic option capable of strengthening the stability and predictability of supplies” (Ko, 2025).

Geopolitical crises in recent years—the blocking of the Suez Canal and restrictions on the Panama Canal—have exposed the vulnerability of even a well-developed logistics system.

However, in discussing the NSR, experts and business do not oppose the government’s position. Rather, the products of such ‘ideas incubators’ are intended only for later implementation. Strategic interest in the NSR is thus maintained within the boundaries of current government policy.

Today, the debate is around which region and port should be primary beneficiaries of the new strategy and how the new plans should be implemented. Since the NSR’s inclusion in Lee Jae-myung’s list of 123 development priorities, competition for connection to the NSR has risen between South Korea’s regions and ports, several of which have proposed their own (Kiriyanov, 2026a).

Pragmatically, the South Koreans acknowledge that the NSR should be tapped through cooperation between private corporations of Russia and South Korea, as they are less dependent on geopolitical factors. South Korea’s large corporations have shown little enthusiasm so far, content in their reliance upon standard routes. But as global warming extends the period of Arctic navigability, and the vulnerability of the Suez Canal and other routes becomes clear, the NSR’s advantages in shipping to Europe will force even the large corporations to turn towards it (Ma, 2026).

Furthermore, although the South Korean government and businesses constantly claim their independence from each other, there are numerous mechanisms for ensuring the alignment of their positions. The government’s inclusion of the NSR in the official list of key development objectives has pushed companies to become more active. Yet South Korean businesses continue to strictly comply with anti-Russian sanctions (Park, 2026).

While both experts and major companies view the NSR as a strategic opportunity, they emphasize that its use entails significant risks, primarily sanctions against Russia and against those who cooperate with it. Financing is especially vulnerable.

There is also the political risk of sudden international developments, including projects’ suspension by either Russian or South Korean authorities, especially if South Korea’s conservatives—who traditionally give unconditional priority to the alliance with the U.S.—return to power. These risks necessitate additional legal guarantees and special investment protection regimes.

The South Koreans also note inherent limitations of the NSR. Arctic conditions require enhanced ice-class standards, expanded insurance coverage, regular personnel training, and exchange of meteorological data. This raises operating costs and makes the NSR more complex compared to traditional routes. All of this is compounded by the shortage of specialized vessels, limited capacity of ports located along the NSR, the need to develop modern river-sea cargo handling facilities, and other infrastructure deficiencies (EY Report, 2026).

On the whole, South Korean experts and big businesses view the NSR not only as a promising alternative corridor, but also as politically, financially, and operationally uncertain, requiring a cautious and phased approach.

The New Leadership’s Tentative Approach

Despite all the risks, difficulties, and limitations, South Korea is already taking steps towards realizing its NSR goals.

In the second half of 2025, the Ministry of Oceans and Fisheries began consultations with domestic companies on staging a trial voyage by a South Korean container ship from Busan to Rotterdam via the NSR. In January 2026, the Ministry announced preparations for negotiations with Russia on the NSR trial voyage, with consultations scheduled to take place in the first half of 2026. To organize the passage of a 3,000 TEU container ship, on 27 April 2026 a bidding contest was announced among South Korean shipping companies ready to operate in Arctic conditions. The winner was announced in the middle of May 2026. Busan-based PanStar Line Dot won the contest and will receive government support of up to 4 billion wons (about $2.3 million) for the construction or retrofitting of an icebreaker, along with port fee exemptions. To coordinate the project, a headquarters involving ten government agencies has been established (Kiriyanov, 2026с).

The project aims to test the NSR in practice, accumulate Arctic shipping experience, and check the economic and technical feasibility of large-scale repeat shipments (Kim, 2026; KMN, 2026). The South Korean authorities have not yet articulated how exactly they would like Russia to assist the trial voyage, but they are likely to request right-of-passage, navigation information, and a commitment to provide supplies and repairs as necessary.

South Korean bulk carriers have sailed through the NSR five times, but its container ships have never done so. The South Koreans’ activity is largely instigated by the passage of a Chinese container ship through the NSR in 2025, and by Beijing’s overall increased activity in the Arctic (Kiriyanov, 2026b).

Acting Minister of Oceans and Fisheries Kim Sung-beom has confirmed readiness to resolve the sanctions issue: “Russia requires that we receive permission to transit the portion of the NSR that passes through Russia’s territorial waters and exclusive economic zone. In this regard, it is important to establish cooperation with the relevant [Russian] authorities. However, since our country is also participating in Western sanctions imposed against Russia, we plan to find a mutually acceptable solution. We are preparing negotiations with Russian authorities in the first half of this year” (Yoon, 2026). This indicates not an intent to lift sanctions, but rather to find ways around sanctions-related difficulties (e.g., with payment of transit fees) in order to ensure the South Korean vessel’s one-time passage.

Thus, fully aware of all the risks and limitations, Seoul has begun taking the first steps towards long-term cooperation with Russia on the NSR, by preparing cautious pilot projects. The first trial voyage was announced to be realized in August-September 2026 (Lee and Park, 2026).

Cooperation Opportunities Under Different Scenarios

Russian and South Korean Long-Term Interests

Russia has a long-term interest in cooperating with South Korea in the Arctic, and on the NSR in particular.

First and foremost, Russia needs to diversify its external partners. Under sanctions and with limited access to Western technologies and markets, Russia has enhanced cooperation with China, including in the Arctic, but long-term dependence on a single partner poses strategic and economic risks. Thus, Russia stands to benefit from adding other, complementary Asian partnerships.

Second, the largest NSR-related challenge, besides attracting investment, is acquiring special technologies and skills required for operation in Arctic conditions. The NSR development requires a specialized fleet, efficient port management, and the coordination of complex seasonal routes.

In this context, Russia would benefit from investment and technology partners to defray the NSR’s costs and smooth its operation.

The third factor relates to the economic rationale for developing the NSR. The project remains capital-intensive and highly risky. Its competitiveness directly depends on the ability to control operation costs, ensure supply reliability, and reduce accident and climate risks as much as possible. For Russia, cooperating with external industrial partners is a way to increase the efficiency of its Arctic activity, rather than internationalizing it. In this sense, South Korea is viewed not as a sales market, but as a potential partner in creating a more sustainable economic model for the NSR’s operation and as a source of capital.

The fourth factor is the geo-economic dimension of potential Russia-South Korea cooperation. It is critical for Russia that the NSR become an internationally significant route, rather than a domestic or bilateral one. Sustained interest from various Asian economies, including South Korea, will help develop the NSR within the broader Eurasian logistics system. In this sense the Korean track of cooperation is part of a strategy for maintaining the diversity of external relations.

Fifth, and final, is the political factor. South Korea is not an Arctic power with political or territorial ambitions in the region, and cooperation with it is thus less likely to be politicized, more likely to remain pragmatic.

As for South Korea’s interest in cooperation, it is exclusively practical: the NSR largely runs along the Russian coast and through its inland waters. As a trading nation relying more than 99% on maritime shipment, South Korea seeks to diversify transportation routes and reduce logistical risks. For Seoul, the NSR is a potential alternative to the instability of traditional sea routes. Furthermore, South Korea is interested in long-term access to the Arctic’s strategic raw materials (e.g., lithium for batteries) and in putting its shipbuilding and engineering to work.

Leaving sanctions aside, the long-term interests of Russia and South Korea overlap in several key areas.

First, shipbuilding and an Arctic fleet. Russia needs river-sea-class vessels and specialized research and support vessels, while South Korea has the expertise and experience to organize modern, large-scale ship production, including ice-class vessels. South Korean expertise could also support Russian ports’ technological, digital, safety, and environmental modernization (EY Report, 2026, pp. 13, 17-20).

Second, South Korean companies’ expertise in construction and port digitalization could be of use in managing port-to-railway-to-NSR and river-to-NSR shipments.

Third, Arctic resources, exported via the NSR, could be utilized by South Korean manufacturing, e.g., of batteries (EY Report, 2026, pp. 18, 21-22).

Strategically, the NSR could become not just a single route, but an element of a broader architecture in the Arctic and Northeast Asia, combining Russia’s resources and logistics with South Korea’s technology and industry.

Deferred Cooperation in the Current Geopolitical Environment

Under the current sanctions regime, opportunities for practical cooperation on the NSR will remain very limited, but possible. The main task is to create the broadest possible framework and mechanisms for deferred cooperation in a future more favorable environment.

Joint investment projects and a strategic alliance are currently impossible, but cautious technical, infrastructural, and expert-based cooperation can be devised.

Possible tracks of cooperation include:

1. Specialized shipbuilding. Joint construction not of large-capacity icebreakers, but of the small and specialized ice-class vessels servicing the NSR’s river-sea logistics. This includes design, engineering, technical documentation, standardization, and consulting.
2. Ports and infrastructure. South Korean specialists may participate in the development of Murmansk, Arkhangelsk, and other ports—and of associated railway infrastructure—through individual EPC contracts, technological support, and special investment regimes that minimize sanctions risk (e.g., exchange of raw materials for South Korean companies’ participation) (EY Report, 2026, p. 15).
3. Pilot projects and phased testing of the route. The announced South Korean plan, for a container ship’s trial voyage from Busan to Rotterdam, needs to be scaled up to two or three test voyages per year, accompanied by navigational, logistical, and emergency testing of the route. Until the NSR is integrated into global supply chains, this will grant the South Koreans experience with Arctic operations and cooperation with Russian specialists.
4. Working groups and ‘semi-official’ diplomacy (‘Track 1.5’). We suggest establishing a civil Russia-South Korean working group involving shipowners, ports, ship classification societies, insurers, and research institutions. It would discuss standards, insurance, logistics, and regulations without concluding formal agreements, and keep the South Korean and Russian governments informed.
5. Technical standards, safety criteria, and data exchange. Current conditions permit cooperation between Russian and South Korean ship classification societies, the development of compatible safety protocols, the joint verification of ice-class vessels, the coordination of insurance mechanisms, the exchange of meteorological and marine data, and the conduct of regular safety and environmental-protection exercises. This will create the necessary technical foundation for future cooperation.
6. Educational and personnel programs. Educational and personnel exchanges appear promising and mutually beneficial for building trust and creating a foundation for long-term cooperation. They may include training of specialists in Arctic shipping, insurance, and environmental monitoring. South Koreans would be interested in gaining Arctic experience, while Russians could enrich their knowledge of South Korea’s latest advances in technology and information.

In sum, we propose that the two countries draw closer to one another technically, starting with nongovernmental pilot programs that minimize sanctions risks and develop institutional and professional compatibility.

But Russia should also make clear that NSR cooperation can be conducted only on a mutually beneficial basis, that Seoul is expected to be responsive to Russia’s interests and needs.

Prospective Cooperation Guidelines

In the long term, if sanctions are at least partly lifted, Russia-South Korea cooperation could greatly expand.

If sanctions remain, but certain sectoral and functional windows open up, then a prompt response will be needed based on the knowledge and experience accumulated through the prior stages of deferred cooperation. Even just some easing of financial restrictions would remove many of the current obstacles to cooperation.

However, much planning by experts and corporations is oriented towards a significant easing of political pressure, or lifting of sanctions, which permits full-fledged cooperation in: construction of a specialized fleet (including icebreakers with SMR technology); development of port infrastructure (including in Arkhangelsk and Murmansk); LNG projects; and creation of an integrated transport corridor through the Arctic and Northeast Asia, incorporating various South Korean ports like Donghae, Pohang, Ulsan, Busan, Jinhae, and Yeosu-Gwangyang.

If the status quo is maintained, deferred cooperation will remain the only possibility, but even it can considerably benefit both Russia and South Korea.

*  *  *

The Northern Sea Route is an integral part of Russia’s geo-economic strategy, which includes systemic cooperation with Asian partners. In this context, South Korea is not an alternative to other partners, but is potentially complementary to them, offering advanced industrial, logistical, and management expertise.

Given current restrictions, South Korean companies’ caution is understandable. But they are interested in cooperation, and several opportunities for it already exist, namely the planned trial voyage of a South Korean container ship along the NSR.

By building expertise and trust between private companies, ship classification societies, and port operators; by establishing permanent channels of dialogue; and by increasing mutual understanding and awareness of the parties’ specific characteristics and operating procedures, deferred cooperation can create a ‘quiet infrastructure’ for future full-scale cooperation.

The South Korean pilot voyage, scheduled for August-September 2026, will greatly clarify the feasibility of Russia-South Korea cooperation on the NSR. In the future, much will depend on changes in the sanctions regime. But even the emergence of sectoral windows of opportunity could permit much currently postponed cooperation.

For citation, please use:
Bespalov, A.S., 2026. World Map: To Each Their Own? Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 224–228. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-224-228

For fifteen years until its collapse, the Soviet Union regularly published a popular science series titled Looking at the Political Map of the World. Issued monthly, these brochures examined current events in specific countries or regions and offered historical context. They served as an excellent companion to the world map itself, which, amid ongoing decolonization, was updated almost annually. Attention was also paid to long-established countries, both near and far. Soviet citizens had many opportunities to deepen their knowledge of political geography.

This legacy of basic geographic knowledge—shared with other European countries[1]—may be why stories of cartographic blunders in U.S. media[2] remain so popular in post-Soviet Russia.

But there is one thing that even a strong geographical culture does not resolve. The political map of the world has never been universally accepted: a map depicts the globe, but also the official viewpoint—even the political philosophy—of its country of origin. Perhaps the most basic manifestation of this is map-centering. Western and Russian maps are typically centered along the prime meridian, though in post-war Soviet and contemporary Russian cartography, the Moscow meridian has been used. Maps published in the United States sometimes center the axis on America, splitting Eurasia in two, while Chinese maps are generally centered on the Pacific Ocean.

But the depiction of national borders carries even greater political resonance.

While map-centering offers different perspectives on geographic reality, drawn borders often bear no relation to it.

The first post-war generation of West German schoolchildren grew up with maps showing Germany within its 1937 borders, with the GDR labeled a “Soviet occupation zone” and East Prussia as being “currently under Soviet/Polish administration.” During the Cold War, American maps noted that the United States did not recognize the incorporation of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania into the USSR, yet still depicted the Baltic republics as part of the Soviet Union. For eighty years, Indian maps have shown the entire former princely state of Jammu and Kashmir as part of India, while Pakistani maps claim it as their own. Incidentally, Soviet maps were much closer to reality on the Kashmir issue, as they showed the 1949 demarcation line. Yet Korea remained formally unified on Soviet maps until the establishment of diplomatic relations between Moscow and Seoul in 1990. Countries that do not recognize Israel depict it as Palestine. The list goes on.

The first decade of the 21st century saw a qualitative leap in cartography, as it was revolutionized by the Internet. In 2005, Google Maps set a new standard for mass geographic media. It combined three key components: vector maps (borders, names, roads, points of interest), satellite imagery, and interactive features (route planning and, later, the ability to correct and add data). In showing national borders, Google initially took a technological approach, prioritizing functionality and navigational accuracy. But by the end of the decade, its product had gained such widespread popularity and authority that it began to influence military and political realities.

In October 2010, a Nicaraguan detachment landed on Costa Rica’s Calero Island and began dredging the San Juan River—acting, according to the Nicaraguan commander, based on Google Maps. The ensuing diplomatic conflict was later dubbed by the media “The First Google Maps War,”[3] but, fortunately did not escalate into real war, and was resolved in court in Costa Rica’s favor. After this and several other incidents, Google, a U.S.-based company, changed its approach to depicting borders. Recognizing their explosive nature and facing the demands of national laws, Google abandoned the idea of a ‘single map for everyone’ and adopted a localization strategy. In disputed cases, Google Maps now shows different borders (depending on the user’s location) or uses dotted lines. The same applies to place names: in 2025, Google quickly reacted to President Trump’s executive order, renaming the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America—for U.S. users.[4]

This localization policy has proven an elegant solution, allowing the company to largely avoid conflicts with the authorities of countries where it operates, although this does not always prevent scandals. Russia’s Yandex took a similar approach, displaying international borders in accordance with national legislation—until the summer of 2022. At that point, regulatory and sanctions risks drove Yandex to remove state and administrative borders, officially presented as a “shift in focus to natural features.”[5] Other Russian online map services—2GIS and VK Maps—have followed Yandex’s example, though the latter still shows administrative borders.

While American companies have adopted a localized approach to borders, and Russian ones hedge by displaying none at all, Asian companies strictly adhere to their own governments’ policies. South Korea’s Naver Maps, for instance, not only indicates the Liancourt Rocks (claimed by Japan) as South Korean territory but, driven by patriotic considerations,[6] provides unique content, such as underwater photos. However, Naver, like its competitor Kakao Maps, lacks global coverage.

The same cannot be said for the Chinese map service Baidu, which presents all users worldwide with a ten‑dash line in the South China Sea and with China’s claimed border with India. Moreover, Baidu’s map not only fails to reflect the results of the 2005 demarcation of the Russian‑Chinese border, but also draws the Russian‑Japanese maritime border north of Iturup Island, labeling the Southern Kuril Islands as “Russian‑occupied” (俄占). Apparently, the borders are depicted as they were defined by the cartographical agency in 1989, and an update is dependent upon demarcation with other states.[7]

This argument appears to satisfy Russia: China has repeatedly stated that all border disputes with Russia have been resolved, and that discrepancies between maps and reality are a technical, not political issue.

But at least Chinese users can see some version (even an outdated one) of their country’s border. Demand for the same is clearly present in Russia, and online maps’ importance casts doubt on Russian companies’ attempt to ‘stay out of politics.’ Users have already developed their own solutions, adding custom map layers on top of Yandex, whether for military analysis[8] or genealogy.[9] It would be a step in the right direction to provide Russian online maps with a standard toggleable ‘borders’ layer, with a choice of historical period.

This article is an edited version of the paper written for the Valdai Discussion Club, https://valdaiclub.com/a/highlights/political-map-of-the-world-to-each-their-own/

For citation, please use:
Trenin, D.V., 2026. The Wars of Our Time. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 10–27. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-10-27

It is said that generals always prepare for the previous war. This does not mean that the military is incapable of preparing for the future; while inertia is indeed as common among soldiers as it is among civilians, the price is much higher. Rather, it means that war’s technological and political character changes constantly—and cardinally, with every world war—even as it remains fundamentally the armed imposition of one’s will on the enemy.

Today we are witnessing a transition from mainly mechanized to increasingly digital warfare. The military is usually first to employ scientific and technological advances. Various digital technologies, artificial intelligence (AI) and its databases, robotics, cyberwarfare, and space weapons will increasingly define war, radically modifying tactics and strategy.

This new character of war signifies the end of 500-year-long Western dominance and 40-year-long U.S. hegemony. A new world order, often called multipolar, is nearing. It will feature powers of various sizes and civilizations, with various understandings of world order. But before considering how to harmonize these different understandings, we should remember that the transition to it will involve fierce struggle. In the 20th century, the emergence of a new world order triggered two world wars. A third one was avoided because the two main belligerents recognized mutually assured nuclear destruction.

In the mid-2010s, the world entered a new stage of transition, functionally analogous to a world war. To avoid confusing analogies and numbering, this can be termed a new world war with 21st-century features. This war is already underway, consisting of multiple lengthy and intermittent wars, which will produce intermediate results and eventually a final balance. These wars are being fought openly in Eastern Europe and in the adjacent seas, in the Middle East, and (as special operations) in Latin America. But the biggest conflict is brewing in East Asia and the Western Pacific. The stakes in the new world war are so high that it will likely be lengthy, and be fought brutally and resolutely, affecting the entire world. We have entered an era of long wars.

Digital War

In the age of information systems, crucial battlefield importance is logically held by the real-time integration of reconnaissance, detection, targeting, and fire. This is most strikingly exemplified in the ‘drone revolution’ that has upended warfare. This phenomenon has been thoroughly analyzed by General of the Army Yuri Baluyevsky and Director of the Center for Analysis of Strategies and Technologies Ruslan Pukhov (Baluyevsky and Pukhov, 2026).

Essentially, a wide belt of total destruction, extending 20-30 km from the front line—where any platform and even individual soldier will be certainly destroyed by FPV drones—has eliminated the crucial principle of force concentration to break through the enemy lines. On the contrary, dispersing forces has become the rule. War of maneuver with tank breakthroughs has given way to infiltration of the enemy’s position by two or three soldiers. The ‘front’ is actually a gray zone, where the opponents often hold points behind each other’s lines, jutting into one another. The siege of a small fortress city may last months.

Modern warfare now encompasses everything from hand-to-hand trench combat to piloting systems far from the battlefield. Swarms of drones with a range of 100-300 km turn the enemy’s operational rear into an area of constant danger. The almost complete transparency of the entire theater of war, obscured only by the weather, makes it almost impossible to use another important principle—surprise. The ‘fog of war’ has almost dissipated, except for the real fog that sometimes hides troops’ movement from the all-seeing eye of the reconnaissance drones.

Moreover, drones with hundred- and even thousand-kilometer ranges can hit targets deep behind enemy lines that once could be reached only by long-range missiles. Ukrainian UAVs from the Baltic Sea reach the Ural Mountains, and Iranian UAVs reach British bases in Cyprus.

The possibility of accurately hitting critical targets deep in the rear has blurred the old boundaries between tactics, operations, and strategy.

The drone revolution has largely devalued traditional combat platforms. Tanks designed to break through the front line and conduct direct fire are now useful mainly as self-propelled artillery systems, and have themselves become targets for long-range attacks. Artillery guns, especially those using precision-guided munitions, remain in service, but are less cost-effective. Instead of aerial dogfights, air defense systems face off against ballistic and cruise missiles. Warships are struck by sea drones. Air defense systems, designed to shoot down enemy planes, are forced to use expensive interceptors against relatively cheap drones. The importance of electronic warfare, space communications, and surveillance has increased tremendously.

Regionalization of Local Conflicts

Technological advances have made the theater of war practically boundless. Today, one should speak not of a conflict in Ukraine, but of a conflict in Eastern Europe. Kiev is an instrument of NATO countries’ common policy. Russia conducts strikes across all of Ukrainian territory, and Kiev against dozens of Russian regions, using Baltic and Finnish territory. The Kiev regime carries out acts of sabotage and terrorism deep inside Russia, with the help, support, and control of Britain and other NATO countries. Ships carrying Russian oil and LNG face piracy in the Black, Baltic, and Mediterranean Seas. In Operation Cobweb, Ukrainian drones attacked Siberian airfields. Similarly, Israel attacked Iranian targets during the Twelve-Day War. The “quiet” cyberwar goes on non-stop. This creates the obvious and real risk of pushing the Ukraine conflict towards a regional war between NATO and Russia.

In the Middle East, conflict has expanded from the local level—Israel and its neighbors (Lebanon, Syria, the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, and earlier Egypt)—to the regional level—Iran, Yemen, Iraq, Kuwait, Qatar, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and even Turkiye and Cyprus. The Persian Gulf, and the Red and Arabian Seas, have become warzones. An American submarine sank an Iranian frigate 2,000 miles away from Iran, off the coast of Sri Lanka.

In response to the U.S.-Israeli aggression, Iran blocked the Strait of Hormuz for the first time ever, and its allies in Yemen may close the Bab el-Mandeb. Tehran launched missiles at the American military base on Diego Garcia 4,000 km away. Despite Israel’s dense air defenses, almost all of its territory—more or less effectively protected during previous wars—has been struck by missiles and UAVs. 2026 essentially saw much of the Middle East being drawn into a regional war between Israel and the U.S. against Iran and its allies.

Thus, the technological revolution has changed war dramatically. Improved intelligence capabilities and military technology have increased the accuracy of strikes enormously, with distance from the front line no longer playing a decisive role; the theater of war has expanded significantly, covering not only the territory of the belligerents (other than the U.S.), but also targets outside them. Moreover, there is an increasingly clear connection between certain conflicts, particularly in Ukraine and Iran. 

The latest novelty is that some decisions (e.g., choice of targets) and their execution can now be delegated to AI and autonomous systems.

According to media reports, the operation to capture Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro and his wife was prepared with the help of AI (Wall Street Journal, 2026). AI was also reportedly used to select targets in Iran (Gustafson and Kosslyn, 2026).

However, many elements of traditional war remain relevant. Wars have not become bloodless computer games: hundreds of thousands of people are fighting on both sides of the front line, including in close combat in the trenches with the use of cold steel, with losses in the tens or hundreds of thousands. The difference between the front and rear has blurred significantly, but has not disappeared: war and peace have learned to exist side by side. And not all modern military conflicts are as fast-moving as the U.S.’s Operations Desert Storm (1991) and Shock and Awe (2002) in Iraq, NATO’s bombing of Yugoslavia (1999), or Russia’s five-day war to impose peace on Georgia (2008). The Ukraine conflict is of particular importance in this regard.

A War of Attrition

After a brief period of maneuver, the war in Ukraine turned into a war of attrition. There are no large-scale offensives or frontline breakthroughs into operational depth. The main method of warfare, along with the grueling offensive on the ground (grinding down the enemy), is constant pressure to exhaust the enemy’s front line and, increasingly, rear. The Russian army’s main task is not so much seizing territory (although Russian troops have held the initiative and gradually pushed forward since 2024) as bringing the enemy to collapse by eliminating his manpower and materiel and by destroying or crippling his military-industrial infrastructure, energy systems, logistics routes, control centers, etc. The goal is to drain the Kiev regime’s resources, disorganize its rear, and convince its Western sponsors that the Ukrainian ‘asset’ is worthless.

The enemy also opted for a strategy of exhaustion, trying to “inflict a strategic defeat on Russia”—first by undermining its economy and finances, and then by preventing Russia from winning the war. Since 2014, the collective West has imposed an unprecedented 30,000 sanctions on Russia and seized the half of its foreign exchange reserves that were kept in Western jurisdictions. Sanctions are an economic war of attrition, especially in a globalized economy.

Priority in the war of attrition is given to the energy sector.

As part of the ‘infrastructure war,’ in the first months of the Special Military Operation, the enemy blew up the Nord Stream gas pipeline in the Baltic Sea. Later, the Ukrainians blew up onshore gas and oil pipelines (including Druzhba) connecting Russia with European countries. According to Russian intelligence, Kiev also plans to destroy the Black Sea’s Blue Stream and Turkish Stream gas pipelines.

Nuclear power facilities have no immunity against strikes, either. The Zaporozhye NPP, controlled by Russian troops, is constantly shelled by Ukraine. Other Russian nuclear power plants, especially in Kursk and Smolensk, have also been struck by Ukrainian forces. In turn, Russian forces have attacked electrical substations transmitting electricity from Ukrainian nuclear power plants to consumers—harming the Ukrainian rear, but not creating any risk of radioactive contamination.

In 2025, the U.S. and Israel attacked Iran to destroy its nuclear program, damaging several sites’ infrastructure but leaving the Bushehr nuclear power plant untouched. Yet its grounds were struck in 2026, to which Tehran responded with an attack on the Israeli Nuclear Research Center near Dimona.

While Western countries set price ceilings on Russian oil and piratically seized tankers, Ukrainian aerial and sea drones attacked Russian oil refineries, marine export terminals, oil tankers, and LNG carriers. The goal was stated openly: to reduce Russia’s energy exports and thus its budget revenue.

The situation is similar in the Middle East conflict. With the same aim in mind, Western countries imposed price ceilings on Iranian oil, sanctions against its buyers and against ships carrying Iranian oil and petroleum products, and illegally stopped and arrested such vessels. In response to the U.S.-Israeli aggression in 2026, Iran attacked oil refineries, LNG plants, and other energy infrastructure in the Gulf states with U.S. military bases, and also took control of navigation in the Strait of Hormuz. In the Red Sea, the Iran-allied Houthis have threatened to attack Israel- and U.S.-linked ships, endangering transit through the Bab el-Mandeb and Suez Canal. The infrastructure war in the Middle East has also spread to digital facilities, such as data centers in Bahrain and other Gulf countries.

In the asymmetric war between the U.S./Israel and Iran, Tehran leaned heavily on economic weapons. By closing the Strait of Hormuz and attacking the energy facilities of Gulf states hosting U.S. military bases, Tehran sought to impose economic pressure on the U.S. and its allies, making them back down.

Another version of the war of attrition is unfolding in Latin America. The U.S. imposed a blockade on Cuba after the Cuban Revolution in the early 1960s, expanding it in 2026 to oil imports from third countries, basically leaving the country without fuel and electricity. The U.S. President announced that these actions seek to replace Cuba’s government and political course with pro-American ones. Similarly, the U.S. blocked Venezuelan oil exports to force a change in policy.

A war of attrition thus becomes primarily a test of the resilience of the belligerents’ political systems and societies. Russia and Iran have so far passed this test; Venezuela has at present given up; Cuba is holding out for now; and China is drawing lessons.

The War of Annihilation—Massive and Individualized

Not all modern wars are wars of attrition. Israel’s response to Hamas’s massive terrorist attack on civilians was intended to completely eliminate the threat from this Palestinian group. Israeli strikes killed more than 70,000 Palestinians in Gaza in 2023-2025, condemned by many throughout the world as genocide. More than 3,500 Iranian civilians were killed during the 40-day U.S.-Israeli aggression against Iran in the spring of 2026.

However, mass killing of the enemy’s civilian population is certainly not new. World War II involved numerous cases of deliberate extermination of civilians not only by the Nazis, their allies, and the Japanese, but also by U.S. and British carpet bombings of German and Japanese cities, and by the U.S. atomic bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Israel is also known for assassinations. Since 2023, the Israeli intelligence agencies have killed many senior figures of Hezbollah and Hamas in Lebanon, Gaza, and beyond, including Tehran. Even before Israel’s first attack on Iran in 2025, a number of high-ranking Iranian military advisers were slain by Israel in Syria.

At the beginning of the Twelve-Day War against Iran in June 2025, Israeli agents liquidated dozens of high-ranking Iranian civil and military officials, as well as nuclear physicists. The incumbent Iranian President was also among the targets.

At the outbreak of the new aggression in 2026, Israeli missile strikes killed 49 Iranian top officials, including Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei—not an already-deposed leader like Saddam Hussein or Muammar Gaddafi, or a terrorist like bin Laden, but the recognized chief executive of a UN member state. And it came less than two months after the Americans forcibly seized the legitimate head of another state—Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro.

The action against Venezuela repeated—on a new technological level—the 1990 operation against Panamanian President Manuel Noriega, who was also captured and sent to an American prison. U.S. intelligence agencies have developed targeted killing, particularly during the post-9/11 War on Terror. President Barack Obama personally gave many orders to eliminate—usually with drones—individuals designated by the U.S. as terrorists. In 2020, President Donald Trump ordered the assassination of the commander of Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), Qasem Soleimani.

The Ukrainian security services also use terrorist methods in the ongoing war. In 2024-2026, they attacked four senior Russian generals in Moscow and executed or attempted the assassination of several prominent Russian public figures, journalists, philosophers, and writers. At the end of 2025, Ukrainian UAVs carried out a massive attack on the Russian President’s residence in Valdai, in which NATO intelligence services were apparently involved per evidence cited by Russian officials (RG, 2025).

Israel, the U.S., and NATO-supported Ukraine have broken with the understanding, which dates to well before the Cold War, that political and military leaders generally enjoy unspoken immunity during hostilities. Notably, according to Naftali Bennett, Israel’s Prime Minister at the time, President Putin guaranteed Vladimir Zelensky’s safety in April 2022 (RBC, 2023). Yet eliminating an enemy commander on the battlefield has often been a desirable goal, and killing the opposing political leader was considered one of the shortest ways to win the war or at least avoid defeat.

Deliberate attacks on civilians and civilian infrastructure have been practiced not only by Israel and the U.S., but also by Ukraine since the outbreak of the crisis in 2014.

Both the targeted destruction of the enemy’s leaders and the massive killing of its population underline war’s nature in the 21st century.

21st-century wars are multifaceted and multidimensional. Even in the past, the physical battlefield—the theater of operations—was never the only dimension of military conflict, but now the other dimensions have grown so much as to cardinally change things. Economy and finance; technology and resources; information and psychology; cyberspace and outer space—the list of battlefields is far from complete.

The Nature of War

Statesmen and their advisers sometimes also prepare for the previous war, which often makes for a shocking exposure to the new reality, especially for those who were convinced of peace’s inevitability and deterrence’s absolute reliability. But wars have permeated all of human history, and an era of new—qualitatively different—major wars has now begun after eighty years of peace between the great powers.

The Cold War proceeded, under the nuclear sword of Damocles, through local wars on the periphery of the superpowers’ global confrontation. The end of the bipolar confrontation was immediately followed by an approximately 10-year period of interethnic conflicts in disintegrating or failed states. Those conflicts were accompanied by external interference and peacekeeping operations, as well as by military interventions (in the Balkans and Middle East) to establish a new unipolar (U.S.-centric) world order. Terrorist attacks in New York and Washington in 2001 ushered in a period of counter-terrorist operations and the invasions of Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya, with the aim of reconstructing them along Western lines. But by the middle of the 2010s, contradictions between the great powers had resurfaced again. The ‘unipolar moment’ had ended.

Modern wars reflect the crisis of the post-Cold-War U.S.-centric world order and of the West’s lengthy global dominance. By provoking wars (in Ukraine) and initiating them (in the Middle East), the U.S. has launched a counteroffensive against its opponents (Russia, Iran) and competitors (China, BRICS, the EU, and the Arab Gulf states). The Trump administration’s goal is to force a new (illiberal) model of global hegemony upon the world. But unlike the previous (globalist) hegemony, this one does not rest on ideological dominance, political leadership, or norms. Rather, it implies the supremacy of U.S. power beyond the framework of a political order.

In their current wars, the Americans are exploiting their allies more than cooperating with them, activating them on the geopolitical ‘front line’ in Europe (Kiev and NATO), in the Middle East (the Gulf states), and in Asia (Taiwan, the Philippines, Japan, South Korea). The U.S.’s long-term ‘protection’ of these countries is now driving them into collision with their larger neighbors, threatening their devastation or even destruction.

Notably, unlike in the Cold War, the other side—Russia, Belarus, China, Iran, and the DPRK—is not yet inclined to create a military alliance to concertedly respond to the U.S.; Moscow, Beijing, and Tehran are ready to fight only for their own interests. The only military alliances are Russia–Belarus and Russia–DPRK. India has taken a decidedly neutral position, developing strategic partnerships with the U.S., Russia, France, and other EU countries, as well as with Britain, and Japan. The Collective Security Treaty Organization’s members, other than Belarus, also remain neutral.

 Since 1945, wars have not been declared. Even diplomatic relations are often maintained (embassies are simply evacuated), and martial law is eschewed (to preserve peacetime conditions for civilians as much as possible). It is especially ominous that diplomatic negotiations are not just conducted in parallel with undiminished military operations, but have been used by Washington and Tel Aviv as cover for new attacks. During the Cold War, attacks were feared under the guise of military exercises, but in 2025 and 2026 they began under the guise of peace talks.

War and peace coexist in the same place and at the same time. The parties simultaneously fight and trade with each other. Gas and oil pipelines, running from Russia to the EU through Ukraine, kept operating long after February 2022. The U.S. President almost simultaneously announced his intention to bomb Iran “back to the stone ages” and to lift sanctions on Iranian oil exports (to mitigate the war’s damage to world energy markets).

In general, the space of peace is shrinking, while that of war is expanding.

Nuclear Weapons

This growing relativity of peace signals the approach of a direct conflict between the leading powers. Nuclear deterrence has been critically weakened at the strategic level. States now pursue objectives that would have been unthinkable during the Cold War: in the case of the West’s proxy war against Russia in Ukraine, the objective is the strategic defeat of a nuclear superpower (Russia) in its most sensitive strategic region. In the case of Iran, the objective is not only the complete elimination of its nuclear program, but also its missile-disarmament, subversion, and dismemberment.

Deterrence is weakening mostly because of the disappearance of the salutary fear that kept the Cold War cold and warded off a nuclear apocalypse. The leaders of European states—from large (Germany) to small (Estonia)—now make dangerous provocations, as if they did not care about the consequences for their own countries and people, should Moscow respond to such provocations.[1] This indicates European politicians’ mental derangement and, even more so, their ‘post-national syndrome:’ the elites have no homeland.[2]

The paradoxical reaction of people in European countries is also quite interesting. Influenced by their government and media propaganda, they simultaneously hallucinate non-existent threats (a Russian invasion of NATO countries) and remain blind to the very real possibility of their leaders’ actions pushing Moscow to use force against NATO.

As a result, strategic stability—in its broad geostrategic meaning, rather than in the narrow and obsolete sense of disincentive for nuclear attack—has been seriously undermined. In 2025 alone, the nuclear-armed U.S., UK, and France waged a protracted proxy war against nuclear-armed Russia in Ukraine;[3] nuclear-armed India and Pakistan briefly clashed directly; and nuclear-armed Israel and the U.S. attacked a ‘near-nuclear’ Iran. The DPRK did not enter into conflict with the U.S., but sent its troops to help Russia liberate the part of Kursk Oblast that had been occupied by Ukraine with the West’s support. Only one nuclear power out of nine—China—remained in a state of relative peace, a more ‘regular’ confrontation with the U.S.

All of these wars were/are fought under the threat of nuclear weapons. Their use—as the previous fear diminishes—becomes more likely. But the view in the 1960s-1980s that any nuclear use would inevitably lead to mankind’s destruction[4] is being supplanted by the view that a general nuclear war is impossible (as no one would initiate it), yet the consequences of a limited nuclear war would not be disastrous.

This has boosted the popularity of nuclear weapons as a means of preventing an attack. Possession of nuclear weapons is considered the only real safeguard against external aggression, as clearly evidenced by the U.S.’s diverging policies towards nuclear-armed North Korea, non-nuclear Iran, and Iraq and Libya, which voluntarily abandoned their nuclear programs. In 2026, following the U.S.-Israeli attack, Iran’s parliament raised the issue of withdrawal from the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT).

Renewed interest in nuclear weapons has also been bolstered by the Trump administration’s de facto refusal to provide nuclear guarantees to U.S. allies. Europe is discussing ‘extended deterrence’ based on France’s nuclear forces or, as they say in Germany, some kind of ‘European nuclear capabilities.’ Poland, Greece and Estonia have declared their readiness to deploy allied nuclear weapons on their soil; Sweden is holding consultations with the UK on a nuclear umbrella that supposedly can protect it.

But it cannot. Britain needs U.S. permission to use nuclear weapons. France’s arsenal is under its own control, but is unlikely to be used except in defense of its own vital interests. In the 21st century, there is probably no country that would sacrifice itself for an ally. The only instance of truly reliable extended nuclear deterrence is Russia’s guarantee to Minsk. But Russia and Belarus are a Union State, not only a military alliance.

In Asia, the situation is also changing, though not so noticeably. Japan has not made any statements yet, but according to some experts, the country could create a nuclear weapon very quickly (Report, 2023). In South Korea, which also has a venerable civilian nuclear program and missile capabilities, some top officials have in the past stressed the necessity to develop nuclear weapons, but so far Seoul has settled for an agreement with the U.S. on a nuclear consultative mechanism. Among U.S. clients, the idea of obtaining nuclear weapons is popular in Taiwan and Ukraine, but China and Russia strongly oppose it and are ready to prevent it.

In the Islamic world, Saudi Arabia, a large and wealthy regional power, and Pakistan, the only Muslim state with nuclear weapons, seem to be forming an alliance. The Middle East may see further nuclear proliferation. Israel became a nuclear power at the turn of the 1970s. Iran, which under Khamenei sought only the capability to produce nuclear weapons, is now contemplating secession from the NPT given U.S.-Israeli aggression. Other possible candidates for the nuclear club include Saudi Arabia and Turkiye.

So, nuclear non-proliferation, one of the final remaining pillars of the former bipolar world order, is collapsing along with nuclear arms control, which formally ended with the expiration of the extended Russian-American START-3 Treaty in February 2026.

The multipolar world is becoming an increasingly multipolar nuclear world, in which nuclear war is no longer unthinkable.

Coalitions

During the Cold War, World War III was envisioned as a clash between the two opposing blocs. But when the Soviet-American confrontation ended, there remained only one permanent military alliance: NATO, led by the U.S. Since then, the alliance has doubled its members and fought in the Balkans, Afghanistan, and Libya. However, the 2003 campaign in Iraq involved the ‘Coalition of the Willing.’ The Ukraine conflict, too, initially spurred the creation of an informal coalition of about 50 states, whose representatives regularly met at Rammstein Air Force Base in Germany to plan and coordinate military support for Kiev.

In contrast, not only did Russia’s bloc (the Warsaw Treaty Organization) collapse, but all of its members—along with several former Soviet republics—joined NATO or at least cooperate with it closely. Ukraine has become a belligerent Anti-Russia. Even the members of Russia’s Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) have largely assumed neutrality regarding the Ukraine conflict.

A new and positive factor for Russia, compared to the Cold War period, is the development of partnerships with major countries in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Moscow’s leading partners in BRICS and the SCO—primarily China and India—cooperate with Russia, but are careful to ensure that this does not harm their extensive and close relationships with the U.S. and Europe. Belarus and North Korea have become Russia’s only real allies in its showdown with the West. 

However, Donald Trump’s return to the White House has deprived NATO countries of the illusion of guaranteed U.S. military assistance in the event of a conflict. To avoid a direct military clash with Russia, the U.S. is shifting responsibility for Europe’s security onto European countries. The U.S. is acting similarly in its construction of an anti-Chinese coalition out of its Asian allies.

Some of the ongoing wars are asymmetric (two-level), with temporary and loose coalitions replacing permanent and rigid alliances.

While Russia is directly fighting against Ukraine, this is actually a broader war with the Western coalition, even as Russia strengthens its military integration with Belarus within the Union State and receives real military support from the DPRK. In the Middle East, Israel is trying alone to destroy Hamas in Gaza, pro-Iranian Hezbollah in Lebanon, and the Houthis in Yemen, but has managed to harness the power of its U.S. ally against Iran. Military tensions between China and Taiwan are growing in East Asia; but, again, this is only the first level of the broader conflict: China versus the U.S. and its Asian allies (Taiwan, Japan, South Korea, and the Philippines).

What Kind of Wars Should Russia Prepare for?

Modern wars reflect a crisis of world order. The rise or revival of new regional or global centers of power has inevitably prompted the former hegemons to contain their growth and strengthen their own position.

The military threats to Russia are diverse, but their general nature is obvious for the foreseeable future: to weaken and, if possible, destroy Russia. The most serious risk is a military clash with NATO in Eastern Europe, the Baltic, or the Arctic. For the first time since World War II, Europe is becoming the main threat to Russia. If Ukraine survives as a separate state, it may provoke a European war and take an active part in it. The threat of Transnistria unfreezing appears quite real. Germany, Poland, the UK, the Baltic and Scandinavian countries, Finland, and possibly Romania may also actively oppose Russia. The U.S. will keep to the rear, but will extensively support the Europeans. The risk of direct war with a European coalition, unthinkable until just recently, should be neither ignored nor downplayed.

Russia’s opponents will also seek to open new fronts against it, exploiting disagreements with its southern neighbors, but Western attempts to draw Georgia into war against Russia were stymied by Tbilisi’s firm focus on its national interests. Nevertheless, Georgia’s relapse into Saakashvili-like gambles could be possible under a different government. Armenia is ‘peacefully’ drifting away from Russia towards the West, but bilateral tensions are noticeably growing and may eventually lead to provocations against Russia’s base in Gyumri. European countries, especially Britain, will also spin intrigues against Russia in Central Asia.  

Objectively, Russian and Turkish interests run up against one another in the Caucasus, Black Sea, and Central Asia, but the two countries’ relations are fairly stable. A military conflict is avoidable, and pragmatic cooperation is possible. Russia will need special attention, tact, and understanding of Turkish motives.

In Asia, Russia risks being drawn into a confrontation between China and the U.S. (and its allies). Politically, Moscow will naturally side with Beijing and provide it with economic and military-technical support if the West imposes a blockade. Yet Moscow need not directly involve itself in the conflict—China is a strong military power with an increasing nuclear capability.

Beijing’s position on the conflict in Ukraine can serve as a guideline for Russia. Russia will have to provide direct military assistance to North Korea in the event of a conflict on the Korean Peninsula, but the likelihood of an attack by the U.S. and its allies on the nuclear-armed DPRK is extremely low. Even less likely, though not impossible, is a direct military clash between Russia and Japan. The greatest danger to Russia and the whole world would come from a military conflict in East Asia among the U.S., China, Japan, and the two Koreas. This could easily draw Russia in, too, but many will seek to avoid such an apocalyptic scenario.

The struggle for a new world order is likely to be long. We must be prepared for an intense and technologically complex confrontation.

The foreign policy doctrine of Russia, as a civilization-state, logically implies not only protecting the country and its interests, but also ensuring the rights and interests of Russians living abroad. Russia is also the guardian and guarantor of the geopolitical balance in Northern and Central Eurasia. Russia’s military might thus guarantees its own existence and forms the cornerstone of stability throughout much of the planet’s largest continent. As the struggle for the new world order intensifies, our country’s position and strategy will be crucial for determining it.

For citation, please use:
Iserov, A.A., 2026. The United States: From the Unipolar Moment to Relative Hegemony. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 106–115. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-106-115

The current discussion of ‘American decline’ masks the economic, demographic, and military reality beyond the U.S.’s real position in the world. In the fall of 1990, Charles Krauthammer declared the coming of the American unipolar moment, unique in human history, since there was no visible strong opposition to U.S. ascendancy then. Krauthammer thought the unipolar moment would last for “one decade, perhaps, rather than, say, three or four” (Krauthammer, 1990, p. 26). Twelve years later, he bluntly stated that even thirty or forty years of domination, which seemed bold in 1990, was a modest statement if the U.S. remained strong in its commitment to sustaining hegemony: “The unipolar moment has become the unipolar era” (Krauthammer, 2002, p. 17).

Exactly at the time when the U.S. reached the peak of its global power, scholars and journalists launched a discussion of American decline.[1] The U.S. was perceived as a global empire and thus subject to the Anglo-American, or to a broader European, traditional interpretation going back to Polybius (ca. 200–ca. 118 BC), Ibn-Khaldun (1332–1406),[2] and Edward Gibbon (1737–1794). Note that we refer here to the concept of gradual systemic decline, not sudden collapse. History shows that forecasts of the latter sort are rarely successful; moreover, even when they are, the reasons provided for the collapse are usually wrong. For example, the overwhelming majority of experts did not believe in the USSR’s possible dissolution, but those who predicted it, did it on the wrong premises: the Soviet Union collapsed neither as a result of the war with China, nor after the revolt of the demographically growing Muslim Central Asian republics (their loyalty to the Soviet Union remained the strongest and in 1991 was in fact stronger than in the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic) (see Amalrik, 1978, 1980; Carrère d’Encausse, 1978).

This article presents a brief analysis of long-term trends that characterize relative strength of national entities.

Let us compare the data for the U.S. for 1990 and now.

In 1990, the U.S. had a population of 248.7 million, which made 4.67% of the global population (one may recall that on the eve of the disastrous decades that followed the beginning of WWI this figure for the Russian Empire was at ca. 8%). In 2024, the U.S. population (341.2 million) accounted for 4.16% of the world population, i.e., decreased but not dramatically. For an economically developed nation with a declining religious commitment, the absolute population growth, even though achieved through immigration, is a remarkable indicator.

There seems to be no strong evidence that recent immigrants would not follow the path of their predecessors and would not get dissolved in the melting pot.

The Latino community is the fastest growing and currently accounts for 14.7% of American eligible voters. According to exit polls, in the 2024 presidential election, 42% of Latinos voted for Donald Trump, despite his anti-immigration and anti-Latin American rhetoric.[3]

In 1990, the IMF estimated the U.S. nominal GDP at 26.3% of the global economy (the European Economic Community then accounted for 27.4%; China, only 1.8%). The 2024 estimate is the same: 26.3%, up from 21.1% in 2011, but down from 31.3% in 2001 and 2002. The European Union’s nominal GDP, following its expansion and later BREXIT, fell almost 1.6-fold to 17.3%; and that of Japan was only 3.8% (down from even 17.8% in 1994 and 1995). Interestingly, while Japan’s ‘lost decade’ (and then decades) became an important subject for academic discussions, the global media hardly seemed to pay attention to the Fall of Japan. The evident dramatic change is, of course, China’s growth, whose 16.9% almost equals that of the EU countries.

De-dollarization is most visible in commodity markets (J.P. Morgan, 2025), even despite Washington’s dollar weaponization policy. But even amid the current instability, global transactions remain largely dollarized, providing an inherent benefit to the U.S. economy (Eichengreen, 2010), though significantly alleviating the already large national debt: its public share exceeded $31 trillion in February 2026).[4] This debt (sustainable, as experts testify contrary to the popular belief) might slow the U.S.’s economic growth but would not undermine its economy. In the long term, it will probably require a ‘robust fiscal stabilization’ (Auerbach and Yagan, 2024; see also: Bernstein, Shaw, and Posthumus, 2025; Lichtenberg, 2026).

One should bear in mind that the long-term forecasts projecting the financial situation to 2100 and beyond, though certainly useful for policy planning, might prove fundamentally wrong as completely new factors may emerge. Remember that modern sophisticated math methods failed to forecast the 2008–2009 economic crisis. And nobody could foresee the spectacular and almost global birth rate decline in 1966 or 1976, at the time of heated discussions about the world’s overpopulation.

While in 2000 the gap between U.S. investments abroad and foreign investments in the U.S. constituted ca. $1.6 trillion, in 2023 this figure rose to nearly 20 trillion (almost 72% of the GDP!), and this growth was most spectacular in the recent years of rising global instability, since the COVID-19 pandemics. The main investors are currently Great Britain, Japan, and the EU countries (Medzhidova, 2024). This huge money flow might compensate for both the growing U.S. debt and certain underperformance (which should not be overestimated though) of the industrial sector (Grigoryev, 2024).

Today it is too early to say what the long-term results of Trump’s second administration’s reforms, foremost the tariff regulation, would be. Will Trump succeed in reviving U.S. industries by tax cuts, protectionism, and the weakening dollar?

Will he contain protectionism-driven inflation? In the first half of 2025, U.S. current account deficit was 4.6% of GDP, lower than at its 2006 peak of 6.2%, though 1.9% higher than the 2013–2024 average (Eichengreen, 2026; IMF eLibrary, 2025). In the third quarter of 2025, U.S. annualized economic growth was 4.3%—faster than in the previous two years and well above the forecasts, while imports fell, despite government spending growing faster than business investment (The Economist, 2026). In January 2026, IMF expected the 2026 growth to reach 1.8% in advanced economies and 2.4% (0.3% higher than the October 2025 forecast) in the U.S. (IMF World Economic Outlook, 2026).

Back in 1987, Paul Kennedy predicted that the “natural” share in the global wealth that America ought to possess was perhaps 16% or 18% (Kennedy, 1987, p. 533), but this forecast would still take a long time to become real. According to IMF estimates, China surpassed the U.S. in 2016 by purchasing power parity (PPP) GDP, with the U.S. share in the global PPP GDP in 2024 reaching only 14.9%—lower than Paul Kennedy’s forecast.[5] Nevertheless, comparing nations’ PPP GDP makes sense when one measures respective living standards (and hence PPP GDP per capita is a more telling indicator), but the national weight in the global economy is measured by the actual exchange rates, thus, nominal GDP reflects the respective positions better (Frankel, 2014).

According to the World Bank estimates, the U.S. GDP share of research and development rose from 2.45% in 1996 to 3.59% in 2022,[6] which is in relative figures lower than in just three countries—Israel (6.02% in 2022), Liechtenstein (5.87% in 2019), and South Korea (5.21% in 2022), but certainly much higher in absolute figures in comparison with competitors, above all China (2.56% in 2022; in 2022, the U.S. spent 2.18-fold more in nominal dollars but just 1.12-fold more in IMF PPP dollars). Nevertheless, we are currently witnessing spectacular successes of Chinese science which has been surpassing America’s by the number of scientific publications since 2017, and seems to have taken over the leadership in the quality of research, above all in electrical and electronic engineering, materials science, physics, and chemistry.[7]

Still, just like in the 20th century when the U.S. profited intellectually from the Old World’s distress (up until to the collapse of the Soviet Union and the European Socialist system), the academic immigration (brain gain) is greatly benefiting the U.S., despite Trump’s fighting against the universities and toughening of the migration legislation. There are four times more foreign students studying in the U.S. than American students abroad, and by 2022, the founders of 25% of U.S. billion-dollar startups had immigrated to the U.S. as college students (Lodge, 2025).

According to the SIPRI estimates, in 2023, the U.S. spent 3.4% of its GDP on defense expenditures—down from 5.4% in 1990 but still a spectacular 37% of the global amount—3.09 times more than China which allocates only 1.7% of its GDP for defense. The U.S. armed forces are the third-largest worldwide, with 1.358 million men and women in active service, a bit less than in the much more populous India (1.476 million).[8] Back in 1985, the U.S. armed forces of 2.152 million deployed ca. 520,000 military and civilian personnel abroad (24%), and in the spring of 2025, this figure slightly exceeded 243,000 (18%—lower but still a very significant share).[9] U.S. military bases still encompass the globe, and U.S. Navy ships ply the seas as forty years ago, able to quickly employ force (as in Operation Absolute Resolve during the capture of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife).

There is reasonable criticism that the huge military costs are not very effective, that the military-industrial complex lobbies expensive weapons instead of more useful mass and simple arms (Lachmann, 2020). One may claim that since China spends less, it has managed to overcome the U.S. in this critical field of strategic competition, and that the U.S. military budget and military planning in general are not living up to contemporary challenges. Recent American military interventions in Afghanistan (2001–2021) and in Iraq (2003–2021) were lengthy and failed to achieve their goals. In a tragic twist at the peak of Colin Powell’s political career, he had to abandon his own doctrine suggesting short and decisive military operations with clear and achievable goals and an effective exit strategy (Powell, 1992). However, although these wars ended in a protracted nightmare for the local populations and further aggravated the complicated situation in the Middle East, the unaccomplished goals were not vital for U.S. security, and the American casualties were much smaller than those in the Vietnam disaster. The current war against Iran might follow the same pattern, even though it demonstrates the danger of being a U.S. ally in the Middle East.

In a certain way, the U.S. still enjoys limited (if we recall the 9/11 attacks) ‘free security.’[10] Apart from the U.S. and China, only a few nations in the world can boast to have relative information and communication sovereignty, including autonomous messengers and payment systems. The current military conflict between Russia and Ukraine vividly demonstrates the importance of large armies and military technologies borne out by effective use of FPV drones and Starlink, a U.S.-made satellite Internet system. While not committing their soldiers to the field operations but supporting the Ukrainian Armed Forces with its high-tech weapons and equipment, the U.S. is closely studying the ongoing military transformation.

Thus, the statistics and the recent international developments testify to the U.S.’s remarkable resilience.

The ‘unipolar era’ is over but there is no clear evidence of American decline. In fact, it is the spectacular rise of China which allows us to declare the end of the American unipolar domination.

China is challenging the strengths of the American economy, but has not yet surpassed it in information technologies, including AI; materials science; life science technologies (biotech), including medical research; pharmaceutics; genetics; and mass agriculture. The global finances are still revolving around New York. The costs of the Ukraine conflict, huge by European standards, are easily bearable by the American budget, and the fighting does not engage American soldiers. Moreover, the Trump administration has successfully forced its European allies to pay for the Ukrainian weapons supplies. The U.S. successfully controls the EU and even its large East Asian allies, like Japan and South Korea, to secure positions for struggle with China, in whatever form. Russia feels the strength and the grip of this control, but also the limits of U.S. hegemony. The last but not the least is the domination of American culture which continues growing: the English language now influences even the grammar, syntax, and phonetics of such long-established languages with rich literary and scholarly tradition as Russian: 49.6% of websites are English-language,[11] and the volume of English-language content on the Internet is probably larger. Generative AI systems, including even China’s DeepSeek, are trained using primarily English-language content.

Drawing analogies, the U.S.’s present position in the world should be compared not with the Soviet Union’s in the late 1980s or even with the Russian Federation’s in the early 1990s, but with that of Great Britain at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. Remaining powerful, it ceded its first place in the global economy to the U.S., and on the eve of WWI it was surpassed also by Germany. Today, the U.S. is still stronger than Great Britain was in 1913. So, the best term to describe the U.S.’s current global position is relative hegemony.

For citation, please use:
Diskin, Ye.I., 2026. Digital Sovereigns and Vassals. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 142–167. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-142-167

In 2025, President Vladimir Putin stated that Russia had achieved full digital sovereignty, claiming that only three countries in the world were truly digitally sovereign: the U.S., China, and Russia (Kommersant, 2025). Earlier, in September 2025, First Deputy Head of the Presidential Administration Sergei Kiriyenko also noted that the number of fully digitally sovereign countries was significantly smaller than the number of nuclear-armed states (Interfax, 2025). By claiming digital sovereignty, these ‘securitization moves’ (Buzan, Wæver, and de Wilde, 1998, p. 29) also imply the need to protect that sovereignty, permitting the state to take extraordinary measures for that purpose, given society’s recognition of the state’s responsibility for security.

Yet the present measures and level of control are apparently insufficient to counter external threats: foreign countries’ development of Direct-to-Cell technologies, extraterritorial pressure on digital platforms, and coercive exploitation of control over infrastructure all threaten digital sovereignty,[1] and can be countered only with foreign policy instruments.

The official statement regarding “cyber superpowers”[2] raises two major questions: 1) To what extent can control over digital technologies influence the structure of international relations? and 2) What does the status of a ‘digital superpower’ really mean, if defined formally? This article employs and develops Dmitry Anikin’s concept of multiple sovereignty (2025), while also utilizing structural realism, constructivism, securitization theory, and international regimes theory. This should unveil the nature and development of digital conflicts and outline the foreign policy decisions demanded by those conflicts.

To what extent do the ongoing political, economic, and technological conflicts,[3] between the leading digital powers, indicate the insufficiency of state instruments of control over the digital environment? What theoretical and practical factors demand the issue’s transfer into the foreign policy domain?

This study compares four country cases (the U.S., the EU, China, and Russia) featuring those factors. It also analyzes regulation of the digital sphere. Russia’s 2023 Foreign Policy Concept defines its foreign policy priorities but does not sufficiently address protection of the country’s interests in the digital sphere, as demanded by other countries’ intensive development and use of digital technologies. Keeping digital technological development solely within the realm of domestic policy may hinder Russia’s efforts to build a fair multipolar world, as its main geopolitical rivals (above all the U.S.) maintain a threatening lead in digital technologies.

This article posits that Russia’s official claim of “full digital sovereignty”—merely discursive and stated in normative acts only implicitly—disregards threats emerging at the intersection of technology and social relations on the meso and macro levels. Foreign policy instruments are needed to parry such threats.

Sovereignty and the Digital Dimension

Understanding digital sovereignty requires understanding the main approaches to defining state sovereignty. Stephen Krasner identifies four types of sovereignty: domestic sovereignty, interdependence sovereignty, international legal sovereignty, and Westphalian sovereignty (Krasner, 1999, pp. 3-5). It is interdependence sovereignty, i.e., a state’s ability to control cross-border flows, that has come under the greatest pressure amid the digital transformation, since digital flows are inherently transboundary and difficult to control.

Scholarship on digital sovereignty is developing rapidly: Stefano Fratini et al. (2024) have systematized four competing models of its understanding; and Julia Pohle and Mauro Santaniello (2024) have recorded a shift in the discussion from descriptive to normative approaches. Digital sovereignty is being operationalized and becoming part of practical state policy rather than only an academic subject. This article continues in the same vein, suggesting consideration of digital sovereignty not as a state’s static characteristic, but as a process whose dynamics are determined by the interaction of domestic and foreign policy instruments.

John Agnew (1994) warned of the ‘territorial trap’: automatic equation of state sovereignty with territorial control. Cyberspace is the most vivid example of a mismatch between jurisdiction over digital platforms and territorial borders, and attempts to restore territorial control by blocking digital resources create serious risks (discussed below). John J. Ruggie described an ‘unbundling of territoriality’ in which political power and social interaction cease to be rigidly tied to physical borders, and states have to deal with forces and factors that cannot be reduced to ‘territorial solutions’ (Ruggie, 1993, pp. 149-151, 171-172). Ruggie suggested not a ‘disappearance of sovereignty,’ but the emergence of ‘multiperspective institutional forms’ in which authority is separated from exclusive territoriality (Ibid, p. 172). Digital sovereignty is a clear example of ‘unbundling’: the state seeks to restore control of an environment that cannot be reduced to physical space, and hence it is forced to create new, extraterritorial regulatory instruments (i.e., establish jurisdiction based on the number of users operating in the state’s territory). This approach has been adopted in the EU, Russia, the UK, and other countries.

Digital Securitization of Sovereignty

Securitization legitimizes extraordinary measures beyond the usual political process (Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, 1998). Securitization targets various aspects of state sovereignty, and securitizing actors are heads of state and senior officials. Specific speech acts range from Putin’s statements about “three fully digitally sovereign countries,” to Macron’s remarks about the inadmissibility of “digital vassalage” (Le Monde, 2025a), to the Trump administration’s announcement that foreign regulation of American digital platforms threatens U.S. sovereignty (USDS, 2025).

All four digital powers securitize their digital sovereignty, but with varying reference objects, reflecting their varying normative approaches and strategic interests. The U.S. securitizes the freedom of its platforms from foreign regulation, i.e., defines control over the global digital infrastructure as an element of sovereignty. The EU securitizes technological independence and the integrity of users’ information. China securitizes ideological stability, declaring foreign platforms a source of destabilization. Russia securitizes the integrity of the national communication space. The fruits of securitization—legitimized extraordinary measures—thus also differ: e.g., blocking, personal sanctions against foreign officials, forced division of companies, and creation of alternative technological ecosystems.

Geoeconomics and ‘Weaponized Interdependence’

Edward Luttwak (1990) introduced ‘geoeconomics’ into scientific use to denote a shift from military-political to economic rivalry between states, even as the underlying logic of conflict remained in place. Digital platforms are the most effective tools of geoeconomic competition: they generate huge financial flows, control the global information space, and provide access to data increasingly viewed as a strategic resource. Robert Blackwill and Jennifer Harris (2016) proposed the concept of economic statecraft. By handling huge financial flows and exercising monopoly control over access to infrastructure (operating systems, application stores, cloud services), platforms become tools of control, while remaining objects of state regulation. It is the economic importance of platforms that makes them one of the central elements of geoeconomic competition in the modern world.

The concept of ‘weaponized interdependence’ proposed by Henry Farrell and Abraham Newman (2019) describes the mechanism by which global network structures—financial, informational, and infrastructural—asymmetrically advantage states that control these networks’ chokepoints. The U.S., through its technology companies, controls the global Internet infrastructure, search engines, mobile device operating systems, cloud services, and digital payment systems. It has thereby amassed an unprecedented arsenal of tools to employ the ‘panopticon effect’ (monitoring of transnational flows) and the ‘chokepoint effect’ (disconnection of other actors from networks). However, this power operates within a ‘regime complex’ (Nye, 2014, p. 7), and awareness of the threat has propelled others to seek digital sovereignty by sometimes radical means (see the next section).

The states challenging U.S. digital hegemony long sought to avoid direct confrontation, relying on domestic regulation such as legal restrictions, data localization requirements, and access-blocking. But the mounting pressure is forcing them to turn to foreign policy.

Susan Strange’s ‘power structures’—environments in which other actors must act (Strange, 1994, pp. 34, 165)—seem applicable to the role of multinational digital corporations such as Apple, Google (Alphabet), Microsoft, X, Telegram, or Palantir. These corporations largely determine the architecture of digital interaction, content moderation rules, information dissemination algorithms, and data processing standards (de Bustos and Izquierdo-Castillo, 2019). Strange predicted “the retreat of the state” in the face of market forces (Strange, 1996, p. 141), but the opposite has occurred: states seek to establish control over the digital environment, which was initially formed outside of state regulation, using the entire arsenal of domestic and foreign policy instruments.

Securitization, geoeconomic competition, and control over key nodes are subject to regulation. Joseph Nye Jr. described global cyberspace governance as a ‘regime complex,’ a set of overlapping and often conflicting regimes regulating various aspects of the digital environment (Nye, 2014). This explains why states cannot achieve digital sovereignty alone, using only domestic policy: such efforts inevitably affect other states’ regimes. This is true of the U.S.’s power projection as well. The normative and functional confrontation between respective regimes, or ‘regime interdependence,’ calls for foreign policy instruments.

The Constructivist Dimension

According to the constructivist approach (see Wendt, 1999, p. 4; Katzenstein, 1996, p. 6), conflicts over digital sovereignty unfold not only in the material, but also in the normative[4] and discursive realms. Every actor constructs his own normative position, appealing to different values. The U.S. refers to freedom of speech and of entrepreneurship; the EU seeks to protect personal data and “counter disinformation and hatred” (EU Code, 2016); China upholds “cyber sovereignty” as an element of public administration; Russia prioritizes the “protection of the national information space from external interference.” The clash of these narratives creates a situation where all parties appeal to sovereignty but construe it differently. This indirectly bears out the thesis of Julia Pohle and Torsten Thiel (2020), that digital sovereignty is not so much a regulatory or organizational tool, but a discursive instrument of political argumentation, which is filled with different normative content dependent on the actor’s position and interests.

Digital Sovereignty and Conflicts Related to Its Protection

The Trump administration’s unrestrained and unilateral behavior is forcing the U.S.’s traditional allies—such as the EU, the UK, and even Canada—to speak of the “end of the rules-based order,” to discuss enhancing “strategic autonomy” (Carney, 2026), and to reconsider their attitudes to the 20-year-long dominance of American digital platforms, which all actors now see as tools of control and coercion. Escaping ‘surveillance and strangulation’ is becoming an urgent task. However, its implementation is encountering numerous legal and technological difficulties, primarily the need to build relationships with the technology giants, which operate as transnational actors despite being registered in specific jurisdictions (mainly in the U.S.) (de Bustos and Izquierdo-Castillo, 2019). These corporations are unprecedentedly important to the global technological infrastructure (Diskin, 2025a), and interaction with them requires both political will and certain national technological capabilities.

The EU AND the U.S.: Regulatory Sovereignty vs. Structural Dependence

On 18 November 2025, Berlin hosted a special EU summit on digital sovereignty, where French President Emmanuel Macron said: “We do not want to be digital vassals of the U.S. or China” (Le Monde, 2025a). In fact, Macron defined dependence on foreign platforms as an existential threat, which can be treated as an attempt at securitization. However, statements alone are not enough to escape strangulation and the panopticon, and accrued dependence cannot be overcome overnight, especially absent the political will and resources for a major leap forward. Miguel De Bruycker, Managing Director General of the Centre of Cybersecurity for Belgium, maintains that “Europe has lost the Internet,” and the EU’s attempts to restrict leading American digital platforms are irrelevant; the bloc needs its own competitive products (RBC, 2026a). “Instead of putting that focus on how we can stop the U.S. ‘hyperscalers,’ maybe we put our energy in…building up something by ourselves?” (The Brussels Times, 2026).

Nevertheless, the EU’s recent measures have noticeably affected its relations with U.S. tech corporations, which are estimated to have lost $97.6 billion from European regulations and special taxation (Schramm, 2025). When the EU uses ‘economic statecraft,’ such as regulatory pressure on foreign actors (Baldwin, 2020, pp. 28-29), the U.S. responds with ‘digital mercantilism’ (Wheeler, 2025), i.e., Luttwak’s geoeconomics.

The EU has established a legal system covering almost all areas of digitalization: the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), the Digital Markets Act (DMA), and the complementary Digital Services Act (DSA).[5]

Extraterritorial application of European norms has the ‘Brussels effect’ (Bradford, p. 25): global corporations align their practices with EU norms even beyond the EU’s borders. Establishing jurisdiction over foreign platforms based on the number of users in the EU is essentially an attempt to escape the ‘territorial trap’: the state asserts control not over the territory hosting servers with user data, but over the audience physically located within the state’s borders.

But, while this mechanism is effective in pressuring industry, it is reaching the limit of impact on U.S. behavior, as borne out by Macron’s words about the inadmissibility of digital vassalage and by the adoption of the Declaration for European Digital Sovereignty (Declaration, 2025).

The EU has realized, albeit quite late, that digital sovereignty cannot be achieved solely by improving regulatory mechanisms, and that it needs its own digital platforms, cloud data services, AI, and other technological infrastructure.

According to a report to the European Parliament, 80 percent of digital products, services, infrastructure, and intellectual property used in the EU have been created outside it (Report, 2025). In fact, the EU does not have major messengers, social networks, or marketplaces. Its most successful social network is France’s BeReal with 40 million monthly users (Silberling, 2025), which pales even compared to Russia’s VK, with 92 million monthly users (VK, 2025). Thus, any online discourse significant to the EU will be conducted overwhelmingly on platforms created outside its borders, within the U.S.’s panopticon. Also, Apple and Google, as the owners of mobile operating systems,[6] have structural power (in Strange’s terminology) over all digital market participants: any national application, messenger, or service operates only insofar as it has access to their ecosystems.[7] In other words, dependence on the U.S. in this field is just as great as it is in the field of armaments, even though the European Commission has its own executive vice-president for tech sovereignty (Henna Virkkunen). Nevertheless, the Europeans remain committed to determining their own regulatory frameworks and are even planning to ban digital platforms close to Trump if he moves to seize Greenland (Gutteridge and Barnes, 2026).

The EU’s public statements, regulatory measures, and fines against American companies have frustrated many officials in the U.S., not only in the Trump administration but also in some think tanks, in particular the right-libertarian Cato Institute (Inserra, 2025). The incumbent American administration’s actions clearly show that the digital track is one of its priorities. U.S. sanctions against European Commissioner Thierry Breton, and against four NGO functionaries associated with the EU’s digital policy, strongly signify a transformation of U.S.-EU relations in this area. The U.S. Secretary of State has emphasized the inadmissibility of violating U.S. sovereignty in cyberspace (Rubio, 2025). This is a manifestation of ‘weaponized interdependence’ (Farrell and Newman, 2019): the U.S. uses control over key global digital infrastructure nodes to coerce partners and uses sanctions to retain that control.

The explicit clash of narratives is an important point: the sanctioned heads of the Centre for Countering Digital Hate, the Global Disinformation Index, and Hate Aid play a major role in the implementation of the EU policy of “countering disinformation” (Diskin, 2025b, pp. 417-419). The White House has blasted their activities as “radical activism of the global censorship-industrial complex” (Rubio, 2025). This narrative is also supported by Telegram founder Pavel Durov, who has accused Macron and Breton of building a “digital Gulag” (Durov, 2025). This is essentially a clash of two incompatible narratives and regulatory orders: the U.S.’s freedom of speech, legitimizing personal sanctions, versus the EU’s fight against hatred and disinformation (EU Code, 2016), which has been ratified by EU Parliament laws (Le Monde, 2025b) and which legitimizes fines and regulatory directives.

Note that this study aims to identify the parties’ points of conflict, narratives, and tools, not to adjudge their correctness.

China and the U.S.: TikTok and Geoeconomic Coercion

China has long pursued digital autonomy, having built a system of control over its internal information space.

But prioritization of the manufacturing sector, and the sustainment of domestic demand for it, has shifted government and corporate attention to the development of online shopping. China has the world’s largest online shopping market (Xinhua, 2026) and is rapidly conquering those of other countries (Haleem, 2026).

Meanwhile, Chinese social networks such as Weibo, QQ, Xiaohongshu, and Bilibili are virtually nonexistent outside of China, due to regulatory costs and cultural and language barriers. A major exception is TikTok, with a global audience of 1.59 billion users as of the beginning of 2025 (Statista, 2025).

The conflict over TikTok, the international “mirror” of China’s Douyin platform, is particularly significant. Of the platform’s 1.59 billion users, 135 million are in the U.S.. Trump threatened to block TikTok even during his first term (AP News, 2020), but his order was blocked by a district court[8] and overturned by the Biden administration. After returning to the White House in 2025, Trump forced TikTok to split its U.S. branch into an independent legal entity under U.S. control. Such a forced separation should be considered an instrument of state policy.

It seems that Beijing made concessions on TikTok because it needed to maintain access to the U.S. digital advertising and consumer content market.

But it is unlikely to do the same regarding marketplaces, as they have strategic economic importance to China, providing it with economic leverage (Drezner, 2021) and other benefits described by Farrell and Newman (2019).

Control over the external information space is still of secondary importance for China, but pressure on Chinese companies abroad (e.g., TikTok) is forcing Beijing to make foreign policy decisions. The isolation of its internal information space has not eliminated the need for foreign policy tools.

Russia: Technological Autarky and the Dilemma of Control

Long before the EU did, Russia faced the issue of dependence on foreign digital platforms, and began developing its own replacements.

Unlike in the EU, Russian platforms’ market share was quite significant even before the mass blocking of foreign resources. In 2022-2023, the search engine Yandex controlled 49% of the market, versus Google’s 47%, notwithstanding the far greater resources and unrestricted status of the latter (AdIndex, 2023; Blunt, 2025). VKontakte remains the flagship Russian social network (VK, 2022). Russian marketplaces accounted for 62% of e-commerce in 2021 (Bakharev, 2022). Putin’s description of digital sovereignty, as a pool of national competitive platforms, is therefore accurate.

But digital sovereignty should also be understood as requiring emancipation from the aforementioned ‘strangulating control’ and ‘panopticon effect,’ which continue to plague Russia and Russians’ communication with one another.

Russia remains in an unprecedentedly intense conflict with the U.S. and the EU over control of Russia’s own cyberspace. Western countries censor Russian official resources and state-owned media by blocking them on their platforms and in EU jurisdictions in 2022-2023 (AiF, 2022; TASS, 2024), a process that began long before the Special Military Operation (TASS, 2019). The normalization of Russia’s relations with U.S. tech giants remains conceivable, but this would likely require a comprehensive peace process,[9] and it is unclear what to do with a company that has been designated as extremist, or with fines that have exceeded the entire global money supply (e.g., for not complying with court orders to restore Russian TV channels on YouTube (Zvezda, Channel One, VGTRK, NTV, RT, and others)(RBC, 2024).

There has emerged a tendency towards ‘technological autarchy.’[10] LinkedIn, Telegram, Twitter (X), Facebook, Instagram,[11] YouTube, Signal, Discord, Viber, WhatsApp, Roblox, FaceTime, and Snapchat have all been slowed or blocked in Russia since 2016. Government officials affirm that the current approach is the right way to enforce legislation (Gorelkin, 2025), but there have been no significant signs of foreign platforms’ behavior changing since February 2022. Even when the authorities indicated success in negotiations with Roblox, with a (mainly child) audience in Russia of 18 million (Lantsov, 2025), the service remained blocked as of May 2026 (RIA, 2026a). This provoked discontent: the head of the Safe Internet League, Yekaterina Mizulina, received 63,000 complaints from children and their parents about Roblox alone, which she forwarded to the Roskomnadzor agency (Mizulina, 2025). Many more are concerned by Telegram’s blocking (Gudoshnikov, 2026).

This exposes the growing gap between the securitization of sovereignty and the effectiveness of extraordinary measures taken to ensure it: with the threat to sovereignty defined as existential, emergency measures (blocking) are formally legitimized, but uncontrollable side effects—emigration of specialists, growing discontent, and technological lag—limit that legitimation and create new security threats. Thus, measures to strengthen security in one area (communication) impair security in other areas (technological development, social stability). Alternative tools, including in foreign policy, must be considered. The current approach is increasingly ineffective and even counterproductive, leading to paradoxical results, like the purchase of VPNs by some regional administrations (Okhotnikova, 2026).

The Exhaustion of Tools for State Control

The most intense conflicts over digital sovereignty illustrate that domestic policy tools, alone, are increasingly incapable of resolving such disputes. For the EU, such tools have proven to be too weak, failing to facilitate the emergence of its own platforms. For Russia, such tools have been counterproductive: blocking has uncontrollable side effects. For China, such tools have proven sufficient to protect its domestic market, but unable to protect its companies abroad. And, for the U.S., such tools cannot overcome the increasing resistance to its extraterritorial imposition of norms. In fact, all four parties are in an intense conflict—between West and East, and also between the U.S. (under Trump) and the EU.

Regarding Russia in particular, comparison with the U.S. is telling. The U.S.’s mandatory division of TikTok was legitimized as an emergency measure to protect 135 million Americans from the control of a foreign power. TikTok was already operating under U.S. jurisdiction,[12] but now it will be managed by U.S. investors, giving the U.S. real control (Khushboo and Han, 2025). Russia blocked Meta platforms (Instagram and Facebook) for similar reasons,[13] but with diametrically opposite results: while the U.S. acquired control over TikTok within its borders, Russia lost access to audiences beyond its borders, as there is no Russian alternative with similar global reach.[14] Telegram’s blocking also raised a wave of criticism among military bloggers, officials, and entrepreneurs (RBC, 2026a). The asymmetry of results is explained by the difference in negotiating power: the U.S. controls key infrastructure nodes, which allows it to impose its conditions, while Russia can only isolate itself.

For Russia, this is a major conflict, whose outcome will greatly affect Russia’s digital market and technologies. In the worst case, serious political instability may be generated if successive bans on foreign services eliminate the ability to project national content and narratives, deprive Russians of personal digital communication with the outside world, and exclude them from the global digital agenda and discourse. This risk has not yet been adequately reflected in strategic documents.

Russia’s current digital foreign policy is defined in Para 30 of the Foreign Policy Concept, which declares the goal of the “safe and stable functioning and development of the Internet, based on the equal participation of states in its governance and…preventing the establishment of foreign control over [the Internet’s] national segments.” This is vague and somewhat outdated. It repeats the logic of Federal Law 90-FZ of 1 May 2019 (known as the Sovereign Runet Law) (Zhukov and Shugunov, 2020), but the risk of Russia being cut off from the global Internet is less than it was in 2019, thanks to technical measures taken since then.

The Foundations of the State Policy of the Russian Federation in the Field of International Information Security considers many threats, mainly criminal ones (Presidential Decree, 2021). But the document was written so as to motivate certain UN convention that was indeed passed in December 2024 (Convention, 2024), and has little relevance beyond that.

The threats facing Russia are not limited to crime or an externally imposed Internet cutoff. One of the greatest threats is that escalating internal blocking could partly disconnect the Russian and foreign segments of the Internet. Moreover, even a complete disconnection would have limited utility, given almost nondisruptable Direct-to-Cell technology. The January 2026 unrest in Iran, fueled by Starlink’s provision of ‘pirate’ Internet, shows the U.S.’s ability to overcome blocking in any state—even the UK (GB News, 2026).

Meanwhile the Americans are upgrading their capabilities: Starlink is actively developing the Direct-to-Cell space communication technology, which does not require any terminals or satellite dishes—an LTE-enabled smartphone gets connected directly to a satellite (Starlink, 2025). The last smartphones lacking LTE support were sold more than 15 years ago, and LTE occupies 96-97% of Russia’s mobile network (Kotov, 2024). Suppressing such access would require either jamming all LTE/5G[15] cellular bands, or manually examining all mobile devices, which seems impossible (3side, 2025). Starlink’s Direct-to-Cell technology is essentially a new ‘weapon of interdependence’ that significantly enhances the ‘panopticon’ and creates a fundamentally new mechanism for ‘penetration.’ Although Russia is developing its own satellite communication systems, it still lacks comparable capabilities (RBC, 2026b).

Starlink’s Direct-to-Cell technology vividly illustrates the ‘unbundling of territoriality’: the state loses control as access ceases to be routed solely through ground infrastructure.

In Russia’s reincorporated regions, a response is needed to Starlink’s plans to activate Direct-to-Cell in what it considers to be Ukrainian territory (Reuters, 2025). The subject must be included in any negotiations on Ukraine. In December 2025, Russia called an informal meeting of the UN Security Council, demanding that satellite communication services respect the sovereignty of other states (Vedomosti, 2026). This was an attempt to work out basic principles for the international regulation of satellite communications, but its success will require broad international support along with pressure on SpaceX.

Possibilities for Institutionalization

The above-described conflicts over digital sovereignty cannot be resolved by the U.S., the EU, Russia, or China by solely domestic means.

The aforementioned ‘regime complex’ determines which institutional forms are available to foreign policy (Nye, 2014). Forming an integrated regime is hampered by contradictions between the (Russia- and China-supported) multilateral model of Internet governance, and the (U.S.- and to a lesser extent EU-supported) multistakeholder model, which entails the participation of all stakeholders, including non-state actors (see: Mueller, 2010; Zinovieva and Shitkov, 2024). The evolution of the regime complex, currently halfway between complete fragmentation and a single coherent legal structure, may be the most likely scenario (Nye, 2014, p. 16). But the current trajectory is clearly towards fragmentation, partly due to states’ reliance on domestic political instruments to ensure digital sovereignty (RBC, 2026c).

Our theoretical analysis suggests several foreign policy options for the Foreign Ministry, the Security Council, expert groups, and negotiation platforms.

First, in negotiations with the U.S., Russia should raise the issue of U.S. digital platforms’ future operation in Russia. The U.S. may raise this issue itself, but its negotiating position should be understood in advance. Russia’s blocking of foreign platforms limits the benefits, derived by the U.S. from its technological advantage, and emphasizing U.S. companies’ losses may strengthen Russia’s negotiating position.

Second, Russia should strengthen practical cooperation with BRICS+ and the SCO, and internationally discuss threats to Internet governance and the risks of pursuing digital sovereignty through blocking alone. Russia and China could promote their digital platforms as alternatives to American ones, provide them to BRICS+ countries, and exchange experience and competencies. The purpose is to form an alternative (regional, not universal) regime complex that ensures a minimum level of cooperation and harmonization of standards.

Third, when attempts are made on foreign platforms to discredit Russian culture, language, and history, or to persecute Russian users, such attempts must be opposed. But this is possible only through effective international cooperation on digital regulation, a task that has not yet been properly articulated. Foreign digital platforms may be influenced through administrative pressure in reputationally sensitive areas, prosecution for campaigns that violate Russians’ rights, and mass lawsuits by affected users in foreign courts. Other measures should include cooperation with BRICS+ and SCO members in digital regulation, public campaigns to disclose illegal activities of individuals and organizations affiliated with foreign platforms, and the pursuit of modifications to international law by promoting joint legal positions in relevant intergovernmental organizations.

Fourth, the areas of legal cooperation should be expanded: the CIS, SCO, and BRICS+ platforms should be employed to pursue amendment of the UN Convention against Cybercrime, so that it includes provisions on mutual assistance in prosecuting information warfare, terrorist propaganda, and the incitement of interethnic and interreligious hatred.

Finally, a permanent BRICS+/SCO mechanism for cyberspace governance should be created. It may serve as the prototype for a new international regime. Internet access beyond the state’s control threatens not only Russia: the aforementioned forays against the UK and Iran (Times of India, 2026) may indicate that the U.S. is preparing such campaigns against any country seen as threatening American digital platforms.

*  *  *

The above analysis yields several general conclusions.

First. Conflicts over digital sovereignty between the leading digital powers—the U.S., EU, China, and Russia—are not isolated episodes, but the products of a structural shift in international relations. Theories of securitization (Buzan, Wæver, and de Wilde, 1998), geoeconomics (Luttwak, 1990; Blackwill and Harris, 2016), of interdependence-weaponization (Farrell and Newman, 2019), and of international regimes (Krasner, 1983; NYE, 2014) reveal the patterns underlying these conflicts and predict their development.

Second. All four considered great powers are approaching the limits of their tools’ effectiveness, and now face insufficiency (the EU), counterproductivity (Russia), ‘defensive’ ineffectiveness abroad (China), and ‘offensive’ ineffectiveness abroad (the U.S.). No actor can rely solely on domestic policy tools, and all must adopt some foreign policy instruments.

Third. Russia’s current strategic documents—the Foreign Policy Concept and The Foundations of State Policy in the Field of International Information Security—do not fully reflect the described dynamics. Their focus on countering cybercrime, and on external disconnection of the Runet, needs to be significantly expanded to account for new technologies like Starlink’s Direct-to-Cell.

Fourth. Digital issues should be institutionalized as an independent area of Russia’s foreign policy. Priorities should be defined in strategic documents, negotiating positions should be formulated, and mechanisms for international cooperation (bilateral and within BRICS+ and the SCO) should be developed.

The global Internet’s increasing fragmentation—contrary to the integration that prevailed at the beginning of the 21st century—is dragging the contours of digital space out of alignment with national development. To avoid becoming one of the losers in this process, Russia must transition from reactive domestic policy to a proactive foreign policy strategy.

This article is a product of the HSE-BR-2025-001 research project within the HSE Basic Research Program.

For citation, please use:
Toloraya, G.D., 2026. A Military Stress Test for BRICS. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 186–192. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-186-192

The unprovoked U.S.-Israeli aggression against Iran, which has undermined the foundations of international law and the established world order, is the first serious stress test for the newly expanded BRICS. The organization’s 2024–2025 enlargement (Iran, the United Arab Emirates, Egypt, Ethiopia, and Indonesia) has been widely recognized as a historic success in building a platform for the World Majority, but has also shown that BRICS institutions are unprepared for conflict situations. The war has placed Iran and the UAE on opposite sides, while BRICS as a whole has no unified position.

BRICS members were divided in voting on anti-Iranian UN Resolution 2817. Russia and China abstained, while India and the UAE coauthored the resolution. Brazil adopted a moderate stance, although it condemned the strikes on Iran, as did South Africa. Egypt, conversely, condemned strikes against “brotherly Arab nations.” Ethiopia expressed concern primarily over its own energy security. BRICS consultations in New Delhi (24 April 2026) could not produce a joint statement, and instead ended with a brief summary from the Chairman acknowledging an internal split. The BRICS Foreign Ministers’ meeting (the organization’s second-most-important annual gathering), held in mid-May in New Delhi, also failed to overcome these divisions, ending with a non-consensus Chairman’s Statement noting disagreement, on a number of points, of certain (publicly known) members.[1]

In effect, three camps have emerged within BRICS. The ‘sovereign-legal’ group (Russia, China, Brazil, and South Africa) condemns the U.S.-Israeli attack. The ‘regional-strategic’ group (India, Egypt, and Ethiopia) is primarily concerned with its own security and energy supplies. Iran, the UAE, and Saudi Arabia (as a ‘half-member’) are themselves parties to the conflict.

There are also other smoldering conflicts, e.g., between Egypt and Ethiopia over the Nile.

This situation is unprecedented: previous clashes, e.g., between China and India, were kept contained, unable to interfere with long-term BRICS projects.

This has prompted a degree of schadenfreude in the West. As a Singaporean-based expert notes, BRICS is able to agree more on reformist language than on “a common posture when conflict threatens to impact concrete national interests.” (Hussein, 2026) The core principles of BRICS—consensus, respect for sovereignty, and pragmatism—function in peacetime, but paralyze decision-making during disorder and confrontation. A fundamental flaw has been exposed in the “minimalist institutionalism” of which BRICS has been so proud—for it grants rights and benefits without obligations, flexibility without diktat, which is precisely what attracts so many new applicants and aspiring members.

A secondary consequence of the war for BRICS has been an energy and financial split: disruptions in energy markets benefit some members (including Russia), but are detrimental to the majority. Furthermore, the tightening sanctions against Iran and its supporters have forced BRICS members to choose between risking secondary sanctions or distancing themselves from Tehran. These frictions notwithstanding, the war may accelerate de-dollarization and promote the creation of independent payment and settlement systems within BRICS—one of its key objectives.

Possible Trajectories for BRICS

In Russia, some experts insist on BRICS’s development based on the ‘lowest common denominator,’ while others argue that BRICS must become a fully-fledged institution of global governance, or the world will become increasingly chaotic, many World Majority countries will become less stable and secure, and BRICS itself will lose its attractiveness and influence (Karaganov et al., 2026).

In some Russian publications, the baseline scenario is one of ambition and reform, in which BRICS becomes a “central institution of the World Majority,” capable of filling the vacuum in global governance (Karaganov et al., 2026). Achieving this demands progress in seven areas: financial settlements (the prototype Mariana system); disaster response (BRICS Rescue); a new climate agenda (BRICS Nature); an analogue to the IEA (BRICS Power); food security (BRICS Feed); dialogue on military AI; and normative and educational cooperation. Further expansion of the agenda is probably undesirable.

However, although these issues are well-chosen and merit vigorous effort, the war may badly injure BRICS’s developing organism.

Hastily expanded on the eve of a global storm, BRICS and its new partners have encountered challenges of a magnitude that they cannot ignore. Nor can they discount more pessimistic scenarios.

The first of those is BRICS’s fragmentation (‘G20-ization’): degradation into yet another geopolitically lightweight forum containing several opposing factions. Political and security issues would be displaced by economic, climate, trade, and humanitarian ones, as in the early stages of BRICS’s formation. Two wings could emerge within BRICS—a pro-Western one and an “irreconcilable” one.

The second option is BRICS’s ‘Sinicization,’ discussed in the West. If Russia weakens, or India and others become more dependent upon the West given deepening geopolitical rifts, then collapse may threaten BRICS, and China may be compelled to become arbiter and security guarantor, offering technological and diplomatic support to BRICS members. The influence of Russia and other members would then decline, BRICS would become an instrument of Chinese foreign policy, and some members might withdraw or maintain only a formal association.

A more realistic scenario is a ‘two-speed BRICS,’ comprising an anti-Western core (China, Russia, and Iran) and an opportunistically hedging periphery (India, Brazil, the UAE, South Africa, Egypt, and Ethiopia). This would entail differing directions and levels of integration: the core would deepen geopolitical, security, and even military cooperation, while the periphery would participate only in economic and humanitarian projects. Developments such as India’s ‘Special Strategic Partnership’ with Israel (February 2026), and the UAE’s withdrawal from OPEC, point in this direction.

Naturally, any of these scenarios would also affect the BRICS partner countries, which would also choose varying models and factions.

How Can the Situation Be Remedied?

The Gulf crisis may be a moment of truth, not a death sentence. The U.S.’s behavior under Donald Trump—including aggression against Iran and Venezuela, threats against Cuba, tariff wars, and pressure on South Africa to leave BRICS—may temporarily paralyze BRICS, but it also incentivizes BRICS consolidation. Yet BRICS should not and cannot become an anti-Western bloc, as this would diminish its attractiveness for many World Majority countries that do not wish to choose between the U.S. and China.

BRICS now faces a choice: to remain a talk-shop and gradually lose relevance or evolve into a conflict-response mechanism. If the bloc fails to propose an alternative security model (not necessarily a military alliance, but a diplomatic platform for conflict prevention), then its less influential members and partners will seek guarantees directly from the U.S. or China. BRICS would then become a declarative club, while real influence would shift to bilateral alliances—especially if the West, driven to prolong its dominance and exploitation, overcomes its internal contradictions as it did in the past.

Thus, in order to remain relevant, BRICS must establish permanent structures for mediation, monitoring, and coordination of security issues. This should be done together with deeper financial and payment integration (central banks’ digital currencies and BRICS Pay may gain momentum precisely as a means of insulating against dollar-based sanctions). The energy dimension may also play a role: the UAE’s withdrawal from OPEC could trigger a domino effect and a restructuring of the global energy market. BRICS, encompassing both energy producers and consumers, could become a new platform for coordination in this sphere. AI and cybersecurity, developed independently of the West, may likewise serve as instruments of consolidation.

A Bureaucratic Remedy

BRICS must be based on ‘soft institutionalization,’ seeking not a unified alliance, but a flexible multi-level structure.

For years, I have argued for BRICS’s urgent evolutionary institutionalization, beginning with the creation of bureaucratic mechanisms for coordination, monitoring, and preservation of institutional memory (Toloraya and Nikonov, 2013; Toloraya, 2015; Toloraya and Chukov, 2016).

Previously, ‘minimalist institutionalism’ provided flexibility and lowered the barrier to entry for new members. But the enduring rejection of bureaucracy is now causing a lack of continuity. Each chair country shapes the agenda according to its own priorities; previous decisions often remain unimplemented; and what institutional memory there is depends on the enthusiasm of individual states (namely Russia). With the addition of four/five members plus partners, the problem has become critical. New members are unfamiliar with the history of the BRICS agenda, and some lack the bureaucratic resources needed to manage chairmanships involving hundreds of events (Karaganov et al, 2026).

How could ‘soft institutionalization’ be realized? Proposals for a secretariat, divided between members, are detached from the reality of international organizations’ bureaucratic functioning. A BRICS Secretary-General, with few meaningful powers and a geographically dispersed staff, would be little more than a façade.

There is no need to reinvent the wheel. A compact secretariat is needed, composed of one D-2 (per UN classification) official from each member, plus one D-1 or P-5 official from each partner. Some administrators (P-2 to P-4) would also be needed, with national quotas (like budgetary contributions) determined by a formula based on population size and GDP per capita. There should also be a technical staff recruited without quotas (G1–G7). The head of the secretariat would be appointed for a one-year term from the chair country and would, inter alia, be responsible for liaison with the chair’s government. The budget for 50–60 staff can be easily estimated.

A physical headquarters would be most effective, preferably located in a relatively neutral setting. Potential examples include Macau or Goa, which are distant from national capitals and (thanks to Portuguese) feature two BRICS languages. Of course, the secretariat may also have branches in national capitals, staffed, inter alia, by locals, if the host country is willing to finance them.

The technical secretariat would perform a limited set of functions, including:

• monitor the implementation of decisions, maintain documentation, and prepare reports and recommendations for leaders and governments;
• in cooperation with the chair country, prepare meeting agendas and the accompanying briefing and analytical materials;
• coordinate the work of the various sectoral tracks;
• maintain contacts with global and regional international organizations;
• organize training and capacity-building for partners, new members, and the ‘Friends of BRICS Club.’

This would still leave BRICS far short of a classical international organization with binding obligations and supranational bodies, and its members should not fear the emergence of diktat like in the EU. But such a mechanism may be sufficient for BRICS to pass the stress test of the current crisis, develop its own governance system, establish a crisis-response mechanism, pursue a common strategy—and even aspire to the role of global arbiter.

This article is an edited version of the paper written for the Valdai Discussion Club, https://valdaiclub.com/a/highlights/military-stress-test-the-war-on-iran-and-brics/

For citation, please use:
Vykhodets, R.S. and Lyapkina, T.F., 2026. The CSTO Parliamentary Assembly in Search of Normative Consensus. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 168–185. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-168-185

The Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), founded on 15 May 1992, and an international organization since 14 May 2002, remains the only viable mechanism for ensuring collective security in the post-Soviet space.

On 16 November 2006, the Council of the Interparliamentary Assembly of CIS and CSTO States established the CSTO Parliamentary Assembly (CSTO Parliamentary Assembly, 2006). The CSTO PA focuses on interparliamentary cooperation to harmonize CSTO members’ legislation and to address regional and international security issues. Formally, the CSTO PA exists within the framework of the CIS Interparliamentary Assembly and has been governed for almost 20 years by the “Temporary Regulations on the CSTO PA” (CSTO Parliamentary Assembly, 2007). This creates a number of procedural and institutional difficulties (Khlopko, 2025) and reduces the status of the PA’s decisions.

The CSTO PA’s key area of activity is model legislation—the development and adoption of consensus strategies, concepts, laws, and recommendations covering a wide range of collective security issues. Despite the participating countries’ diverging visions of the CSTO’s strategic security priorities, model legislation plays a key role in harmonizing national legislation and establishing a unified regulatory framework for collective security (Pospelov, 2021).

The CSTO PA’s lawmaking plans are drawn up for a five-year period and stated in the Program adopted at the end of the year preceding the next five-year period. Under the 2021-2025 Program, 35 model laws were adopted, addressing a fairly wide range of collective security issues. The focus was on military security, counterterrorism, migration policy, harmonization of national criminal legislation, joint peacekeeping capabilities, and emergency prevention and response (Bondurovsky and Pospelov, 2024; Vykhodets and Tyumentsev, 2025).

In 2024-2025, the member states’ experts worked out proposals for the CSTO PA Program for 2026-2030. Its draft was first presented on 27 March 2025 at a meeting of the Expert Advisory Board under the CSTO PA Council (CSTO Parliamentary Assembly, 2025a; CSTO Parliamentary Assembly, 2025b). The final Program for 2026-2030 was adopted by the PA in Moscow on 8 December 2025 (CSTO Parliamentary Assembly, 2025c).

This article analyzes model legislation initiatives included in the final version of the 2026-2030 Program, as compared with the initial draft proposals. This may illustrate the involved states’ national and international security priorities, as well as the opaque process by which their differences are resolved (Zhdanova et al., 2022).

The analysis is based mainly on unpublished materials of the closed meetings of the CSTO PA Council’s Expert Advisory Board (27 March and 6 October 2025) and on the final version of the CSTO PA Activity Program for 2026-2030.

The CSTO Parliamentary Assembly Program for 2026-2030: Priorities

Although model legislation has no direct binding effect, it serves as a guideline for harmonizing national legislation according to common political and regulatory principles. In this sense, all member states, when adopting a model legislative act (MLA), assume certain obligations to implement its provisions at the national level.

The final CSTO PA Program for Converging and Harmonizing the National Legislation of the CSTO States in 2026-2030 includes 45 MLAs, down from 93 in the March 2025 draft, which are thematically categorized in Fig. 1.

Fig. 1.

The topics of the MLAs included in the draft (gray) and final (black) versions
of the 2026-2030 CSTO PA Program[1]

In the final Program, more than half (24 out of 45) initiatives fall into three categories: information security, information and methodological support, and military and military-technical cooperation. The draft’s largest section was collective information security containing about a quarter of all information-related MLAs reflecting the conceptual expansion of international conflicts caused by the rapid development of information and communication technologies.

Global digitalization has added two new domains of international conflict to the four classical ones (land, sea, air, space): informational-technological and informational-psychological, as reflected in the draft Program. However, the final Program contains initiatives only related to the first domain (information-technological). These include the MLA “On Countering Cyberbullying,” plus recommendations for personal data protection, cybersecurity incident-response, and a common approach to building national cybersecurity systems.

The informational-psychological security initiatives were excluded from the final Program. These contained:

• a proposal to develop a CSTO Information, Psychological, and Cognitive Security Concept;
• the model law “On Neutralizing the Influence of Destructive Ideologies on Young People”;
• recommendations for:

–    combating the production and dissemination of deliberately false socially significant information, countering destructive information campaigns aimed at encouraging children and young people to commit illegal acts,

–    preserving and strengthening traditional spiritual and moral values and principles, cultural and historical memory.

The final 2026-2030 Program also excludes all of the draft’s proposals pertaining to:

• education and training (e.g., “Recommendations for the Development and Implementation of Media Literacy Programs;” and “Recommendations for the Formation of Common Educational Standards in the Discipline of ‘National Security’”);
• anti-corruption measures (e.g., a draft “CSTO Anti-Corruption Strategy”);
• peacekeeping (e.g., “Recommendations for the Training and Use of the National Peacekeeping Contingents Assigned to the CSTO Collective Peacekeeping Forces”);
• intelligence activities (e.g., the MLA “On Intelligence Activities”).

The section “Electoral Sovereignty” was also significantly reduced, despite the growing threats to electoral processes. Purposeful attempts to destructively influence them, manipulate public opinion during elections and referendums, and discredit government agencies and politicians may undermine socio-political stability, lead to violent change of power, and challenge the constitutional foundations of a state. Hybrid wars and color revolutions beget electoral extremism: activities during election campaigns that encroach on the electoral rights of citizens, the constitutional order, and the security of the state (Borisov, 2024a).

Russia proposed four initiatives regarding CSTO members’ electoral sovereignty, including the model law “On Ensuring and Protecting Electoral Sovereignty” (Borisov, 2024b). However, the final document combines all of them into a compromise MLA, which amends the previously approved “Recommendations for Improving Legislation on the Protection of Electoral Processes and Sovereignty in the CSTO Member States.” Specifically, the MLA would amend the section on countering destructive informational influence on internal affairs and electoral sovereignty.

Compared to informational-psychological security and electoral sovereignty, information and methodological support and military security apparently enjoy greater agreement within the CSTO PA, and thus entered the final Program with few alterations.

Regarding information and methodological support, the CSTO PA plans to adopt, by 2030, several glossaries in various areas of national and international security, as well as recommendations for improving the information, analytical, and methodological support for strategic planning; for improving the organizational, legal, and methodological foundations of the CSTO’s information and analytical activities; etc.

Regarding military and military-technical cooperation, the CSTO PA will focus on the use of reconnaissance equipment, unmanned aerial vehicles, and electronic warfare systems by military contingents of one CSTO member on the territory of another; on the international air transport of military and other personnel; and on mine action.

A number of proposals on the joint development and use of AI for security deserve special attention. AI has a growing influence on national and international security, primarily in the information sphere (Bazarkina and Pashentsev, 2020; Pashentsev, 2023). Its rapid development poses completely new risks. UN experts note that its widespread use would remove humans from decision-making. “While humans make assumptions (e.g., of best- or worst-case scenarios), AI introduces a degree of inflexibility that may prove to be impractical or, at worst, catastrophic in conflict” (Puscas, 2023b, р. 46).

The need for cooperation on AI to ensure collective security began to feature prominently on the CSTO PA’s agenda after its Council’s 3 June 2024 meeting in Almaty, which adopted the “Statement on the Development of Artificial Intelligence Technologies” (CSTO, 2024). To date, all CSTO member states have formulated and adopted norms reflecting their strategic vision for security in AI technology development. Some countries (Kazakhstan, Russia, Tajikistan) have approved national AI strategies; Kyrgyzstan is in the final stage of this process; and Armenia and Belarus have included AI in broader national legislation on digital transformation and innovative development.

To date, only one AI-related MLA has been adopted: “Recommendations for the CSTO Member States on Developing General Principles for the Development of National Legislation on Creating Artificial Intelligence and Robotics to Ensure National Security.”

The critical importance of AI for national security should prompt greater lawmaking activity by the CSTO PA in that area.

On Russian-Belarusian initiative, the 2026-2030 Program includes proposals for drafting a “Concept for the Development and Application of AI Security Technologies” and “Recommendations for the Development of Common Approaches to the Creation, Implementation, Maintenance, and Continuous Improvement of AI Management Systems in Computer Security.”

The section on harmonizing CSTO members’ legislation on miscellaneous security issues, only one-third of which entered the final Program, includes draft MLAs pertaining to biological and financial security and military-economic cooperation, and also suggests developing a model CSTO Weapons Code.

Analysis of which sections (other than ‘miscellaneous security’) contain the most MLAs, compared to previous Programs, reveals high continuity of priorities.

Table 1.

Most common subject of MLAs, by Five-Year Program

Information security, information and methodological support, and military and military-technical cooperation are the top three topics in each program, remaining the key areas of CSTO cooperation.

Initiatives: Diversity and Consensus

Russia submitted the largest number of initiatives included in the final 2026-2030 Program—more than half of the total—followed by Belarus, Kyrgyzstan, CSTO structural bodies, and Kazakhstan. Armenia, which suspended its membership in the CSTO in 2023, did not submit any initiatives. Although some Tajik researchers recognize the CSTO’s significant role in ensuring security in Central Asia amid modern challenges and threats (Rakhimov et al., 2025), Tajikistan made no legislative proposals for the 2026-2030 Program.

Pursuant to the “Regulation on the Drafting and Adoption of Model Legislative Acts, Recommendations, and Other Legal Acts of the CSTO Parliamentary Assembly,” legislative initiatives may be submitted by national parliaments, CSTO PA delegations, and CSTO statutory and structural bodies. However, in reality, a wide range of academic, research, and expert organizations have traditionally been involved in this process. They make proposals, work on the wording, provide argumentation, and often emerge as the final authors of the concepts and texts of enacted MLAs.

Fig. 2.

Countries’ initiatives included in the draft (gray) and final (black) versions
of the 2026-2030 CSTO PA Program[2]

The following Russian organizations are tasked with developing the MLAs proposed in the 2026-2030 Program:

Table 2. 

Russian organizations tasked with developing the MLAs
of the 2026-2030 CSTO PA Activity Program[3]

The topics of Russian initiatives are presented in Fig. 3.

Fig. 3.

Topics of Russia’s initiatives included in the draft (gray)
and final (black) Programs

Russia’s top priority is information security: about a quarter of all Russian initiatives addressed it. These covered informational-technical issues (personal data protection, biometric identification, information protection and cybersecurity, etc.), as well as informational-psychological security (countering the production and dissemination of deliberately false socially significant information, destructive information campaigns, historical education, preservation of collective historical memory, strengthening traditional spiritual and cultural values, etc.).

However, as noted above, the final Program included no informational-psychological security initiatives, which made a significant number of Russian MLA proposals in the draft. Russian initiatives on ‘electoral sovereignty’ were also almost entirely cut out, while initiatives on ‘combating extremism and terrorism,’ and on ‘miscellaneous security issues,’ were significantly reduced. Russian initiatives on ‘military and military-technical cooperation’ were thus the most successful.

Belarus submitted 11 initiatives for 2026-2030, about a quarter of the total. The Belarusian organizations empowered to develop MLAs are listed in Table 3.

Table 3. 

Belarusian organizations tasked with developing the MLAs
of the 2026-2030 CSTO PA Activity Program

The topics of Belarusian initiatives are presented in Fig. 4.

Fig. 4. 

Topics of Belarus’s initiatives included in the draft (gray) and final (black) Programs.

The adopted 2026-2030 Program almost fully reflects Belarus’s priorities. Like Russia, Belarus gave the highest priority to information security. However, it focused mainly on technical aspects of the issue, with only one (rejected) initiative pertaining to informational-psychological security.

Another Belarusian priority, which survived almost intact into the final 2026-2030 Program, concerns ‘supporting information.’

Belarus proposed unifying various terms and concepts; and improving organizational, legal, and methodological principles of information and analytical activities.

Kyrgyzstan also submitted 11 initiatives to the draft Program, seven of which were included in the final document. Their potential developers are the Kyrgyz State Technical University and the Osh State University, each of which contributed one MLA. The Kyrgyz National University and the Yeltsin Kyrgyz-Russian Slavic University were responsible for drafting two and three MLAs, respectively. The topics of Kyrgyzstan’s initiatives are presented in Fig. 5.

Fig. 5.

Topics of Kyrgyzstan’s initiatives included in the draft (gray) and final (black) Programs

Regarding information and methodological support, Kyrgyzstan seeks to unify security-related concepts and terms, and to catalogue the challenges, threats, and risks in the CSTO space.

Regarding civil defense and emergency situations, Kyrgyzstan’s proposals include joint emergency situations forecasting; prevention of and response to natural and man-made transborder emergencies; and devising common principles for providing emergency humanitarian aid.

Regarding social and humanitarian security, Kyrgyzstan proposed “Recommendations for Developing Common Principles of the CSTO Member States on Provision, Receipt, Storage, and Distribution of Humanitarian Aid in Areas of Military Conflict, and for Conducting Special Military and Counter-Terrorism Operations.”

Kyrgyzstan’s only informational-psychological security initiative called for neutralizing the influence of destructive ideologies on young people. However, during preliminary discussions, this initiative was declined, and replaced with “Amendments to the Previously Adopted Recommendations for Harmonizing Legislation of the CSTO Member States to Ensure Internal Stability and Counter Technologies of External Destructive Influence…” which we have placed in the section on countering external influence.

Finally, Kazakhstan submitted only two initiatives: 1) countering drug trafficking; and 2) countering Internet fraud. The Management Academy of Kazakhstan’s Ministry of Internal Affairs is listed as a potential developer of both initiatives, which were included in the final document unaltered.

Analysis

The initial draft 2026-2030 Program underwent significant changes and was basically halved during discussion and approval in 2025. This did not come as a surprise, since some member states, primarily Kazakhstan, had clearly stated their critical position even during the initial discussion. Kazakhstan made the largest number of critical comments on the draft, and suggested changing or dropping (as was in fact done) 42 of the 93 proposed MLAs.

Most criticized were proposals on informational-psychological security (all of which Kazakhstan suggested discarding), media literacy, and countering external influence.

Kazakhstan’s critical position at the CSTO PA appears to be a continuation of its post-independence multi-vector foreign policy (Ivanov and Petrenko, 2025). Its political elites evidently believe that deep engagement with the normative-ideological spheres of regional integration organizations may restrict its ability to cooperate with other international actors.

Leaving aside Armenia and Tajikistan (which did not make any proposals), the adopted Program reflects the priorities of all CSTO member states except Russia. Not only were most of Russia’s proposals excluded from the final document, but those exclusions contained all of Russia’s initiatives pertaining to the crucial sphere of informational-psychological security, which was prioritized in Russia’s 2023 Foreign Policy Concept and which forms a major part of Russia’s foreign policy goal of upholding traditional spiritual and moral values, promoting normality, and countering the distortion of history.

The exclusion of Russia’s initiatives, which were meant to significantly expand the conceptual boundaries of collective security, exposes substantial disagreement on this matter, especially with Kazakhstan.

The Kazakhstani insistence, on reducing security to traditional military issues, has already fallen significantly behind modern challenges and threats.

A vivid example is Russia’s initiative concerning media literacy programs.

Throughout the CSTO PA’s history, questions of education and training have not been adequately addressed in model legislation, even though many of today’s national and collective security challenges cannot be effectively solved without proper education programs. Amid ongoing global digitalization, media and information technologies are increasingly often used to exert destructive influence on the populations, mutating values and sentiment and inciting socio-political destabilization. According to the latest data, active Internet users make up about 85% of the CSTO’s population, and active users of (mostly foreign) social networks exceed 65% of the population (Datareportal, 2025). Furthermore, modern recommendation algorithms and generative AI have significant potential to manipulate public opinion (Goldstein, 2021) and threaten new forms of digital colonialism in countries that lack such technologies (Sytnik, 2025).

Given the huge volume of information and the speed of its creation, distribution, and consumption, special measures by law enforcement are no longer sufficient. Systemic efforts are needed to develop the public’s ability to critically analyze information.

Yet some CSTO member states are implementing Western-funded media literacy programs, like “Texherdim” in Kyrgyzstan, operating since 2023 and funded by the EU (and USAID, until it was dismantled) (Institut Media Polisi, 2023). In Tajikistan, media literacy programs are implemented under the MediaCAMP Project, which is promoted by Internews, a U.S.-linked NGO funded for many years by USAID (Gaisina, 2021). Such external influence contradicts CSTO states’ national interests and collective security objectives.

Development of unified approaches to media literacy programs thus appears highly relevant. To this end, Russia proposed working out “Recommendations for the Legal Regulation of the Development and Implementation of Media Literacy Programs” in 2026-2030. Unfortunately, it was rejected by Kazakhstan as allegedly unrelated to collective security.

The exclusion of whole sets of modern challenges and threats from the CSTO’s political agenda undoubtedly limits the latter’s effectiveness and status (at least in the view of Russia until 2030).

*  *  *

The above analysis of the final CSTO PA Activity Program for 2026-2030 and its comparison with the draft permit several general conclusions:

1. The CSTO’s members have differing interests in the PA. Russia, Belarus, and Kyrgyzstan consider it critical for pursuing their foreign policy objectives and promoting their vision of regional and international security. Tajikistan is a passive participant, Kazakhstan is in active opposition, and Armenia has de facto suspended its work in the CSTO PA.
2. Cooperation in the CSTO PA is being tested by centrifugal forces generated by sanctions, by members’ orientation towards different external centers of economic and technological power (the U.S. and China), and by differences in civilizational identity and development priorities.
3. The CSTO’s members have clearly different conceptual approaches to collective security. While Russia and Belarus consistently advocate for expanding the CSTO’s conception of security to include the spiritual, moral, informational, psychological, and cognitive spheres, and seek to engage civil society on these issues, other states, primarily Kazakhstan, tend to narrow the concept of security to the traditional spheres of the military and law enforcement.
4. Informational-technical security, civil defense and emergencies, and miscellaneous security issues are the CSTO PA’s common priorities until 2030.
5. In order to strengthen cooperation within the CSTO, its agenda must be expanded, and conceptual disagreements over collective security must be overcome.

This article is part of the Saint-Petersburg State University’s research project #116471555.

For citation, please use:
Lane, D., 2026. Trumpism: From Rules-Based Global Liberal Order to National-Capitalist Regimes? Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 82–105. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-82-105

The rise of Donald Trump to power is not merely the triumph of a single political figure but the culmination of a broader political movement shaped by influential individuals such as J.D. Vance, high-profile sponsors like Elon Musk, conservative think tanks (notably the Heritage Foundation), and mass media outlets such as Fox News. Since the 1980s, these actors have laid the intellectual and policy foundations for what has evolved into Trumpism, a distinctive political outlook shaping a new form of American capitalism. It is a doctrine, a set of motivational imperatives stressing the primacy of American interests (NSS, 2025, p. 8). However, commentators who stress Trump’s divisive leadership style and personal authoritarianism miss the big picture. Trumpism is a major departure from the consensus of the international liberal rules-based system. It could be a catalyst for a new post-Yalta world order legitimating leading regional hegemonic roles for China, the European Union, Russia, and the United States.

Remarkably, the logic underlying American policy—the Trumpist doctrine—is distinct from Trump’s own often impulsive and inconsistent actions. It is anchored in the November 2025 National Security Initiative which outlines protection of American national capitalist interests through state administrative action and strong economic, political, and social borders around the U.S.

The Trumpist doctrine represents a decisive break from the universal Western ‘law-based’ values.

It pursues interests through a pragmatic, transactional approach to politics predicated on the advancement of U.S. national economic interests. It combines elements of neoliberalism and mercantilism, embraces a populist and anti-elitist rhetoric, and fosters strong loyalty to the charismatic leader. It is embedded in traditional American cultural norms and Christian religious beliefs. Trumpism may be best understood as a rejective response to liberal internationalism, promoting in its place traditional American national capitalist material interests.

Social Forces Underlying the Trumpist Doctrine

Trump seeks to reverse the economic consequences of globalization (the free movement of capital, people, goods and services) and to recalibrate America’s role as a world power. The shift to globalization and progressive values were social developments which may be traced back to the 1960s. In the advanced capitalist states, concurrent with globalization and growing affluence, the decline of the industrial manual workforce and the rise of the tertiary sector led to an intergenerational shift from materialist to post-materialist values. The social structure gradually bifurcated between the manual production industries and the non-manual service and public sector. The new, younger, university educated social strata brought liberal cosmopolitan cultural values, whereas older people retained more materialist and traditional outlooks. Divisions also emerged within, and between, the political party elites. The adoption of progressive values of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) resulted in some established elites losing their status and power: they were nudged sideways by the rising classes of higher-educated women and previously marginalized men favored by DEI policies. This facilitated a turnover of governing elites and the insertion of upwardly mobile individuals in state and civil society organizations.

By the 1990s, the Democratic Party had become the party of the progressive idealist liberals (Norris and Inglehart, 2019). The aim of their policies was to improve the well-being of those who have suffered—and often continue to experience—systemic discrimination: notably women, ethnic minorities, and LGBTQ+ people. Many of these progressive policies were concurrently supported by the Republican Party, but were successfully challenged by a faction led by Donald Trump. While not denying the reality of past and present discrimination, they contended that such policies unfairly disadvantage individuals from other social groups, such as working-class men and people of Asiatic background. This faction also appealed to conservatives in a religious sense as it promoted traditional Christian values with regard to the role of marriage of males with females, and it opposed abortion and homosexuality. The doctrine which arose supports—and seeks to strengthen—American capitalism and, in doing so, to sustain for the Republican leadership the backing of financial sponsors—the corporate rich and the rising entrepreneurial high-tech tycoons.

In addition to cultural values, the economic costs of deindustrialization played a major part in the revolt against the failure of American governments to meet the needs of the losers. They fueled a populist national backlash, which also has parallels in Europe. In his first presidency in 2016, Trump’s inaugural speech set the tone: “For too long, a small group in our nation’s capital has reaped the rewards of government while the people have borne the cost. Washington flourished, but the people did not share in its wealth. Politicians prospered, but the jobs left and the factories closed. The establishment protected itself, but not the citizens of our country. … This was not a socialist appeal to the working class, but the exposure of entitled domestic elites embedded in the ‘deep state’—those who, in enforcing DEI, had imperiled the American population.”

The paradox lies in Trump’s dual approach: mobilizing populist support among the working and middle classes while consistently protecting corporate capital. The paradox becomes clear if we consider that his critique is focused on capitalist globalization. Capitalism as a form of economy is not an enemy. The doctrine opposes the form of globalization taken by capitalism, which sustains the rich, while concurrently advocating a national basis of capitalism which is proposed to benefit the underprivileged. Globalization, free trade, and an open economy lead to instability (Rodrik, 2021). It impoverishes the national bourgeoisie and destroys the industries and jobs that earlier sustained the American working class. Neoliberal globalization has displaced the national base of businesses, and benefited transnational corporations and elites. Economic dislocation and social identity combine to predispose people to nationally-based populist politics (see Rodrik, 2021, Fig. 1).

Breaking Away From Global Political Elites

Trump breaks with global political elites by emphasizing social divisions within the U.S. and by championing those who have lost. He identifies with the grievances of people who have suffered under globalization with phrases like: “America gained, but the wrong people [Wall St., the Washington DC establishment] gained.” His joking, coarse but popular dialogue, resonates with lower- and middle-class voters who are mobilized against what they consider to be corrupt oligarchic elites and welfare-sapping immigrants (Mudde, 2004; Ostiguy, 2017). Unlike more reserved and restrained mainstream politicians, Trump, despite his millionaire status, acts like ‘one of us.’ Trumpist critique of capitalist globalization overlaps with that of many supporters of traditional socialism, wherein Trump’s electoral support lies. It diverges, however, in one crucial respect.

Rather than resolving the contradictions of capitalism through socialism and realignment of class relations, the political project proposes changes in trade policy reestablishing national industries. The populist vision is to make America a great national capitalist country again.

This framework of supply-side politics is paralleled in Europe with challenges from populist parties to the transnational order and the European Union. There is a deficit in the supply of any political socialist challenge.

In the spring of 2017, the media exploded over the news about Trump’s intention to ignore WTO rules that ‘violate’ U.S. sovereignty: “American citizens are subject only to laws and regulations made by the U.S. government—not rulings made by foreign governments or international bodies” (Sputnik International, 2017). This explicit reassertion of sovereignty placed Trump in direct opposition to the liberal internationalism that had shaped U.S. foreign policy since 1945. Previous American political leaderships had justified international commitments, alliances, and institutions, such as NATO, the World Trade Organization (WTO), and the International Monetary Fund (IMF), on the grounds that such global commitments served both U.S. interests and the stability of the international order. Trumpism rejects this consensus. As John Ikenberry points out, “Trade, alliances, international law, multilateralism, environmental protection, torture, and human rights—on all of these core issues, Trump has made assertions that, if acted on, would bring to an end the United States’ role as guarantor of the liberal world order” (Ikenberry, 2017). The Trumpist doctrine contends that America’s global commitments burden the U.S. while empowering competitors. Thus, the domestic political agenda (reindustrialization, border control, and the restoration of ‘American greatness’) carries clear foreign policy implications.

The Changing Balance in the World System

Correlated with these political changes, the U.S. has declined both domestically and abroad. Fig. 1 provides a materialist basis to the divisions which have appeared in the international order. It traces the proportion of world gross national product of major national economies (the U.S., China, Russia, Germany, and Great Britain) between 1980 and 2024. In 2016, China surpassed the U.S. in gross national product (measured by purchasing power parity); all the major European economies and the U.S. have suffered a continuous decline in their market share. The relative economic decline of the European countries explains their political weaknesses and the shift of the U.S.’s perception of threats away from Europe to China.

The U.S. had been at the fore in the formation of the WTO, IMF, and the World Bank—organizations which, having adopted policies of global free trade, facilitated globalization. Free trade without borders has weakened the U.S. economy. The 2016 Presidential Report on Trade Agreements Program stated: “While the current global trading system has been great for China,… it has not generated the same results for the United States” (Annual Report, 2016). By 2016, the cumulative trade deficit of the U.S. since 2000 had come to $8.6 trillion, almost equal to the $8.3 trillion balance of payments deficit (Roach, 2017). Free movement of merchandise generally had been adopted by the U.S.: before Trump’s second presidency, U.S. import tariffs averaged only 2.5%. U.S. exports, however, were subject to much higher tariffs. In 2023, for example, the average tariff on American imported merchandise for India was 9% and for China 7% (data cited by Financial Times, 15/16 February 2025). In 2024, the U.S. goods’ trade deficit was $1,211.7 billion—a record high (U.S. Bureau of Economic Analysis, 2024). In 2024, as a consequence of China’s positive trade balance with the U.S., China held some $780 billion of U.S. Treasury securities. Trump’s major objective is to reduce the accumulated U.S. trade deficit. In 2025, during his first six months in office, he promised, then imposed, significant tariffs on imports. These were aimed at foreign competitors, especially China, and intended to support American manufacturing companies and to bring back production to the U.S.

Transnational Fault Lines

Trump’s sovereignty doctrine is not merely domestic rhetoric but a foundational principle of the strategy’s international outlook. It redefines the U.S.’s role in world politics by moving towards a model of competitive transactional interest-driven nationalism. A move from liberal moral values to economic interests. Running in parallel to the balance of global economic power lies a political fault line between two rival projects. On one side stands liberal globalization, built on corporate capitalism and coordinated by transnational economic bodies (IMF, WTO and World Bank). On the other side, state-directed national capitalism prevails, with forms of collective ownership and state control. This model, most prominently championed by China, could challenge Western hegemony. Before Trump, “American foreign policy elites convinced themselves that permanent American domination of the entire world was in [America’s] best interests” (NSS, 2025, p. 1).

Trump ended this policy to focus on the core, vital national interests: “[A]ll nations are entitled… to a ‘separate and equal station’ with respect to one another” (Ibid, pp. 5, 9). Trumpism does not mean that the U.S. will not intervene in the affairs of other states, but that it will do so if they threaten U.S. interests. It implies a calculation of when intervention can serve U.S. interests (see below my analysis of the 2026 Israel-U.S. military action in Iran).

Trumpism maintains a liberal national economic pathway. It proposes an international capitalist political economy predicated on sovereign nation-states. The U.S. has asserted its national authority by breaking agreements and production networks brokered by transnational organizations. This is not merely a strategy for consolidating domestic support and conservative values, but an effort to offer the West itself an alternative form of capitalist internationalism. One which defines a viable route to “making America great again.” Trumpism has not abandoned the pursuit of American hegemony, it remains in a ‘territorial sphere’—as a regional, rather than a global, hegemon.

Trumpism seeks to advance it through the change of political elites. Previous governing elites, who “placed hugely misguided and destructive bets on globalization …” and “undermined… the character of our nation” (NSS, 2025, pp. 1, 2) must be replaced. The goal is a form of economic federalism with international competition taking place between economic territories, regulated by tariffs and treaties. Exerting political power should take place through ‘commercial diplomacy’ (NSS, 2025, p. 16), including economic sanctions and negotiated ‘deals.’ “Deals are my art form… I like making deals, preferably big deals” (Trump, 1987, p. 1). If bargaining fails, American direct military intervention can (and does) occur. The U.S. must remain, militarily, supreme. Bargaining does not imply conceding or collaborating with those who challenge American power.

Trumpism opposes ideological liberal rules-based commitments, and relies instead on the cost-benefit balance, i.e., transactional calculations.

“We must abandon the failed policy of nation-building and regime change…” (cited by Politico, 2016). His appraisal of the NATO/Ukraine–Russia conflict illustrates this logic: Western sanctions on Russia entailed lost American business opportunities and financial burdens on the U.S. budget. Support of the Ukrainian war effort does not benefit American taxpayers. Even longstanding alliances, such as NATO, are subjected to transactional, cost-benefit scrutiny. Trump has recognized that there is no military threat of Russian invasion to the EU, and so the strategy of NATO as defense of Europe no longer has any rational foundation for U.S. support. The proposed enlargement to include Georgia and Ukraine was a folly. But economically, Trumpism follows the liberal national capitalist path as a route to making America great again.

Oppositional Currents

Trump’s political strategy has drawn criticism across the political spectrum. Domestically, when it is thought to threaten the power of the military-industrial-security complex and the U.S.’s transnational values, Trump has been challenged by interests embedded in the ‘deep state’: namely, the Pentagon, the CIA, the FBI, the National Security Council, the military-industrial corporations, and the think tanks which identify and reveal potential threats to Western values and interests. The liberal intelligentsia (media, university, liberal policy institutions) propose the Western-sponsored democratic form of moral conviction (the rule of international law and territorial political integrity).[1]

The Trump administration has been confronted by opposition from within the Republican Party. However, while criticizing U.S. over-funding of NATO and wasteful commitment to foreign wars, Trump’s policy has put the U.S. military first. Government support for the development of high-tech military weapons is a priority. In his 2025 budget proposals, the Pentagon received a record financial endowment, benefiting American military suppliers, including U.S. corporations, their employees and shareholders. The military–industrial complex continues to function as a pillar in support of U.S. strategy. This is not an aberration: it sustains American politicians, corporations, communities, and workers dependent on defense contracts. Such spending is in effect a form of Keynesian militarism which legitimates state spending to make work and employment. Moreover, it renders the complex immune to political dismantling. While Trumpism questions previous formal alliances and promotes a deal-making foreign policy, the structural components of American hegemony remain. NATO continues to expand on American terms—designed to shift costs away from, and military contracts back to, the U.S.

Trumpism’s underlying premise is that the U.S. must be “the world’s strongest, richest, most powerful and successful country for decades to come…”, “even greater than it ever has been” (NSS, 2025, p. 7). Imperialism as a territorial relationship between dominant and exploited states continues in a negotiated fashion. But here lies Trumpism’s missing link: the U.S. strategy is described solely in terms of Trump’s “deal-making ability” and “unconventional diplomacy” (Ibid, p. 8). Trumpism’s weakness is embedded in the tactics of deals, which can resolve issues (“stop the fighting”) but do not address underlying structures and historical precedents. Negotiators can make proposals to end the fighting, but not to constitute conditions for lasting peace.

Trump has changed the confrontational ideological logic of the liberal international order: economic interests now replace philosophical values.

He is skeptical about foreign democracy promotion; he contends that military involvement in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, and Syria did not benefit the U.S., but imposed unwarranted costs. He also adopted a similar view with respect to American military involvement in the NATO/Ukraine conflict with Russia. Trump and his circle have exposed the fabricated NATO threat-inflation of “Russian expansionism.” While in 2025 various Western experts and politicians predicted an imminent Russian attack within a decade (Saradzhyan, 2025), the U.S. intelligence community’s Annual Threat Assessment of 2026 mentioned a possible “escalatory spiral” in an ongoing conflict (such as Ukraine), but no looming war with NATO (Saradzhyan, 2026).

 China, which he believes presents an economic threat, can be disarmed without any military action, through a tough tariff and trade policy predicated on agreements which do not damage American interests. China must be forced to rebalance its “enormous excess capacity” economy towards domestic household consumption, not exports (NSS, 2025). Moreover, the international political system must be dependent on the U.S. attaining “the world’s strongest economy and military world-beating innovation [and] unrivalled soft power” (Ibid). Trump regards the international system as a mechanism which may be structured to meet American political demands. That said, Trump has recognized that the U.S. is not, and cannot be, a world hegemon and the costs of war with rising states far outweigh the benefits. Here is a major change in the U.S. strategy. The doctrine recognizes that the use of military force against China is not a rational policy. China is accepted as a regional hegemon.

U.S. foreign policy under Trump is shaped largely by domestic priorities. One key objective is to end the costly “never-ending American wars.” This does not mean the end of an American presence abroad or the use of military force. The previous military intervention policy is replaced by economic transactions; tariffs, trade leverage, and targeted sanctions have become the principal tool for advancing American interests. But when the Trump administration fails in bargaining, it can resort to armed force. And here is another fault. While not Trump’s intention, the increase in U.S. military potential poses a security threat to other states and, consequently, leads to a cumulative increase in their military spending. A more effective approach would be to involve rival states in deliberations and an all-round reduction in defense spending. The proposed restrictions on foreign firms operating in the Western Hemisphere do not limit American business firms from expansion into other areas and markets. And the subsidiaries of American firms located outside the U.S. are regarded as American assets which, if necessary, are defended by the U.S. military. So, the quest for economic expansion through markets continues to cause wars. A type of economic federalism, formed by states in their spheres of interest coordinated by transnational organizations, such as a renewed IMF, a transformed WTO, and the World Bank could resolve some of these forms of conflict, but are not proposed under Trumpism.

Objectives and Ambiguities

Trump’s policies are a reaction, rather than a theoretically grounded alternative, to globalized neoliberal capitalism. The doctrine opposes globalization but promotes market competition, insists on a diminished role for state administration, but promises increased state support for economic renewal and investment. Trumpism is a catalyst which has dismantled the liberal global order. It articulates a new form of American national capitalism combined with cultural conservatism. The assertive leadership style and transactional approach in defending U.S. economic interests benefit the dominant American capitalist class. The doctrine acknowledges that political institutions and players have their own priorities: some promote wars legitimated by political, even religious, values. The “respect” for other religions, cultures, and political systems promised in this framework is embedded in the American regional hegemony that demands reciprocal acceptance of American interests.

As a political leader, Trump is confronted by contradictory structural factors constituted by his diverse, and sometimes incompatible, coalitions of political support, which constrain his powers. While his social class alignment lies with the national bourgeoisie, whose interests underpin what ‘Makes America Great Again,’ his electoral base rests on the traditional American lower white collar and manual working classes, including past and present military personnel. Moreover, his sponsors include the rising high-tech tycoons, who also have transnational investments. American business interests benefit from lower taxes and more advantageous economic playing fields. But Trump’s protectionist trade policies, particularly in the short term, threaten to harm national retailers and producers reliant on foreign affiliates and imported goods. American companies offshoring production are penalized by tariffs on their products made abroad when they are imported. His working-class electoral base is confronted by rising merchandise prices. In 2025, tax changes made the poor in the bottom income decile $1,600 (p.a.) worse off, but the rich in the top decile $12,000 (p.a.) better off (U.S. Congressional Budget Office, 2025). Electoral politics have one major disadvantage for political leaders—they must stand regularly for election. Success is dependent not only on votes but huge financial support.

In the international economic sphere, transnational economic coordinating institutions (the IMF and the World Bank) have not been significantly weakened, though the Trump administration stipulates that their focus should be on economic issues of development, rather than climate change or DEI issues. The WTO has been considerably undermined: its rules have been ignored, its trade conflict resolution role made unworkable, and U.S. financial contributions were suspended for 2024 and 2025. Trump’s domestic political agenda has strengthened U.S. borders by restricting imports through protectionist policies and imposing draconian measures to stop and reverse immigration. The objectives of this policy, laid out in the 2025 National Security Strategy, is “to protect the American people, American assets overseas and American allies” and maintain U.S. hegemony, but without imposing on other nations “democratic or other social change that differs widely from their traditions and histories.” The world political units remain nation states and the balance of power must be such that no nation can “become so dominant that it could threaten our [American] interests” (Ibid). This is a vision of the U.S. as a regional, not a world, hegemon.

The critique of China not only engages with its trade surplus with the U.S., but also highlights the strategic challenge posed by its high-tech industries and military capability, which are viewed as national security threats to the U.S. The doctrine’s regional agenda is complicated by the fact that the American capitalist class has significant global interests: a substantial proportion of American assets are held abroad, and a large portion of its income is derived from capital investments in foreign economies.

Economic imperialism in its territorial form remains. Any challenge to, or seizure of, American assets would undoubtedly lead to the deployment of military force.

Attaining a world of peace is a major strategic objective—not just a bargaining chip. The 2025 U.S. National Security Strategy defines President Trump as the “President of Peace.” War is “bad for American interests.” He is the only major Western statesman who has sought to end the Russian/Ukraine war. He proposes “peace through strength,” adopting the war monger’s traditional policy of military deterrence “to enable us to achieve peace’ (italics in the original text).” “We do not seek war… but as President I will never hesitate to defend the safety of the American people” (NSS, 2025).

While one must credit Trump for his initiatives for peace, the militarization of NATO countries has increased, and the U.S.’s relations with Canada, Mexico, and the EU have deteriorated. In this framework, increased tariffs, trade leverage, and targeted financial sanctions have become the principal tool for advancing U.S. interests, taking the place of military intervention. Transactional policies favor the stronger party at the expense of the weaker, generating instability and conflict.

This military-security-intelligence buildup actively threatens rival nations, inadvertently provoking irrational, preemptive strikes. No adversary has yet been identified which would justify NATO member-states contributing 5% of their GDPs to meet Trump’s ‘new global standard’ of defense expenditure. Logically and politically, to achieve world peace, security involves agreements on a multi-national basis, not unilateral rearmament of the U.S. and its allies. An alternative framework, absent in the Trumpist doctrine and NATO practice, would involve rival states’ deliberation to reduce threats through reductions in military spending.

Federative Capitalism

Economic neoliberalism denies any collective national interest superior to the sum of the interactions of individuals and institutions. Neoliberalism is based on catallaxies: an economic order brought about by the mutual adjustment of micro economies through market mechanisms. International coordinating institutions determine and enforce rules to enable the spontaneous adjustments required by catallaxies (i.e., mutual resolution of economic exchanges between actors, see Lane, 2023, p. 25). Trumpism rejects this approach and suggests that national economic interests should be aggregated by governments whose policies are economically superior to any international market-determined set of priorities. Trump’s economic doctrine then entails a re-nation-ization of international capitalism. The U.S. government must set the correct economic and political framework for American capitalism to succeed. Trumpism’s economic nationalism operates through protected national markets. The state upholds private property rights to facilitate market exchange and, through tariffs, protects the American economy. Economic and financial sanctions are used to weaken U.S. opponents. States, or groups of states, bargain one with another, to set the terms of exchange. “We stand for the sovereign rights of nations against the sovereignty-sapping incursions of the most intrusive transnational organizations, and for reforming those institutions so that they assist rather than hinder individual sovereignty and further American interests” (NSS, 2025). Private enterprise, driven by individual initiative and profit seeking (not collective public welfare), is maintained as the preferred mechanism for delivering goods and services.

Hence Trumpism is opposed to globalized neoliberalism, which liberates trade and migration, but not to economic liberalism within domestic markets.

This framework promotes a form of international federative capitalism, similar to Karl Kautsky’s ‘ultra capitalism,’[2] in which economically interdependent corporations divide markets between themselves. The Trumpist doctrine is ‘federative’ because state units have territorial boundaries determined politically. Under national political capitalism, states (not economic corporations as proposed by Kautsky) exercise their economic sovereignty in regional spheres of interests. The 2025 U.S. National Security Strategy defines the Western Hemisphere as “America’s key geography.” The Monroe Doctrine, which kept the European powers out of the Americas, will have a Trump Corollary: “We will deny non-Hemispheric competitors the ability to position forces or other threatening capabilities, or to own or control strategically vital assets, in our Hemisphere” (NSS, 2025). The “non-Hemispheric competitors” are not defined, but clearly China has a significant presence as a trading partner and investor in both North and South America.

This transactional system, by way of reciprocity, recognizes the sovereignty of other regions with their own civilizations, thus facilitating the coexistence of different state formations (NSS, 2025, p. 9). They include “governing systems and societies” which differ from the competitive electoral democracies of the West. In a climate of national capitalism, the U.S. administration has moved positively in policy towards Russia and China. In the 2017 version of the Security Policy Document, there were many negative references to both China and Russia. They were defined as “revisionist,” and their policies were “antithetical to U.S. values.” Russia’s growing military power was recognized as a military “threat.” The “Russian invasion” of Georgia and Ukraine was defined as a “violation of their sovereignty.” Russia is seen as “subversive” and intent on “intimidating its neighbors.” However, the 2025 Strategy does not mention Russia as a hostile or authoritarian state. Moreover, the emphasis is shifted to a “rebalancing” of America’s relationship with China, “prioritizing reciprocity and fairness to restore American economic independence.” The objective is to maintain “a genuinely mutually advantageous economic relationship with Beijing” (NSS, 2025, p. 20). The message is clear: national corporations should produce for their own territory. There is a basis here for a polycentric political world. A major claim, within this framework, is that “the affairs of other countries are our concern only if their activities directly threaten our interests” (Ibid, p. 1).

What constitutes a “threat,” however, remains politically constructed through ideological frameworks set by political and media elites.

Trump has to reconcile his political objectives with day-to-day political decisions which, to a considerable extent, are shaped by interests over which he has no control (such as stock market evaluations, world price movements, foreign perceived threats, and domestic and foreign political and economic actors who oppose this political model). In his actions, to placate challengers, Trump vacillates and compromises. “Threats to our interests” is open to many interpretations. In the first year of Trump’s second presidency, the Department of War carried out air strikes against targets in Nigeria, Venezuela, Somalia, Yemen, and Iran. Russia and China represent contending regional powers, materially and ideologically strong enough to resist American power. However, unlike under previous U.S. administrations, under this doctrine, they need not pose a direct threat to the U.S. But only if America remains economically and militarily superior, and foreign powers do not compete on a widely defined “American territory.” The 2025 National Security Strategy does not impose comparable limits on U.S. activity abroad; on the contrary, “strategic acquisition and investment opportunities” for American corporations overseas will be actively monitored and supported by the U.S. government.

Military Intervention in Iran and ‘Transactional Peace’

The U.S.-Israeli military operation against Iran in 2026 raises important issues with regard to the Trumpist doctrine. The 2025 National Security Strategy notes the U.S.’s commitment to Israel and the necessity to “maintain our ability to take focused, decisive action to defend U.S. interests, strongly backing Israel’s efforts to defend itself” (NSS, 2025, p. 20).  A transactional content remains—the benefits of supporting Israel against the costs of attacking Iran. But the 2025 National Security Strategy also presents President Trump as a “President of Peace” who rejects regime change and unnecessary foreign wars.

The U.S-Israeli attack on Iran sits uneasily within this framework. Iran posed no immediate military threat to the U.S.’s territorial security. Unlike China, Iran is not a strategic competitor capable of challenging American global power. The intervention therefore cannot be explained by the doctrine’s stated objective to protect the American homeland or restore American economic strength. A more convincing explanation lies in the tension between doctrinal principles and wider political concerns. As noted above, Israel occupies a strategic position in American foreign policy and has provided a firm anchor for the U.S. in the turbulent Middle East. Important sections of the Republican coalition (evangelical Christians, pro-Israel advocacy organizations, defense and military interests and influential financial donors, as well as prominent personal associates of the President) are predisposed to support Israel’s territorial interests. Hence the doctrine is overcome by interests, as they are powerful enough.

The military operation also reveals an important duality within the doctrine. It rejects liberal interventionism and democracy promotion, but not coercion. Military force remains effective when economic pressure, political threats, economic sanctions, and administrative bargaining fail to achieve the desired outcomes. Bargaining occurs under the cover of overwhelming American military power. Buoyed by the previous success of regime change in Venezuela, Trump miscalculated in Iran. The Trump administration grossly underestimated the ability of the Iranian regime to defend itself.

Economic and military interventions and the decapitation of Iran’s political leadership were ineffective. Consequently, the U.S. was trapped in a military action the doctrine was supposed to prevent.

The Iranian military intervention illustrates both the strengths and limitations of the doctrine. It demonstrates the U.S. administration’s intent to avoid large-scale democracy promotion and nation-building projects, and the recognition of previous failures when the U.S. put boots on the ground. At the same time, it reveals how the political leadership can be pushed into military foreign commitments when subjected to strong domestic political pressures, and to perceptions of a strategic geographical advantage facilitated by supposed enemy weaknesses. The result is a tension between presentation of the President as a peacemaker and the readiness to employ force when the expected benefits outweigh the costs. One other lesson is that American power can be successfully challenged, not only by major states, but also by middle ones.

The recognition of geographical ‘spheres of economic interests’ (a regionalization of capitalism) would provide a basis for political security—rather than reliance on political and military interventions to secure compliant democracies—albeit with the U.S. remaining an unspoken primus inter pares. Such an intermediary stage of the ‘spheres of influence’ is one way to defuse the possibility of war between the American regional hegemon and a rising state—China—with its own sphere of hegemony. In this context, Trumpism continues American imperialist policy but its direction changes.

Russia and China no longer need be considered political adversaries which must be defeated. They remain trading competitors, mutual customers, and providers, but subject to mutual agreements.

President Trump’s assertive leadership and transactional approach in defending U.S. economic interests align with the priorities of the dominant American capitalist classes. Within this framework, the decline of the U.S. as a hegemonic global super-state is acknowledged, and the belief in the “permanent American domination of the entire world” (NSS, 2025) is renounced. The objective is to seek a rebalancing of the U.S.’s place in the world economy. Russia is a potential candidate member for the G7; China remains a threat which can be contained. A non-interventionist foreign policy and respect for different civilizations and forms of government replace democracy promotion abroad.

Can the doctrine lead to a new post-Yalta settlement, to a more stable transactional peaceful international order? In conclusion, I outline potential future outcomes.

Future Outcomes

The future trajectory of U.S. policy, shaped by shifting alignments within the American ruling elites and the moving balances between domestic interests and transnational forces, makes the outcome particularly uncertain. In a climate of transition to national capitalism, one scenario could lead to a multipolar federated economic world system, in which corporations exercise power in defined territorial overlapping areas. Economic coordination would have to be subject to rules regulating the transnational economic and political order, which have to be invented. The Trumpist doctrine could be augmented to allow the world economies to be coordinated at a macro level by international economic bodies (IMF, WTO, World Bank). The character of these spheres is yet to be defined: possibly, the U.S./Anglosphere/Latin America Hemisphere, Europe, BRICS, Eurasia and China, and the Pacific. A reconfigured international framework—a new post-Yalta international federative order—recognizing civilizational diversity and state sovereignty might then emerge, organized around major compatible regional areas. To succeed, such a framework would have to be supported by the political elites of other countries.

Whether it could survive resistance from entrenched opponents within the U.S. (the ‘deep state’ and neo-conservative challengers in the Republican Party) is dependent on the outcomes of three decisive sets of issues.

First, domestical. Can Trump’s trade and investment policies genuinely restore American industry and employment to ensure the continuing electoral support of the working classes and raise profits to secure continued political sponsorship from corporate capital?

Second, international. Can transactional foreign policy secure a lasting peace? Can it resolve NATO’s problematic functions, and secure settlements in Europe, the Middle East, and China’s near-seas?

Third. Can the formation of ‘spheres of influence’ navigate peacefully the Thucydides trap—the political consequences of a U.S. ‘pivot to China’?

Success on these fronts would vindicate the Trumpist doctrine as a historical turning point offering a national-capitalist alternative to liberal globalization—a reconfiguration of the Western interventionist international order to federative political territorial divisions. Such a framework could offer a foundation for global leaders to adopt forms of inter-civilizational coexistence, providing a bridge to the current concepts of multipolarity. In this sense, Donald Trump’s presidency is what Christopher Caldwell has termed a ‘world-historical catalyst’ (Caldwell, 2026).

However, Trump’s own vision of market bargaining to promote national greatness, together with the aggressive defense of America, remains flawed. His assumptions create conditions for conflict leading to war, not peace. Trump’s argument rests on the view that economic and financial pressures (backed by force) make the costs of war between major rivals too great for it to constitute a rational political proposition. The problem here is that the picture of costs and benefits is unclear and, most importantly, they are unevenly distributed. To political and military elites initiating conflicts, war comes at a much lower cost than to the soldiers doing the fighting on the ground, or to the civilians being bombed.

Bilateral bargaining between countries, advanced by this nationalist agenda, engenders conflicts and does not lead to equal shares in growth and prosperity. The U.S.’s prosperity and the drive by its elites to achieve American national advantage are at the cost of other countries. An asymmetrical relationship continues. Even at the level of the national economy, market transactions create uncertainty: competition leads to bankruptcy; profits curb demand and, consequently, lead to unemployment. In sum, the competitive economic system engenders economic instability (booms and slumps), social class inequality, and imbalances between the economies of trading countries. All these factors are destabilizing and could lead to war, which, often on some pretext, is declared by politicians, the heads of states.

The Trumpist doctrine, like the liberal international order, endorses the imperialist dimension. The effects of unequal transactions, sanctions, and military action abroad continue in support of American political interests. An unresolved tension is found in the doctrine itself—between the promotion of peace and concurrently preparation for war. And there is a difference between Trumpism as the underlying doctrine and Trump’s actual behavior. The doctrine of all political leaders is circumscribed. All American presidents are open to pressures from financial supporters, policy advisers, and foreign allies.

The U.S. military attack on Iran in 2026 highlights Trump’s dependence on advisers, the strength of the Israeli lobby, and Israel’s strategic position in the Middle East.

Trump has a personal impulsive streak which leads to hasty actions: piracy on the high seas, physical decapitation of political opponents, and regime change. Such actions precipitate escalation, rather than compromise, and threaten the very existence of the Trumpist doctrine.

An underlying weakness of Trumpism is its transactional nature, which fails to address how the international system must be structured to sustain the peaceful equilibrium required for global economic growth and widespread prosperity. Even if transnational capitalism were to be divided into spheres of interest and to adopt Trump’s transactional approach, war could still break out if some political players detected foreign military “threats” to their own security. To create conditions for peace, the structures and processes of the world economic system need considerable improvements. Without world economic stability, peace is unlikely, and stability can only be achieved under economic conditions of full employment, stable currencies, and widespread prosperity. The world economic mechanism requires regulation in a coherent way. Keynes’s solution, to which he turned after the Second World War, was a form of managed international interdependence (Keynes, 1919, 1994), The Bretton Woods institutions (the IMF and the World Bank) were set up to stabilize currencies and to manage economic inequalities in the world economic order. These institutions could be developed to improve the coordination of transnational capitalism and thus contribute to global economic stability.

A law-based international order gains legitimacy and authority over sovereign states only if it is genuinely democratic and free from the control of a dominant committee of capitalist powers. A major shift in the economic objectives and scope of the Bretton Woods organizations is also required. The WTO and the World Bank should undertake to equalize economic development between and within countries. Monetary policy and controls over the transnational movements of capital could be coordinated by a transformed International Monetary Fund. What we need is a transnational economic mechanism for promoting equally distributed prosperity. Xi Jinping’s concept of A Global Community of Shared Future (MFA China, 2023) could be translated into a full-employment economy, universal basic income, an equilibrium balance of payments, recognition of state sovereignty, and respect for different forms of governance.

Such a positive framework currently appears speculative, but it could provide a basis for global leaders to begin to translate their aspirations into international and inter-civilizational coexistence.

For citation, please use:
Royce, D.P., 2026. Measuring U.S. Decline. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 116–140. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-116-140

The dominant narrative of the Russian government—and within Russian analysis—alleges fading U.S. hegemony, and ‘Western’ decline relative to other centers of power. However, one sometimes detects an element of uncertainty in these claims, often in the form of distinctions between a truly stagnant and decadent EU versus an ill-governed yet still vital U.S.

Indeed, from the outside, it can seem that everything that really matters ends up going right for the U.S. It sparked the 2007-2008 financial crisis, yet (unlike many European states) recovered rather swiftly. The U.S.’s wars in the Mideast ended with decidedly mixed results, yet the U.S. remains the world’s dominant military power. The U.S.’s political system is generally accepted as fairly dysfunctional, yet the country seems to nevertheless continue developing. Unlike Europe, Russia, and China, the U.S. has a growing and fairly balanced demographic pyramid. Despite the U.S.’s persistent budgetary and trade deficits, the Dollar and U.S. Treasury bonds remain in-demand the world over. Now, as much as outside observers might resent Trump, they have to acknowledge that he is decisively wielding the U.S.’s still-unrivaled power.

This article seeks to correct such misconceptions. It considers the two foundations of state power—demographics and economics—as well as the political system, which determines a state’s ability to preserve and grow those foundations.[1] The article finds that: (1) Contrary to top-level and nominal statistics, the U.S. is economically stagnant and, in some ways, rapidly declining. (2) Contrary to perceptions that are 20 years out of date, the U.S.’s demographic situation is no better than Western Europe’s or Russia’s, and is likely to worsen further still. (3) The U.S.’s political system is catastrophically broken due to certain foundational and probably unchangeable characteristics, and is thus probably incapable of fixing either the economic or demographic problems.

Given the constraints of this article, all three sections are unavoidably limited in depth. Furthermore, the political sphere does not lend itself as easily to quantitative summary, and thus the evidence presented in Section 3 is more scattered and less comprehensive than would be ideal. Nevertheless, this article should at least provide a stable basis for overall perceptions of the U.S., and from which more detailed analyses can depart.

1. ECONOMIC DECLINE

First, the U.S.’s recent and future economic trajectory is much worse than indicated by popular but superficial indicators. Real production and prosperity are essentially stagnant, and the government will enter a fiscal crisis within the next 30 years.

1.1. Real Production

A country’s general power is almost always measured as its Gross Domestic Product. And in that respect, the U.S. appears quite successful over the last several decades, on an absolute and even per capita basis.

With that said, even by this metric, the U.S.’s GDP (at purchasing power parity[2]) has been falling rapidly compared to China’s, and is now significantly smaller than China’s:

US’s real GDP as percent of China’s

Moreover, many euphemistically termed ‘postindustrial’ economies feature large sectors that may be useful, but do not themselves provide end-use goods or services of inherent value, and instead exist for the purpose of facilitating the production, distribution, and/or ownership of resources, goods, and/or services. Such ‘auxiliary’ sectors include trade, finance, insurance, real estate, legal services, accounting, and consulting.

Conversely, the Primary Macro-Sector (agriculture), the Secondary Macro-Sector (industry), and the Information & Communications Sector—collectively I+II+Info—can be considered the foundation of an economy (for instance, the Manufacturing Sector produces the equipment and medications needed by the Healthcare Services Sector), and are particularly important for national power/security (agriculture for food security, mining for energy security, manufacturing for the military, information for reliable communications and digital sovereignty and cybersecurity, etc.).

And if the foundational I+II+Info aggregate is considered independently, the superficially healthy U.S. economy turns out to rest atop a quite narrow and stagnant foundation. I+II+Info is only 24% of GDP. While every country’s I+II+Info aggregate will be smaller than its overall GDP, the discrepancy in the U.S.’s case is particularly large. Russia’s I+II+Info, for instance, is 40% of GDP. As a result, while U.S. GDP per capita is 229% of Russia’s, U.S. I+II+Info per capita is only 134% of Russia’s. Furthermore, U.S. I+II+Info per capita is nearly stagnant, growing by only 22% in 1997-2024 (an annual average of 0.75%), compared to 51% for GDP per capita (1.55% annually).

GDP per capita and I+II+Info value-added per capita of the U.S. (and of Russia (data not including the Reincorporated Territories) for comparison), in constant 2017 USD[3]

The situation is even worse for manufacturing in particular. Its per capita output (not just value-added) grew at an overall annual rate of 2.65% in 1960-2000, but then stagnated in 2001-2007, and has been declining by 1.1% annually since 2008.

U.S. manufacturing output per capita, 2007 level = 100,[4] actual (black) and trend (gray)

1.2. Wages

Unsurprisingly, roughly stagnant output in the core economy has resulted in roughly stagnant wages for Americans.

This becomes clear if the calculation utilizes:

(1) Median income. Due to the U.S.’s pronounced income inequality, proportionately small (but absolutely large) increases in the top levels of income can outweigh proportionately large (but absolutely small) decreases at the lowest levels of income, causing the total population’s average income to rise—even as actual wellbeing is unchanged for the wealthy few (who do not actually have any need or even use for the additional money) and substantially reduced for the poorer many (who very much do need the money).

(2) Non-luxury-goods inflation. The price of luxury goods has increased at a lower rate over the last couple decades, thereby reducing measured inflation, and increasing calculated real wages, relative to the real situation facing the majority of Americans. The Ludwig Institute’s True Living Cost measure excludes luxury goods, and also more accurately represents average Americans’ housing and medical costs.[5]

Median pay of full-time workers in the U.S., 1980 level = 100, adjusted for inflation according to official CPI[6] (dark line) and ‘True Living Cost’[7] (light line)

1.3. Government Debt

Finally, even as production and wages have stagnated, U.S. government debt has grown rapidly over the last 20 years and appears almost certain to continue doing so, even faster, in the future. This is widely recognized, but the scale and immediacy of the problem are rarely acknowledged concretely.

The most recent long-term projection by the Congressional Budget Office (CBO)[8] expects USG debt to rise from 99 percentage points of GDP (ppGDP) to 175 ppGDP over the next 30 years (2025-2056), at which point it will equal the 175 ppGDP that triggered Greece’s crisis in 2011.[9]

Moreover, the situation is, in fact, significantly worse than projected by the CBO, for at least three reasons.

First, the CBO’s projection assumes tariff revenue that is initially about 1 ppGDP higher than average tariff revenue was in 2011-2024 (0.25 ppGDP), although this excess declines to 0.4 ppGDP by 2056. Yet (as the projection itself notes) these “values do not account for effects of the Supreme Court’s February 20, 2026, ruling on tariffs,” which struck most of them down. Perhaps even more importantly, whatever survives has been imposed only by presidential fiat, without any legislative basis, and will likely be mostly or entirely repealed as soon as a Democrat (or even a different Republican) takes office. As a result, by 2056, debt will be about 19 ppGDP higher than projected. (Not counting the cost of interest on the extra debt.)

Second, the projection assumes no recessions—and none of the revenue losses, bailouts, stimulus measures, etc., that accompany them. Accordingly, the projected primary deficit looks implausibly flat:

Annual U.S. federal primary surplus/deficit as % GDP, actual in 1950-2025 (dark)
and projected in 2026-2056 (light)[10]

In reality, the steady growth of debt during periods of economic expansion will be augmented by surges of debt during periods of recession. In recent U.S. history, recessions have occured roughly once every ten years: 1980, 1990, 2001, 2008, and 2020. Of the last three, that of 2001 overlaps too much with unrelated tax cuts and wars for its effects to be easily identifiable, while the recessions of 2008 and 2020 increased federal debt (relative to pre-recession projections) by 39.5 ppGDP[11] after five years, and by 17.7 ppGDP[12] after just one year,[13] respectively. 

Third and finally, the CBO’s projection assumes implausibly low real interest rates: 2.0-2.1% (for 10-year Treasuries) through 2056.[14] In the most abstract sense, that level is very close to the minimum, since real interest rates cannot go much below 0%, yet conversely have no hard upper limit. 2.0-2.1% is also close to the historical minimum, as rates were similar in 2023-2025 and 2001-2007, and significantly higher before that; they were lower only in the unusual and potentially unique period of 2008-2022. Most importantly, it is very unlikely that rates will remain constant at 2.0-2.1% as the Treasury has to offload ever more bonds on the market and the debt: GDP ratio becomes ever more worrying. In fact, static interest rates under such conditions are almost a violation of economic theory. Empirically, nine studies of the U.S. find that the interest rate on government debt increases by 3.3-5.8 points (an average finding of 4.3) for every 100 ppGDP of debt (Salmon, 2025).[15] Another study of 31 countries found an even higher average of 5.3 points of additional interest for every 100 ppGDP of debt (Kumar and Baldacci, 2010).

As shown below, even under the most optimistic parameters—recessions with each increasing debt by just 10 ppGDP (compared to 39.5 and 17.7 in the two most recent cases) and interest rates rising by just 1 point for every 100 ppGDP of debt (whereas studies suggest a rate somewhere between 3.3 and 5.8 points, with 4.3 being the most likely)—the above three factors raise USG debt to 302 ppGDP by 2056. And if these parameters are adjusted even slightly from their maximally optimistic levels, the results rapidly become even more disastrous. E.g., in a more neutral (but still far from pessimistic) scenario—with recessions each ‘costing’ 20 ppGDP and interest rates increasing by 2 points for every 100 ppGDP—debt reaches 528 ppGDP by 2056.

U.S. Federal debt as % of GDP: actual,[16] projected by the CBO,[17] and likely to actually occur given optimistic and more neutral considerations[18]

By 2056, merely servicing the debt will consume most of the U.S.’s revenue (non-borrowed income)—rather than the 37% projected by the CBO, compared to 18.5% in 2025, and 8.7% as recently as 2021. If collapse has not already occurred, it will do so at this point, as the USG comes to resemble a pyramid scheme more than a government, its operations less a matter of taxing an economy and running a country, and more a matter of finding a way to borrow from Peter in order to pay Paul. In fact, collapse will probably occur earlier than that. Pyramid schemes only work if their internal finances are secret, and a University of Pennsylvania study therefore projects collapse when debt reaches 175-200% of GDP, as it becomes clear where things are heading (Gokhale and Smetters, 2023).

It would be impossible for this article to delve into the likely details of the eventual collapse, but the damage to the U.S.—and to other economies, insofar as they are linked to that of the U.S.—will obviously be quite severe.[19] Probably worse than the Great Depression. In that case, the banks collapsed, but the government eventually intervened to stabilize and revive the economy. Whereas in the coming crisis, the government will be the source of the financial system’s collapse, and will be in no position to help.

While collapse is still avoidable, the magnitude of the measures necessary to avoid it increases with every year. And the U.S. has for several decades been moving in the wrong direction.

Tax rates (especially for the wealthy) have been falling since 2001. ‘Entitlement reform’ has not been heard from since Obama’s presidency. Trump’s chaotic personnel cuts are likely to do more harm than good, and suggest a fundamental misunderstanding of where the USG is spending its money. (Transfers to individuals and states, interest payments, and the military, respectively, accounted for 61.1%,[20] 14.1%,[21] and 12.2%[22] of federal spending in FY2024, i.e., 87.4% in total.) The U.S. seems to be incapable of not fighting extraordinarily expensive (and in the most recent case, inflationary) wars in the Mideast. In short, there are no grounds for expecting the U.S. to avert its looming fiscal crisis. The political system’s dysfunction (see below) and domination by the upper class make the necessary action almost impossible. And the feasibility of that action shrinks—while the painful consequences of it grow—with every passing year.

2. DEMOGRAPHIC DECLINE

Economic stagnation—and, probably even more importantly, cultural changes—are, in turn, crippling the U.S.’s fertility. Contrary to common perception, the U.S.’s demographic situation is no better than Europe’s, and will likely worsen still further within the next few decades.

This problem is by no means unique to the U.S., but widespread perceptions, that the U.S. is uniquely exempt from the problem, have been generated by the country’s 1989-2009 reprieve from it, and by immigration (as in northwestern Europe) temporarily propping up the country’s overall population despite its declining fundamental vitality.

In reality, the U.S.’s demographic situation is now no better than Europe’s, with the total fertility rate plunging from replacement level (2.12) in 2007 to 1.58 by 2025: 

U.S. total fertility rate[23]

Moreover, the U.S.’s continued economic stagnation/decline and the accelerating cultural drift towards Cosmopolitanism-Liberalism, are likely to make things even worse in the future.

Surveys, regarding the presence and/or desirability of children amongst childbearing-age Americans (most importantly, American women), reveal sharply negative recent trends.

If American women are divided into five separate five-year age blocks starting with 39-35 and ending with 19-15, then the proportion of those who neither have children, nor intend to ever have children, increased dramatically between 2002 and 2022-2023, and acquired a steep generational slope:

Percent of U.S. women in each age group, that neither have children
nor intend to ever have children, in 2002 and 2022[24]

Accordingly, the U.S.’s fertility rate will almost certainly not stabilize at its current level of 1.58. It is, at present, still largely determined by women who were, in 2022, between the ages of 25 and 40—less fertile than their 2002 predecessors, but much more possessed/desirous of children than 2022’s 15-24-year-olds. As the fertility rate comes to be completely determined by the 2022 survey’s younger age blocks, and by women even younger than them, the fertility rate will plummet well below 1.58—even if trends in desired fertility freeze where they were in 2022, rather than continuing on their present trajectory. It is impossible to predict just how bad things will eventually get.

What is clear is that immigration cannot fix a problem of this size. In simplified but basically correct terms, at a TFR of 1.58, each generation will be one-quarter smaller than the previous. Insofar as immigration occurs at a level sufficient to maintain the overall population, it will almost completely displace the native population in the span of just a few generations:

Within a hypothetical population, share of each generation comprised of the native population and its descendants (dark-shaded) and the immigrant population and its descendants (light-shaded), if the entire locally-born population (including immigrant-descendants) shrinks by 25% with each generation and immigrants are imported to make up the loss. (Insofar as the immigrants and their descendants remain above the 1.58 level, fewer additional immigrants will be needed, but the native population’s share will decline just as quickly.)

This would essentially amount to swapping out the original country for a new one, albeit within the same shell of state institutions. Leaving aside the completely unpredictable political, social, and economic consequences of such a project, undertaking it has proven to be simply politically impossible. Intentionally or not, Biden embarked on such a project when the U.S.’s net immigration rate increased to 0.50% (relative to the U.S.’s total population) in 2022, 0.67% in 2023, and 0.80% in 2024.[25] The latter level, sustained over the approximately 30-year span of a generation, would indeed amount to about a quarter of the population, as foreseen in the simplified model.[26] But the backlash cost Biden the election, returning the presidency to Trump, who launched an unprecedentedly harsh immigration crackdown.

3. POLITICAL DECLINE

Finally, the U.S. is unlikely to fix its economic or demographic problems, and will also face mounting troubles in other spheres (namely foreign affairs and domestic legitimacy), as its political system has almost completely broken.

Unlike the U.S.’s demographic problems, those of its political system are widely recognized. This section undergirds those general impressions with some concrete indicators of the decline and provides a theory of its fundamental cause: polarization inevitably generated by the system’s basic (and essentially unchangeable) design.

3.1. Congress

Of the three branches of government, the legislative branch is the most obviously and deeply broken.

Its partisan polarization has been growing for 50-60 years now, to the point that the country’s two political parties are now unable to cooperate on almost anything of substance.

An ever-larger share of votes in the House and Senate are split along party lines. (Most Democrats vote one way, and most Republicans vote the other way.)

Average of the percent of House votes, and percent of Senate votes, that are split along party lines (Reynolds and Maehr, 2024).

Note that the above figures significantly understate the actual level of division. First, they include some nonsubstantive votes (e.g., naming a post office)—although ‘voice’ (i.e., non-rollcall, unanimous) votes are indeed excluded. And second, the greater the partisan division, the more frequently votes will never even be held in the first place, as the legislation would be killed by the Senate filibuster anyway.

Since 2011, both parties (starting with the Republicans) have been willing to use the filibuster to block any unwanted legislation, meaning that everything requires an almost-always-unattainable 60/100 votes in the Senate unless it is the federal budget or it can be fit into an exclusively fiscal, filibuster-proof ‘budget reconciliation’ bill, of which there cannot be more than one on average per year.

Thus, in the 15 years from 2011 through 2025, significant laws have been passed at a rate of barely more than one every other year:

• 2013.01.02  Bush tax cuts partially made permanent
• 2015.06.02  PATRIOT act renewed
• 2017.12.22  Trump tax cuts (through reconciliation)
• 2018.05.24  partial repeal of Dodd-Frank banking reform
• 2020.03.27  first Coronavirus stimulus
• 2021.03.11  second Coronavirus stimulus (through reconciliation)
• 2021.11.15  Bipartisan Infrastructure Law
• 2022.08.16  Inflation Reduction Act: drug price control, corporate tax increase, tax enforcement, and clean energy subsidies (through reconciliation)
• 2025.09.04  One Big Beautiful Bill: Trump tax cuts made permanent, healthcare subsidies reduced, IRA partly reversed (through reconciliation)

The budget has become especially troublesome. It has not been passed on time since 1994 (for FY1995), and since then a large part of almost every year has been covered by one or more ad hoc continuing resolutions.

Percent of fiscal year covered by a regular budget (darkest), by continuing resolutions (lighter), or by nothing (partial government shutdown) (lightest). 2026 refers only to the first half of the fiscal year, October 2025–March 2026, and does not treat the Department of Homeland Security’s funding lapse as a partial shutdown of the government[27]

Besides evincing Congress’s dysfunction, the practice of government-by-continuing-resolution has direct negative consequences, as agencies are forced into short-term, uncertain, inefficient, and/or Sisyphean stopgap measures, and must continue operating on extrapolations of prior budgets that do not always reflect new requirements.[28]

3.2. The Presidency

With Congress almost entirely paralyzed, presidents have tried to fill the vacuum, governing (literally) by executive order. However, this is frequently unconstitutional, as presidents arrogate powers that are properly those of the legislative branch: from waging war (against e.g., Libya,[29] Syria,[30] Iran,[31] Venezuela, and Iran again (Royce, 2026)) to controlling expenditures.[32]

Moreover, this practice is ineffective on anything but the shortest timeframe, as a president’s executive orders, and other measures without a legislative foundation, can usually be eliminated by the next president as easily as they were enacted in the first place. Many of Obama’s measures were reversed by Trump,[33] Trump’s by Biden,[34] and Biden’s by Trump.[35]

Of particular importance for other countries, the Senate has become largely unable or unwilling to ratify treaties, meaning that the U.S. no longer signs treaties. Instead, presidents issue dubiously constitutional ‘executive agreements’ (e.g., the Paris climate agreement)[36] or ‘nonbinding agreements’ (e.g., the Iran nuclear deal)[37] that are withdrawn[38] (and then unwithdrawn,[39] and then rewithdrawn[40]) by subsequent presidents as easily as they were issued in the first place.

The end result is a great deal more action from presidents than from Congress, but action of a chaotic, oscillating, short-sighted, and ultimately directionless nature.

3.3. The U.S. System’s Inevitable Polarization

This crisis is caused by partisan polarization. Compromise and cooperation are almost nonexistent. The parties block each other’s agendas whenever possible and, upon gaining power, reverse anything that the other side did somehow manage to push through. This not only prevents the government from governing effectively, but also deprives it and the political system of popular legitimacy.

Yet this partisan polarization is essentially unavoidable, and thus likely to persist indefinitely.

The original sin of the U.S. political system is its naïve, idealistic, or at least obsolete rejection of party politics, and its associated adoption of a majoritarian (first-past-the-post) district system, rather than a proportional party-list system. Rather than averting the emergence of political parties, as intended by the Founders, the majoritarian system guarantees a rigid partisan duopoly evenly splitting the electorate. (This is also why Russia would benefit from returning to its 2011-2016 electoral system or, even better, from adopting Germany’s, which provides parties with proportional representation and voters with directly elected district representatives. Russia’s current half-proportional system is still much better than total majoritarianism, but it does theoretically incentivize the non-United-Russia parties to merge around some ideological point roughly opposite to UR, in order to more effectively pursue the majoritarian half of Duma seats.)

And a two-party system has several baneful effects when compared to a multi-party system.

First, it prevents cooperation between the parties. In zero-sum political competition, multi-party systems allow pairs or groups of parties to cooperatively advance their agendas at the expense of others. In a two-party system this is impossible, and we indeed observe only the occasional exceptional instance of cooperation between Democrats and Republicans, when budgets must be passed and debt ceilings raised in order to avoid immense joint negative-sum harm. For the most part, each party refuses cooperation with the other and instead counts on winning total power. A large amount of political action is thereby rendered impossible.

Second, a two-party system leads to whipsawing policy. Multi-party systems tend to produce fairly stable policy trajectories, as small shifts in the electorate’s preferences will yield proportionately small shifts in political power, and some parties often pass from one coalition to the next. But, in majoritarian two-party systems, small shifts in the electorate partially or completely change control of the government. Rather than a continuous pursuit of some average or compromise between both parties, the U.S. government whipsaws between total pursuit of the Democrats’ agenda (and nullification of the Republicans’) and total pursuit of the Republicans’ agenda (and nullification of the Democrats’), even though each party’s support never strays far from 50%.

Third and finally, a two-party system bifurcates and radicalizes society[41]:

The end result is the sharp and deep division of politics, and then of culture and society as a whole, into two opposing peaks instead of a normal distribution.

This is obvious to anyone actually living in the U.S., but it can be quantitatively traced in polls that depict a rapidly deepening bifurcation in just the last few years:

Percent of Republican/Democrat respondents saying that Democrats/Republicans are...[42]

Additionally, in 1958, 28% of Americans (including 33% of Democrats and 25% of Republicans) preferred that their child marry ‘within the party’, but by 2016 this had risen to 55% (60% of Democrats, 63% of Republicans).[43] In reality, only 4.5% of marriages were cross-party in 2017, falling to 3.6% by 2020.[44]

In sum, the U.S.’s bifurcation is inevitable, advancing, and spilling beyond politics (which it has fully broken) into the culture and society at large.

4. CONCLUSION

The problems described in this article and their associated phenomena—deindustrialization, trade deficits, budgetary deficits, cultural liberalization/degradation, demographic decline, political deadlock, weakening democracy, rising oligarchy and despotism, sociopolitical polarization, etc.—all warrant, and in many cases have elsewhere received, greater attention than they can be given here. But this article has hopefully been sufficient to clearly outline many of them.

In particular, the U.S.’s demographic trajectory is no better than its peers’ (or moderately better than China’s), its political system and society are quickly (and probably inevitably and irreversibly) ripping apart, and its economic situation is far worse than recognized, industrially stagnant and hurtling towards a fiscal crisis within 30 years. The U.S., already behind China by some metrics of power, will thus decline, relative to most other great powers, for the foreseeable future.

Of course, it will still retain one of the world’s largest economies and—at least for the short- and medium-term—one of the world’s most powerful militaries. It will remain a great power—but one whose state is too dysfunctional and illegitimate to make use of stagnant but superficially-still-numerous resources, and whose elite is occupied more with internecine struggle than with domestic development.

My own view of U.S. behavior holds that it is produced by the U.S.’s deep ideological identity, not by rational realpolitik that could account for material factors like the limits of one’s own resources (Royce, 2025). Accordingly, the U.S.’s (attempted) behavior may not actually change all that much as it declines. But the consequences of that behavior will certainly change, as the material resources available to support it—and the political system’s ability to effectively nurture, mobilize, and wield them—diminish.

For citation, please use:
Kavanagh, J., 2026. War. What Is It Still Good For? Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 28–49. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-28-49

Writing in the early 19th century, Prussian military strategist Carl von Clausewitz argued that states go to war with one goal in mind: “to compel our enemy to do our will” (Clausewitz, 1984, p. 75). Alfred Thayer Mahan later described the intent of naval warfare similarly. Its objective, he declared, should be to “drive the enemy’s flag from the seas” (Mahan, 1890, p. 138).

In recent years, these types of unambiguous victories and far-reaching conquests have been elusive. When Israel started its war in Gaza after October 2023, for instance, the country’s leaders promised to eradicate Hamas and demilitarize the territory (Netanyahu, 2023). Today, more than two years later, Hamas remains armed and in control of parts of Gaza. Similarly, though the U.S. military campaign in Iran in 2026 was intended to impose regime change in Tehran, Operation Epic Fury accomplished little (Trump, 2026b). When Washington accepted a ceasefire, it was Iran that emerged with its negotiating position improved even if it did suffer significant military setbacks.

These and other similar recent military failures raise a simple but troubling question: Has warfare lost its practical value for states seeking to achieve political objectives? Clearly, military power retains its ability to inflict costs and cause destruction. But can it still be used to accomplish political change or to decisively defeat a troublesome adversary?

At the very least, what can be attained using force today appears to be narrower than was true in the past.

There are several reasons for new constraints on the utility of military power, but among the most important are changes in technology that have favored weaker actors using asymmetric strategies and the rising economic and industrial challenges of fighting large and lengthy military campaigns even for wealthy states. These new limits may be temporary, or they may be enduring, but either way they have significant implications for political leaders thinking about using military force to achieve priority objectives today and for the foreseeable future.

However, it is far too soon to declare warfare a futile endeavor for states seeking to advance political goals. Despite new challenges, there are at least three ways that states can still productively use war to advance political aims. First, recent experience suggests that military force remains useful for the achievement of very narrow objectives, including limited land grabs accomplished through short duration military operations and elimination of high value targets. Second, states can continue to use warfare as a preventative tool, stopping or averting undesired outcomes even if they cannot as easily impose far reaching positive change. Finally, states can use military campaigns for extraction, that is, to take control of valuable natural, manufacturing, and geostrategic resources.

With defense budgets rising as countries across the globe increase the size of their armed forces and adopt more militarized foreign policies, the frequency of war is likely to continue to increase despite its new limitations. To avoid falling into costly military quagmires, future political and military leaders will need to have a clear-eyed and realistic understanding of the new boundaries on warfare’s potential and a firm grasp on when war can advance their aims and when it will backfire.

Why War’s Utility Has Declined

To understand how the utility of warfare is changing, it is necessary to first consider why.

The most obvious driver of change is technology. By disproportionately benefiting weaker powers and in many cases amplifying the benefits of being on the defense, recent technological developments have made it considerably more difficult for even the most powerful militaries to achieve decisive and quick victories.

The advent and rapid evolution of cheap drones and loitering munitions, for instance, has dramatically changed the character of warfare across domains. On the ground, it is now treacherous for armies to seize and hold new territory, as the maneuver warfare of previous eras is nearly impossible when large numbers of drones can saturate the battlespace. Instead of being a sign of military strength and prowess as in the past, concentrations of tanks, heavy weapons, and personnel are now a vulnerability (Baluyevsky and Pukhov, 2026; Admiral and Drake, 2025). Territorial gains occur instead with the use of small groups of soldiers taking advantage of gaps in adversary lines to rapidly stake out new positions that they hope to build from over time (Kofman, 2026). Drones have also complicated sea and air warfare, posing new threats to advanced aircraft and warships and making complete air and sea control elusive (Pettyjohn and Scharre, 2025; Davis, 2025). Even states with modest military resources can use these new technologies as part of low-cost, asymmetric strategies to fight much stronger adversaries to stalemate, although such tactics bear high casualty rates and may require external assistance.

Drones have defined recent military campaigns, including that in Ukraine, the U.S. war in Iran, and operations by Houthi forces to blockade the Bab el-Mandeb, and help explain why these conflicts slipped into costly stalemates. In the Middle East, Iran used drones to weaken U.S. air defense networks and damage early warning aircraft while also employing the threat of drone and missile fire to effectively close the Strait of Hormuz (Kavanagh, 2026). In Ukraine, drones have dominated the battlefield, forcing both sides to adopt new tactics and at times freezing the frontline, despite Russia’s significant military advantages (Watling and Reynolds, 2023). In each of these cases, the low barriers to procuring and producing large numbers of drones have contributed to surprising outcomes. Drones have, for example, allowed Ukraine to stay in the fight longer than expected and contributed to the U.S. decision to accept a ceasefire with Iran in April 2026.

Beyond drones, the proliferation of cheap and precise mass-produced weapons has leveled the battlefield in other ways as well. For example, the rapid spread of simple and cheap but effective missile technologies has enabled weak state and non-state actors to inflict damage on more powerful adversaries in new ways. In the case of Houthi forces in Yemen, for instance, the group’s arsenal of cheap missiles and mobile missile launchers allowed it to survive intense U.S. bombing (even after years of Saudi efforts to root out the group using military force) while still keeping the Bab el-Mandeb closed to commercial traffic (Eavis, 2023). Similarly, despite assertions from the Pentagon, Tehran was able to sustain its ability to produce cheap missiles and to strike Israel, U.S., and Gulf state targets—including sensitive and strategically valuable ones like U.S. bases and early warning radars—even after over a month of punishing airstrikes (DeBree and Toropin, 2026). This complicated and thwarted the plans of U.S. military commanders who were not used to operating in such contested environments.

The diffusion of military power has, in other words, eroded U.S. dominance in ways not seen in over 80 years. For other advanced militaries the effect is largely the same, if somewhat less pronounced.

A final notable technological development that complicates the effective use of military power is the growing transparency of war across air, sea, and ground domains. Until recently, the ability to see the battlefield in its entirety was a privilege of more powerful militaries. However, systems like Starlink, technologies like drones, and the widespread availability of high quality opensource intelligence have allowed even weak actors to increase their command and control, battlespace awareness, and defense and targeting capabilities. Ukraine has relied heavily on Starlink, for identifying targets and supporting air defense operations, while using drones to prevent surprise attacks (Radin et al, 2025). Iran has turned to open-source intelligence and commercial satellite data to inform its military operations and targeting of U.S. bases (Johnson, 2026). This new transparency has made surprise attacks and offensive operations more difficult, favoring long wars of attrition with inconclusive outcomes over convincing and clear military victories.

Of course, just as technological change has recently empowered smaller militaries and states operating on the defensive, future developments could swing the pendulum back in the opposite direction. For instance, today, the speed of drone production is far ahead and the cost far below that for counter-drone systems. When this changes or reverses, the role of drones in warfare may be largely neutralized or at least lessened. Maneuver warfare might then make a return. Similarly, over time, major powers with the money to exploit new emerging technologies may find ways to reclaim their military edge. Already major powers are working to develop new exquisite systems, long-range missiles, advanced aircraft, and undersea capabilities that will allow them to overcome or avoid the threat of drones and breakthrough attritional stalemates in the future. But even as it continues to evolve, warfare seems unlikely to revert entirely to what it was in earlier eras. Some degree of change is likely to be permanent.

In addition to technological changes, new economic and industrial challenges also constrain what can be achieved with military force today. Specifically, the rising economic and industrial cost of war and the growing reliance of states at all levels of military development on scarce and sometimes expensive input parts—semiconductors, critical minerals, and others—make long military campaigns more difficult and less sustainable, at least at high levels of intensity and for extended periods of time.

Modern weapons are more lethal than those of previous eras—more effective, precise, and powerful—but they are also more expensive, especially when considering the most advanced and exquisite ones. During the war in Iran, for instance, the U.S. burned through as much as $1 billion per day for a total of $40 billion over the first 40 days of war (Cancian and Park, 2026; Robertson and Beggin, 2026). Much of this cost was expended munitions, which easily cost between $1 and $12 million each (U.S. Department of Defense, 2025). The capabilities required in Ukraine have been less expensive, but not necessarily cheaper in the aggregate, when bought in large quantities. In total, Ukraine has received hundreds of billions of dollars in military aid from the U.S. and the EU over its first four years of war (Trebesch and Nishikawa, 2025).

The high economic costs of war create limits on how long any state can continue a large-scale military operation and on what can be achieved. At some point, even wealthy states face constraints on how many resources they can devote to war, especially as the returns to marginal spending fall. This may not force ceasefire, but it can limit the ability to escalate or expand the war in ways that might increase the chances of success. This is especially significant alongside changes in technology that give weak adversaries greater endurance and contribute to longer wars of attrition.

In Israel, for instance, several years of war have caused economic challenges for the small nation, with the government periodically moving towards de-escalation simply to let reservists return to their civilian jobs (Wrobel, 2026). In the U.S., the costs of both support to Ukraine and fighting in Iran have been widely unpopular, and concerns about the effect of war in the Middle East on the U.S. economy drove President Donald Trump to take an off-ramp before any of his more ambitious political aims were achieved, effectively forcing restraint on the U.S.. Both Russia and Ukraine may ultimately also be forced to change their military strategies due to economic constraints, even if that point is some ways off for both.

States that cannot achieve their aims quickly, in other words, may find that they face a choice between military compromise and economic ruin, even when battling a weak adversary.

The industrial demands of war pose their own limits on the use of military force. War today is as much a test of industrial capacity as it is of battlefield skill (Vershinin, 2022). This has always been true to an extent, but shifting global economic trends and deindustrialization in some parts of the world have created structural barriers to achieving the necessary levels of production that did not exist in the past (National Association of Manufacturers, 2026). Smaller qualified workforce (a problem globally) only makes this challenge harder to solve in the near term (Deloitte & The Manufacturing Institute, 2024). When the U.S. started arming Ukraine, it found that it could not surge defense production like it hoped. The problem was amplified with the start of the war in Iran, and despite extensive political and economic investment no solution has emerged. Although munitions shortages are not a reason the U.S. accepted a ceasefire, concern about the effect of dwindling stockpiles on global deterrence may have been the reason for Trump’s avoiding a full-scale conflict. Current estimates suggest it will take years to replace what has been expended, constraining U.S. military ambitions in the near and medium term (Cancian, 2026). Israel’s military achievements are also limited by defense materiel, particularly its access to air defense. The EU faces similar problems as it tries to rearm quickly while also supplying weapons to Ukraine.

Finally, in addition to production capacity, there is also the pressure created by scarcity of key inputs. As the U.S. considers the best way to ramp up its production of missiles and other key weapons, it faces possible shortages of critical minerals that may place a cap on how quickly it can replenish stockpiles. This may force it to scale back future military campaigns (Payne Institute for Public Policy, 2026; Dayen, 2026). For other countries, especially those under U.S. sanctions, it is access to key technologies like advanced semiconductors that create the most severe constraint on defense production and, therefore, on military ambitions (Boulègue, 2025).

Together, the effect of these input shortages is like that of war’s high costs—it makes it much harder for even wealthy states to sustain large-scale military campaigns indefinitely (although they may still try for ideological reasons).

Economic and industrial constraints on warfare are likely to create hard limits on what states can achieve using military force and are likely to remain in place for some time. States across regions are looking to ramp up defense industrial production to overcome these limits but their progress has been mixed, casting doubts on whether they will be successful in the end. As noted above, global shortages of necessary labor, critical minerals, and other inputs may not be surmountable. For some states, including the U.S., high debt to GDP ratios make traditional ways of funding war increasingly risky. And in many places growing public discontent with the social sacrifices required to fund future wars will hamper reindustrialization. The U.S. hopes that massive investments in its defense industrial base will remove economic constraints on warfare but after at least a decade of trying, its effectiveness has been limited (U.S. Council of Economic Advisers, 2026; Clark, 2024). Europe is making a similar push, but its halting progress and lack of true political will give us reason to be skeptical (Mejino-Lopez and Wolff, 2024).

We should, of course, be careful not to overindex on the experience in Ukraine or Iran or other recent wars. Recent technological and economic trends observed in these conflicts may not create perpetual binding constraints on what can be reasonably accomplished using military power. Warfare will continue to evolve, and states will adapt over time. But, in the near term, states will be left to grapple with the barriers created by new technology and economic dynamics. And even if the character of future war will not be static, it is also unlikely to revert entirely to what it was in the past.

When War Still Works

Even with constraints, however, war as a lever of state power can accomplish goals that other means cannot. For this reason, military force will continue to be appealing despite its downsides.

First, military force is still a powerful tool for achieving limited and narrowly defined objectives, including elimination of high value targets and quick annexation of small pieces of territory. Such military moves can also rapidly shift bargaining dynamics in ongoing diplomatic negotiations and so may have utility beyond their near-term tangible gains. There are several recent examples worth considering.

The U.S. under President Trump has been a frequent employer of military force towards such limited aims, including in Latin America and the Middle East. The U.S. kidnapping of Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro and the U.S.-Israeli assassination of multiple layers of Iranian officials including the Supreme Leader are two examples of successful leadership decapitation (Taub, 2026). Although we could question the practical political effects of such operations, in both cases the U.S. military was able to effectively eliminate targets deemed threats to the U.S. or its allies. In Venezuela, this was enough to force Maduro’s associates to bend to U.S. demands. The U.S. bombing of Iran’s nuclear program in June 2025 is another instance in which a limited application of military force successfully removed a perceived threat to the U.S., in this case setting back Iran’s nuclear program, at least temporarily. Trump hoped the narrow win would earn him Iranian concessions in negotiations, but this has so far failed.

Other states have also been able to use military force to achieve narrow aims, including annexation of contested territory.

Importantly, in some cases, states have been successful in achieving narrow goals not despite but because of new technological advances, such as drones, electronic warfare, and other hybrid capabilities. In other words, the same technologies that make it difficult for states to achieve expansive political goals may facilitate their achievement of more limited aims if used intentionally to create and exploit time limited military advantages, especially those that can be used as leverage at the bargaining table.

Azerbaijan’s successful military campaigns in 2020 and 2023, for instance, allowed the country to forcibly seize contested territory lost in previous conflicts, but these operations were successful because Baku kept its objectives narrow. In 2020, during what became known as the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War, Azerbaijan combined its conventional air superiority with advanced drone capabilities to destroy Armenian air defenses and maneuver units, clearing the way for its own forces to seize much disputed territory and the leverage to the rest at the negotiating table (Shaikh, Shaan, and Wes Rumbaugh, 2020). Notably, Azerbaijan’s tactics and success foreshadowed the type of combat that would come to characterize the military conflict in Ukraine several years later—small groups of fighters penetrating adversary defenses, supported by short- and mid-range drones that partially replaced traditional artillery and heavy weapons. Rather than relying only or primarily on heavy forces to reclaim land, Azerbaijan’s offensive made use of highly trained special forces personnel who were able to infiltrate Armenia’s defenses more easily and more cheaply, and without exposing its own maneuver forces (Postma, 2021).

Azerbaijan kept its campaign focused and limited, concentrated on a narrow slice of territory. It also emphasized speed, with a short duration that allowed it to conclude the conflict before Armenian forces had time to adapt, reconstitute, or develop drone or counter-drone capabilities of its own. Even when Armenia’s military effectively collapsed, Baku did not expand the scope of its objectives right away. Instead, it waited until 2023, when it reclaimed the remaining contested territory in a quick additional offensive, made easier and attainable using the consolidated positions that it built during the 2020 campaign (Landgraf and Seferian, 2024).

An interesting counterfactual is what might have happened if Azerbaijan’s military had not stopped where it did in 2020 but expanded its ambitions trying to push farther into Armenian territory. Of course, it is impossible to know for sure, but other recent conflicts would warn of the risk of diminishing returns and the likelihood that Armenia’s military would eventually catch up technologically over time (likely with external assistance) slowing or halting Azerbaijan’s progress over time.

Lest this seem unlikely given Azerbaijan’s rapid success it is worth considering the experience of Israel in Lebanon in 2024 and 2026. After dealing Hezbollah significant military setbacks in 2024 including significantly expanding its territorial buffer zone in southern Lebanon, Israel resumed its military campaign in 2026 alongside the U.S.-Israeli war in Iran seeking to expand its territorial control. However, its ground operations were less successful and more treacherous this time, in part because Hezbollah’s remaining cadre of fighters had gained new military capabilities including fiber optic drones that they used to impose substantial costs and disrupt the progress of Israeli military forces (The Guardian, 2026). As in other cases discussed here, as Israel’s goals became more expansive and its ambitions greedier, its military watched its advantages disappear.

Russia’s successful ‘reincorporation’ of Crimea is a final important example of a limited scope military campaign that was effective because it maintained narrow aims. In Crimea, Russian operations focused on a defined piece of territory and used hybrid tactics to quickly seize control of Crimea’s government buildings and communication hubs (Kofman et al., 2017). It thus preempted any sort of asymmetric military response and skirted the economic and industrial costs of modern warfare by accomplishing its objectives quickly (this is one of the appeals of such hybrid tactics, evidenced today across Europe and Asia). In a matter of weeks, in fact, Russian authorities had de facto control of the territory. Contrast this with the current military campaign in Ukraine which initially had more expansive political goals but could not overcome the technological and economic requirements of achieving them. Now, that war has settled into stalemate and what Moscow is likely to achieve is far less than initially intended.

The second achievable goal for states looking to use military force to advance political objectives is prevention. While even powerful militaries increasingly struggle to impose positive political change, war can still be used to prevent undesired outcomes temporarily or permanently. The logic of preventative war is, of course, not new. States fearing that a rival may soon become too strong to challenge have often leaned on military action, not to preempt an imminent threat, but to stop one from emerging in the first place. This is what American political scientist Graham Allison has called the Thucydides Trap, a concept he applies with concern to the U.S.-China relationship (Allison, 2017). Sparta’s attack on Athens in the Peloponnesian War (even if by some accounts Athens goaded its adversary into battle) is the classic example of such a war, launched by Sparta fearful that the Athenian empire would soon be so militarily powerful as to be untouchable (Thucydides, 1972).

Even with new economic challenges and technology-driven democratization of military power, war continues to serve a preventative function and is likely to continue to do so. This should not be surprising, as the bar to destroy is much lower than that to create. Even if there are barriers to decisive defeats, advanced militaries can typically leverage greater firepower, advanced aircraft, and deeper stockpiles to degrade weaker adversaries enough to avert outcomes that they cannot tolerate. For the U.S., Operation Midnight Hammer in June 2025 was a preventative campaign aimed at debilitating Iran’s nuclear enrichment capabilities and setting back its progress towards a nuclear weapon (Trump, 2025). It was successful in this aim. Operation Epic Fury, in contrast, aimed not just to destroy but also to alter the fundamental political reality in Iran (Golden, 2026). Expectations for a quick U.S. victory underestimated the ways in which technology and economics now complicate efforts to impose political transformation through military force. After Iran’s surprisingly effective defensive attacks on U.S. military infrastructure and recognizing the high costs of an extended war, Washington gave up its attempt to enact political change and reverted to preventative goals, including weakening Iran’s conventional military capabilities and thwarting its ability to project military power outside its borders (The White House, 2026). To the extent that there was a threat to begin with (this is debatable), Washington has had better luck with these preventative aims.

A better example of a military campaign that achieved preventative success while falling short of more expansive outcomes is the conflict in Ukraine.

While Russia’s special military operation is deemed a failure by many in Europe, this is only true if success is defined as total control of Ukraine. As a means of prevention, the military campaign in Ukraine has had more positive results. Most importantly, the ongoing conflict has likely already ruled out certain futures for Ukraine. Not only did it avert results that would have crossed Moscow’s long-time redlines, such as Ukraine’s membership in NATO (which was unlikely but is now off the table) and the future presence of U.S. or European military force inside Ukraine (which was assured and now seems unlikely, at least in large numbers), but it also built a territorial buffer that offers some protection no matter what the shape of Ukraine’s future military capabilities might be (Sutherland, 2025), though of course the security provided by territorial buffers can be undermined by long-range drones and missiles. It is possible that a smaller, more limited military operation could have achieved these preventative aims at a much lower cost to Russia’s economy and society. But it is not clear that war could be avoided entirely, given the U.S. and Europe’s refusal to discuss NATO’s encroachment through diplomatic channels. Preventative war in this case accomplished what negotiations could not.

The August 2008 Russo-Georgian War offers another example of preventive success, despite being criticized for tactical and operational shortcomings and despite an ambiguous, inconclusive outcome. As in Ukraine, Moscow’s primary accomplishment in this conflict was halting the institutionalization of Georgia’s Western alignment, including progress towards NATO or EU accession (Coffey and Mrachek, 2020). For this outcome, far-reaching territorial gains or political change in Tbilisi were unnecessary. All that was required to achieve Russia’s preventative aim was partial success, something attainable despite technological constraints on Russia’s military operation.

Once Russian forces penetrated deep into Georgia proper, they were able to provide military cover for South Ossetia and Abkhazia to break away from Georgian control, without formal territorial claims. (Cohen and Hamilton, 2011; Vendil Pallin and Westerlund, 2009). The existence of unsettled territorial disputes served as a sufficient obstacle to Georgia’s accession in either case. In addition, the final settlement accepted permanent Russian presence and influence in South Ossetia and Abkahzia, thus offering additional insurance against the expansion of an American or European military footprint farther eastward (Chincharadze and Goodson, 2024; Nichol, 2008).

The final accessible goal for states looking to exploit military power is access to scarce resources. Resource extraction has always been a driver of war and today is no different. But there are two novel dimensions: the types of resources pursued and the geopolitical significance of those resources. First, states are no longer only after physical resources such as gold or oil but also access to technology and its inputs (such as rare earths) and to manufacturing capacity. As the costs of using military power and its technological requirements rise, the appeal of using military force to seize key inputs also increases. Second, today states are interested in claiming anything that can serve as a chokepoint that offers leverage or advantages over a rival. This could include territory, scarce resources, technology, waterways, or airspace—a list that implies the potential for many new military flashpoints.

Unlike past U.S. presidents, Trump has been quite explicit about resource extraction as an aim of war. After the attack on Venezuela, for instance, Trump could not stop talking about the country’s oil wealth and wasted no time extracting it or, according to some of his cabinet officials, other resources such as gold (Trump, 2026a). His goal was not only monetary reward but U.S. control of scarce energy resources in high demand by other (rival) states. He has discussed taking Iran’s oil almost as frequently (Xinhua, 2026). And if he ends up using military force to seize or expand U.S. access in Greenland, the country’s resources will be a major motivator, including its critical minerals and position along key trade routes, sea lines of communication, and maritime chokepoints (NPR, 2026).

The focus on resource extraction is not surprising from a transactional president motivated by wealth. But other states have also been able to use warfare for resource extraction, to augment their income or advance their strategic position. Though Russia’s main motivation for its military operation in Ukraine may not have been resources, Russia has captured key critical mineral mines, including lithium, graphite, and coal. These resources are lucrative in themselves but also important are certain types of high-tech manufacturing that can benefit Russia’s economy or be leverage for future business deals (Kozlowska and O’Grady, 2022). Russia could profit from the strong manufacturing potential of the territories it now occupies, after the war. In fact, while there are many reasons why Russia has made control of the rest of Donetsk a condition for ending the war, the additional natural and economic resources in this region are not irrelevant. ‘Reincorporation’ of Crimea similarly offered extractive benefits, including prime access to important sea routes, oil and gas reserves, and critical minerals (Bugriy, 2014).

There are other resource driven wars ongoing in the Middle East and Africa. Israel has been unapologetic in its exploitation of resources seized over the course of its many wars. It has taken control of gas reserves in Lebanon and Gaza, exploited rich farmland in the West Bank, and taken water and energy resources from Syria and elsewhere (Gomez, 2026; Ahmed, 2024; UN News, 2026). Further afield, the UAE has used its role in the war in Sudan to seize much of the country’s gold and to exploit its farmland. Meanwhile, both Saudi Arabia and the UAE have used the ongoing conflict in Yemen to take control of much of the country’s energy resources and oil profits (Ardemagni, 2026; Al-Khatib, 2021).

It is hard to find a war that does not involve resource extraction at least at some level, and this is unlikely to change.

Scarcity may increase the frequency with which seizing resources becomes an important wartime aim. In some cases, the territory that must be seized to claim resources is too vast and in other cases, too difficult to control for successful extraction and exploitation of resources. But, when this is possible, it serves as a consolation prize for states that try and fail to achieve broader political goals.

Warnings for the Future

Even as its utility narrows, war can still accomplish goals that are out of reach using other levers of statecraft. As a result, political leaders of all kinds will continue to view miliary power as essential, and use of military force as a sometimes necessary and strategically valuable option—and they will be right.

The fact that what can be achieved using military means is now more limited is significant, however. Political leaders that fail to understand how the utility of military force has changed over time are likely to end up in high cost and low return wars that leave them weaker over the long-term. On the other hand, those who understand the specific value of military power and both the benefits and risks of new technologies in today’s world will have many advantages. They will be able to use targeted military operations to accomplish narrow territorial goals, prevent outcomes that cross their red lines in a cost-effective way, improve their leverage in economic or political negotiations, and augment their wealth and in some cases geostrategic advantages. Importantly, a world in which the utility of military power is limited will not be a more peaceful world, but a more cutthroat and violent one.

Able to achieve mostly predatory and destructive aims, when wars do occur, they are likely to be more brutal, more disruptive, and more punitive for their victims—without much hope of a better post-war reality.

These lessons are important for all states, but they are especially relevant for today’s major powers—China, Russia, and the U.S. With far more military capacity than their neighbors, these states are perhaps most likely to turn quickly to the use of force to achieve their aims and most likely to be too ambitious about the goals they set, overestimating the reach of their military power and underestimating its constraints. As military power diffuses more widely and the costs of modern war rise, the consequences of such mistakes will multiply. For the U.S., this is a perennial problem, exemplified by the fact that Washington has attacked seven states in the past year alone and slipped into an unnecessary military conflict in Iran that most deem a strategic failure. In the past, the U.S. had enough military power to survive such errors. But the consequences of U.S. mistakes are rapidly rising as the challenges of warfare become more pernicious and the world becomes more multipolar.

The recent experiences of the U.S. and of Russia offer a warning for China (the only major power not involved in a major war) as it considers the potential for a high-risk war over the fate of Taiwan. Although China seeks peaceful reunification with Taiwan, it has not ruled out the use of force (Taiwan Affairs Office, 2022). China can, almost certainly, use overwhelming military power to prevent Taiwan’s independence, using devastating airstrikes to incapacitate the island. It can likely seize Taiwan’s outlying islands without too much trouble. It could also blockade Taiwan and cut it off from vital resources to force political capitulation. But even China may face limits on what it can achieve using military power alone. If it cannot win quickly through an offensive campaign, it too might find itself trapped in a military quagmire. Successful reunification will require a political settlement at some point, in other words. Beijing seems to intuit this, which is why it has continued to push for political accommodation rather than war (Channel News Asia, 2026). If this continues, a war over the island may be less likely than many predict.

The growing constraints on what war can achieve also offer two important lessons for states that are currently militarizing, like most of Europe and Asia, in preparation for future conflict. First, states in Europe and Asia focused on rearming should understand the boundaries of what they can achieve using military power and its risks. While military power is necessary, it alone is not enough to guarantee their security. In a world in which military force is most useful in limited land and resource grabs, targeted strikes, and preventative wars, massive military buildups can be a double-edged sword—increasing the risk of conflict with adversaries who perceive a growing threat or who see dialogue as useless, rather than offering protection. For Europe, the best bulwark against future aggression may not be unconstrained military buildup but rather a degree of political accommodation and a security architecture that includes Russia and ultimately makes preventative wars and buffer zones unnecessary. The same is likely true in Asia.

Second, for now, states in Europe and Asia, including those on NATO’s front line or close to China, should have more confidence in their security. The conflicts in Ukraine and Iran have shown the equalizing effect of new technologies on today’s warfare and what can be achieved using asymmetric capabilities. They thus have every reason to be optimistic about their ability to protect themselves and to deter and avoid conflict with their much larger neighbors. This will require intentional policy choices, however, and an end to narratives about the inevitability of perpetual war.

Despite these warnings, as states continue to invest in their military capabilities, the appeal of war may rise. States that keep their use of force limited and focused, aimed at prevention and leverage, may end up significantly better off. But states that fail to understand how warfare has changed and continue to seek decisive outcomes and far-reaching political ambitions using military power are likely to find themselves worse off: entangled, depleted, and facing no good options.

Karaganov, S.A., 2026. A New World War: The Road to Victory. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 66–80. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-66-80

The present cascade of overlapping and contradictory events is bewildering and makes it hard to understand what is really going on. In this essay, I dare give my interpretation of recent history, relying on my own experience and knowledge, which over the past 35 years have allowed me to avoid serious errors in estimates and forecasts. These sometimes came a bit late, but more often were years or even decades ahead of the expert community’s.

I dare say a new world war is in full swing. Its origins lie back in 1917, when Soviet Russia broke out of the capitalist system. It was attacked first by interventionists, then by fascist Germany and almost all of Europe—to no avail. The second round began in the 1950s, when the Soviet people, notwithstanding enormous hardships, created an atomic bomb to ensure their sovereignty and security, and achieved nuclear parity. Without realizing it at the time, we thereby dismantled European/Western military superiority, the foundation of its colonialism and ideological domination, which for five centuries had allowed it to rob the rest of the world and suppress what had once been the world’s most advanced civilizations.

From the mid‑1950s onwards, the West suffered one military defeat after another. Humanity embarked on a path of national liberation and began nationalizing the resources that had been seized by Western countries and corporations. The global balance of power began to shift towards the non-West.

At the same time, the world order’s contradictions began to deepen. Inequality started to grow rapidly. The new generations of Westerners realized that they would live worse than their predecessors, including because of reduced ability to exploit and plunder the rest of the world.

In the 1970s and 1980s, the prevailing mood in the West was despondency. It tried to unite in order to survive. In the mid-1970s, the U.S.-Europe-Japan Trilateral Commission was set up. In an effort to restore supremacy, the Reagan administration increased military spending and launched the “Star Wars” myth. Trying to show that they can still win, the Americans invaded the tiny and defenseless island state of Grenada, but did not convince anyone.

And then the West got lucky. The USSR collapsed under the pressure of ideological erosion, inefficient socialist agriculture, constant shortages of food and other necessities, monstrous defense expenditures, a huge but inefficient army, subsidies to allied countries, and the foolishness and indecision of Gorbachev.

The global capitalist system, which had been in crisis, was flooded with adrenaline and glucose: legions of hungry consumers and cheap workers. History seemed to have turned back, but the euphoria did not last. Giddy with victory, the West made several gross geostrategic mistakes, and then Russia began to revive, primarily by restoring its military might.

Confrontation also intensified. Obama proclaimed an ‘America First’ policy to revive U.S. power. His administration increased military spending and anti-Russian propaganda. Russia tried to stop this new attempt at revanche by reincorporating Crimea, at which point the real hysteria began. But Moscow did not follow up on this success, as it still hoped to come to agreement. It danced around the Minsk Process, failing to see how the Ukrainian army and people were being prepared for war with Russia. New waves of sanctions followed, and an economic war was unleashed during Trump’s first term in office. Russia, a familiar enemy, became the primary target of the attempted revanche. The Trumpists, however, pretended that they were ready to negotiate if we gave up China. Then they were distracted by COVID, likely a weapon for the new war that turned against the West itself.

We hesitated to respond to the West’s offensive. When we finally did, in 2022, we made several mistakes. We underestimated the West’s desire to crush Russia (the source of the West’s impending historic failure), so as to then deal with China and again suppress the World Majority that had been liberated by the USSR/Russia. We underestimated the Ukrainian regime’s readiness for war and the degree of Ukrainians’ brainwashing. We still hoped that they were “our people,” although such people were few—and with time ever fewer—west of the Dnieper. A bigger mistake was to start fighting the Kiev regime while ignoring the fact that Russia’s main opponent and threat was the collective West—especially the European elites, who sought to distract from their failures and to take revenge for their 20th-century defeats, especially the one suffered by Hitler, under whose banners the overwhelming majority of Europeans had marched. However, our key mistake was to only partially utilize our most important weapon: nuclear deterrence, for which we paid with malnutrition and even famine in the 1940s and 1950s.

The Americans long worked to incite this war, especially since the early 2000s, honing Ukraine as the tip of their spear.

We have ended up in a war, called the ‘Special Military Operation,’ whose rules we have essentially accepted as imposed upon us: a war of attrition with an economically and demographically superior enemy. It has become trench warfare with 21st-century technology.

Nevertheless, in 2023 and 2024, we did strengthen nuclear deterrence, making clear that we had reinforced structure and deployment, and updating our nuclear doctrine. The U.S. had no intention of fighting for Europe, especially if there was a risk of nuclear escalation and a thus a threat to U.S. territory. It therefore began to withdraw, even under Biden, to avoid a direct clash, while continuing to profit from the war at the Europeans’ expense. Trump, despite his plaintive cries for peace, has actually done the same, cashing in on the war while avoiding direct confrontation with Russia.

This war has so far been waged openly on two fronts. The Americans provoked a war in Europe and then, predictably, set the Middle East on fire—this time under the pretext of destroying Iran’s nuclear potential. There is no longer any talk of expanding the “zone of democracy.” The rationale is quite obvious—to spread the Middle Eastern conflict to South and Southeast Asia, and to North Africa. The predictable (and planned) interruption of fuel and fertilizer supplies will inevitably lead to a decline in food production. Other regions will also be destabilized. Meanwhile, the U.S. is purging its “near abroad”—the coup in Venezuela, the blockade of Cuba.

While we may sympathize with Trump’s human decency, he is contemptuous of international norms. Some still (understandably) hope to “negotiate,” but with whom? Him? Those who will replace him? (Though dialogue with a great nuclear power truly is necessary.)

Besides the desire for revanche, there are even deeper reasons for the unfolding world war. One is the exhaustion of modern (now digitalized) global capitalism, which has lost its ethical foundations.

It depends on ever-growing consumption, which undermines the foundation of human life, causing environmental pollution and climate change. Unbridled consumption, amplified by a focus on liberalism/individualism, is becoming an increasingly obvious threat to humans as thinking beings who consider themselves to have been created in the image of God and who strive to serve others. No clear answers to these two threats have been found so far. Or no one wants to find them. The absence of these answers is the deepest cause of the modern world system’s crisis.

Washington remains committed to its long-standing strategic goal: preventing the rebirth of Greater Eurasia, especially now that it would be under the leadership of Russia and China (not only Tsarist/Soviet Russia, as the Anglo-Saxons had feared).

The goal is to destabilize Europe and the Middle East, then other regions of Eurasia and Africa, and finally—with luck, or our stupidity/weakness—to crush Russia, so as to then deal with China and again suppress the World Majority.

The U.S. has dropped all pretensions to civility, legality, order, and law. It captures and kills the leaders of countries that resist it, and abets aggression and even genocide committed by its vassals. Look at what has been done to the Palestinians in Gaza.

Having met no strong resistance, the U.S. has ignited a world war without restraint—though left the escape routes open. While speaking of the “spirit of Anchorage,” Washington wants to prolong the confrontation in Europe, continue draining Russia, and cut China’s supply routes.

U.S. strategy and policy provoke disgust and may trigger a global conflagration. The U.S. is now rushing to regain military superiority by boosting its already gigantic military budget by half—an increase unprecedented since the Second World War.

Trump’s policy is, in fact, even rational in its own way, despite all the twists and turns that disguise it. It will remain very dangerous until the Americans meet strong resistance. Russia has so far refrained from providing that, even pretending that it wants to negotiate. Or did it actually want to? Any hopes for an agreement are comedic or worse, given the U.S.’s general course and internal situation. Who should we negotiate with, and about what? How can a country waging an economic war against us help Russia’s economic development?

The Special Military Operation has driven many traitors out of the country, and undermined the positions of domestic compradors[1]* and their servants. But we have not yet understood the essence of the struggle. It is not about taking towns in Ukraine, but about who will win the historical battle: the West, or we and the World Majority? Or will modern—yet imperfect and even (especially in the West) degrading—human civilization perish in the flames of an all-out thermonuclear war?

With (most) Europeans, things are simpler and even worse. Their elites have degenerated morally and intellectually, abandoning almost everything good about Europe. Failing everywhere, they have opted for war hysteria, created an artificial enemy for themselves, and are even preparing for war. One can scoff at their attempts to create a militarized European Reich, as the German General Staff planned at the beginning of the 20th century, and then the Nazis in the 1930s and 1940s. They will not succeed. Yet they do have a lot of money and a large population, including immigrants, poor Eastern Europeans, and Ukrainian refugees. So, the European hyena pack is dangerous and becoming even more so. Europe’s current elite is returning the subcontinent to its nasty but habitual role as the main source of all the worst in human history: endless wars (including two world wars unleashed in one generation), colonialism, racism, serial genocides, and anti-human ideologies.

This “elite” must be toppled, if possible without harming the innocent. But these “innocents” once chose Hitler, Mussolini, and the like, and now they obey the scum in Brussels and Berlin that is pressing the continent towards a great war and suicide. But this race into the abyss is also dragging in others, and will drag us in if we do not change our approach to the war that the West has forced upon us and is imposing on the whole world. The West’s decline should not lead to the demise of human civilization, let alone of our country.

Europe’s conventional and nuclear buildup must be stopped. Macron and his ilk should be disarmed. When he declares a readiness to extend “expanded deterrence”—nuclear guarantees—to other countries, the French people should know that he is lying through his teeth. Since the mid-1950s, even the U.S. never really intended to launch nuclear retaliation for Europe’s sake. And if Macron is not lying, then the French people should recall their revolutionary tradition and guillotine him as a traitor ready to sacrifice Paris or Lyon for Berlin or Poznan.

But in any case, we should keep our powder dry: if the European elite’s degradation persists, Macron may be followed by people even more mindless than him.

Russia should quickly build up its operational and strategic nuclear capabilities so that France and Britain know that if they try to use nuclear weapons against Russia, or transfer them to someone else, they will simply be wiped off the face of the Earth. God forbid, of course.

I will repeat what I have said in other articles: given the European elite’s rapid degradation, its nuclear weapons should be taken away sooner or later. When Britain and France acquired nuclear weapons, they were still headed by responsible and reasonable people. There are no such people there anymore. For everyone’s sake, monkeys should not have grenades.

What Is to Be Done?

We must understand and accept the immutable fact that we have been forced into a global historical struggle that directly threatens to destroy our country—and, in the medium term, all of humanity.

The answer is obvious: the militarization, and concentration on defense, of our political and economic thinking. Not a mindless rush into an unlimited arms race like that pursued by the USSR. But our entire ideological, economic, and domestic policy should be geared towards not only our survival, but also towards winning the world war imposed on all humankind.

The life and development of each person, and of humanity as a whole, are determined by state of mind (ideology), strength (military capabilities), and (to a lesser extent) welfare (the economy, which is necessary, but whose rightful place is to serve and bolster the spirit and strength of the country and people).

In the near future, Russia should be governed not so much by civilians as by the military, which is already happening, considering the senior roles held by people from the security services. This process needs to be sped up.

Our Chinese friends, despite their caution and desire to delay the clash—something that has occasionally caused annoyance and even suspicion in our country—have already begun preparing for a major war, if only to prevent it. They are building up strategic reserves, adopting mobilization plans, and replacing people in the[2] leadership.¹ We hardly see such work in our country, except for several national programs that are useful but not aimed directly at preparing for war or winning it. For example, what is being done to strengthen civil defense? Again, we are the primary target in the unleashed world war; China is the second. The West will deal with China after it has weakened or subverted us. And for that, the West is setting the world around Russia and China on fire.

We must finally part ways, albeit a century and a half late, with Europhilia and Westernizing thought. In the current and future circumstances, such thought and behavior are terribly outdated, signifying mental inferiority and moral impurity. The ‘Epstein elite’ is not for us. The West will be a source not only of military threats and hostility, but also of moral infection and anti-humanity.

This does not mean denying all the good and lofty things brought by Peter the Great’s injection of European culture. Nor should we completely shut ourselves off from people in the West—not all are moral degenerates and liars.

There are still decent people there, though ever fewer due to propaganda that surpasses even that of Goebbels in its totality. We should not dismiss all Western countries. The sprouts of normality have not yet been fully stamped out in the U.S., as inhuman, ugly, and disgusting as its current policy may be. Such sprouts can still be found in Southern and Central Europe, which eventually may join Greater Eurasia as a healthy part of humanity. We should not be like the Western elites, who are whipping up total Russophobia, preparing their societies for war, and driving them into an intellectual and moral impasse. When (the sooner the better) we have to destroy old—especially northwestern, Calvinist—Europe, we must not throw the baby out with the bathwater. We should keep the best European practices and even cultivate them. But we must finally understand that we are not originally a European, but a great Eurasian civilization-state.

The external origins of our historical spiritual culture came from the south—from resplendent Byzantium, Palestine, and the Muslim and Buddhist worlds. And our main external political origins lie in the Great Mongol Empire. It is high time we understood ourselves and lived our own way, as destined by history and geography—to see the world from the center and north of Eurasia, not from its western offshoot.

A difficult but pressing issue is restoring our best traits: faith and striving for the supreme spirit and for love. European civilization expelled God. We were particularly affected by this when the European communist ideology, godless and atheistic, was imposed upon us. But most importantly, without faith and hope for the best in oneself, without realizing oneself as part of history and of one’s country and its culture, a person is not a human being, but an inferior animal, as modern Western civilization is pushing him to become.

Sick and tired of communist uniformity, society and part of the ruling elite shun the word ‘ideology.’ It also seems that some of the elite does not want an ideology because it certainly will not be liberal or Western. But great countries cannot be created without a single spiritual core and ideological platform, and perish if they lose them. History is a graveyard of powers that lost their cores. Twice, we almost perished, having lost faith in God, the Tsar, and the Fatherland by the beginning of the 20th century, and having lost faith in communism by the end of it.

There is no need for an ideology to be termed as such, or for it to be binding. A Russian citizen should have the freedom of opinion and choice—as long as he does not harm others. Russia’s Idea-Dream[3]² should be mandatory only for those who seek public recognition or the right to govern. But it should be instilled from childhood, as the idea of service to the family, society, the country, and God. (Faith in Him cannot be imposed, but should be encouraged. Faith in God, whatever He may be called, is the best human trait in man.)

We must finally get rid of the delusion of economism, whether Marxist or liberal. Terming the person an ‘economic animal,’ and claiming the absolute priority of his economic interest, indeed reduce him to the level of an animal.

We should develop and implement a new economic model—a post-capitalist one, based on initiative and personal interest, but developing the best in man, preserving nature, and uniting the two in what outstanding Russian thinkers called the “noosphere.” The economy, including business, should serve man and the Earth, not suppress them, as under modern capitalism, which has lost its ethical roots.

China has come closest to this model. But we should not copy its experience, though it may be useful. There are many elements in our own Imperial and especially Soviet experience that should be modified and revived. In a world of intensifying geopolitical and geoeconomic struggle, in a world that has been forced into a world war, it is impossible to survive, let alone win, without long-term planning and strict administration.

We need not only a forward-looking ideological platform—a Idea-Dream—but also a series of comprehensive macro-projects designed to ignite the country with creative energy.

The first among them is the ‘Siberization of Russia’—the transfer of the center of ideological, economic, and political development to Russian Asia, i.e., Siberia. The future is there. We should wind up our Western voyage as soon as possible, as the only things still awaiting us there are threats and the miasma of decay.

Since Europe is returning to its authentic self, as the source of wars and other troubles, the military advancement and an eastward shift are also necessary for military and strategic reasons.

The movement towards Siberia is a movement “towards ourselves,” towards what is real and best in our national character, towards the non-Western future. We need to immediately start searching for where to establish a third capital in Siberia, and to transfer some capital functions to Siberia’s cities.

Foreign and Defense Policy Need Serious Modernization

First. We need to understand that the deep contradictions in the current global economic system, which is undermining the very essence of man, endanger the entire human civilization. Continuing our half-measures in Ukraine threatens to exhaust our country and undermine the incipient revival of its power and spirit.

Second. In the “spirit of Alaska,” we may discuss a truce. But we must understand that, fundamentally, long-term peace and development—for our country and for all humankind—are impossible without suppressing the West’s Europe-led pursuit of revanche. To this end, we should destroy the Kiev regime, and liberate the southern and eastern regions of the quasi-state of Ukraine, which Russia needs for security reasons. Our brave soldiers and field commanders can and should keep advancing. But we must understand that a world war cannot be won through modernized trench warfare. That is a path to defeat, or at least to the loss of hundreds of thousands more of our best men, whom we need to fight and win in the approaching historical era, which will be extremely dangerous and difficult even without the clash in Ukraine.

Third. It is impossible to victoriously end the current struggle in Ukraine, let alone prevent its escalation to a global thermonuclear war, without qualitatively increasing reliance on nuclear deterrence. To do this, we must stop blabbering about “arms limitation,” although agreements on joint management of nuclear deterrence and strategic stability are useful and even necessary. We must accelerate the production of missiles and other medium-range and strategic delivery systems to deter the West from trying to regain superiority. Our opponents must know that superiority and impunity are unattainable.

Nuclear weapons, in optimal numbers and with the right doctrine of use, while saving conventional military spending, make non-nuclear superiority unachievable. Our Burevestniks, Oreshniks, and other hypersonic delivery vehicles should convince them that their hopes for victory are futile and even suicidal. A new generation of weapons must be prepared to disabuse the Americans of their fantasies about regaining superiority and imposing their will by force.

Increasing our nuclear arsenal’s flexibility should remind everyone that it is impossible to defeat a nuclear-armed great power through a non-nuclear arms race or conventional or even drone war. But we must avoid the senselessly expensive and dangerous idiocy of the American and Soviet nuclear buildups of the 1960s. Potential adversaries need to know that an arms race is pointless and even suicidal. Dialogue, at least with the Americans, should be conducted on this matter.

Drone, biological, and even cognitive-digital wars need to be prevented by increasing reliance on weapons that can destroy any instigators of such wars. For the time being, only nuclear weapons can do that, provided we are ready to use them and have restored the fear of them.

Yet, to curb Washington, which has lost all sense of boundaries, we should amend our military doctrine to state our real readiness to strike U.S. and European overseas assets if the West continues its present course towards unleashing a world war.

The West is much more dependent on foreign assets, bases, and vulnerable logistics and communications than we are. The enemy should recognize his vulnerability and understand that we know about it.

We should make use of Iran’s experience defending itself from the current U.S.-Israel aggression. Tehran hit the enemies’ weak points; they felt the pain and retreated. Changes in military doctrine and structure, increasing asymmetric strike capability will enhance deterrence and have a civilizing effect on the opponent, who has lost his mind and is jumping or is about to jump into insane gambles.

We should revise the priority targets for preemptive strikes (first with conventional weapons and then, if absolutely necessary, with nuclear ones). These should include communication, control, and logistics centers, military bases, and—crucially—the places (especially in Europe) where the elite is concentrated. The elite should be deprived of its sense of impunity, and know that, if war is continued against Russia—let alone escalated, horizontally or vertically—fatal blows will be launched against it and those close to it. To strengthen this deterrent, we should accelerate the creation and testing of conventional and nuclear weapons that are capable of penetrating great depths. Unhinged leaders, especially in Europe, should know that they cannot sit things out in bunkers or on some islands. Our Defense Ministry recently published a list of European enterprises producing weapons for the Kiev regime; this is just a small step but in the right direction.

Now the Western elite pretends that Russia is threatening it, but in reality it is not afraid, certain as it is that Russia will never punish them with nuclear weapons. We need to instill primal fear in them. Maybe then they will back off, or their Deep State masters will expel them. Maybe societies will rise up. Strengthening Russia’s nuclear credibility is also necessary to awaken European societies from their ‘strategic parasitism’—the belief that there will be no war and that everything will work out for the best. We must return a sense of self-preservation to those who have forgotten their past wars and crimes.

Clearly, such a policy is absolutely necessary towards Germany. A country that has started two world wars and is guilty of serial genocides has no right to the “strongest army in Europe,” much less weapons of mass destruction. If it tries to obtain them, it will be destroyed along with them, so that no threat to peace ever comes from German territory again. The German burghers should be made to understand this.

Fourth. To strengthen the threat, we should amend our nuclear doctrine and specify that in the event of aggression (or continued aggression) by one or multiple states whose economic, demographic, and technological potential exceeds ours, Russian command will have the right and obligation to use nuclear weapons. We should start, of course, with a series of nuclear tests. (I do not understand why we are waiting for the Americans to begin. Are we again trying to please them?) This should be followed by conventional attacks on logistics hubs, control centers, and symbolic targets. If the adversary continues its policy or fights back, we should respond with a series of grouped nuclear strikes, exceeding tactical weapons’ yield, on military bases and key industrial facilities. If the enemy does not capitulate, we must be prepared to go to the next level. This should be avoided if possible, but avoidance requires that the maddened ‘elite’ either flees before the threat of physical destruction, or is removed from power.

Reliance on nuclear deterrence is necessary to block the road to drone warfare. Our response must be crushing. If, for example, missiles or drones fly out of Ukraine or neighboring countries after a peace agreement or capitulation, those who stand behind the drone operators should know that retaliation—even nuclear—will reach them. Knowing this, they will themselves hunt for possible provocateurs.

Fifth. Besides changes in doctrine and force structure, it is worth advising the Supreme Commander-in-Chief to immediately appoint a Commander for the European Theater of Military Operations. This position should be given to a combat general with the right and duty to use nuclear weapons (following tests and conventional warning strikes) if necessary. This person (and his staff, which should consist mainly of combat veterans) should possess and demonstrate full readiness to take such action. Russia urgently needs new heroes like Kutuzov or Paskevich. The Supreme Commander-in-Chief should retain strategic control over military operations, if necessary.

Sixth. It is high time we abandoned the idiotic view, which benefits primarily the Americans, that there can be no winners in a nuclear war, and that the use of nuclear weapons will inevitably escalate to the global level. This view is at odds with elementary logic and specific military plans. God forbid that nuclear weapons be used: innocents will die, and the myth of their use inevitably leading to global Armageddon (a myth that has saved humanity) will collapse. Nevertheless, a nuclear war—God forbid—can be (easily) won, especially against a crowded and morally weak Europe.

The use of nuclear weapons is a great sin. But the de facto refusal to use them is an unforgivable, deadly, and criminal sin, because it paves the way for the expansion and escalation of the world war unleashed by the West. If it is not stopped, it will most definitely lead to the destruction of humanity, including our own country. Vladimir Putin’s question “And what is the point of a world without Russia?” remains relevant.

Seventh. Alongside the long overdue upgrading of our nuclear forces, and particularly the nuclear doctrine, several parallel steps are urgently needed. Together with China, we should help Iran endure and win. We should invite Middle Eastern countries, including even Israel (which has undermined its legitimacy), to create a regional security system with guarantees from Russia, China, and possibly India and Pakistan. These powers, unlike the U.S. and its satraps, are wholeheartedly interested in Eurasian stability.

Eighth. Finally, given the generally great danger posed by the next couple of decades, which will see many wars and Western attempts at revanche, a temporary (e.g., ten years with possible extension) defensive alliance with China should be considered. This would be useful for stopping the revanchists, and also for letting brotherly China know that it does not need to catch up with the U.S. and Russia in strategic nuclear capabilities. China has advantages in other areas, and if its nuclear capabilities match Russia’s, this may generate fears and suspicions among future Russian leaders, which neither the Russian nor Chinese people need.

Naturally, there are many other steps that I have not mentioned but that must be thoroughly considered and taken to prevent the spread of the new world war and its escalation to the global thermonuclear level. But the greatly- and immediately-needed steps proposed here would probably be enough to win the war that is bleeding our country dry, push back the revanchists, and (most importantly) halt the slide towards global catastrophe. This is an urgent world-historical task. If we do not complete it, our descendants (if any survive) and God Almighty will never forgive us for our cowardice and mental laziness.

Russia was given twenty years without a war, but now is entering decades of historically-imposed conflicts. We need to win them, saving ourselves and humanity.

Again, while blocking the West’s revanchism and the world war’s escalation to a global catastrophe, we must not forget about the root causes of this crisis of the world system, the greatest in human history. These causes include modern capitalism’s exhaustion, and its threat to the existence of Homo Sapiens, a threat intensified by ‘omni-informationalization’ and other features of modern civilization. But more on that in other articles.

Other articles will touch on the contours of the international system to be pursued through victory and avoidance of escalation to global thermonuclear catastrophe.

But the main point now is to understand the magnitude of the unprecedented challenges, collect ourselves, focus, and play decisively to win. If we succeed, we will prosper as a great country and once again save humanity.

For citation, please use:
Chernitsyn, F.V., 2026. Shifting Russia’s Economic Activity Eastward. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 194–207. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-194-207

Global economic development is currently shifting to the Asia-Pacific region, whose connectivity and resources are increasingly important for long-term competitiveness. For Russia, these developments hold significance not only for its military-strategic and foreign economic interests, but also for its internal development: a turn to these markets requires restructuring spatial organization, reconfiguring transport and logistics links, and streamlining mechanisms for the development of Siberia, the Far East, and the Arctic. Many experts hold that Russia’s foreign economic reorientation should be aligned with the spatial development goals set out in the ‘Siberization of Russia’ concept (Siberization of Russia, 2025).

The key question is whether Russia’s geographical center and east can become its new economic center, and what institutional changes such a transition should involve. In this context, four interrelated tasks require consideration: the development of transport connectivity, more efficient use of resources, the formation of a network of anchor cities, and the accumulation of human capital.

Foreign Policy Framework

The global economy’s shift to the Asia-Pacific region is increasing its importance for Russia. The Asian, Oceanic, and American members of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation organization accounted for a fundamental 61% of global GDP and 46% of global trade in 2024 (APEC in Charts, 2025). This calls for Russia to deepen its integration with Asian markets, supply chains, and logistics.

The eastern vector of Russia’s foreign economic policy includes not only the Pacific, but all of Eurasia, where integration is progressing with Belarus (within the Union State), the EAEU, and the CIS. It is complemented by the Greater Eurasian Partnership.

Russia’s 2023 Foreign Policy Concept calls for transforming Eurasia into a space of peace, stability, and development, and identifies Eurasia as one of Russia’s foreign policy priorities (Concept, 2023). Development of Russia’s East is becoming especially important given Europe’s decline as a global economic power and Russia’s proximity to the Asia-Pacific region.

The question is whether Russia’s foreign economic pivot to the East can also generate its spatial reorganization, turning Russia’s eastern regions from resource suppliers into a center of domestic economic activity. Foreign economic relations have already been rerouted: in 2024, Russia’s trade turnover with China exceeded $244 billion (RF Ministry of Economic Development, 2025), and India ranked among Russia’s biggest foreign trading partners (RF Government, 2025b). Trade with ASEAN countries in 2024 set a new record for the second year, hitting $23.2 billion (Russia’s Pivot to Asia, 2025) and indicating a steady expansion of Russia’s economic cooperation with these countries.

Russia’s spatial development has long been based on a Eurocentric model that was adopted at a time when Europe was a global economic and technological leader. Russian territories committed to economic relations with Europe developed intensively, while Siberia and the Arctic primarily served as a strategic rear and resource supplier. Today, as the geostrategic and geoeconomic environment has changed, Russia’s spatial configuration should change along with it.

This article uses the term ‘Russia’s East’ to denote the Trans-Ural and Arctic as interconnected regions of spatial development. The term ‘Siberia’ is also in some cases used to denote the area stretching from the West Siberian Plain to Russia’s Pacific coast. Such usage is for the article’s convenience, and does not replace the conventional geographical division that was adopted in the late 19th century and subsequently institutionalized in Siberia’s administrative division into three federal districts.

Political and Economic Viability

Political demand for developing Russia’s East has been repeatedly articulated at the highest levels, foremost by President Vladimir Putin. In his Address to the Federal Assembly in 2013, he designated the development of Siberia and the Far East a “national priority for the entire 21st century” and noted that “Russia’s turn to the Pacific Ocean and the dynamic development of all our eastern territories will not only open new economic opportunities and new horizons for us, but will also give us additional tools for pursuing an active foreign policy” (Address, 2013). At the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum on 7 June 2024, President Putin proposed a formula for aligning the country’s spatial development with the world’s new economic structure: “If we create conditions for development, then the centers of economic activity will automatically shift there” (President, 2024). Yet, despite persistent high-level attention, the practical implementation of the project is stumbling.

It requires state policies to create the conditions for the Russian East’s more active socio-economic development, including in the demographic, urban, and transport spheres. Importantly, spatial development should not be assessed by individual projects’ short-term returns. In countries with a large territory and uneven economic development, infrastructural and institutional investments cannot produce effect immediately; they provide it gradually, changing the economic geography by improving territorial connectivity, expanding markets, increasing the tax base, and reducing the cost of spatial development. Russia’s historical experience shows that large-scale projects of this kind were often perceived as excessively costly but ultimately generated greater economic growth.

Therefore, in the case of Siberia, we should speak not of quick commercial gains, but of long-term systemic effect: certain measures’ potential to reduce infrastructural constraints, encourage investment, strengthen internal connectivity, attract human capital, and create conditions for the formation of new economic centers.

If outstanding Russian thinkers and statesmen like Dmitry Mendeleev, Sergei Witte, Adolf von Hübbenet, and their associates had not succeeded in promoting the Trans-Siberian Railway—including at the highest levels of government—Russia would likely not have survived the 20th century.

Transport

The delayed expansion of transport infrastructure remains one of the key constraints on the Russian East’s development and inclusion into Asia-Pacific supply chains. For example, the Amur asphalt-paved federal highway, from Chita to Khabarovsk, became fully operational only in 2010 (RF Ministry of Transport, 2010). Bottlenecks remain in both railway and border infrastructure.

Although the freight capacity of the Eastern Operating Domain was brought to 180 million tons by the end of 2024 (Russian Railways, 2024), Russian Railways (2025) continues to emphasize limitations in the eastern direction.

The modernization of checkpoints and logistics infrastructure is still underway: 87 priority checkpoints, which handle more than half of the country’s cargo traffic, are to be modernized by 2030 (RF Government, 2024), and 15 of the 46 priority vehicle checkpoints are located in the Far Eastern Federal District (RF Ministry of Transport, 2024). By the end of 2027, the Ministry of Transport plans to build another 12 vehicle and 7 railway checkpoints in the Siberian Federal District, as the present 36 checkpoints are insufficient (Parlamentskaya Gazeta, 2025).

The problem is not so much the shortage of individual facilities as the lack of their connectivity and the undeveloped transport infrastructure, which increases internal transaction costs and limits people’s mobility and businesses’ access to foreign markets, thus ultimately hindering the development of these regions.

It should be a priority to strengthen transport connectivity between anchor cities and industrial centers in Russia’s East, and incorporate them into the country’s foreign trade. This will require modernizing existing highways and railways, eliminating bottlenecks on the Trans-Siberian Railway and the Baikal-Amur Mainline, and building access roads to border crossings and seaports.

This will simultaneously: (1) reduce internal transaction costs; (2) provide regions with equal access to foreign markets; and (3) create a denser economic environment in Russia’s East.

In addition, long-term and capital-intensive projects are needed to radically strengthen land and sea connectivity in Eurasia, with Russia playing a key role. Such projects go beyond the current investment cycle and include the construction of an elevated high-speed railroad parallel to the Trans-Siberian Railway for passengers and containers (leaving other freight traffic to the existing ground route), as well as building—in the long run—an Asia–Siberia–North America transport corridor with railways, highways, pipelines, power cables, and fiber-optic lines.

Such initiatives, which require separate international, financial, and technological justification, should be part of a long-term transport strategy, while the short- and medium-term focus should be mainly on a North-South transport framework.

Resource Base and Production

Renewable natural resources, like fresh water, are becoming increasingly important in the present day, affecting economic sustainability, food security, and political stability around the world. For Russia, this increases the importance of Siberia, which has significant reserves of fresh water and related natural resources, including fish.

Water is useful not only for direct consumption, but also for the production of hydropower. Siberia is hospitable to water- and energy-intensive industries like data centers, aluminum smelters, and hydrogen energy (RF Government, 2025, 2026).

There are obvious opportunities for significantly increasing agricultural and water-intensive production in Western and Eastern Siberia. But this will require better transport connectivity with water-deficient Central Asia, northern and central China, and other Asian countries.

Krasnoyarsk could perhaps become a center for water policy and water-intensive industries, as it has sufficient resources, energy, and industry. Since fresh water may become a new key export for Russia, it is worth moving some metropolitan functions to Krasnoyarsk or other anchor city/cities in the East, following the experience of relocating RusHydro’s headquarters. Such a city (or cities) should become decision-making centers to position our country in the water market, develop standards for trade in water resources, and plan infrastructure to collect and export water. Federal agencies, responsible for water and other policies, should also potentially be relocated. This would also have military-strategic benefits.

As for non-renewable natural resources, two circumstances should be taken into account. Firstly, demand for some minerals is expected to grow significantly in the coming decades, primarily for critical minerals needed for the energy transition, electronics, and other high-tech industries. The International Energy Agency estimates that, by 2040, demand for lithium may increase manifold, and demand for nickel, graphite, cobalt, rare earths, and copper will keep growing steadily (International Energy Agency, 2025). Secondly, Siberia’s resources remain poorly explored and harbor significant growth potential. Greater Siberia was incorporated into the federal project “Geology: Rebirth of a Legend” as an area of high promise but insufficient exploration (RF Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment, 2023; NEDRAD, 2025).

To accelerate geological prospecting, primarily for strategic and scarce minerals, a more favorable institutional environment is needed in Siberia. Excessive administrative barriers should be reduced, the regulatory regime made more predictable, and exploration more closely linked to extraction and the development of associated industries.

Intensified geological exploration can generate a multiplier effect for mechanical engineering, service industries, and infrastructure development.

The distribution of powers in mineral resource management deserves special consideration. The current practice, wherein key decisions are made mainly at the federal level, hinders the alignment of projects with regional and municipal development goals. Therefore, a transfer of some management and regulatory powers, revenue, and decision-making authority to the regional level is needed.

International cooperation in geological exploration and related manufacturing can significantly contribute to the development of Siberia’s resources. Intensified cooperation with the Asia-Pacific should be considered—including cooperation with Japan and the Republic of Korea, whose companies are interested in returning to the Russian market, but are still restrained by their governments’ sanctions. These include export control and investment restrictions. Japan requires prior approval for new Russia-related investments (Chambers and Partners, 2025a). The Republic of Korea has been enforcing export restrictions and other measures since 2022 (Chambers and Partners, 2025b). Normalization of interstate political relations is possible only if these countries lift economic restrictions and resume technology transfers to Russia.

Siberia’s agricultural potential is another element of the Russian East’s resource base; it boasts significant land reserves, but needs technological renewal and foreign market access. In early 2025, almost 44 million hectares of agricultural land remained unused in Russia, including about 20 million hectares of arable land (Interfax, 2025a), of which about 4 million are in the Siberian Federal District alone, making Siberia the key to increasing agricultural production (Sorokina and Danilov, 2024).

This is particularly notable because agriculture in Siberia depends not so much on the availability of arable land as on the competences to use ‘climatic windows’ (areas with unique agriculture-friendly climate) in Southern Siberia, upgrade the mechanization level and renovate the industrial base.  Establishing the logistics–processing–marketing chain remains crucial: in 2024, Russian agricultural exports reached $39 billion in comparable prices (Delovoi Profil, 2025), with China as the biggest buyer (AgroSearch, 2026). Agricultural exports from the Siberian Federal District are projected to reach $3.3 billion by 2030, a 27% increase from 2024 (TASS, 2025b). These data indicate the significant potential of the Asian exports for providing long-term commercial benefits.

With a focus on highly productive agro-industrial clusters, Siberia can fully supply Russia with basic livestock products, grain, vegetables, and potatoes, as well as provide significant exports to Asia. Indeed, Siberia can be positioned as ‘Eurasia’s granary’ in the continental supply chains: it accounts for 25% of Russia’s cultivated areas, where two-thirds are grain crops. In 2025, Siberia produced a record 19 million tons of grain—about 27% of Russia’s total (Interfax, 2025b), about 12% of Russia’s milk (TASS, 2025a), and almost 10% of its meat (Rossiiskaya gazeta, 2026).

Urban Environment, Anchor Cities, and Human Capital

Establishing an economic center in Siberia will be impossible without improving quality of life and creating a comfortable urban environment.

The macroeconomic development of Russia’s East requires not only investing in infrastructure and resource development but also creating a network of anchor cities that will concentrate people, capabilities, and new types of economic activity. This means building cities with various profile—scientific, industrial, logistical, touristic, administrative, etc. Anchor cities should be supported by tax incentives, by the transfer of some governmental and corporate functions, by special housing and transport programs, and by the concentration of university clusters, R&D, and service infrastructure. The quality of the urban environment is not a secondary social issue, but one of the basic determinants of Siberia’s development.

Anchor cities should be viewed as a network of spatially interconnected nodes connecting the state to various fields: science, education, management, manufacturing, resource production, logistics, maritime services, and tourism.

Paying tribute to the historical heritage of the Russian state, which foreign travelers and researchers described as “a country of towns” (Garðaríki) as early as the 9th century, a national project of “Siberian Gardarika” is called for, to form an urbanized region of Greater Siberia through programs accelerating anchor cities’ development in their chosen fields of specialization.

Besides relocating the headquarters and branches of regionally connected state and private corporations, and registering companies in Siberia in order to redistribute tax revenues, tourism and major international events should also be considered to increase anchor cities’ attractiveness. Greater Sochi’s hospitality infrastructure development might be studied with an eye to its replication in Altai, Kuzbass, Khakassia, and Tuva. The APEC summit in Vladivostok (2012), FISU Summer World University Games in Kazan (2013), Winter Olympic Games in Sochi (2014), FIFA World Cup (2018), and FISU Winter World University Games in Krasnoyarsk (2019) should be systematically studied with a view to replicating them in major Siberian cities. In particular, Russia should host another APEC summit in Magadan, Komsomolsk-on-Amur, Khabarovsk, or even Irkutsk or Krasnoyarsk.

The development of anchor cities and urban environment must be accompanied by measures to build up and preserve human capital. Its shortage is a major constraint on Siberia’s development. There is a general shortage of people, and especially of specialists, businessmen, engineers, and scientists (Grigorichev, 2026).

The Fourth Industrial Revolution has made human capital highly mobile. This means that most educated and skilled people will soon choose the country and macroregion with better conditions for self-realization, private life and career. Macroregional and national competition for human capital will intensify.

Therefore, Russia’s East should be considered not just a territory of economic development, but a competitor for mobile, educated, and economically active people (Ibid). A comfortable environment should be created in its anchor cities, including through the construction of affordable low-rise housing for families with three and more children. A broad public consensus is needed on the image of Russia’s future and its long-term spatial development, in which Siberia is positioned as a ‘land of promise’ with guaranteed energy and food security, fresh water, clean air, and a comfortable social environment that would ensure personal development, family-building, and creative labor.

A new wave of settlement in Siberia is hardly possible without an organized influx of immigrants. Besides the EAEU and the CIS, it seems feasible to attract people from Europe, most of whom are highly capable of cultural-civilizational integration into Russian society, and who see in Russia the prospects that their own homelands have lost. Labor may also be attracted from southern Eurasia (especially India), where it is in surplus. Indeed, the number of Russian work permits issued to Indians increased from 8,000 in 2022 to 36,200 in 2024 (MySeldon, 2025).

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Russia’s developmental turn eastward and its Siberization are a necessary response to the geoeconomic and geopolitical changes in the modern world. As Asia grows in importance, and resources and territorial connectivity become increasingly essential for Russia’s sovereignty and economic growth, Siberia becomes increasingly significant for its long-term development. Russia’s eastward foreign-economic shift should be aligned with a consistent policy of its inner space restructuring.

This policy will not automatically lead to the East’s economic rise. Naturally, its implementation will face high infrastructure costs, demographic inertia, and labor shortages. There is also a risk that the country’s foreign economic shift to Eastern markets will be divorced from its inner space restructuring.

A set of measures are deemed necessary to achieve the goal: developing Russia’s East’s transport infrastructure; strengthening its transport connectivity (primarily along the North-South axis) with Asia Pacific markets; building a network of anchor profile cities to unlock Siberia’s resource, industrial and technological potential; transferring a portion of metropolitan functions to Siberian cities (starting with Krasnoyarsk); and building an attractive image of Siberia in public consciousness.

Laying the groundwork for shifting Russia’s (macro)economic center eastward requires coordinated federal policies regarding foreign economic activity and internal spatial development, based not on short-term returns, but on the long-term interests of Russia as a civilization-state amid the global military-strategic and geoeconomic transformation.

For citation, please use:
Minasyan, S.M., 2026. Concepts, Practices, and Technologies of the Military Operation in Ukraine. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(3), pp. 50–65. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-3-50-65

“The prospect of drone swarms annihilating entire armored, airborne, and amphibious formations, the ability for autonomous obstacles and surveillance to deny surprise, the potential for hypersonic missiles to target large headquarters and logistics hubs, and the miniaturization of electromagnetic-pulse and nuclear devices will challenge expeditionary campaigns. These advances, when coupled with decreased appetite for costly wars in Western democracies, will enable authoritarian defenses” (Jennings et al, 2018).

This statement, made in a 2018 article on contemporary U.S. expeditionary operations, is remarkably applicable to the current conflict in Ukraine. Indeed, the literature has already accumulated substantial theoretical knowledge about modern warfare: the growing importance of unmanned systems, the vulnerability of critical infrastructure, the profound shift in the balance between offensive and defensive capabilities. Yet these lessons are only beginning to be applied in military and political planning. Are we seeing, then, not a crisis of military science, but rather a lag in military practice? And to what extent is the ‘Special Military Operation’ actually special, rather than part of the general pattern of military and political history (Pukhov, 2024)?

A Framework for Scientific and Practical Interpretation of the Ukraine Conflict

The conflict in Ukraine is Europe’s largest since World War II. Its immense regional and global significance, along with its numerous new and distinctive features, make it particularly important for military theory and practice. Although practice is currently lagging behind theory, the trends emerging on the battlefields in Ukraine are likely to affect military planning worldwide.

Hostilities in the Gulf, in 2025 and 2026, saw both sides adapting technology and concepts from the Ukraine conflict: especially drones, used tactically on the battlefield and strategically against critical infrastructure.

Drone strikes on infrastructure had been tested even before the war in Ukraine, when the Houthis attacked Saudi Arabia’s oil infrastructure in 2019-2021, including strikes on Saudi Aramco facilities that temporarily disrupted refining and export. By demonstrating clustered energy facilities’ vulnerability to low-cost unmanned vehicles, these strikes contributed to the strategic use of drones in subsequent conflicts, including in Ukraine.

Later, the same methods, further developed in Ukraine, returned to the Middle East, especially in the improved production and use of Iranian Shahed/Geran drones.

While the academic and expert community considers the technological and conceptual aspects of the Ukraine war, their interaction is most important. For example, blitzkrieg in early World War II depended on technology (e.g., radio-equipped tanks), a decentralized command system (Auftragstaktik, the Germans’ own version of NATO’s ‘mission command’), the integration of Luftwaffe and Wehrmacht operations, and improved systems of supply, command, and control.

Similarly, the current positional stalemate in eastern Ukraine, with its extended kill zones, is also the result of interplay between technological and conceptual factors: drones (military and commercial), satellites (e.g., Starlink) for surveillance and real-time targeting, and decentralized command systems and force structures.

The Ukrainian military-industrial complex is increasingly engaging small innovative firms and start-ups in drone production. Initially, the high adaptability of decentralized structures gave Ukraine a significant lead in the production and use of small drones. However, such structures have limited ability to conduct long-term R&D, and thus Russia eventually took the lead in a number of areas (e.g., fiber-optic FPV systems and strategic long-range drones). But Ukraine is again trying to pull ahead in the production and use of long-range tactical and even strategic drones.

Yet traditional and even archaic methods of warfare continue to play a significant role on the ground, including tube, rocket, and missile artillery, simple hand-held anti-tank and anti-personnel weapons, and even outdated anti-tank mines integrated with aerial and ground drones.

The evolution of military concepts and technology, at an annual or even quarterly rate, forces political goals, tactics, and strategies to evolve as well.

Technological and Conceptual Distinctions

Although analogies are fraught with simplifications, comparative analysis remains an important tool of science, including military science. Since military history, like political history, often develops in an upward spiral, patterns observed in a particular historical period may partly or fully repeat themselves in the future, but at a higher technical level.

This war has already impacted the development of military technology, tactics, and strategy more strongly than any conventional conflict since 1945. There are a number of reasons for this.

Firstly, hostilities in Ukraine largely involve new technologies and methods—unlike, e.g., the Korean War and Arab-Israeli wars, which relied on WWII’s legacy, and asymmetric U.S. and Soviet campaigns in Vietnam and Afghanistan, which also mostly repeated earlier historical experience.

Secondly, the Iraq, Panama, and Kosovo wars were fundamentally unequal in their belligerents’ power and technology. But Russia and Western-backed Ukraine are roughly equal in training, quality of equipment, and even—remarkably—the number of troops on the ground (Lieven, 2026).

Thirdly, the fighting in Ukraine has many characteristics that have surprised experts and are either novel or at least understudied until now, though some have analogies in previous military conflicts.

The first and perhaps most important analogy lies in the brief period of maneuver warfare in late February and early March 2022, followed by lengthy trench/positional warfare, like in World War I or the Iran-Iraq War. At the start of the war, Russia failed to gain the air supremacy needed to immediately achieve its goals. Then, in spring, its maneuver warfare failed to crush the Ukrainian army.

The transition to positional warfare is perhaps the greatest difference between the current Ukraine conflict and the various Middle Eastern operations of the U.S. and Israel. The transition was caused primarily by the increased power and accuracy of modern weapons, coupled with novel near-real-time reconnaissance, detection and targeting capabilities. Probably for the first time in history, neither side suffers from the ‘fog of war’—tactically, operationally, and now even strategically.

On the ‘transparent battlefield,’ it is difficult to achieve the strategic, operational, and even tactical surprise necessary for successful offensives, especially against prepared defensive lines.

Advancing troops are detected by aerial reconnaissance even as they gather and move towards the line of contact, and are attacked by tube artillery, missile systems, and drones (from FPV and kamikaze drones, to large ones with miniaturized guided weapons). Rocket and artillery fire has become even more important on the battlefield following its integration with modern surveillance and targeting systems. Initially, tube artillery and medium-caliber multiple launch rocket systems acted as key fires, with the quantity of guns and ammunition playing a decisive role. Russia—with its significant resources and traditional doctrine of suppressing the enemy through fires dominance—was advantaged by this situation. However, as small unmanned systems develop and spread, and their killing capacity and range increase, classical artillery is turning from the main means of firepower into a priority target. This forces artillery units to constantly shoot and scoot, fire from greater distance, and gradually switch to self-propelled platforms. Artillery systems’ survivability, mobility, and dispersion is becoming increasingly important. (Conversely, increased range of classical artillery is less useful, as kill zones come to extend for dozens of kilometers.)

The intensity of fire is now less important than its accuracy and integration with sensors. High-precision long-range tactical missile systems, mainly ground-based, are becoming especially important. Supported by modern surveillance and targeting capabilities, they can destroy top-priority targets, including mobile ones.

Although Russian aviation has never gained the ability to operate freely across Ukraine, guided bombs allow it to strike the enemy without entering into range of Ukrainian air defenses. Given the Russian air force’s enduring quantitative and qualitative superiority over its Ukrainian adversary, this tactic has become one of the few factors significantly affecting the course of the war. Attack helicopters, on the other hand, have lost much of their effectiveness, given their vulnerability to interceptor drones and ground-based defenses.

Being under constant fire, both the advancing and the defending sides need decentralization and camouflage. Land forces are taking new, sometimes extravagant measures to protect armored vehicles, up-armoring them and providing them with active and passive countermeasures. But the vulnerability and immense losses of armored vehicles have prevented the belligerents from making large-scale active use of them on the front line.

As kill zones expand, logistics become a form of warfare in their own right. Fortifications, layered defenses, camouflage, protection of supply lines, and the resilience of above- and below-ground infrastructure are all increasingly important, both at the tactical and strategic levels, including for the creation of deeply layered defenses.

There is a renewed interest in passive defense methods, both traditional (e.g., concrete fortifications) and new (e.g., fixed and mobile systems of autonomous surveillance and fire, integrated into defensive lines). These methods are already being implemented by NATO’s eastern members, primarily Poland and the Baltic states, which are planning to strengthen their military infrastructure and construct multi-level defenses on their borders (Military Balance, 2026, pp.11-14).

Tactical Crisis and Positional Stalemate

An attacker’s inability to amass forces sufficient for breakthrough—known in the First World War as the ‘tactical crisis’ (Noorman, 2024)—was also observed at the beginning of the 20th century, particularly in the Anglo-Boer and Russo-Japanese wars. It renders defense superior to offense, forcing the belligerents to abandon maneuver for trench warfare.

Fighting in Ukraine is network-centric, allowing for the real-time command of small tactical units and groups. Yet attacking and penetrating defenses, under heavy fire and UAV visual control, requires decentralized command on the ground. This has given rise to special small assault groups, usually (but not always) well-armed and trained. These formations are analogous to the Kaiser’s Sturmtruppen (soon replicated by other European armies), who specialized in breaking through layered defenses under heavy fire, and then holding the position while the regular infantry deployed (Lupfer, 1981).

The tactical crisis has deepened significantly over the four years of fighting in Ukraine, most clearly at the level of small frontline units. Drones have largely deprived them of heavy equipment and the ability to maneuver, and their serious losses and reduced effectiveness can cascade to the operational and even strategic levels. Increasingly often, multiple branches and detachments are engaged just to support the local advances of small assault groups.

On the transparent battlefield, a 30-35km kill zone extends from the front line in each direction, dominated by assault infantry and almost empty of armored vehicles.

Unmanned systems can now conduct strikes as well as reconnaissance. The war in Ukraine has spurred the development of ground and sea drones, the latter having been used at scale for the first time against the Russian Black Sea Fleet. In response, countries are introducing their own unmanned anti-aircraft and anti-drone systems (IISS Strategic Dossier, 2026).

And yet initial descriptions of drones’ role in the Second Karabakh War, the Syrian and Libyan civil wars, and the start of the Ukraine conflict itself, were later found to be exaggerated (Plakoudas and Sofitis, 2023). Drones are not themselves a decisive factor, but a critically important element of new network-centric combat systems. The military situation in Ukraine is determined not only by the use of drones, but by the consistency and speed of data transmission and by the integration of reconnaissance and strike systems (Baluyevsky and Pukhov, 2026).

As exaggerated as certain accounts of drones may have been, the Second Karabakh War and recent Middle Eastern conflicts presaged much of what became reality in Ukraine after February 2022: no ‘fog of war,’ aerially-corrected fire significantly beyond the front line, small assault groups’ infiltration of fortified defense lines, the combination of advanced precise weapons with traditional artillery, and drones as independent reconnaissance and strike forces (Davis, 2025-2026).

These conditions are now prompting revisions to decades- and even centuries-old force structures. Hierarchical models, including classical tertiary/quaternary schemes (e.g., three squads in a platoon, three platoons in a company, etc.), are gradually being replaced by more flexible decentralized organization, especially at the tactical level.

Attrition Warfare and the Factor of Strategic Culture

In the summer of 2023, after the failure of Ukraine’s Zaporozhye counteroffensive, a positional stalemate began, ushering in attrition warfare. (Though note that attrition warfare is not synonymous to positional warfare. With aerial firepower and deep strikes on infrastructure, it can be dynamic and to some extent involve maneuver.) Attrition warfare is not an anomaly, but one of the basic forms of armed confrontation: “attrition is how wars are won and lost more often than not” (Fox, 2025, p. 45).

Despite comparable conventional capabilities on the battlefield, the belligerents have fundamentally different resources available for long-term hostilities. Yet four years of intense fighting have not yielded any conceptual or technological means of effectively breaking the stalemate, and each new escalation leads to nothing but greater losses.

The emergence of a war of attrition has significantly increased the importance of strategic logistics, economic resilience, and socio-political stability—for both sides. These factors may ultimately be more decisive than military strategy or tactical art.

This largely explains Russia’s appointment, in May 2024, of Andrei Belousov—with a professional background in finance and public auditing—as defense minister.

Despite the dynamic development of military technologies, and conceptual-theoretical adaptations to them, states (and other actors) still tend to wage wars and respond to threats primarily within traditional models—i.e., given the political, geographical, cultural, social, historical, bureaucratic, and psychological factors that constitute countries’ strategic culture.

Russia’s war effort may have analogies in its earlier preparation, conduct, and eventual accomplishments (or lack thereof) in WWII, WWI, and the numerous European conflicts of the 18th-19th centuries (Miller, 2025).

Some of Ukraine’s conduct also appears to echo the flexible and decentralized military organization of the Cossacks, as well as centuries-old experience of resilience, irregular warfare (e.g., Zaporozhian Cossacks challenged the authority of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Crimean Khanate throughout the 16th-18th centuries,) and civil resistance (specifically in the 1940s-1950s). This creates an institutional and cultural basis for adaptive warfare, with high tactical autonomy and social mobilization and self-organization in the face of a superior adversary.

Importantly, even after four years of tactical crisis and three years of attrition, it remains possible that the adoption of new weapons (especially guided and autonomous ones) or new concepts will partly return the fighting to a war of maneuver or something else entirely.

Goals and Strategies of the Conflicting Parties

As hostilities developed, Ukraine (and its EU and U.S. backers) acted based on the assumption that Russia could be strategically defeated in a protracted conflict by using high-tech weapons and imposing large-scale economic sanctions. This, in turn, assumed that the Russian socio-political system and economy were highly vulnerable to external pressure and could be destabilized and overthrown. The plan was essentially to repeat the systemic crisis and revolution of 1917, but in present-day conditions. In another sense, it is a repeat of Cold War containment, when the U.S. and NATO sought the USSR’s gradual political, military, economic, and technological strangulation (Gaddis, 2005).

In some respects, such hopes look reasonable: the West has an absolute advantage in economic, financial, and technological resources. Yet one must also consider Russia’s accelerating military-economic mobilization, its significant military reserves, and its more centralized, personalized, and efficient management system and decision-making process. The West, meanwhile, is still contemplating the desirability of militarizing its own economy and the effectiveness of trying to strategically strangle Russia. This places in doubt the relevance of ‘strategic depth’—something that has been Russia’s main advantage for centuries, especially in large and lengthy wars.

In addition to its own war production, Russia also imports large amounts of dual-use technologies and products from China and other countries, particularly commercial drones, which make up a significant part of the UAV arsenals of both Russia and Ukraine. The resources and technology of China and other non-Western actors have significantly reduced the effectiveness of Western containment. Containment worked well in the bipolar system, but functions poorly outside of the historical context that birthed it (Gaddis, 2005, p. 380).

WWII showed that in a long-term war, the side that makes more (albeit simpler) weapons has an advantage. Similarly, in Ukraine, the key to the arms race was initially the standard 155-mm artillery shell, of which millions were needed, not the high-tech precision Excalibur guided shell of the same caliber.

The same principle can be confidently extrapolated to drones, long-range missiles, and even AI-equipped systems, especially given the integration of civilian technologies that often make mass production much cheaper.

Yet Russia’s main advantage is not its (so far) enduring quantitative superiority in materiel. Even with the mass introduction of new technology like drones, the conflict is primarily a ground war, in which infantry—especially well-trained and motivated—remains especially important. And Russia’s mobilization reserve is greater than Ukraine’s. The latter has already carried out several waves of mobilization, and further call-ups could trigger a socio-political crisis.

Russia has so far confined itself to just one partial mobilization, in the fall of 2022, and subsequently made up for combat losses mainly by massively recruiting contract soldiers and reservists. In addition, until the summer of 2023, Wagner PMC—largely staffed by convicts—was a major participant in the Donbass’s bloody battles. Even the brief but noticeable appearance of North Korean troops in the Kursk region in 2024-2025, tipped the balance in Russia’s favor at that critical stage of hostilities.

In other words, the Russian leadership’s main assumption is that Ukraine will run out of manpower before its allies can grant it material-technological superiority.

Unmanned systems can partly compensate for Ukraine’s manpower shortages. But this is hardly possible without large-scale drone supplies, despite the creation of a ‘drone wall,’ especially if Western military-technical assistance declines (Clavilier, 2026). However, at the current level of development, replacing humans with drones will have a limited effect. Despite their ease of production, low cost, increasing autonomy, and integration with other technologies (like 3D printing), drones cannot fully replace people, even at the tactical level, in defense, offense, or command. The Ukraine conflict has revealed the limits of the technologization of war: even with military operations highly automated and digitalized, the human factor is still key at both the tactical and strategic levels (Fox, 2026).

Naturally, the situation on the ground may change dramatically again, as has already happened more than once before. Ukraine still has sufficient mobilization potential to last for a long time, despite heavy combat losses and migration outflow. Both sides have demonstrated great military, political, and economic resilience, and an ability to endure enormous human, material, and political losses. Both armies have been able to adapt both technologically and conceptually.

To break the positional impasse, both sides are now striking critical infrastructure targets deep inside each other’s territory, increasing the economic and political losses in the war of attrition. This resembles the “war of the cities” between Iran and Iraq, or the air raids and artillery bombardment of capitals in WWI. In both cases, belligerents trapped in positional warfare sought to undermine each other’s morale and political will. But coercion through strategic bombing is never very effective. Only severe battlefield defeat or losses can seriously demoralize a party or deprive it of the ability to continue fighting (Pape, 1996, pp. 24-26). Yet Russia and Ukraine are both expanding their abilities to strike deep behind enemy lines, using their specific capabilities and advantages.

To damage Ukraine’s economy and energy grid, destabilize its transport and infrastructure networks, and thereby weaken society’s will to resist, Russia uses sea-, land-, and air-launched drones, as well as cruise and ballistic missiles.

Initially, Ukraine’s strikes were carried out mainly with relatively simple drones, but Ukraine has since greatly developed its drones and missiles, and it can now reach up to thousands of kilometers inside Russia, targeting sensitive energy and infrastructure facilities, with both military effect and media resonance.

Ukraine is also trying to increase Russia’s political and reputational costs by striking sensitive targets, including elements of the strategic nuclear deterrence system (strategic airfields, early warning radars) and symbolically significant infrastructure such as the Crimean Bridge.

Such operations of military-political pressure have a mainly coercive rather than military purpose. Ukraine’s Kursk operation, for instance, was primarily intended to undermine the Russian leadership and weaken its will to continue the war. But such operations do not work across the board and cannot compare in scale and outcome of conventional war.

At present, Ukraine’s campaign against Russia’s rear air defenses—utilizing long-range drones, cruise missiles, and precision-guided munitions of its own design—seems to be striking a particularly sensitive point.

Unlike Ukraine and Western countries, Russia’s strategy in the war is military more than political. Moscow is counting not so much on Ukraine’s political and economic destabilization, or on the end of Western support, but rather on the Ukrainian military’s exhaustion and collapse under the pressure of heavy losses—to be followed by political fallout.

This approach of ‘sustainable attrition’ is comparable to the strategies employed by U.S. General Ulysses Grant during the American Civil War or by British Field Marshal Douglas Haig during WWI. This strategy seeks the Clausewitzian climax of the war, after which the depletion of the enemy’s resources and resilience leads to the disorganization of his forces and/or demoralization of his leadership.

Russian experts sometimes cite the ‘Brusilov breakthrough’ as an operation that was intended to break a positional stalemate. It involves several simultaneous attacks along various axes to gradually breach the enemy’s layered defenses and force it to disperse its limited resources. As long as the Russian army retains the initiative and continues to advance, such an approach forces Ukraine to spread out its resources and deploy limited reserves to several sectors of the front at the same time. For example, Russia opened a new front in northern Kharkov region in May 2024, expanded operations in northern Sumy region after the end of it’s Kursk counteroffensive in the spring of 2025, and took similar actions in other sectors of the front in order to divert Ukrainian reserves. This amounts to exhausting the enemy through distributed strikes, or ‘a thousand cuts.’

For its part, during stubborn defensive battles, the Ukrainian army often holds fortified strongpoints and settlements, operating in partial or almost complete encirclement with layered and elastic defense-in-depth. This involves intentional tactical territorial concessions in order to preserve the combat efficiency of the troops, wear out the enemy, and subsequently restore defensive stability across operational depth. Its logic can be traced to Germany’s strategies at the end of World War I and on the Eastern Front of World War II, where mobile defense, operational depth, flexible control, and persistent counterattacks compensated for the enemy’s local superiority (Wray, 1986).

Although this article does not consider the probability or consequences of a nuclear scenario, the war has significantly rewritten the theory and practice of nuclear deterrence. While still applicable, strategic deterrence manifests itself in a different, less predictable and canonical form than was conceived by the leading nuclear powers. Both Russia and the West are already discussing the continued development and possible use of nuclear weapons, their integration with high-precision delivery systems, and the consequences for global strategic stability. Academic studies are considering points (e.g., in the fall of 2022) at which nuclear weapons might have been used in the war (Kuh, 2025).

Countries are adjusting their military doctrines and revising their ‘nuclear thresholds.’ Russia has already changed its nuclear doctrine. France has proposed forward (but still temporary and ‘dispersed’) deterrence for the EU. Other world powers, like China, are rethinking future conflicts as likely to be full-scale wars of attrition (Kashin et al, 2026).

*  *  *

The Ukraine conflict’s routinization—at first mainly by Russia (in a manner remotely reminiscent of its almost endless 18th-19th century Caucasian War), now also by Ukraine—reflects its now protracted nature. Governmental and social institutions have adapted to a long confrontation, which has evolved from a war of attrition into a ‘war of endurance’ (Kofman, 2026).

Conceptually, after four years, the conflict demonstrates a tactical crisis, as defensive and positional warfare dominates maneuver, and a grueling war of attrition prevails on the transparent battlefield. Yet the war could return to greater fluidity, or take on some other form entirely, given the introduction and combination of new weapons, technologies, and ideas.

The Russian and Ukrainian armies are acquiring unique experience in modern warfare, based on the combined use of high-tech and traditional weapons in Europe’s largest conflict since WWII. Russia continues to demonstrate persistent force regeneration ability, while undertaking the long-term transformation of its military. Regardless of outcome, the Russian army will have gained significant experience in new-generation large-scale war. As for Ukraine, if its state institutions remain stable, it will become a more militarized country with unique combat experience, trained personnel, and a developed military and strategic culture. Ukraine may spread decentralized military practices and form a ‘war society’ characteristic of countries involved in long-term high-intensity conflicts. But the Ukrainian state could also undergo a deeper socio-political reconfiguration, given the qualitatively different technological context and the changed nature of war.

For citation, please use:
Vershinin, A.A., 2026. The Phantom Menace. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 201–220. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-201-220

In 2014, U.S. President Barack Obama called Russia “a regional power that is threatening some of its immediate neighbors, not out of strength but out of weakness” (Reuters, 2014). The Russian public understood these words as just more propaganda following events in Crimea and the Donbass. However, Obama was not saying anything fundamentally new but only repeating a view that had circulated for decades in the American intellectual space. In fact, it was stated by George Kennan in his famous “Long Telegram” in 1946. The telegram’s key point was not an analysis of the “Russian threat” per se, but its supposed production by historical weakness: the “traditional and instinctive Russian sense of insecurity” and “fear of [the] more competent, more powerful, more highly organized” West. Kennan explained the Soviet Union’s “secretiveness about internal matters” by its desire to hide its vulnerabilities. “Gauged against [the] Western World as a whole, [the] Soviets are still by far the weaker force,” he concluded (Kennan, 1946).

These thoughts hark back to when Kennan served as third secretary of the American mission in Moscow, ten years earlier. In March 1936, while preparing a report for Ambassador William Bullitt, he put together snippets of messages sent by an earlier U.S. ambassador to Russia, Neill Brown, in 1850–1853. According to Kennan, nothing had changed in Russia’s attitude towards the West in more than 80 years: “All they have is borrowed, except their miserable climate… They fight their battles on borrowed capital, and make loans to build their railways. Their best vessels are built in England and the United States. And all their arts and pursuits, though cultivated and pressed, with commendable diligence and a good degree of success, are the products of foreign genius, and duplicates of inventions and discoveries of a people wiser than themselves” (Bullitt, 1936). In Kennan’s view, Soviet understanding of the West’s superiority led to insecurity, power-worship, and aggression. Similarly, in his 1946 Fulton Speech, Winston Churchill said “there is nothing [that the Russians] admire so much as strength, and there is nothing for which they have less respect than for weakness” (Churchill, 1946).

While Obama’s statement can be explained by the obvious disparity in Russian and Western power and influence at the beginning of the 21st century, Kennan’s reasoning—which was by no means unique (Pechatnov, 2020, pp. 14-15)—raises questions. Leaving aside the questionable parallel between Emperor Nicholas’s Russia and Stalin’s USSR, it is puzzling that even the Second World War, and the USSR’s transformation into a superpower, did not change Kennan’s opinion, given that it had formed in completely different—and now superseded—circumstances. Following WWII, U.S. economic superiority was obvious, but the balance of power between the two blocs remained questionable: China had joined the Soviet camp, Communism’s popularity was rapidly growing in the West, and expectations of another Great Depression were widespread (Kolko, 1969, pp. 244-246, 485).

Perhaps subjective Western assessments of Russian strength and weakness were never a matter of actual power. The question appears important given current Russo-Western relations, but it can be interrogated only by taking the thorny path of historical analogies.

AN EMPIRE OF STRENGTH OR WEAKNESS?

For 200 years, the Russian Empire was a classical great power, an essential member of every iteration of the international system since the late 18th century. No one doubted its membership in the European family, given its participation in the Concert of Nations, won through painful internal transformations and impressive foreign policy achievements (Boer, 1995, pp. 43-44). The peaceful settlement adopted at the Congress of Vienna consolidated Russia’s permanent presence in Europe. In the first half of the 19th century, St. Petersburg was the cornerstone of a new order based on “a stable network of rules and relationships between states” (Schroeder, 2004, pp. 121-133). It had abandoned the role of hegemon in favor of full membership in the club of European nations (Roberts, 2026).

Russia was ruled by people who felt like Europeans and were Europeans: “The Russian bureaucracy, including those in charge of foreign policy, mainly consisted of Baltic Germans who were well-versed in the generally accepted practice of diplomacy. Russian diplomats spoke the same language, literally and figuratively, as their colleagues from European cabinets” (Degoyev, 2004, p. 111). The 18th-century injection of Western European culture exceeded all expectations in its results. “Drawing inspiration from all the strands of European culture and speaking many languages, the Russian intelligentsia’s culture was in some respects genuinely broader than the more national perspective common in the individual cultures of Western Europe” (Lieven, 2002, p. 276). In the 19th century, the Russian nobility became Westernized and closely integrated into the institutional and personal networks of the European aristocracy (Becker, 2004, pp. 8-10; Confino, 1993).

For a long time, Europeans’ perception of Russia had limited influence on foreign policy and grand strategy. However, the situation began to change in the second half of the 19th century, as nationalism, modernization, and globalization gathered pace.

European identity, which had formed in the first half of the century, now began to entail belonging to a higher civilization.

Despite Europe’s many fault lines, its identity was based on an awareness of common cultural roots and the similar construction of its various nations (Said, 1994, p. 17; Ferguson, 2004, pp. 221-293). Russia did not keep pace with this process. ‘Russianness’ was only incipient and vague (Miller, 2006, pp. 68-70). Russia began modernization late and with great difficulty, while position in the international hierarchy was increasingly determined by the level of public institutions’ development (Bayly, 2004, p. 234). Russia’s elite could still easily communicate with and understand Europe’s, but rising nations in the West perceived Russia as a ‘significant Other,’ rather than as a place where their values were shared and realized (Neumann, 2003, pp. 61-94).

Europeans’ feelings towards their eastern neighbor were increasingly dominated by extremes: fear of an unknown yet obviously alien and constantly growing power; enthusiasm regarding a young nation with great potential but in need of guidance (Lieven, 2015, p. 29; CœUré, 2017, pp. 20-21). But both views agreed that Russia was not up to playing an independent role in Weltpolitik as Europe and Western culture expanded globally. Russia was thought to have two options: 1) Reinvention of its Europeanness through the adoption of the latest Western practices and institutions, with the help of a leading state. 2) Archaization. Both options entailed a diminution of Russia’s international position.

However, in the early 20th century, these suppositions did not go beyond intellectual discussions to form a political agenda. In the early 1910s, French diplomacy was preparing to dramatically escalate versus Germany, and it saw Russia as a fully-fledged ally in reshaping Europe’s balance of influence (Soutou, 2015, pp. 36-38).

The First World War was expected to confirm that Russia’s capabilities matched its great-power ambitions.

The realities of industrial warfare instead revealed Russia’s structural weaknesses. The West had to reconsider its perceptions. French President Raymond Poincaré expressed the Franco-British elite’s bewilderment when, in September 1915, he wrote in his diary: “So the Russian colossus really is a colossus with feet of clay?” (Poincaré, 2002, p. 86). The Russian ‘steamroller’ turned out to be an image for propaganda, supported by ephemeral ideas about a “young nation” (Cœuré, 2017, pp. 16-22). An underdeveloped country, with incomplete social consolidation around the national core, was unprepared for industrial war. The German army’s successes on the Eastern Front were seen as a proof of civilization’s advantages over archaism. Russia had lost the competition with modernized European societies and was quickly becoming a junior partner of its allies. The latter’s condescending attitude became especially evident by the end of 1916, after the establishment of the Franco-British strategic tandem and as the U.S.’s entry became increasingly likely (Soutou, 2015, pp. 65-88).

The Entente gradually developed a passive or ‘negative’ program for Russia: it was to be propped up enough to distract as many German forces as possible. Entente military missions accomplished their practical tasks but were, in the words of a member of one such mission, fully aware of “universal French superiority over universal Russian mismanagement,” reproaching the Russians foremost for not being French (Pascal, 1975, pp. 14, 53). In his 1916-1917 diaries, the French ambassador reflected on the cultural backwardness of the anarchic Slavic soul, incapable of long-term disciplined effort (Paléologue, 1991, p. 27).

The Entente anticipated and initially even welcomed the February Revolution, cautiously comparing it to the French Revolution. But this quickly gave way to awareness of an impending and inevitable military collapse, and to a (baseless) fear of the new government betraying them. The more pragmatic British went from “benevolent observation” to “distrust tinged with annoyance” to “complete disappointment and exasperation” (Nabokov, 1921, p. 97), while the French became totally convinced of the vices inherent in Russian culture, which had entirely lost the right to count itself among the European nations. The expanding revolutionary anarchy was seen as a sign of Russia’s barbarization and return to Asia, where it had been prior to Peter the Great’s reforms. The West had to decide whether it was ready to carry out a civilizing mission in the vastness of Northern Eurasia. It was a common view that Russia needed a “new Rurik” (Galkina, 2020, p. 209). In this context, German voices were paradoxically moderate, as they still had some idea of Russia’s potential (Lannik, 2025).

THE MOMENT OF SINGULARITY

The Bolshevik takeover broke the image of a strong Russia. While the British bade their time (Sergeev, 2019, pp. 11-53), the French were quite outspoken. Ambassador Paul Cambon in London frankly noted: “I can’t tell you that the Russians surprised me. No, I never believed in their brains, full of dreams and incapable of rational action, in their ideas worthy of eight-year-old children, in their servile souls that can only be organized with the help of a stick… The Chinese are much superior to them” (Cambon, 1946, p. 230). The publication of secret international treaties, the arrests of foreign diplomats, the default on foreign debts, and the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk utterly delegitimized Russia not only as a great power but also as a systemic player. A year after the October coup, the French Foreign Ministry stated: “Since the revolution of November 1917, there has been neither a state nor a government in Russia, and any law there has been abolished” (Cœuré, 2017, p. 30).

In late 1917, information channels connecting Russia with the outside world started closing, one after another. The sociopolitical upheavals of the Civil War and mass migration severed personal ties between the Russian and European elites. Former allies of the Russian Empire, having supported the Whites, were essentially unable to communicate with the Reds. And were not eager to do so, anyway. Western societies and elites saw the Bolsheviks not as a political force or social movement but rather as chaos incarnate, for which they initially lacked even a stable terminology. Sketchy information about events in Russia added to the general picture of triumphant barbarism that had abolished natural rights and basic values. The ‘civilized world’ saw protection of itself as right and proper. The notion of a ‘cordon sanitaire,’ coined in 1918, expressed the West’s attitude towards the Bolshevik regime much better than its reactive, half-hearted, unsuccessful intervention (Pavlov, 2021, pp. 7-54).

The 1910s and 1920s were a moment of ‘absolute singularity’ in Western attitudes towards Russia, which seemed to have lost all the characteristics that it had acquired over the two hundred years spent in Europe’s normative and symbolic space. The Russian Empire had already begun to slip out of that space in the second half of the 19th century. The First World War accelerated this process by elevating the United States—a non-European country of Western culture that not only fit into the process of modernization but in many ways led it. American economic power and Wilsonian liberalism became fundamental to the world as globalized by the West (Wallerstein, 1995, pp. 93-107; Ikenberry, 2020, pp. 101-102). The 1917 Bolshevik Revolution and the ensuing Civil War turned Russia into an empty space on Europeans’ mental maps, a space that had to be developed anew.

This period was best described by Winston Churchill: “Russia… had changed her identity. An apparition with countenance different from any yet seen on earth stood in the place of the old Ally. We saw a state without a nation, an army without a country, a religion without a God” (Churchill, 1929, p. 61). The future prime minister was wrong about only one thing: the “apparition” reflected fundamental processes unfolding in the West itself, and this made it even more threatening. Soviet ideology was threatening not in its alienness to Western values but in its close connection to them. The supranational nature of 19th-century Russian intelligentsia culture produced an ideology consonant with the most pressing demands of Western societies. The ‘revolt of the masses’ provoked a deep identity crisis among the old European elites. The Bolsheviks, who had accumulated the energy of the ‘dangerous classes’ in their country, embodied all of Europeans’ main fears (Mayer, 1981, pp. 304-305; Hobsbawm, 1995, pp. 56-57).

THE PARADOX OF THE SOVIET PROJECT

It was a paradoxical situation. Geopolitically, Russia was considered so weakened that it was boldly sidelined from the post-war world order. Although the cordon sanitaire was lifted, the USSR found itself isolated on the eastern periphery of the Old World, separated from political and economic centers by a buffer of new states. Soviet-German cooperation was all that worried the West.

Yet, in sharp contrast, Soviet ideology was visibly present in the West in daily life. And apocalyptic premonitions, stirred by local Communist parties guided from Moscow, were only one factor. The West’s own intelligentsia, plunged by the war into doubts about the future of the Enlightenment civilizational project, viewed the Soviet Union as a laboratory for realizing new ideas (Hobsbawm, 1995, p. 190). The Soviet experiment touched the deepest fibers of European intellectuals’ identity, which did not lend itself to a sober view of the experiment.

This dualism was a source of constant concern for Western elites. The Soviet threat was clearly felt and even observed, but not defined in understandable geopolitical terms. Russia had ceased to be Europe, but it had not become Asia (contrary to the most pessimistic writings during the Russian Revolution). Europeans’ mental map placed Moscow and Leningrad on Europe’s far fringes, but Soviets, including numerous cultural figures and artists, could be seen in London, Paris, and Berlin. The USSR had no intention of retreating to Asia, but it did challenge the colonial powers there. In 1922, a Foreign Office employee expressed the general doubts of his colleagues as follows: “In the consideration of Russia’s problems this country can employ neither wisdom drawn from long kinship to other members of the European family, nor experience acquired in relations with savage and tutelary peoples” (Steiner, 2005, pp. 557-558).

The fading of revolutionary fervor in the 1920s fueled hopes that the USSR would begin to change internally and, to gain access to Western resources needed for modernization, would gradually accede to the postwar order. It was not clear how exactly this would happen, but it certainly would not involve Moscow’s return as a great power. Instead, Moscow would be integrated into the established configuration, in which the emerging Franco-German tandem led Europe, Britain remained the global arbiter, and the U.S. drove economic, scientific, and technological development (D’Agostino, 2012, pp. 190-214; Tooze, 2015, pp. 462-486).

If this plan had succeeded, it would have helped to stabilize the entire international system, but the West had no leverage with which to force Soviet acceptance. Yet the USSR, having lost significant military, political, and economic power in the course of its upheavals, could not build a rival order, or even just force a reconsideration of the present one. All it could do was reject the conditions dictated to it. Even during its greatest geopolitical weakness, it used its ideology to pressure the West and its vast territory to project power globally (Steiner, 2005, pp. 553-558; Sergeev, 2024, pp. 123-187).

In 1925, renowned British diplomat Harold Nicolson succinctly formulated the Western elite’s perception of the threat: “The Russian problem, that incessant, though shapeless menace, can be stated only as a problem; it is impossible as yet to forecast what effect the development of Russia will have on the future stability of Europe. It is true, on the one hand, that the feeling of uncertainty which is sapping the health of Western Europe is caused to no small extent by the disappearance of Russia as a Power accountable in the European concert. On the other hand, the Russian problem is for the moment Asiatic rather than European; to-morrow Russia may again figure decisively in the balance of continental power; but to-day she hangs as a storm-cloud upon the Eastern horizon of Europe—impending, imponderable, but, for the present, detached. Russia is not, therefore in any sense a factor of stability; she is indeed the most menacing of all our uncertainties” (Haslam, 2021, p. 79).

The Soviet attitude towards the West was also ambivalent. The Bolshevik ideology, which crystallized in the 1930s as Marxism-Leninism, was essentially universalistic, having grown out of Russian intellectuals’ awareness of Russia’s civilizational backwardness vis-à-vis Europe. Those who took power in 1917 were often personally and even socially disconnected from the previous governing elite. They considered political reality not in practical (and sobering) but in theoretical terms, which were strongly influenced by 19th-century Russian philosophy (Besançon, 1998, pp. 83-126). Russia’s typical Petrine path, entailing the duplication of Western institutions, was now opposed by a holistic approach that proposed to reinterpret (and solve) the problem dialectically. 

COGNITIVE MIRRORS

Characterizing the essence of Lenin’s worldview, Mikhail Gefter named its key ideas: “Russia opposes all attempts to liberate and emancipate it. The idea is not to superficially liberate it from the tsarist system. For people of the 19th century, the point is to liberate Russia from itself…that Russia would cease to be an obstacle for European humanity only if liberated from within” (Gefter, 2017, p. 80). In other words, integration into “European humanity,” i.e., the modernized West, required not copying it but creating a new universal value framework in which Russia would play a key role.

This produced a syllogism that underlay the Soviet worldview: the West embodied a worthy civilizational horizon, but was itself inherently limited in ways that prevented the achievement of that horizon; these limitations could be removed only by steering Russia back onto the high road of European history. Thus, overcoming Russia’s backwardness was a project of global significance. In 1920, Vladimir Lenin wrote: “…soon after the victory of the proletarian revolution in at least one of the advanced countries, a sharp change will probably come about: Russia will cease to be the model and will once again become a backward country (in the ‘Soviet’ and the socialist sense)” (Lenin, 1982, pp. 3-4). Russia’s special role, therefore, was to initiate a world revolution that would unify humanity on the basis of new and higher values. Until then, the Soviet state was the flagship of global development.

The prospects for a ‘global October Revolution’ were gradually fading, but this special mission penetrated deep into the minds of the elite and the identity of the masses.

The West was a mirror for Soviet hopes and fears. The attitudes described in 1929 Vladimir Mayakovsky’s Poems about the Soviet Passport are characteristic of the time. “Spatially, pre-war Soviet culture was almost entirely focused on the Soviet country” (Dobrenko, 2020, p. 13). Soviet intellectuals were actively rethinking their attitude towards the West, rejecting the customary view of Soviet culture as secondary, while also expanding foreign ties through which texts, images, and ideas came pouring into the USSR. These were joined, with the start of industrialization in the early 1930s, by technologies and skills brought by thousands of American, British, and German engineers. The Soviet ‘great leap forward’ visibly contrasted with the Great Depression in the world’s leading industrial powers. The pilgrimage of European and American writers and thinkers to the Soviet Union was seen as a recognition of its superiority (Clark, 2011, pp. 136-168; Golubev and Nevezhin, 2016, pp. 57-126).

These developments were seen as testifying to the country’s transformation into a leading center of global development that was accumulating the West’s potential and qualitatively remolding it. This process, which Australian historian and cultural critic Katerina Clark called the ‘Great Appropriation’ (Clark, 2011, pp. 16-18), had a direct political impact. It generated the foreign policy imperative to everywhere and always maintain the great-power status that rapidly changing Russia had reimagined for itself. Above all else, Moscow desired de jure and de facto equality with the world’s heavyweights.

Questions of diplomatic prestige were of special importance for the USSR, as clearly evidenced by every pre-war crisis. Its foreign representatives were under no circumstances to accept a loss of face, give the impression of weakness, or imply that the USSR needed an agreement—better to abandon negotiations altogether. Isolation was preferable to unequal dialogue (Carley, 2023, pp. 625-732).

Analyzing Soviet behavior during the Cold War, British historian Sergey Radchenko describes the Soviet leadership as gripped by ‘Raskolnikov’s obsession,’ a need for international recognition of their special position in world affairs (Radchenko, 2024, p. 7; Pechatnov, 2025). This attitude likely developed in the first two decades after the October Revolution, as the clash between Soviet expectations and Western views became clear.

Western views of the USSR clearly demonstrated “cognitive closure” as described by Robert Jervis (2017, pp. 187-191). These views were born out of Western nations’ own self-perception: the institutions and values of the Western-created international order required—and were underlined by—the USSR’s marginalization. Otherwise, the immense territory and universalistic ideology of the USSR would suggest its agency and even great-power status, and thereby cast discomforting doubt upon the decades-old criteria for supremacy in the international hierarchy.

INFORMAL RELATIONS

The Western consciousness stubbornly clung to the idea of the Soviet Union’s military, economic, and political weakness, allegedly inherited from the Russian Empire. While European intellectuals viewed the USSR as a source of the Old World’s cultural renewal, politicians and officers spoke of an incapable regime sustained only by repression, and of how the Red Army—though well-equipped—was incapable of waging an intense and lengthy war (Alexander, 1992, pp. 282-286). Disparaging comments about Slavic culture were reproduced in diplomatic and military documents, ignoring the obvious successes of Soviet industrialization (Vershinin, 2023, pp. 99-101). In the Winter War, when Finland almost collapsed and lost 11.8% of its population in combat (versus 0.15% for the USSR) (Baryshnikov, 2023, pp. 403-405), this was predictably interpreted as confirming the USSR as a “colossus with feet of clay” (Churchill, 1985, p. 488). Doubts about its ability to resist the German onslaught, voiced by British and American observers in the summer of 1941, were deep rooted.

European unwillingness to satisfy Soviet demands for equality led to an acute crisis in relations before World War II. Barely established Soviet-American ties quickly slid into a vortex of misunderstanding: the sense of global superiority inherent in U.S. foreign policy culture almost immediately clashed with Moscow’s firm rejection of any hint at dominance. The Western elite’s few champions of rapprochement with the USSR struggled to overcome the fundamental clash of worldviews. Finding the USSR unwilling to accept others’ rules of the game, those initially sympathetic to it lost interest or—more often—became its ardent opponents (Carley, 2023, pp. 83-132; Denechere, 2003, pp. 113-192).

 Thus, the Great Depression and the challenge of fascism completely undermined Western societies’ self-confidence: the Soviet project became a factor in European states’ domestic politics and thus inevitably affected their foreign policies.

It took another world war, bigger and more destructive than the first, for the USSR and the West to reach mutually acceptable perceptions of each other. But the old stereotypes remained.

For example, in a dialogue with Joseph Stalin, Franklin Roosevelt admitted that his main goal was to “make Russia less barbaric” (Pechatnov, 2013, p. 30). However, Germany’s defeat on the Eastern Front signified a historic shift. British historian Adam Tooze explains: “Barbarossa was a belated and perverse outgrowth of a European tradition of colonial conquest and settlement, a tradition that was not yet fully aware of its own obsolescence. The ignorant condescension shown by all sides, not just by the Germans, but by the British and Americans as well, towards the fighting power of the Red Army is indicative of this. But, as the Wehrmacht found to its cost, the Soviet Union was not an object that could be operated on in the manner of Edwardian imperialism. What Germany encountered in Soviet Russia in 1941 was not ‘Slavic primitivism’, but the first and most dramatic example of a successful developmental dictatorship” (Tooze, 2006, p. 511).

By force of arms, the USSR brought itself into the league of great powers, vindicating its model of development, which at the level of total war could be matched only by the leading powers of the West. Soviet ideology took on the Russian national spirit as a new dimension. “The USSR acquire[d] a universally recognized history, unrelated to the dictatorship of the proletariat and world revolution, and the Soviet people [were] constituted as a superethnos, receiving (including from the world community) a secondary national identity” (Ryklin, 2002, p. 98). The Soviet political system not only survived but through tremendous mobilization of resources also dispelled all doubt about its viability.

The West could not turn a blind eye to reality. The de facto recognition of the Soviet sphere of influence in Eastern Europe was a forced departure from Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points and a globalized world with a single set of values and rules. The Soviet Union’s triumph instilled a sense of insecurity in Western minds. The main reason for the Cold War was arguably “Western belief, absurd in retrospect but natural enough in the aftermath of the Second World War, that the Age of Catastrophe was by no means at an end; that the future of world capitalism and liberal society was far from assured” (Hobsbawm, 1995, p. 230). The institutionalization and stability of inter-bloc confrontation also necessitated “moral anesthesia:” “Mutual Assured Destruction could only be defended if one considered hostage-taking on a massive scale—deliberately placing civilian populations at risk for nuclear annihilation—to be a human act” (Gaddis, 2005, pp. 180-181).

Hence the Soviet project’s collapse, which heralded the unipolar moment of American hegemony, was interpreted from the very beginning in idealistic terms, which seemed even more attractive given the West’s surprisingly quick and convincing victory (Safranchuk and Lukyanov, 2021, pp. 59-63). The continuity of the world’s universalization in line with the Western development model, interrupted in 1917 and 1945, seemed to have been restored. The ‘Russian problem’ had been solved by the very course of history. The Cold War’s winners “did not set out deliberately to humiliate and marginalize [Russia], but there was no place for [it] in the new order” (Sakwa, 2023, p. 327). Russia did not fit into the Western format—being neither strong enough to transform the international system in its interests, nor weak enough to be included in the system as a junior partner, as Germany was in the mid-20th century. So, Russia was left in geopolitical limbo with an unclear future.

However, in the late 2010s, a new chapter of history began. Russia, having been unable to fit into unipolarity, now proved strong enough to act independently on the world stage (though still not reaching superpower status) (Stoner, 2021; Tsygankov, 2021). Paradoxically, the situation of almost a century ago is now repeating itself, except Russia no longer has a universalistic ideology that is dangerously akin to the Western value system. Yet this difference has not legitimized Moscow, in the eyes of the West, as an independent actor. To the contrary, the USSR’s global ambitions—as the  leader of the world revolution and then the center of the socialist camp—could not be ignored. Whereas Russia’s visions of multipolarity and security mechanisms, resembling spheres of influence, are perceived by Western governments as illusions divorced from reality and as an outrageous dissent.

This reproduces “cognitive closure.” The view of Russia as a weak power was prompted by events of the 1980s and the 1990s, fundamental to the West’s modern identity, which hark back to the ‘beautiful era’ at the beginning of the 20th century. The West chose to view the world wars and the Cold War as a historical aberration, and to marginalize the country whose special international position had for decades embodied contemporary problems and been considered their primary source. It is not easy to abandon such an attitude, and so it persists, offering consistent explanations for the steps that Moscow has taken since the late 2000s to change the unequal nature of post-1991 Russo-Western relations.

Vladimir Putin’s 2007 speech at the Munich Security Conference, which marked the beginning of Moscow’s new course, was met with bewilderment and irritation (TASS, 2016). “Russia wants to be taken seriously,” German Foreign Minister Frank-Walter Steinmeier said, but his statement seemed to express condescending understanding for a former empire’s ‘phantom pain’ more than it indicated an actual willingness to engage in constructive dialogue.

As the world was rethinking the nature of force as a factor in international relations and advancing its ‘soft power’ discourse, Russia’s traditional emphasis on hard power looked like an anachronism associated with inherent weakness. Russia’s use of force in the 2008 Georgia War provoked the West’s open protest, yet it fully fit the image of a weak country unable to influence its neighbors more effectively. As Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice remarked, use of force is “the one tool that [Russia] has always used when it wanted to deliver a message” (New York Times, 2008). The same idea was articulated by some IR experts (Krastev, 2008). Obama’s statement of Russia as a weak regional power was used in 2014 to explain Russia’s actions in Ukraine.

Moscow’s sharp pivot in late 2021–early 2022 was seemingly meant to finally change things. One can speculate about how events would have developed if Russia had achieved quick success in Ukraine.

However, the conflict’s transformation into a protracted confrontation has once again revived the topic of Russia’s weakness and served as a key justification for Western military, economic, and political mobilization. The prospect of exhausting Moscow’s already limited capabilities strengthens the resolve of its opponents. The stakes have been raised most by the EU, seeking political and strategic agency in the unfolding struggle (Fabrichnikov, 2025). Defeat in Ukraine would be a painful blow to the West, but it would hardly force it to reconsider its attitude towards Russia, which is based on ideas critical to Western countries’ self-identification.

As for Russia, it should obviously do away with its ‘Raskolnikov obsession.’ The consolidation of national self-awareness—beyond a dichotomy of strength-weakness in which Russia is always catching up—would be a great reward for the country’s 20th- and 21st-century trials.

For citation, please use:
Sviridov, V.Yu., 2026. Russia in Africa: From Minority to Majority. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 142–153. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-142-153

This year will see the third Russia-Africa Summit. This platform, which brings together Russia, 54 African countries, the African Union, and regional integration associations, has been recognized as successful: efforts have been taken to maintain regularity and ensure continuous communication between the events. Since the first October 2019 Summit, Russia-Africa dialogue has been expanded with additional mechanisms: preparations are underway for a second Russia-Africa Foreign Ministers’ Meeting, and sectoral tracks on digitalization, food sovereignty, energy, and medicine are being devised or running. But the platform’s role has changed, from promoting bilateral relations and explaining Africa’s importance to Russia in 2019 and 2023 to reporting on progress and discussing risks in 2026.

Russia’s objectives and strategy in Africa were widely discussed by experts and scholars in 2018-2021, but mainly with a focus on the extent to which Africa is important for Russia’s foreign policy. Several dedicated reports (Maslov et al., 2021) and publications facilitated the adoption, at the 2023 Summit, of the Russia-Africa Partnership Forum Action Plan, as a roadmap for cooperation in 2023-2026. These discussions were also summarized in a fundamental article by Alexei Drobinin (2025), Director of the Foreign Ministry’s Foreign Policy Planning Department, which underscored Russia’s interest in “African civilization’s internal consolidation and prosperous sovereignty-based development.”

The changes in Russia’s external environment since 2022 have dispelled any doubts about Africa’s relevance for Russia. The continent offers the Russian government new foreign partners and opportunities, and offers business new markets and partners, investment opportunities. Russia is strengthening engagement by setting up embassies, specialized financial mechanisms, expert councils, and civic and research organizations (Maslov and Sviridov, 2023). Trade volume grew from $18 billion in 2021 to $28 billion in 2024.

Yet Russia’s key achievement in recent years has been most African countries’ friendly neutrality regarding the Ukraine crisis, as displayed in UNGA voting and top-level communication. Russia’s Africa policy has several official vectors, including opposition to neo-colonialism and support for African countries’ sovereignty. This approach is particularly seen in Russia’s growing military-political influence in the Sahel region (Mali, Niger, and Burkina Faso), where it has partially filled the vacuum that emerged after France, other EU countries, and the U.S. reduced their presence, partly due to events in Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and the Asia-Pacific.

This might seem to suggest that discussions about Russia’s Africa policy are no longer necessary. Despite Russia’s habit of “avoiding clear goal-setting when the future is uncertain” (Bordachev, 2024, p. 7) and shortage of resources, Moscow has established itself as an influential actor in Africa, alongside the U.S., the former colonial powers, Türkiye, the UAE, India, China, South Korea, and Japan.

Russia’s practical approach—centered on expanding trade and enhancing its position in areas where opportunities emerge—has yielded tangible results.

However, several questions remain. How can mutual political understanding be translated into practical cooperation, and how should the Russian government and businesses support it? What are Russia’s objectives in expanding engagement in regions such as the Sahel? To what extent do Russian and African approaches to ‘sovereignty” and ‘multipolarity’ correlate? Although Russia has made notable success in Africa, further work is needed to develop the conditions and mechanisms to achieve sustainable progress.

Between Old and New

The success of Russia’s return to Africa, in the late 2010s, cannot be detached from the broader global context.

Firstly, Russia re-entered Africa belatedly, after China (early 2000s) and India (late 2000s to early 2010s), when enthusiasm around the continent had already begun to wane. By this time, the commodities crash had triggered a recession in most leading regional economies, and many Africans saw risks in growing debts to China.

Secondly, Africa’s consumption, international role, and decision-making independence were growing, and African countries were seeking new partners.

Thirdly, Western countries had downscaled their involvement in Africa for various reasons. Cooperation with Russia was seen as an alternative.

Moscow trumpeted its return and achieved some success, as mentioned above. But African countries’ interest should not be overstated. While the 2019 Summit was better-attended (with more than 40 heads of state), similar to the forums hosted by China and the U.S., the 2023 Summit and 2024 Ministerial Conference were much less authoritative: 20 heads of state and 36 foreign ministers, respectively.

Closer examination reveals that many of Russia’s achievements were due less to systemic efforts than to favorable circumstances and emerging opportunities. For example, growth in trade in food, fertilizers, fuel, and arms  was a result not only of Russian investments in supply chains and personnel training, but also of price fluctuations, Russia’s forced reorientation towards new markets, and short-term procurement initiatives by individual countries. These ties may remain sensitive to changes in the economic and political environment and, in some areas, to the lack of a solid institutional foundation.

African states’ voting in the UN General Assembly is commonly cited in support of claims about Russia’s success in Africa. However, in general, UNGA voting is becoming an increasingly limited indicator of states’ political orientation, as states often separate their declarative positions in multilateral forums from their practical foreign, economic, and security policies. Moreover, many African countries tend to abstain on issues that they do not see as directly affecting their core interests, while Russia interprets such abstentions as politically significant (Panin, 2023). The states that consistently actually align with Moscow at the UNGA tend to have limited economic resources and greater dependence on external assistance. By contrast, some less economically vulnerable states that have declared strategic partnerships with Russia, such as Egypt (a BRICS member) and Nigeria (a BRICS partner country), have not always supported Russia on key resolutions (Safranchuk et al., 2023).

There remains a gap between demonstrative activity (forums, visits, and public statements) and the implementation of concrete projects. Investment agreements announced at summits, intergovernmental commissions, and bilateral meetings have not progressed beyond declarations. Since 2019, few major new investment projects have taken shape. This reflects, above all, the constraints facing private Russian businesses (which often operate autonomously from the state in the absence of institutional support) that lack local knowledge and experience in African markets. Private businesses struggle to secure financing, including from Russian, partner-countries’, and African banks. Lack of significant progress is less due to external political factors and more due to weaknesses in projects’ planning and commercial feasibility. This explains why losses are mainly borne not by state-owned companies but by private firms such as RUSAL, Norilsk Nickel, and Lukoil.

Between Minority and Majority

For all the claims of a unified communication space, pan-African institutions, shared historical experience, and civilizational closeness (Maslov, 2023), Africa is a heterogeneous region with 54 countries, and prioritization is necessary. Russia would not develop relations with Asia, the Persian Gulf, or the Caucasus as a whole, except perhaps in certain supplemental areas, such as the humanitarian or educational spheres. Russia’s growing involvement in Africa necessitates taking positions on crises where friendly countries clash: for instance, Ethiopia and Egypt over the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam, the DRC and Rwanda in the Lake Kivu region, and Algeria and Mali over the Tuareg issue. Russia’s generally constructive relations with different parties to regional conflicts can provide a basis for a more effective mediating role. However, to translate this potential into a solid political resource, it is important to clearly define key partner states that could lend greater coherence and systemic character to Russia’s network of partnerships in Africa.

Prioritizing one region over another (e.g., East Africa over the Sahel, or vice versa) is inappropriate. Regions, like the entire African continent, are not coherent. The prioritization of regions by certain countries (East Africa by China, India, and Japan; North Africa by the EU and Türkiye) is driven by those countries’ geographic locations. Russia’s approach should be functional, rather than territorial, as it seeks the same things—logistics, payment infrastructure, trading partners—everywhere.

Priorities should be dictated by the degree to which countries offer opportunities that align with Russia’s economic-development objectives.

While emphasizing support from the World Majority, Russia’s policy in Africa has at times focused disproportionately on actors with limited political weight and economic potential. This may reduce the overall effectiveness of engagement, especially where resources and institutional attention could instead be directed towards relationships capable of generating broader and more sustainable returns. In this sense, political sympathy is less important than strategic selectivity and clearly-defined priorities.

Russia’s Africa policy includes a search for partners receptive to cooperation, hence its engagement with non-systemic political actors, public commentators, and civic organizations. While this approach finds an eager response from Africans seeking electoral and military-political support, its long-term benefits appear bleak. These actors can offer short-term political openness but not a durable, stable partnership. In contrast, many ruling parties and well-established state institutions across Africa have no explicitly anti-Russian positions, suggesting that closer engagement with systemic actors may offer more practical and sustainable ties.

Systemic parties—such as Chama cha Mapinduzi in Tanzania, the African National Congress in South Africa, SWAPO in Namibia, and ZANU-PF in Zimbabwe—owe their longevity precisely to balanced ‘network-centric’ (Maslov, 2023) communications, including with Moscow. Even pro-Western and pro-Ukrainian forces balance their rhetoric and remain open to dialogue, prioritizing public opinion and economic benefit. This is illustrated by the dynamic growth of trade with Morocco (now around $2 billion annually), Kenya (around $500 million), and others. Trade with the CAR, meanwhile, amounts to about $5 million.

Thus far, Russia has acted as if trying to mimic the USSR’s role in Africa as an ally of impoverished, civil-war-ridden states, to whom it provided nonrepayable grants for building socialism. But such a perception is actually a myth; the USSR cooperated with socialist-oriented countries (Angola, Mozambique, Ethiopia) and capitalist states (Nigeria, Morocco, Côte d’Ivoire). Soviet financial aid, compared to Western aid, was limited and came with stricter conditions. In the 1980s, COMECON provided only about 3% of global aid to Africa (compared to 23% from the U.S. and 10% from West Germany), and Soviet loans mainly financed the purchase of Soviet equipment and construction of industrial facilities by Soviet organizations, its output then served as payment-in-kind for the African states’ resources. This fit into the Socialist Bloc’s broader system of economic cooperation: the USSR strengthened the African countries’ industrial potential, securing necessary resources for itself (Sviridov, 2025).

Until recently, Russia often engaged with politically and economically fragile states not out of a clear preference for them, but rather out of reluctance to disengage from any partners interested in cooperation. In 2024–2025, however, there were signs of reorientation towards more stable and institutionally significant partners, such as Tanzania and Ethiopia, and a more balanced approach to regional conflicts, such as that between Algeria and Mali. Yet some partners, whose practical political and economic potential remains limited, are still ascribed a political weight disproportionate to their strategic importance.

This logic is understandable: politically fragile states can at times offer external partners quicker access, greater diplomatic visibility, and opportunities to establish a presence where the competitive environment is less consolidated. Yet these advantages are often accompanied by heightened risks. Cooperation in such settings tends to unfold under conditions of continuing political uncertainty, limited institutional capacity, and a high degree of personalization of power. As a result, agreements may depend heavily on particular leadership configurations. In such circumstances, external support can strengthen the position of incumbent actors, but shifts in authority—whether through political realignment, internal fragmentation, or abrupt transfers of power—may significantly reduce the durability of earlier understandings.

More broadly, excessive focus on a narrow group of politically fragile partners may sit uneasily with the broader logic of multipolarity that Russia itself emphasizes in its foreign policy discourse. If multipolarity is understood as the strengthening of non-Western centers of influence, then particular importance belongs to regionally-significant African actors—such as Abuja, Addis Ababa, Algiers, Dakar, Dodoma, Cairo, Kigali, Kinshasa, and Pretoria—above all within their regions. African states may welcome the reduced dominance of older external powers (France, the UK, the U.S.), while remaining cautious about simply replacing one outside influence with another. A more sustainable strategy would not substitute for regional actors but rather build partnerships with them in ways that reinforce their own agency and regional roles.

Decades of Russia-Africa engagement suggest that periods of intensified political contacts and ambitious joint initiatives—sometimes associated with large-scale projects such as a Russian military facility or a nuclear power plant—are often followed by periods of slower implementation and reduced momentum. Greater systematization of cooperation and a stronger role of the state may help mitigate this pattern, but alone they are unlikely to eliminate its structural causes. Over the longer term, more sustainable results are likely to come from deeper relations with politically and economically more stable regional heavyweights—such as Algeria, Egypt, Morocco, Tanzania, and South Africa—which maintain ties with multiple centers of power and pursue their own strategic agendas.

This, in turn, points to the importance of aligning Russian engagement with those parts of the continent where demand for external partnership and the capacity to absorb large-scale projects are greatest. States with stronger infrastructure, more diversified economies, and greater purchasing power are often the most competitive. Yet this should not be seen as an obstacle: in such environments, long-term projects have the best chance of gaining scale and durability. This suggests the need for a more selective distribution of resources and attention to areas where cooperation can generate broader and more sustainable returns.

However, commercial profitability alone cannot determine priorities. Historically, Russia’s engagement in Africa has largely been shaped by the state, while private businesses—including some of the most commercially successful actors—have not always been willing or able to associate themselves too closely with Russia’s broader foreign policy objectives. Therefore, priority areas of cooperation may require more targeted official instruments, including preferential financing of exports and investment projects, insurance mechanisms, offset arrangements, and long-term contracts in strategically important sectors.

Smaller states, for their part, should not be excluded from this framework. They may remain important partners where they are directly relevant to Russia’s development interests or where investment costs and risks can be shared with third parties. In such cases, engagement can be both practical and politically meaningful, provided it is embedded in a broader and more differentiated partnership strategy.

Within this broader framework, the pan-African track should retain its importance as a platform for humanitarian, educational, and cultural cooperation. These dimensions are essential for shaping a positive image of Russia and sustaining its long-term ties across the continent. But they are unlikely to substitute for clearer prioritization of states and sub-regions. In practical terms, a more focused strategy would place greater emphasis on sub-regional frameworks and on cooperation with a limited number of ‘anchor’ partners capable of giving broader coherence and continuity to Russia’s presence in Africa.

What Can Russian Strategy Be Built On?

Strategy—objectives, available resources, and how to use them—should determine a country’s priorities.

Across various administrations over a quarter-century, the U.S. maintained continuity in Africa in key areas: healthcare (PEPFAR), trade preferences (AGOA), security (consolidated since 2008 under AFRICOM), humanitarian aid, and energy since 2013 (Power Africa). Different administrations assigned these things varying significance, but the overall logic remained unchanged: developing the American economy and ensuring security. After Donald Trump came to power, approaches have been reconsidered, but formats are more likely to be adjusted—e.g., with greater support for U.S. exports and greater emphasis on access to critical minerals—rather than be cast aside. There has already been a shift in aid delivery towards bilateral compacts built around co-financing, measurable benchmarks, stricter timelines, and recipient-side commitments to assume a larger share of costs over time. The reformulation of health cooperation with Kenya illustrates this logic well. In late 2025, Washington did not end aid, but replaced older forms of it with a five-year framework under which the U.S. committed over $1.6 billion, Kenya pledged roughly $850 million of additional domestic spending, and funding was redirected away from NGOs towards the Kenyan state, which is to become more self-reliant. This is not so much a rejection of humanitarian assistance per se but more an effort to make such assistance more conditional, performance-based, and closely-aligned with broader U.S. strategic and economic interests.

Russia’s instruments are not so institutionalized, although the groundwork is now being laid. Russia awards 5,000 scholarships annually to African students (thereby preserving educational and human ties); it exports critical commodities like grain, fertilizers, and petroleum products (so-called ‘humanitarian exports’); and it has established an E-Governance Knowledge Sharing Program aimed at exchanging Russian and African experience of developing and implementing e-governance. But all this requires further development and optimization.

Having tools at hand facilitates targeted goal-setting and helps avoid empty slogans and wishful thinking. Promising areas of cooperation include the agricultural sector (seeds, fertilizers, machinery, storage); energy (small hydropower plants, pipeline construction); digitalization and information security; education and workforce training. For each sector, a set of tools should be created, including preferential (not only financial) support, project expertise, and training.

Russia also has a special offering for export to Africa: ‘sovereignty tools.’ These are specific measures that an African country can take to strengthen its negotiating position with Western or Eastern countries. In food security: food storage systems, digital prediction of extreme climate events, GIS, etc. In mineral extraction: regulatory and other measures that promote the development of domestic markets, rather than exports to the Asia-Pacific or Europe. In digitalization: requirements for data localization, development of fiber-optic networks, and satellite communications.

Sovereignty tools become an extension of sectoral priorities and help create a favorable environment for Russian investors and exporters.

However different their political priorities and development levels may be, African states’ key task is attracting investment. Russia, while declaring its willingness to support African countries’ sovereignty and expand mutual trade, currently does not match its competitors in ability to invest in the continent.

However, these limitations may not be permanent. The size of Russia’s frozen assets in the EU (about $300 billion), its significant military expenditures, and its continued export surplus suggest that it does—or at least will—have access to resources that could support external economic development and, with proper planning, generate income.

* * *

Like a great river, Africa’s development will proceed independently of external intervention. The influence of individual players, including Russia, is often overstated: African countries move along their own economic, political, and social trajectories, determined more by internal factors and regional dynamics. Africa will maintain friendly relations with Russia if Moscow avoids serious mistakes that could disappoint its partners and the new generation of African leaders—mistakes that are more likely if excessive foreign policy ambitions ignore economic and political realities.

Russia’s role should be more supportive than directive. Without imposing its development models, Russia should act as a stabilizer—like a plaster cast—helping Africa properly heal the wounds of historical shocks and maintain the resilience of its institutions. Such a position would allow for genuine, long-term assistance, fostering trust and respect for Russian presence. As a result, by the mid-21st century, Africans will perceive Russia as a partner that contributed to their development and independence—as they still remember the USSR.

For citation, please use:
Lukyanov, F.A., 2026. Force and Its Limits (If Any). Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 5–8. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-5-8

The war that erupted in West Asia, on the last day of winter, has immediately spread beyond the region. The U.S.-Israeli attack on Iran is a watershed in world politics, even amid the expanding stormy conflicts of the 21st century. The last remaining norms—and even formal rituals, like inventing a pretext to attack—have been demonstratively cast aside. The world has entered a truly predatory era, in which ambitions are restrained only by the limits of one’s strength. Attributing this historical shift to certain leaders’ characteristics would mean underestimating it. Individuals do not determine the zeitgeist; an epoch brings certain personalities to the fore.

The Iran war is also important in that it may show the limits of military force. Iran is the U.S.’s greatest and most serious military opponent since the Korean War. Beyond the military balance, in the context of a deeply interconnected global economy, Iran’s strength lies not in its ability to defeat the U.S. and Israel militarily, but in its ability to disrupt global energy markets by blocking a critical artery. And even Iran’s powerful adversaries lack the resources needed to render it utterly toothless.

If an unambiguous victory is impossible, can there be a negotiated settlement, or deterrence based on a certain balance and understanding of the limits of one’s own capabilities? The military imbalance, which existed from the start, will constantly push the stronger side to seek complete victory—if not last June, then now; if not now, then next time. 

But can something like the last century’s Cold War—an intense confrontation that does not descend into mass bloodshed—be repeated in the current unusual international circumstances?

The turn of winter to spring this year was marked by two 80-year anniversaries: George Kennan’s Long Telegram on 22 February, and Winston Churchill’s Fulton Speech on 5 March. Kennan’s communique is considered the conceptual basis for containing the USSR. And Churchill’s speech, about an Iron Curtain being lowered across Europe, was a declaration of the Cold War.

Both have been much discussed in Russia, whose fierce rivalry with the West has now resumed after a reprieve from the late 1980s to the early 2020s. By inertia, this struggle is called a new incarnation of the Cold War. But is it?

It was George Orwell who termed the new phase of world politics a ‘cold war.’ In a short essay published in 1945, he wrote that the invention of something as destructive as the atomic bomb could replace large-scale wars with “a peace that is no peace.” He was right. Weapons of mass destruction have helped avoid a clash between major powers by making confrontation chronic and indirect. Both Kennan and Churchill spoke of prolonged struggle, a cold war of attrition. They believed that the West had every reason to count on winning. It would be a long and hard endeavor, but it would eventually bear fruit.

The first Cold War is sometimes remembered with nostalgia: supposedly, things were rough and sometimes dangerous, but at least clear and orderly. In truth, none of it should be idealized; contemporary documents and articles are enough to disabuse one of any romantic tint. But there is one thing that distinguishes the current situation from its predecessor: the ‘free world’ now has the experience of winning the first marathon of survival.

The USSR’s self-dissolution surprised its opponents and convinced them of the validity of the prescriptions offered by Kennan, Churchill, and other ideologists at the confrontation’s outset. It infused them with confidence in their own ideological and moral rectitude, as they had won a dangerous conflict without using military force. It was the cleanest of victories, in a way: the opponent simply gave up, recognized his inferiority, and walked out of the ring.

Why this happened is a separate matter. But the West cannot forget the experience. Firstly, the victory seemed so fateful that its revision still seems unthinkable. Secondly, and more importantly: if you succeed once, you will expect to do so again. And since Russia is not the Soviet Union in resources or influence—and the West, on the contrary, has maximally expanded its position over the past thirty years—success is expected much faster this time. After all, the previous round already revealed who is historically right.

Hence the opinion that agreement with Russia is possible only on condition of its new (and this time not even veiled) capitulation. This approach remains unaltered in Europe. But the U.S. has adjusted its approach, in accord with the new administration’s pragmatic desire to end the conflict in Ukraine, which is distracting it from more important issues. Yet the Americans also still believe that Russia should know its place—or rather, understand America’s incomparably more important and well-deserved place.

Russia, of course, intends to prove otherwise.

It is indeed not the USSR, and thus demands recognition of its right to define its own security, but now without attempts to export its worldview or development model. Yet the West perceives Russia precisely as a weakened version of the former superpower, which must be put in its place. Without recognizing any rights, which were recognized then only because the USSR’s power and influence could not be ignored. Russia’s nuclear capabilities are taken into account only in that they continue to ensure the Orwellian “peace that is no peace,” i.e., the absence of direct war.

The risk of mutually assured destruction remains. But the West’s victory in the Cold War led it to believe that total victory is possible through measures that simply bypass nuclear weapons. Such confidence is dangerous, as lessons from the previous confrontation are drawn not only by the winners, but also by the losers. And the latter now recognize that circumvention of the nuclear factor must be made impossible. Things like “decapitation strikes”—the assassination of Iranian leaders with whom supposedly serious negotiations were just being held—make the U.S.’s other opponents even more fatalistically resolved, in the spirit of legends about the “Dead Hand.”

George Kennan lived to the age of 101 to see the aftermath of the Iraq War. He sharply criticized the American geopolitical euphoria after 1991, i.e., after his concept had proven a success. And he specifically recalled the part of his Long Telegram that called for soberly assessing the opponent’s motives and considering the opponent’s concerns (rather than dismissing them and potentially provoking a disproportionate response). The patriarch’s opinion has not been heeded.

No matter how the Iran conflict ends, its outcome will have far-reaching consequences. Is force almighty? How far is it ready to go to prove that it is almighty? And what will be left after that?

For citation, please use:
Trenin, D.V. and Rusakovich, A.V., 2026. The Nuclear Component of the Union State. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 128–140. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-128-140

Military alliances of the 21st century differ significantly from those of the 20th. Today, only NATO remains as a hegemon-led bloc. But it is going through a partial decoupling, caused less by a European quest for greater independence and more by a major shift in U.S. foreign policy priorities. As the European Economic Community, the EU economically underpinned the Atlantic bloc. But after the Cold War, it failed to become an independent geopolitical player, a ‘United States of Europe.’ Today, it seeks agency on a military-ideological basis, using the image of Russia as an external enemy, but with highly questionable results.

Associations that emerged in the former Soviet space—the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), and the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU)—are fairly loose (in truth, incohesive) structures. Unlike Western institutions, they lack bloc discipline and a common ideology. Nevertheless, they perform certain useful functions. The CIS is primarily a historical association with a humanitarian profile; the EAEU is an advanced form of customs union; and the CSTO (the only military organization of the three) is a platform for political consultations and security cooperation, but not a traditional military alliance.

The Cold War was largely fought on the periphery of the world system, while its center was dominated by the stasis of iron curtains, frozen fronts, and impregnable walls. But the 21st century, at least since the mid-2010s, has become an era of great-power competition, dynamism, and sharp turnabouts. The Western alliances still exist, but in practice they rely upon small groups of ‘activists’ that are ready and able to participate in military conflicts. And Washington, when seeking states to pit against its adversaries, turns mostly to those with which it is not even in formal bilateral or multilateral alliance: Ukraine (against Russia), Israel (against Iran), Taiwan (against China). A supportive echelon is drawn from selected allies in Europe and Asia: Germany, Japan, Poland, Australia, and others.

Outside the Western world, the largest powers—China, Russia, and India—eschew blocs, preferring more flexible forms of ‘unlimited’ (but also nonbinding) strategic partnership. China, India, and other BRICS and SCO countries are essentially maintaining a benevolent neutrality towards Russia in the context of the war in Ukraine. The CSTO’s members, formally considered allies by Russia, hold a similar position.

Major non-Western states (especially Russia and China) are often suspected by their neighbors—with or without justification—of seeking regional hegemony. These suspicions can prompt the neighbors to turn to more distant powers, especially the U.S., whose provision of ‘global security,’ as an offshore balancer, underpins its hegemony (i.e., ‘global leadership’).

Russia’s security is seriously threatened by Western use of its neighbors to pressure and (in the case of Ukraine) weaken it. This threat has not yet been fully eliminated. Yet Russia also has two neighbors with whom it has formed full-spectrum military alliances that truly strengthen its security: Belarus and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK).

With the DPRK, Russia has a classic bilateral alliance that envisions military assistance if one of the parties finds itself at war with a third state. Historically, this alliance dates to the Red Army’s liberation of northern Korea at the end of World War II, and to Soviet aid to Pyongyang during the Korean War. From the very beginning of the Special Military Operation (SMO) in Ukraine, Pyongyang supported Moscow, sending troops in 2024-2025 to help repel the Ukrainian invasion of Kursk Oblast. Under 2024’s Treaty on Comprehensive Strategic Partnership, Russia has similar obligations to the DPRK and provides various assistance to it.

The Russian-Belarusian alliance, on the contrary, is something unique: it is realized within the sui generis Union State, and it features a nuclear dimension.

These characteristics warrant special consideration.

The Union State

The Union State, formalized in 1999 by a treaty signed eight years to the day after the Belovezhya Accords, was conceived as a close-knit confederation of Russia and Belarus, and also as a political model and legal framework for reintegrating other former Soviet republics. The agreement provided for a single economic space, a single currency, and a common parliament and cabinet. But this did not happen, and Russian-Belarusian relations developed along interstate lines. That which was meant to be unified instead became common, joint, or coordinated. The Union State never acquired international legal agency, instead becoming a union of states.

It is, nevertheless, an exceptional phenomenon in the post-Soviet space. Belarus quickly (from 1994) managed to reject the ultranationalist path that was chosen by many other republics, the path of building an independent state defined in opposition to Russia. Belarus did not discard the rich historical heritage that it shares with Russia but did establish its own state ideology, as well as a national identity that coexists with—neither opposing nor dissolving into—the Russian one.

Modern Belarusian statehood has developed and crystallized within the framework of friendly and increasingly close relations with Russia. Politically, as Moscow’s closest partner, Minsk is very sensitive regarding its sovereignty. Economically, it benefits enormously from the common market with Russia. Despite the huge differences in size, population, and economic and military capabilities, Belarus and Russia exemplify equal and mutually beneficial relations between neighbors.

Belarus, positioning itself as a European country, strives to maintain contact with the West wherever possible, notwithstanding long-term European and American sanctions. (In 2025, the U.S. lifted sanctions on Belaruskali and Belavia—although the practical effect for Belavia is limited by the continuation of EU sanctions—and the Belarusian government released and deported several groups of people convicted of crimes against the state.) For many years, the Minsk Dialogue facilitated such contacts. After the Maidan in Kiev, the Russian Spring in Crimea, and the start of civil war in the Donbass, Minsk hosted negotiations between the belligerents, leading to the Minsk Accords on a ceasefire and political settlement.

After an attempted Western-backed color revolution in Belarus in 2020, Minsk amended (but did not eliminate) the multi-vector nature of its foreign policy, and now seeks additional partners to the East. Since 2024, Belarus has been a full member of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO). China is its second most important strategic partner after Russia. Minsk is also developing ties with the Arab monarchies and Iran. Since 2023, Minsk has hosted annual international conferences on Eurasian security. In 2024, the foreign ministers of Russia and Belarus, Sergei Lavrov and Maxim Ryzhenkov, jointly proposed a set of ideas for a Eurasian Security Charter.

Belarus is not directly involved in the SMO, but Russian troops did operate from its territory at the beginning. Minsk does not officially recognize territorial changes in the former Soviet space, be they in Abkhazia, South Ossetia, Crimea, Donbass, or Novorossiya. Although, in 2022, Belarus voted against the UNGA resolution condemning the referendums on incorporating the Donetsk, Lugansk, Zaporozhye, and Kherson regions into Russia. Belarus performs some intermediary functions via Ukraine’s embassy in Minsk: in 2022, it hosted the first rounds of direct Russian-Ukrainian negotiations. POW exchanges between Russia and Ukraine also take place mainly on the Belarusian-Ukrainian border.

NATO’s proxy war against Russia in Ukraine has important implications for Belarus as Russia’s ally.

Poland is rapidly militarizing and it hosts a U.S. brigade; a German Bundeswehr brigade is stationed in neighboring Lithuania; officials and others in NATO countries are making threats against Russia’s Kaliningrad region. All this requires Russia and Belarus to strengthen their military alliance.

More Than a Military Alliance

Belarus lies astride Central-Eastern Europe’s main geostrategic axis between Berlin and Moscow. Numerous Russian-Polish wars, Charles XII’s campaign, Napoleon’s invasion, and both World Wars proved Belarus to be Russia’s most important line of defense.

This is equally true today, as Belarus is bordered by NATO members Poland, Lithuania, and Latvia to the north and west, and by Ukraine to the south. For its part, Russia serves as Belarus’s political and military ally, its most important economic partner, its strategic rear, and the guarantor of its sovereignty and independent development.

Belarus and Russia form a united line of defense. The indivisibility of their common security space means that Russia considers any attack on Belarus to also be an attack on Russia. Indeed, Moscow would be directly threatened by any invasion of Belarus and by any Western political aggression that forces ‘regime change’ upon Belarus. Hence President Putin sent Russian security forces to Belarus’s border during its political crisis in 2020: pro-Western forces’ rise to power in Minsk was absolutely unacceptable for Moscow.

The Belarusian-Russian military alliance has a solid foundation: a shared civilization; linguistic similarity; the ubiquitous use in Belarus of the Russian language (which Belarusians consider their own); similar though not identical cultures and worldviews; common traditions and Orthodox faith for majorities in both countries. For two hundred years (1793-1991), Belarusians and Russians lived in one state. Importantly, Belarus’s western regions, incorporated in 1939, were never a stronghold of nationalism like those of Ukraine are.

Memory of the Great Patriotic War is deeply embedded in the consciousness of both Russians and Belarusians. The Museum of the Great Patriotic War in Minsk and the war memorial in Khatyn tell of Belarus’s enormous loss of life: a third of its population. The Red Army’s liberation of Minsk on 3 July 1944 has been celebrated since 1996 as Independence Day. This distinguishes Belarus from all other former Soviet republics, where the main state holiday celebrates the proclamation of independence (de facto from Russia).

Belarusians value peace above all. But they understand that their sovereignty, independence, and security can only be guaranteed by friendly, allied, and equal relations with Russia.

Anything else would inevitably turn Belarus into a target for Western interference and an arena for the West’s struggle against Russia, as in the clear and tragic cases of Georgia and Ukraine.

The Russian and Belarusian economies are closely interconnected: since Soviet times, Belarus has been the ‘assembly shop’ of the machine-building industry. The Belarusian and Russian military-industrial complexes are well-integrated. For example, the Minsk Wheeled Tractor Plant supplies Russia with the special chassis for the launchers of its Topol-M and Yars ICBMs, Iskander short-range ballistic missiles, Bastion and Bal coastal missiles, Uragan rockets, S-400 anti-air missiles, etc.

The strategic cultures of Russia and Belarus have common roots. The USSR’s Belarusian Military District, one of the most powerful in the Soviet military, formed the basis of the Belarusian Armed Forces. The defense policy and military thought of Russia and Belarus are based on a similar vision and common principles. The Union State’s first military doctrine was adopted in 2001, and the most recent in 2021.

Communication between Russian and Belarusian leaders is exceptionally frequent and trusting. Top officials of the Defense Ministry, Foreign Ministry, and security agencies meet regularly. A regional group of forces has been active since the 1990s. The two countries regularly hold joint exercises, of which the largest and best known is Zapad.

The Russian-Belarusian military alliance is entirely defensive in nature. Since independence, Belarus has strictly limited its army’s foreign deployment. Its 1992 military doctrine provided for deployment only within UN peacekeeping operations. When ratifying the CIS Charter in January 1994, Belarus added stipulations that its forces could be deployed to other members’ territory, and other members’ forces deployed to its territory, only with the approval of the Belarusian parliament.

This provision was later reconceptualized. Belarus’s Constitution, after amendment approved by a referendum on 27 February 2022, states that “the Republic of Belarus precludes military aggression from its territory against other states” (Constitution, 2022, Art. 18). Current Belarusian legislation (Law on the Armed Forces) prescribes procedures for the armed forces’ participation in collective security operations and international peacekeeping. In January 2022, a Belarusian military contingent took part in the CSTO’s peacekeeping operation in Kazakhstan.

Initially, there were no Russian military bases in independent Belarus. In 1992, the Belarusian Military District, in its entirety, transformed into the Belarusian Armed Forces. Russia retained only strategic nuclear weapons (soon removed from Belarus), the Vileyka naval communications center, and the Volga early warning station in Baranovichi. Russian proposals for an air base in Belarus, made in the later 2010s, were rejected.

But the military-political situation’s sharp deterioration in the early 2020s, due to the Ukraine crisis, prompted Belarus and Russia to strengthen their joint defense, including through its endowment with an expressly nuclear dimension.

The Alliance’s Nuclear Dimension

Belarus is a non-nuclear state party to the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT). Belarus’s aspirations to become a nuclear-weapons-free zone and a neutral state were formalized constitutionally in August 1991. At the time of the Soviet Union’s breakup, Belarus hosted strategic nuclear forces totaling about 180 formations, units, and institutions with a combined strength of about 40,000 personnel and 1,120 nuclear warheads (Maltsev, 2003, p. 80).

Under the Agreement on Joint Measures on Nuclear Weapons, signed on 21 December 1991 in Almaty, Belarus, Kazakhstan, and Ukraine pledged to join the NPT as non-nuclear states and to transfer Soviet tactical nuclear weapons to Russia. In May 1992, Belarus became a party to the Soviet-American Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty (START I) by signing its ‘Lisbon Protocol.’ Since 1992, Belarus also participated in the 1987 Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty. In July 1993, Minsk joined the NPT as a non-nuclear state. In November 1996, the last RS-12M Topol ICBM was removed from Belarus to Russia. In the 1990s, Belarus promoted a nuclear-weapons-free zone in Central and Eastern Europe.

The situation changed after the outbreak of the Ukraine crisis. Back in late 2021, Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko said he was considering stationing Russian nuclear weapons in the country in response to possible actions by NATO, specifically the deployment of U.S. nuclear weapons in Poland. He repeated this warning shortly before the start of the SMO. The 27 February 2022 referendum removed the Constitution’s provisions for Belarus’s neutral and nuclear-weapons-free status.

Russia has been prompted to strengthen its nuclear deterrence by the further escalation of the military confrontation in Ukraine, by NATO’s plans to turn Poland into a leading military force, by the return of U.S. tactical nuclear weapons to the UK after a 20-year hiatus, by French statements about possibly extending their nuclear umbrella to Poland, and by discussions (including in Germany) of “European nuclear deterrence” based on the French and British arsenals.

As part of this deterrence, Russia deployed non-strategic nuclear weapons (NSNWs) in Belarus, as announced by President Putin in March 2023. According to official data, by the beginning of 2024, two Russian Iskander-M battalions—with a 480 km range, reaching almost all of the Baltics, Poland, and Ukraine—had been deployed. Russia also helped convert Belarusian Su-25 aircraft to carry the (nuclear-warhead-capable) Kinzhal hypersonic missiles.

This was Russia’s first foreign deployment of nuclear weapons since the USSR’s collapse. But it differs from Soviet deployments in Eastern Europe and (in 1962) Cuba in that Belarus participates in nuclear planning and has nuclear delivery vehicles (though their use still requires Russian approval). In May 2023, the Russian and Belarusian defense ministers, Sergei Shoigu and Victor Khrenin, signed the documents regulating the deployment.

This situation resembles that of NATO, which presents itself as a nuclear alliance. However, the Union State is much more than a military alliance of individual states.

The security of the Union State as a whole, and of Belarus in particular, is more important to Russia than Atlantic solidarity and distant European states are to the U.S. Russian and Belarusian security is inextricably linked not only by treaties, but physically and organically.

By the middle of 2023, facilities for the maintenance and secure storage of nuclear weapons had been built in Belarus, and the first weapons arrived shortly thereafter. In 2024, the Belarusian military was trained in the use of NSNWs. In 2025, Belarus selected and prepared sites for stationing Russia’s intermediate-range nuclear-warhead-capable Oreshnik missile. Yet Belarusian officials emphasized that these measures were purely defensive (Belta, 2026). Two S-400 battalions were also stationed in Belarus in response to NATO’s actions (RBK, 2023; RIA Novosti, 2023).

In sum, Russia’s deployment of NSNWs in Belarus is one of its most important steps, since the start of the SMO, to reinforce its nuclear deterrence.

In the middle of 2024, the Russian General Staff supervised an exercise involving Iskander missiles and Kinzhal-armed Su-25s to practice the use of NSNWs. The Belarusian military joined in at the second and third stages of the drills to practice joint planning and the coordinated use of nuclear weapons.

Doctrinal Innovations

Shortcomings in Russia’s concept of nuclear deterrence, which became obvious during the conflict in Ukraine, prompted President Putin in November 2024 to amend the nuclear doctrine. In the “Fundamentals of State Policy of the Russian Federation on Nuclear Deterrence,” Moscow for the first time declared its determination to defend Belarus with nuclear weapons if necessary (Fundamentals, 2024, Art. 18). The new doctrine provides for nuclear weapons’ use not only in response to an adversary’s use of nuclear weapons or other WMDs, but also in the event of conventional aggression against the Union State that critically threatens its members.

The indivisibility of Russian and Belarusian security has also been declared in the “Security Concept of the Union State” (December 2024) and the Treaty on Security Guarantees Within the Framework of the Union State (active since March 2025). The latter calls for the parties’ enhanced joint protection of sovereignty, independence, and constitutional order—referencing foreign-backed pro-Western forces’ thwarted color revolution in Belarus in 2020.

Article 6 of the Treaty terms nuclear weapons an important factor in preventing military conflicts, including nuclear ones, “as well as a means of deterrence, the use of which is an extreme and forced measure.” The Treaty replicates the Russian nuclear doctrine’s nuclear guarantees to Belarus, thereby creating a legal basis for the deployment of Russian military bases and NSNWs in Belarus. In addition, by stipulating that Russian nuclear weapons deployed to Belarus will be used by agreement between the parties, the Treaty provides for Belarusian participation in Russian nuclear planning and the general implementation of Moscow’s nuclear policy.

Thus, doctrinal amendments and bilateral treaties have legalized the practice (effective since 2023) of deploying Russian nuclear weapons in Belarus. Close cooperation with Belarus has, for the first time in the post-Soviet period, extended Russia’s nuclear deterrence to another state—doctrinally, legally, and operationally. This also constitutes a major shift in Russia’s geopolitical and nuclear deterrence.

Any military aggression against Belarus will inevitably lead to Russia’s military response, which under certain conditions may involve nuclear weapons. Belarus can rely on Russian nuclear protection with more confidence than Western allies can count on U.S. nuclear protection, which is not even mentioned in their treaties of alliance.

Nuclear Energy

The Russian-Belarusian alliance’s nuclear dimension also includes cooperation in nuclear power. One of Russia’s largest investment projects in Belarus has been the construction of the “Belarus” nuclear power plant in Ostrovets, Grodno Oblast. Today, nuclear energy supports Belarusian energy security and technological-industrial development. Yet the road to this point was not easy.

From the late 1960s to the early 1980s, the Soviet government considered various plans for a nuclear power plant in Belarus, but did not implement them for various reasons. The 1986 Chernobyl accident, which did the greatest damage to Belarus’s southern regions, sharply worsened Belarusian attitudes toward nuclear energy, freezing nuclear plant plans for decades.

It was not until the mid-2000s that Minsk, driven by the Belarusian economy’s demand for energy and by the situation on the international energy market, decided to build a nuclear power plant with Russian help. In 2007, President Lukashenko signed a decree greenlighting the project. The relevant intergovernmental agreement was signed in March 2011. Russia provided Belarus with a $10 billion loan to finance the construction.

The nuclear power plant was designed and built by Russia’s Rosatom, which chose a standard Generation III+ reactor for the project. Its two units became commercially operational in mid-2021 and late 2023. With a total capacity of 2,400 megawatts, they can meet about 40% of the country’s electricity needs, making Belarus a world leader in nuclear energy’s share of electricity generation.

The nuclear sector has supported economic growth and technological development. In September 2025, Belarus decided to build a second nuclear power plant with Russia’s support and assistance. Thus, the Union State is strengthening its nuclear dimension, not only militarily but also in terms of civilian energy.

*  *  *

Nuclear cooperation between Russia and Belarus attests to their deepening integration. Russia’s nuclear guarantees reinforce not only the Union State’s military alliance but the Union State itself. The parties’ security becomes truly unified, foreign policy planning and implementation are coordinated, and economic cooperation proceeds within an increasingly unified economic space.

By coalescing, the Union State is becoming more than a union of states. This places higher demands on Russians and Belarusians, requiring deeper mutual understanding, the harmonization of national interests, the development of common positions, and the implementation of agreed plans. For the outside world, this alliance of differently sized neighbors contributes to a new equality-based order, which may be particularly valuable for Eurasia’s security architecture.

The deployment of Russian nuclear weapons in Belarus is not just a response to the escalating Ukraine crisis. It is the first implementation of Russia’s expanded deterrence, and grants a nuclear dimension to the Union State, increasing the cohesion of its common security space.

Significantly, the Union State’s transformation into a nuclear alliance is a step towards international agency.

Moscow and Minsk need the closer and deeper coordination of foreign and defense policy, given the military and political instability in Western Eurasia, and especially given the Ukraine crisis, which is unlikely to end after an agreement is signed and ceasefire implemented. Ukraine will long trouble Russian and Belarusian security as a source of instability and threats. As previous forms of allied relations become increasingly irrelevant in the new international reality, Belarusian-Russian integration can serve as a unique model of close and flexible interaction that does not compromise sovereignty.

This research was supported by the RF Ministry of Science and Higher Education, Agreement #075-15-2025-680 as of 21 August 2025.

For citation, please use:
Timofeev, I.N., 2026. The Iranian Crisis and Russia: Seven Lessons. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 96–100. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-96-100

The massive Israeli and U.S. airstrikes on Iran hardly came as a complete surprise. For several months, the U.S.-Israeli strike force had been concentrating in the Persian Gulf. Tense negotiations between Iran and the United States had stalled and were unlikely to yield progress.

The deaths of Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, members of his family, and a number of senior military and political figures have sent shockwaves through the region. Iran has retaliated with missile strikes against Israel and U.S. infrastructure in the area. The military operation has already disrupted maritime oil shipments in the Persian Gulf and the financial and logistical hubs of the UAE and Qatar. Iran stands a good chance of withstanding the assault, as a full-scale ground invasion appears unlikely. However, the strikes will further erode the country’s industrial base, deepen its economic crisis, and impoverish its population. Should Iran manage to endure this round of aggression, it is unlikely to be the last—unless the current attacks prove prohibitively costly for the aggressors.

The situation offers several important lessons for Russia.

Lesson 1: Sanctions are followed by military force

The U.S. has imposed sanctions on Iran since the Islamic Revolution in 1979. Iran withstood this economic pressure, but the damage has been significant, growing as Washington managed to expand the coalition of sanctioning countries, internationalizing restrictions through the UN Security Council, and persuading third countries to halt purchases of Iranian oil. Moreover, the U.S. and its allies repeatedly supplemented these sanctions with assassinations of nuclear engineers and intelligence officers (e.g., in 1980, 1987, and 2025), with cyberattacks, and with threats of military attack. This pattern has been applied elsewhere: Iraq, Yugoslavia, Libya, Syria, and Venezuela.

For now, direct military force against Russia remains unlikely, largely due to fears of nuclear escalation. Nevertheless, force is being applied indirectly through large-scale aid to Ukraine, including for frequent Ukrainian strikes on Russian territory. Despite the recent defeat of Ukrainian forces in Russia’s Kursk region, new forays are possible. European NATO members’ ongoing military modernization increases their liability  to use force at points of contact with Russia—particularly in the Baltic region.

The deterrent effect of Russia’s nuclear weapons could be undermined if the West falsely convinces itself that Russia would not risk using them for fear of a nuclear response.

Military crises between Russia and the West, of one kind or another, are a real possibility.

Lesson 2: Western pressure will be long-term

For years, a strategy of gradual attrition has been employed against Iran. While economic pressure through sanctions once dominated, recent months have seen a shift towards military attrition through repeated strikes. These do not involve large-scale ground operations or occupation; instead, they rely on missile and bomb attacks that steadily degrade the target’s military-industrial capacity. With each new round of escalation, Iran’s ability to resist weakens further. For now, Tehran retains the capacity to launch painful retaliatory strikes, but further rounds may exhaust it.

Russia must therefore prepare for the long-term application of sanctions—measured not in years but in decades. Occasional easing of certain restrictions is unlikely to be followed by their full removal, especially not in sensitive areas such as dual-use export controls. A similar logic applies to the military dimension. Any lull in hostilities, in Ukraine or elsewhere, will likely be followed by a new military crisis.

Lesson 3: Concessions do not work

Throughout its lengthy confrontation with the United States, Iran has made multiple concessions. Most prominently in the 2015 nuclear deal (JCPOA), enshrined in UN Security Council Resolution 2231. In exchange for sanctions relief, Iran accepted significant limitations on its nuclear program. Yet just three years later, the Trump administration unilaterally withdrew from the deal and imposed new demands. The concessions bought only a brief respite and ultimately failed to alleviate long-term U.S. pressure.

In the current context of negotiations over Ukraine, Russia has shown notable firmness. This may draw criticism from those seeking peace, as each day of continued fighting is measured in lost lives and resources. But this stubbornness is justified, given that compromises merely provoke new demands. Compromise, at least unilateral compromise, is thus impermissible. Especially given that trust between Russia, the U.S., and Ukraine is virtually non-existent. The Iranian experience only reinforces this caution.

Lesson 4: Leaders in the crosshairs

The attack on Iran demonstrates that legitimate leaders and senior officials have become priority targets. The earlier kidnapping of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro signaled this shift. Leaders have been killed in war before—as in the Soviet storming of Amin’s palace in Afghanistan in 1979, or the deaths of Libyan and Iraqi leaders after U.S.-led interventions. However, such deaths were often incidental. In Iran, we witness the deliberate targeting of the Supreme Leader, his family, and numerous officials.

Russia is acutely aware of the threat to its President and high-ranking officials. Already for some time, assassinations on Russian territory have been attempted—and sometimes accomplished—against military officers, officials, journalists, and civic activists. The Iranian case confirms that protecting the national leadership is now the task of not only the intelligence services but also the armed forces. Gaps in counterintelligence, personal security, air defense, and broader military preparedness can leave leaders dangerously exposed.

Lesson 5: Internal unrest invites external intervention

Shortly before the airstrikes, Iran experienced mass protests driven by internal divisions and economic hardship. Clashes between demonstrators and security forces resulted in numerous deaths. These protests were exploited by Iran’s adversaries and likely seen as indicating that an effective strike might topple the weakened political system, as had been the case in Libya and elsewhere.

The collapse of the USSR demonstrates that internal economic decay and societal divisions can lead to disaster even without external intervention. Effective governance, timely reform, and trust between state and society are essential to maintaining stability. Cracks within society or the elite are tantamount to an invitation for increased external pressure.

Lesson 6: ‘Black knights’ are important, but not a panacea

Even under crushing sanctions, Iran managed to maintain trade with various countries—the literature terms such sanctions-busters ‘black knights.’ In the 1980s and 1990s, Iranian oil was sold at a discount to buyers in Western and Southern Europe, Turkiye, Syria, Japan, India, and China. The U.S. invested enormous diplomatic capital to cut off these flows but could only reduce Iran’s revenue, not eliminate it.

Yet the military-political situation was a different matter. Iran was left one-on-one with its adversaries. Third parties do not help those adversaries, but they do not have the desire or ability to oppose their attacks on Iran, either.

‘Black knights’ can mitigate economic pressure, but they are useless in preventing military attacks.

Russia has similarly reoriented its trade under sanctions, with exports to China, India, and other friendly nations growing rapidly. Yet mutual military-political obligations with them remain absent. Russia will have to confront its adversaries alone, with the recent exception of North Korea’s participation in countering Ukraine’s invasion of Kursk Oblast. Moreover, Russia itself ensures the security of its CSTO allies, adding to its own burden and responsibility.

Lesson 7: The need for a balance of power

Unlike many previous targets of U.S. military action, Iran is far from defenseless. In 2025, Tehran responded with domestically produced missiles and drones, and it is doing so again today. While it is too early to assess the weapons’ precision and effectiveness, the U.S. and Israel appear to view the damage from Iranian retaliation as acceptable—so far. Yet Iran has also taken steps previously considered extreme, such as closing the Strait of Hormuz to navigation. The U.S. Navy may eventually restore safe passage, but doing so will require time and resources, and success is not guaranteed—especially if Iran remains resilient.

Russia possesses far greater capabilities to counter potential strikes on its territory. Nuclear deterrence aside, Moscow has the means to inflict significant damage across multiple domains and directions. Yet an adversary may deem that damage to be painful but acceptable. Even in the nuclear sphere, the pain threshold can shift. As political struggle intensifies, sensitivity to injury falls, something well-demonstrated by the 20th century.

The Iranian situation inspires little optimism. Instead, it is fostering a fatalistic resolve on all sides, which risks becoming the defining spirit of the coming years.

This article is an edited version of the paper written for the Valdai Discussion Club, https://valdaiclub.com/a/highlights/iranian-crisis-and-russia-seven-lessons/

For citation, please use:
Byshok, S.O., 2026. Does Eurasia Really Exist? Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 61–78. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-61-78

Conceptualization of Eurasia, as a real and functioning community, has a long history that is increasingly relevant amid current global political transformations. As early as the 1920s and 1930s, classical Eurasianists like Nikolai Trubetskoy and Pyotr Savitsky argued that ‘Russia-Eurasia’ constitutes a cultural-civilizational community in its own right, organically incorporating elements of the East and West (Savitsky et al., 1921). Their ideas about ‘Eurasian ideocracy’ and Russia’s special path formed the core of an intellectual movement that repeatedly revived in the Soviet and post-Soviet periods—stretching from Lev Gumilev’s forest-steppe symbiosis to present-day Neo-Eurasianists. Zbigniew Brzezinski called Eurasia the chessboard on which the great powers have struggled for world domination for five centuries (Brzezinski, 1997, p. xiv).

In terms of practical policy, Eurasian integration began in the mid-1990s: Nursultan Nazarbayev’s proposed Eurasian Union (1994), the Eurasian Economic Community (2000), the Customs Union (2010), and the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) (2015). Over the last decade, ambitions have widened to include a Greater Eurasian Partnership that would link the EAEU, SCO, CSTO, BRICS, and China’s Belt and Road Initiative, forming in the Eurasian continent a new pole of the multipolar world.

Yet the creation of institutions for economic integration and military-political cooperation does not necessarily mean Eurasia’s emergence as a common identity or international actor. Outside narrow academic and political circles, a ‘Eurasian’ identity remains nebulous, while national, religious, ethnic, and even post-Soviet identities are more prominent and sociologically identifiable. In Central Asia, the Eurasian project competes with Turkic and Islamic identities, and in post-Soviet Europe, with the European vector.

Do the numerous Eurasian projects reflect an objectively existing community, or are they constructs dependent on the world’s changing balance of power?

At the 11th World Congress of Sociology in New Delhi in 1986, American sociologist and founder of world-systems theory Immanuel Wallerstein began his address with the statement: “My query, ‘Does India exist?’ is absurd. But if India exists, how do we know it exists?” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 130). In response to his own question, Wallerstein argued: 1) “India is an invention of the modern world-system”; 2) “India’s pre-modern history is an invention of modern India”; 3) “no one knows if, 200 years from now, [India] will still exist.”

Today, using Wallerstein’s structural-symbolic framework, we can ask a similar question, equally significant in the transition to a multipolar world: Does Eurasia really exist?

The use of world-systems analysis to study Eurasia is motivated by several methodological considerations.

First, the world-systems approach is based on constructivist principles: modern nations and states are products of the capitalist world-system, and their historical narratives are constructed post factum to legitimize current political objectives. This logic is applicable to Eurasia: if modern states build their identity through the selection and interpretation of historical facts, then a potential Eurasian community must have followed the same path—from institutionalization, to retrospectively proving its “primordial” existence.

Second, Wallerstein emphasized the universality of his method, arguing that any country can be viewed through this lens—be it Pakistan, Britain, Brazil, or China. For Eurasia, this means asking the same three questions as for India: Does it currently exist as a product of the world-system? Is its past constructed to justify its present? What will determine its existence in the future?

Third, world-system analysis has become particularly relevant given the interstate system’s transformation: whereas in 1986 Wallerstein noted its consistent “strengthening,” today we witness its “crumbling” (Barabanov et al., 2020) and transition to multipolarity. These conditions raise the question of whether suprastate political actors—including regional unions such as, perhaps, Eurasia—can exist alongside modern nation-states.

Does Eurasia Exist?

Regarding modern India’s existence as a single entity, Wallerstein suggested considering what would have happened if, in 1750-1850, “the British had colonized primarily the old Mughal Empire, calling it Hindustan, and the French had simultaneously colonized the southern (largely Dravidian) zones of the present-day Republic of India, giving it the name of Dravidia?” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 130). Would we today consider Madras (now Chennai), the capital of predominantly Dravidian Tamil Nadu, to be and to have always been an integral part of an indivisible India. Would we believe that the country was occasionally fragmented by external conquests, but was always driven by its essence and national-civilizational identity to seek unity? If Hindustan and Dravidia went to war against each other, could we interpret this within the normative framework of pan-Indian irredentism and/or national liberation? Or would it be seen, within the tradition of political realism running from Thucydides to Mearsheimer, as a state simply expanding by force at the expense of its neighbors?

As for Eurasia, its existence is possible, perhaps, because ancient Greek geography’s Europe and Asia can be conceptualized as a single whole given their convergence at the (rather low) Ural Mountains. Ancient Greek historians clearly delineated the western edge of Europe and the world as a whole (the Pillars of Heracles, i.e., the Straits of Gibraltar), but the eastern borders of “golden somnolent Asia” were lost somewhere in the lands of the rising sun, along the Indus or beyond the Ganges.

Wallerstein points to the political paradox of history’s reverse flow: in modern states’ construction of their historical narratives, “the present determines the past,” and “what happened in the distant past is always a function of what happened in the near past” (Ibid, pp. 130-131). Moreover, “as the years go by, the realities of the ‘past’ become more and more unquestionable” (Ibid, p. 132).

In the early Soviet era, historian Mikhail Pokrovsky postulated that history as a state-sanctioned discipline is merely “politics turned towards the past” (Pokrovsky, 1928). (The idea that “history is past politics, and politics is present history” was first presented by British historian Edward Augustus Freeman in an opening address to the Historical Society in Birmingham on 18 November 1880, after being developed in Freeman’s printed work (Paul, 2015, pp. 436-438).) Such ideas were declared harmful as WWII approached, and the Marxist-Leninist interpretation of history, based on class struggle, was gradually replaced by one based on the nation-state, emphasizing national unity in defense of the state against constant external aggression.

But today’s constructivist models contend that modern states—through linguistic and cultural unification, common laws, education, bureaucracy, and defense—built modern nations, and not the other way around (Anderson, 1983; Gellner, 1983; Hobsbawm, 1991). Wallerstein’s first postulate—that India is a product of the modern world-system—rests on such constructivist foundations. The modern world “is premised on the existence of a political superstructure of sovereign states linked together in[,] and legitimated by[,] an interstate system” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 131).

In other words, if you exist within the modern capitalist world-system, you must be a standard Westphalian entity with clear borders, state-controlled economy and finances, hierarchical authority, sovereignty, and a monopoly on violence. You cannot be anything else; the world-system defines its members, in form and content, as nation-states.

Wallerstein continued: “The framework of the system has been continuously strengthened over the past 500 years… We have been moving in the direction of ever ‘stronger’ state structures that are constrained by an ever ‘stronger’ interstate system” (Ibid). Are these words still relevant forty years later? Despite globalization, nation-states remain—contrary to some predictions (Friedman, 2005; Ohmae, 1995)—the principal international actors. But the international system itself is not strengthening but “crumbling” (Barabanov et al., 2020)—or at least undergoing a difficult transformation into multipolarity.

This raises the question of the role—and, to begin with, the very existence—of Eurasia as a unified actor/pole/party in the process of global renewal. If Eurasia is to be considered a political actor, it must have political attributes that define it as a single whole, including a clear common identity for its inhabitants.

Wallerstein noted that India’s current borders are largely the doing of 18th-19th century external colonizers, followed only later by the indigenous intelligentsia’s own nation-building projects. However, Eurasia was not created by external forces, and internally it consists of modern states with diverse ethnicities, cultures, political systems, and economies.

Although religious, class, and civilizational (whatever that may mean) identities play a significant role in the lives of various communities, the fundamental object of loyalty in the modern world is the nation and/or state. Within nation-states, ideas emerge regarding a common origin, culture, and destiny. Regardless of these founding national myths’ veracity, national unity can be practically realized through the state (or creation of a state). In the case of Eurasia, are there people who identify themselves as Eurasian?

In a poll by the Russian Public Opinion Research Center (VTsIOM, 2023) regarding Russia’s place in Europe and the world, 65% of respondents (versus 45% in 2007) selected the option “Russia is not a fully European country. It is a distinct Eurasian civilization and, in the future, the center of its interests will shift eastward.” But this contains at least five different postulates: 1) Russia is a European country; 2) Russia’s Europeanness is not complete; 3) Russia is a special civilization; 4) Russia’s special civilization is termed ‘Eurasian’; 5) Russia’s interests will shift eastward.

Without clarifying questions, it is unclear what, exactly, each respondent was agreeing with. After all, one could term all of post-Communist Europe “not quite European.” Under Salazar, imperial Portugal promoted the idea of ​​a distinct Lusitanian civilization. Expectation of an economic shift towards Asia is widespread and independent of Eurasian or any other identity.

Note, also, that the growing presence of ‘Eurasia’ in official and academic discourse has strangely not been accompanied by interest from Russian sociological agencies (except for VTsIOM).

In fact, outside Russia, people do not regard Eurasia as having an independent cultural or civilizational value.

For Central Asia, ‘Eurasia’ is either a convenient brand (Kazakhstan) (Seilkhan, Ding, and Taishanova, 2024) or a matter of economic utility, but the region’s civilizational identity is drifting towards the Turkic world or Islam (Ekinci Furtana, Abdieva, and Baigonushova, 2025). In Kyrgyzstan, surveys record high awareness of the EAEU, yet notable skepticism about political integration and the absence of an articulated Eurasian identity outside expert groups (Ibid). Overall, Central Asia features an ambiguous identity and foreign policy orientation. Russia’s Eurasian Economic Union, China’s Belt and Road Initiative, and Turkey’s Organization of Turkic States coexist in the region. All three integration projects offer similar images of the future (new technologies, digitalization, infrastructure) but differ radically in references to the past. The EAEU appeals to the Soviet legacy and post-Soviet economic ties, the BRI revives the image of the Silk Road, and the OTS references Great Turan and Pan-Turkism. None can displace the others (Mikhalev and Rakhimov, 2024).

For post-Soviet European countries and the Transcaucasian states, ‘Eurasia’ is more a term for Russia’s sphere of influence and integration projects, rather than an image of the past or projection of a desired future in which they exercise agency (Paronyan and Elamiryan, 2021). Its supporters, for example in Belarus, are more likely to be nostalgic for the USSR than to dream about constructing a new or restoring the centuries-old Eurasian identity (Mitrofanova, Skorina, and Taruntaeva, 2024).

Turkey, though geographically and historically Eurasian, identifies itself more with the Turkic world and Islam than with Eurasia, which even in its most restrictive definition would include the Eastern Slavs, Georgia, and Armenia (Zhumanay, Yskak, and Sari, 2025).

Nor is the content of ‘Eurasia’ substantively or clearly defined. European civilization is often described as a dynamic: the synthesis of classical Greek thought and Roman law, the adoption and reinterpretation of Christianity, the ideological-theoretical complex of the Enlightenment that reconsidered what had come before. ‘East Asia’ is broadly defined by Confucian ethics.

The Soviet past is associated with values ​​and symbols like victory in the Great Patriotic War, books and films and the phrases coined by them, and popular music. But it remains unclear what values should be considered distinctively Eurasian.

Even authors who describe “Eurasian identity” as “a fundamental basis for the Eurasian association of states [as] a single commonwealth” (Lepeshev, 2019, p. 24) acknowledge that Eurasian integration is taking place in the actual absence of such an identity.

Along with the sociological conceptualization of Eurasian identity, there is a normative approach that ascribes identities to people who may be unaware of them or even reject them. A leading contemporary researcher and popularizer of classical Eurasianism, Rustem Vakhitov, claims that “Russians are Eurasians but mistakenly consider themselves Europeans (i.e., they are Europeans by identity but not by essence)” (Vakhitov, 2025, p. 115). Practicing Eurasianists are tempted to argue that, when Russians ascribe their country to a “separate Eurasian civilization,” they have in mind the exact same Eurasia that the Eurasianists do.

But identity presupposes an individual’s self-identification with a group and the group’s acceptance of that individual. Without an empirically identifiable group of ‘Eurasians’ (besides political activists), it seems unsupportable to discuss Eurasian identity as anything more than a possible future project with some potential.

Russia Within, or as, Eurasia

Unlike India, Eurasia truly does not exist as a state. But there are political, economic, and military associations that either bear the title of ‘Eurasian’ (the Eurasian Economic Union) or unite European and Asian states (the SCO and CSTO). A strong component of Eurasia’s economic unity is also China’s global BRI project, which involves, above all, the development of Eurasian routes and Eurasian countries’ participation.

Of these, the EAEU is the most institutionalized, yet the recent deepening of economic ties within it has been driven more by exogenous shocks than by an endogenous integration agenda. A record growth in intra-EAEU trade in 2022-2023 was largely due to “import substitution at the Union level and the re-export of sanctioned products” (Livintseva and Zaitsev, 2024) rather than the creation of genuinely shared value chains or common development strategies. While such sanctions‑induced import substitution indeed reinforces economic integration, it remains primarily a response to external pressure. Analysts note that “without intensifying industrial cooperation, it will be impossible to maintain the achieved rates of trade growth” (Ibid). In other words, without solid joint planning of industrial and technological cooperation, this pattern of integration is unlikely to translate into a stable political-economic community.

In the 2013 and 2016 Russian Foreign Policy Concepts, Eurasia appears eight and six times, respectively. But it appears 24 times in the latest, 2023 Concept (MID, 2023), which terms Russia a “unique state-civilization” and a “vast Eurasian and Euro-Pacific power” with a “cultural and civilizational community” called the “Russian world.” The document uses ‘Eurasia’ to mean either the geographical macrocontinent (including the “peoples and states” of its “European part”), or the territory of the EAEU, or the territory where the Greater Eurasian Partnership may eventually emerge.

There are also academic and research centers related to Eurasia: the Davis Center for Russian and Eurasian Studies at Harvard University; the Harriman Institute for Russian, Eurasian, and East European Studies at Columbia University; the Institute for European, Russian, and Eurasian Studies at George Washington University; the Russia/Eurasia Center at the French Institute of International Relations; the Eurasia Center at the Atlantic Council; the Center for Eastern European and Eurasian Studies at the University of Southampton; the Eurasian Research Institute in Kazakhstan; etc. The latter describes its research goals as “the Eurasian region in general and Turkic-speaking countries in particular” (Eurasian Research Institute, 2026), while the others write of Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Central Asia, and the South Caucasus.

Eurasia is understood not in a broad geographical sense but as the former Soviet Union minus the Baltics.

There are broad and narrow definitions of Eurasia. The Great Soviet Encyclopedia (2025) describes it as a continent consisting of Europe and Asia. But interwar Russian Eurasianists, like Pyotr Savitsky and Nikolai Trubetskoy, defined it as a unique cultural and geographic entity centered on Russia, where European and Asian elements organically merge. According to Savitsky, Great Russians form the region’s principal ethnic substratum, and its borders generally coincide with those of the Russian Empire (Savitsky, 1997). According to Trubetskoy, the “multiethnic nation” built in the USSR should be “called Eurasian, and its territory—Eurasia” (Trubetskoy, 1995, p. 423).

Georgy Vernadsky pointed to the absence of “natural borders” between European and Asian Russia, which led him to the conclusion that “there are not two Russias—European and Asian. There is only one Russia—Eurasian, Russia-Eurasia” (Vernadsky, 2008, p. 7).

Lev Gumilev viewed Eurasia within the framework of interactions between Rus and the Great Steppe, sedentary and nomadic peoples, Slavs and Turks, who formed a complex symbiosis of ‘forest’ and ‘steppe’ (Gumilev, 2012). During and after Mongol rule, any effort to separate Russia’s ‘western’ elements (of Kievan Rus origin) and ‘eastern’ elements (from the Horde) would destroy the country’s organically formed identity.

Finally, according to contemporary Russian philosopher Alexander Dugin, Russia is “the vessel of the Eurasian revelation, Eurasian spirit, Eurasian life, and Eurasian flesh” (Dugin, 2009, p. 254), and the Eurasian ideology is “a religious service to Russia” (Ibid, p. 260).

Thus, both classical and modern Eurasianists equate Eurasia with historical Russia. But while its borders are then fairly clear, and the constituent states (Russia and others) certainly exist, they do not exist as a single whole.

Did Eurasia Exist?

Wallerstein’s second postulate is that premodern Indian history is an invention of modern India. This constructivist position does not question the events, dynasties, cultures, or traditions that have existed for centuries in the territory that is today occupied by the sovereign state of India (Bharat), but “the grouping of these statements in an interpretative narrative is not a self-producing phenomenon,” as “‘facts’ do not add up to ‘history’” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 132).

In constructing their narratives, historians “are supposed to represent some statistical parameter over some usually unspecified period of time” (Ibid, p. 133): since time immemorial, the inhabitants of such-and-such country have been famous for this or that; surrounded by enemies (or mountains), they have developed a militaristic character or great friendliness. Outlining the contours of Eurasian integration in 1994, Kazakhstan’s first President Nursultan Nazarbayev said that the former Soviet states “are prepared by history and destiny for a single community” (Nazarbayev, 1994). According to Nazarbayev, all the republics “share the same forms and mechanisms of relations and governance, a common mentality, and much else” (Ibid). He also emphasized that “Russia can serve as the linchpin” of this integration (Nazarbayev, 1997, p. 31).

“India’s culture is what we collectively say it is” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 133). If we change our understanding of India in thirty or fifty years, then our understanding of present and past Indian culture “will have in fact changed” (Ibid). In the 19th and early 20th centuries, China’s relative backwardness was attributed to its Confucian culture, while China’s current rise is now credited to the very same thing.

We have some understanding of Indian culture, but can we say the same about Eurasian culture? Is it a combination of the cultures of all the peoples inhabiting Europe and Asia, or some kind of normative distillation? If religion is the foundation of culture and/or civilization, then geographic Eurasia has many religions, several of which—Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism—are also practiced beyond its borders. If values are fundamental, then Russia’s own official list of traditional spiritual and moral values ranges from liberal human rights and freedoms, along with dignity and civic consciousness (citizenship), to collectivism, historical memory, and generational continuity (Kremlin, 2022). Among these values, which are quite universal (to be found in international liberalism, conservatism, or leftism), it is difficult to single out anything specifically Russian, except for “the unity of the peoples of Russia.” Importantly, modern ideas about national tradition and values ​​are usually formed “through an arbitrary selection and reformatting of those elements of the past and historical narratives that seem most suitable for creating ideologemes and myths tailored to the demands of the day” (Fishman and Martyanov, 2022).

The extreme diversity of values across Eurasia is also notable. At the religious-normative level, Hinduism, Islam, and various types of Christianity offer radically different understandings of the permissibility of violence, the status of the family, and sexuality. The Islamic world and India are significantly more religious than Russia, while many religious practices in China (folk cults, syncretic forms of Buddhism and Taoism) might not be seen by Russians or Muslims as religion at all. Political and legal attitudes are no less diverse: from liberal democratic regimes emphasizing individual rights in Western Europe to illiberal models emphasizing collective security and cultural sovereignty in much of the former USSR and Asia.

Even if Eurasia is narrowed to the post-Soviet space, it features significant diversity along the axis running from Western Ukraine through Russia to Central Asia. Thus, speaking of a ‘Eurasian’ culture means denying the continent’s obvious normative heterogeneity.

Indian culture has been variously shaped in various periods, including through dialogue and confrontation with colonists and other cultures. Contemporary perceptions of it are formed by programs through which the government of independent India engages poets, historians, politicians, sociologists, and public intellectuals to construct India’s history. Their theoretical and applied efforts influence millions upon millions of Indian citizens. Wallerstein even argues that if a significant number of the country’s citizens suddenly convert to Buddhism, “the continuity of Indian Buddhism will suddenly reemerge as an interpretative strand of Indian history” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 133).

Constructing a unified historical narrative may be challenging even within a single country (especially given ethnoreligious, class, and ideological diversity), and is even more difficult for a group of independent states. For example, Russia’s Education Minister Sergei Kravtsov has referenced the difficulties that Russia and the CIS countries have faced in developing “common approaches to the interpretation of the shared historical past,” especially as the other countries tend to interpret it critically (Interfax, 2025). Nevertheless, “together we are building a single educational, cultural, and mental space, and with it the future of the continent of Eurasia” (Ibid). The foundation for this common future is laid by state educational systems’ positive interpretations of the past. However, this is obstructed by the logic of an independent state: independence, once acquired (say, in 1991), pushes a country to interpret its history so as to prove the necessity and inevitability of that independence given a perennial or at least sufficiently old yearning for national liberation. (Conversely, any effort to build a unifying Eurasian narrative, by unearthing the region’s ‘primordial’ traditions of good-neighborliness, harmony, and mutual respect, requires ignoring or obscuring its history of wars, hostility, misunderstanding, and distrust.)

Will Eurasia Exist?

Wallerstein’s third postulate holds that India’s present existence says nothing about its future. At this historical moment, we interpret the past based on current political objectives, be they preserving the state’s territorial integrity or strengthening interethnic or interstate relations. The past cannot object to our interpretations: those seeking a specific answer are likely to find it somewhere. But the future, contrary to Orwell, is much less controllable. Whatever we may plan and build today, new and unpredictable forces will sweep it all away tomorrow. A specific society never develops according to plan; an entire region like Eurasia—even less so. States and regional blocs (especially those, like ‘Eurasia,’ that are only being planned) have no guarantee of long-term existence.

The fundamental elements of the current world-system are nation-states, but the concept of multipolarity also permits interstate associations to serve as poles. Indeed, the civilizational approach describes multipolarity as a movement from Western-centric globalization to “civilizational platforms” as “centers of power” that “see multipolarity as a chance to preserve their sovereignty and socio-cultural identity and to develop harmoniously—in line with their traditions and based on the national interests and aspirations of their peoples” (Drobinin, 2023). Yet this image of harmony between ‘civilizational platforms’ masks the specific political and social conflicts that geographic Eurasia would have to overcome in order to become such a pole. Interstate unions’ transformation into stable centers of power requires a combination of institutional density, economic interdependence, and shared identity—not the normatively asserted kind but the empirically existing one.

In the context of the crumbling interstate system, the Eurasian project faces several structural constraints. Firstly, it does not have a monopoly on integration even within its ‘zone of attraction’: in Central Asia, the EAEU project competes with the Chinese and Turkish agendas. Secondly, the economic core of potentially united Eurasia still relies heavily on the export of raw materials and semi-finished goods, although the non-resource, non-energy share of Russian/EAEU exports has been steadily growing in recent years (Morozenkova, 2024). Thirdly, the Eurasian project does not offer the populations of most Eurasian countries a positive identity distinct from national, Turkic, Islamic, European, Russian, or the outgoing Soviet identities.

Meanwhile, Russian foreign policy documents and expert discourse continue to develop the Greater Eurasian Partnership as a framework for the region’s future architecture. One recent work emphasizes that Russia, India, and China remain the backbone of the potential partnership, while the Shanghai Cooperation Organization remains the central institutional platform, which could, under favorable circumstances, become “the most suitable framework for Eurasia” (Mikhalev and Rakhimov, 2025). Also relevant is what might be called an “integrated Eurasia” project, which envisions the integration of extant projects into a relatively autonomous Eurasian pole with a more cohesive economy, infrastructure, and security architecture. However, even in this case, one can hardly expect the emergence of a single ‘Eurasian civilizational identity’; rather, one can speak of a temporary coalition of disparate powers with partly overlapping interests and a shared dissatisfaction with the Western-centrism of the previous world order.

A particular geographically-Eurasian state’s inclusion or exclusion from this political construct will be explained not only by present needs, but also—post factum—by a shared history, culture, and civilization.

India, writes Wallerstein, in the long term “may come to seem a transitory and unimportant concept. Or it may be deeply reinforced as an enduring ‘civilization’” (Wallerstein, 1991, p. 133). Similarly, Eurasia may consolidate, shrink to Russia and some post-Soviet states (whose Eurasian or other identity would be a function of relations with Moscow, Beijing, Brussels, or Washington), or even disintegrate into separate and alien Europe and Asia.

“Hence India exists, at least at this instant at which I write”—thus Wallerstein concluded his lecture in 1986 (Ibid, p. 134). Does Eurasia exist today, in 2026, as the author writes these lines? Currently, Eurasia remains a zone of overlapping and competing integration projects, where individual states can periodically reassess their commitments and switch between various external patrons. The term ‘Eurasia’ remains primarily discursive. There is no ‘Eurasian civilization’ that is pushing the region’s countries towards a predetermined ever-deeper integration. Rather, the world-system’s balance of power either promotes or discourages the emergence of yet another project called ‘Eurasia.’

Eurasia today appears more as a set of possible scenarios and competing political projects, rather than an established pole of a multipolar world. The new world order is only emerging. Perhaps Eurasia will also emerge within it. For now, however, there exist only the possibilities of Eurasia.

For citation, please use:
Kashin, V.B., Smirnova, V.A., and Yankova, A.D., 2026. The New Great Wall: The Logic of China’s Foreign Policy Behavior. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 79–95. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-79-95

In the early 2020s, China commenced a series of mobilization measures that, in consistency and scale, have no precedent since the early 1970s, and in some ways since the Soviet Union’s preparations for World War II. In Chinese literature, they are explicitly compared with major mobilization programs undertaken when China was preparing for a war with the USSR in the 1960s and 1970s, specifically with Third Front Construction.[1]

These measures are not noticeable but are an important component of the general trend towards total securitization of all aspects of Chinese policy (even, e.g., culture and ecology) per Xi Jinping’s Holistic Security Concept.[2]

The measures’ extreme cost indicates that, although the Chinese leadership advances optimistic conceptions like the Community of Common Destiny for Mankind and a “universally beneficial, inclusive economic globalization,” the leadership actually adheres to an extremely bleak outlook for the world in the 21st century. It is preparing—at the very least—for a severe military and political crisis, including the disruption of all normal economic ties and a slide to the brink of war. At worst, it is preparing for even more nightmarish scenarios.

This worldview likely yields China’s paradoxical behavior in the international arena, where clear claims to superpower status and visions of global scope are accompanied by passivity—essentially cowardice—in the face of unilateral U.S. actions.

If preparing for the apocalypse, such behavior is entirely reasonable. If the world is ruled by force, one must prepare for the worst and avoid risks until completely ready for the main battle. According to this logic, Nicolas Maduro’s fate, and even the Islamic Republic’s survival in Iran, are not important enough to disrupt preparations for the decisive conflict.

Such conclusions are prompted by various documented actions of the Chinese government, including:

• a program for relocating strategic industry inland to create a ‘strategic hinterland’ there;
• major civil defense and urban infrastructure resilience projects, including on the basis of lessons from Russia’s Special Military Operation;
• measures to strengthen the resilience of the national energy system;
• improvement of national legislation to clarify the terms of military service and provide timely support for families of fallen soldiers and law enforcement officers;
• the urgent build-up of food and raw material reserves.

Notably, these mobilization measures differ from buildup of the military itself, in that they bring few political dividends outside a full-scale war.

Building up the armed forces brings tangible foreign policy benefits but does not necessarily indicate a willingness to actually fight. Things like new aircraft carriers, fighters, and missiles can impress both foreign and domestic audiences, expand the country’s options for protecting its international interests, and permit impressive local military operations.

Mobilization programs, on the contrary, are useful only during major wars or disasters. They are expensive and tend to irritate or even scare people in peacetime. Mobilization readiness can strengthen strategic stability, but strategic offensive weapons are more important for that.

Therefore, mobilization policy is the most reliable indicator of a state’s strategic plans and intentions.

China’s measures do not necessarily indicate an intention to initiate a large-scale military conflict, but they certainly indicate that the Chinese leadership considers such a conflict very likely and perhaps unavoidable, sometime in the late 2020s or early 2030s. It would seem that the scenarios under consideration range from severe sanctions and naval blockade to a major war with missile strikes on Chinese cities.

Preparations for such an extreme scenario seem central to China’s planning of military—as well as foreign and domestic—policy. And these preparations are taking place alongside an accelerated buildup of strategic nuclear forces and hardened command posts.

Simultaneously, in 2023, China conducted purges of its armed forces, foreign policy staff, and mobilization structures: the Ministry of Emergency Management, the State Grain Reserve Bureau, the China Grain Reserves Corporation (now China Grain Reserves Group), etc.

Some of these moves followed inspections of the inventory and condition of mobilization infrastructure. For instance, senior officials of the Chinese Grain Reserves Corporation were prosecuted.

The army’s reshuffle may be similar to the major purges carried out by the great powers before World War II. A classic example is the major purge of the U.S. Army in September 1939,[3] undertaken by President Franklin Roosevelt and Army Chief of Staff George Marshall to bring the top army command in line with the needs of a major war. However, comparisons to Stalin’s Great Purge of 1937-1938 would clearly be an exaggeration: as far as is known, the vast majority of Chinese party disciplinary inquiries never reach court, ending with expulsion from the party, dismissal from the service, demotion, or other soft measures.

Relocation of Production Facilities: a Strategic Hinterland, Industrial Backup Bases, and Support Zones

The term ‘strategic hinterland’ (战略腹地)[4] was brought into official use by President Xi Jinping during an inspection trip to Sichuan Province in July 2023. Xi noted that the province is a “strategic hinterland,” as it has a “unique and important position in national development and in the Great Western Development Strategy.” This status imposes a whole range of obligations on the province, such as ensuring production, supply-chain, energy, and food security (Xinhua, 2023a). The Sichuan and Chongqing regions have essentially been tasked with building a national strategic reserve of resources and industry.

Xi also termed the Guangxi region a ‘strategic hinterland’ during an inspection trip there in December 2023, emphasizing its role in supporting the development of the Guangdong–Hong-Kong–Macao Greater Bay Area (Xinhua, 2023b). So, a ‘strategic hinterland’ is a territory that acts as a ‘rear area’ and resource base for a large industrial-technological macroregion, and, more broadly, for the whole country.

Speaking at the Central Economic Work Conference in December 2023, Xi stressed the need “to improve the distribution of major productive forces and strengthen the construction of the national strategic hinterland” (Xinhua, 2023c) linking this to the regional coordination agenda. This task was fixed in a March 2024 report on the work of the government, which called for updating plans for the functional zoning of the country (Xinhua, 2024a).

In subsequent documents, ‘strategic hinterland’ was linked more tightly to industrial security. The Third Plenary Session of the CCP’s 20th Central Committee, held on 18 July 2024, adopted the resolution “On Further Comprehensive Deepening of Reform and Chinese Modernization,” which for the first time mentioned the need to “build a national strategic hinterland and backup capacity for key industries” (Xinhua, 2024b). This phrase, which has become a fixed expression, meant enhancing the security of production and distribution chains, creating a risk-assessment and -prevention system, transferring key industry deep inside the country to ensure its resilience, and developing national resource reserves. Key industries include integrated circuits, medical equipment, industrial equipment and machine tools, basic and industrial software, and advanced materials (Ibid).

The Third Plenary Session’s resolution also spurred discussion in the Chinese academic community about the meaning of ‘strategic hinterland.’ Interestingly, it focused on comparisons with the Third Line construction program of the 1960s-1970s—a large-scale inland relocation of defense and other industries.

The modern strategy is seen as departing from the solely defensive Third Line, in that it seeks to integrate security with high-quality development. Reserves should be “living” and serve as centers of growth for “new quality productive forces.” In peacetime, they are to generate innovations and fully participate in market competition.

Nevertheless, despite the emphasis on economic efficiency, the academic discussion of the ‘strategic hinterland’ clearly reveals its role as a rear area in the military sense. Sichuan is described as a “deep strategic rear area for national security” (国家战略安全大后方).[5]

Plans for developing the strategic hinterland envision: First, enhancing key production lines’ ability to quickly switch from peacetime to emergency operation (平急转换) (Qingping and Rui, 2024). Second, developing strategic corridors—including the Yangtze Golden Waterway, the New Land-Sea Trade Corridor, and routes to Central Asia and Europe—so as to integrate China’s interior regions into national and trans-Eurasian transport networks (Shuwei, Xiumin, and Jincheng, 2024). Third, creating energy and resource reserves in the strategic hinterland, including infrastructure for storing and processing coal, oil, natural gas, lithium, and rare earth metals (Jianxun and Danning, 2024).

In addition to the strategic hinterland (Sichuan and Chongqing regions), Chinese mobilization plans mention the creation of ‘industrial backup bases,’ most often in reference to Guizhou Province, where energy resources, minerals, big data, and key equipment are to be stored. Reports on the work of the provincial government describe Guizhou as a “nationally-significant reserve industrial base” (全国重要的产业备份基地) (NPCCS, 2025).

The 15th Five-Year Plan extended the list of reserve bases and the ‘support areas’ that are intended to ensure the operation of industry in the strategic core. There are signs of competition between Chinese regions, including the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region and Heilongjiang Province (both bordering Russia) (Proposals, 2025; Report, 2025)—for participation in such programs.

Thus, only the wealthiest coastal provinces of Eastern China are excluded from the programs, although some local leaders seek a role in them anyway. For instance, in 2024, the Chairman of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference of Huai’an (in the coastal Jiangsu Province) suggested including the city plans for building a “national strategic hinterland” (The Paper, 2025).

Improving the Material Reserves Management System

One of the Chinese government’s key priorities is to reorganize and streamline the strategic reserves management system. Several laws have been adopted to this end. The National Food Security Law entered into force on 1 June 2024, the Energy Law on 1 January 2025, and the Mineral Resources Law on 1 July 2025.

Based on the conclusions drawn by the country’s leadership amid the COVID-19 pandemic, the emergency response system was reorganized during the 14th Five-Year Plan period (PRCSC, 2022a). The key goal was to form a stable multi-level management model, under which central authorities are responsible for strategic planning, interregional coordination, and operation of the unified digital platform, while regions are in charge of operationally deploying resources and implementing plans on the ground. This work involves creating professional emergency rescue teams, establishing standard command posts, and unifying response measures depending on the type and level of emergency.

As part of the emergency supply system’s reform, a network of backup storage facilities has been created, with five tiers: national/central, provincial, city, county, and township (Notice, 2023). Government reserves are supplemented by private ones, as companies store reserves in their own warehouses, commit to providing capacity for emergency production, and conclude advance contracts for supply in an emergency.

On 7 January 2026, China’s National Development and Reform Commission published a draft Law on the Security of State Reserves (Draft, 2026.) Currently, there is no single basic and comprehensive law to regulate the management of all types of reserves. Work on the new law began in 2023. Its key goal is to increase the state reserves’ capability to ensure national security. The draft law has nine sections and 60 articles that regulate the planning, receipt, storage, and use of material reserves, as well as the management of associated infrastructure. It also defines state reserves as resources stored for the needs of national development and security: grain, other key agricultural products, agricultural inputs, energy resources, minerals, critical equipment and components, and emergency supplies. It also states that the reserve system consists not only of the stockpiles of materials, but also of the capacity to rapidly increase their extraction/production in an emergency.

Accelerated Technological Development of the Mobilization System

Chinese provinces and cities are implementing accelerated infrastructure development programs for mobilization of the economy and ‘people’s air defense’[6] on a modern technological basis.

Some Chinese articles on infrastructure resilience enhancement refer directly to Russia’s Special Military Operation. They call for improving civil defense and warning systems, for increasing integrated urban security (shelters, evacuation routes, etc.) (Importance…, 2022), and for ‘hardening’ critical economic facilities (On Protection…, 2022). One of the few publicly available documents on the development of people’s air defense is Chongqing’s plan for the 14th five-year period. It envisages a four-level protection system: ‘protection of the core’ (preservation of critical government functions and administration), ‘protection of life’ (shelters and life support for the population, integrated with medical care and evacuation), ‘protection of capabilities’ (preservation of the economic and military-industrial base), and ‘protection of operation’ (continuous operation of critical infrastructure) (Plan, 2021).

The new civil defense system’s most important feature is the creation of flexible control systems capable of instantly converting civilian infrastructure to military or emergency needs.

Such programs have already been implemented in several Chinese provinces. Chongqing is building a three-level control system capable of quickly switching to emergency response mode. It is based on the emergency command communication system, which ensures communication, even in the event of partial infrastructural damage, by employing backup channels and redundant critical nodes (Plan, 2024).

Another area of work is the development of dual-use public infrastructure (平急两用). Key public facilities—stadiums, exhibition centers, large cultural and educational institutions, as well as hotels and industrial complexes—are now designed with the ability to quickly become hospitals, temporary accommodations, or aid distribution centers (Guidelines, 2024).

Adaptation of Legislation for Large-Scale Conflict

In 2024-2025, China adopted several regulations for commemorating fallen soldiers and law enforcement officers, and for supporting their families. The system is meant to respond faster to information about fatalities in the line of duty.

In 2024, the State Council issued a new version of the Regulations on Perpetuating the Memory of Fallen Heroes (Resolution 791) (Xinhua, 2024c) which clarifies the criteria and procedures for recognizing the right to benefits, thereby strengthening financial guarantees for families, as well as the maintenance and protection of memorials. In a major change, the Ministry of Veterans’ Affairs was authorized to review decisions on the (non-)recognition of people as fallen heroes.

In 2025, the Measures for Recognizing Fallen Heroes were adopted to clarify the entire system’s operation. The document (5 sections, 40 articles) establishes unified standards and procedures for granting Notices of Recognition as a Fallen Hero. It defines recognition criteria, procedural mechanisms, and special provisions for wartime and emergency situations (Measures, 2025).

The procedure is structured bottom-up within the administrative hierarchy. A county-level Veterans’ Affairs authority can initiate the process for several reasons. Requests can also be submitted by the employer or relatives of the deceased, or by persons/organizations present at the incident. The county-level VA conducts an initial inquiry and, if there are grounds, submits a report to the county government for approval, after which it goes to the prefecture and finally provincial levels. The standards of investigation explicitly state the need to establish the cause, course, and outcome of the event, the deceased’s behavior, factual details of the incident, and civic significance. The total review period should not exceed 30 business days.

Soldiers’ and firefighters’ cases are supervised by the Political Work Department of the Central Military Commission and the Ministry of Emergency Management, respectively. Review is mandatory: the provincial authorities, the military, and the Ministry of Emergency Management report on a monthly basis to the Ministry of Veterans’ Affairs—which, in turn, verifies facts, confirms adherence to procedures, and announces results quarterly.

These regulations give no instructions to prepare for mass casualties, but their logic—centralization, unification, strict deadlines (monthly submission and quarterly feedback), and review by the national Ministry of Veterans’ Affairs—creates a mechanism for the mass processing of applications. In a major conflict or emergency, this architecture can handle a significant flow of cases systematically and without any bureaucratic disruption.

Building Up Reserves of Food and Other Strategically Important Materials

In the early 2020s, China rapidly tightened food security requirements for the agro-industrial complex and local authorities. The government is taking a range of costly measures to strengthen the country’s self-sufficiency in terms of basic foodstuffs, seeds, and agricultural machinery.

China intends to significantly increase its food production and storage capabilities. To this end, it has prioritized the protection of arable lands, stable production of grain crops, and management of national reserves. To put things in order, China adopted the National Food Security Law in 2023, the first regulatory act covering the entire food security system from top to bottom (PRCSC, 2023).

China has a multi-level system for accumulating and redistributing strategic reserves of food and fertilizers, and detailed regulations for activating these strategic reserves in an emergency. The country’s grain reserves are said to be at their historical maximum (NFSRA, 2025). Grain storage infrastructure is also steadily being expanded and modernized.

Some of the new measures are clearly at odds with China’s well-known long-term policy priorities, testifying to their extraordinary character. These measures include: a ban since 2022 on converting farmland to forest (PRCSC, 2022b); the cutting-down of some forests previously planted under state programs; and directives issued since 2023, by the National Development and Reform Commission, to reduce the length of time that soil lies fallow and to increase fertilizer production (NDRC, 2023; 2024; 2025). Fertilizer manufacturers appear to face weaker greenhouse-gas constraints than other industries.

The government is also taking measures to accelerate import substitution for high-tech agricultural machinery and seeds. In 2022, China set the goal of becoming an ‘agricultural powerhouse.’ This includes: the production of critical components for agricultural machinery (PRCSC, 2024); the achievement of 32% digitalization in agriculture by 2028 (PRCMoA, 2024); and a technological breakthrough in seed production (PRCMoA, 2021). GMO regulations, a sensitive issue stalled since the 1990s, were eased in 2022 (PRCMoA, 2023),

All this indicates that China is preparing for a major disruption of global food trade—and possibly a blockade—within the next few years.

Similar trends apply to other strategic reserves. By 2024, China’s crude oil storage capacity had exceeded 1.8 billion barrels, 130% of U.S. capacity (Collins, 2024). Although China had decided to gradually reduce coal consumption after 2026, there has been no significant progress in decommissioning coal mining enterprises. Some of the closed mines are maintained in a state of technical readiness and rewarded for keeping their capacities available (CREA, 2025). China is also building up strategic reserves of metals such as copper, aluminum, zinc, and cobalt. For some metals, visible market demand exceeds actual industrial need, indicating the accumulation of stockpiles (Wischer, G.D., 2024).

Prospecting has also been intensified, especially in the west. For instance, three deep deposits, with over 500 billion cubic meters of coalbed methane, have been discovered in the Ordos Basin (Inner Mongolia, Gansu, Shaanxi). A lithium ore belt, spanning about 3,000 km from the Jiajika deposit in Sichuan to Altyn-Tagh in Xinjiang, has an estimated capacity of 20-30 million tons (Xinhua, 2025).

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China’s government is quietly but quickly turning it into an impregnable fortress, which, when completed, should have some resilience even to full-scale nuclear conflict. To achieve this goal, the Chinese government spares no expense: mobilization takes priority in urban planning, energy, agriculture, and high-tech industry. The expansion of China’s nuclear deterrent is also reducing the chance of war directly touching the Chinese mainland at all.

Chinese foreign policy is probably tied tightly to certain unknown indicators of resilience. Once these are achieved—with the completion of this new Great Wall of underground bunkers, factories hidden in the mountains, and nuclear missiles—China will not necessarily switch to an active and offensive foreign policy. This is certainly possible, but not predetermined.

There are certainly some issues that China views as its core interests: Taiwan, territorial disputes in the South China and East China Seas, and regional security in the western Pacific as a whole. China is already pursuing an active and offensive policy in these spheres, including through the use of military force. But these are regional issues.

At the global level, China is likely to try (not necessarily successfully) to continue a restrained and cautious policy: the phenomenal level of resilience that it has achieved will allow it to choose the time and scale of its participation in world affairs.