Is it possible to create a new reserve currency as an alternative to the U.S. dollar? The topic is controversial. Some believe that it is not, others think that it is even undesirable. I am one of the few who believe that it is not only desirable and possible, but perhaps indispensable.

I first wrote about the need for a new reserve currency in August 2023[1], and since then has elaborated the idea in detail[2]. In this article, I will outline some of its main points. As an innovative alternative, it certainly needs improvement and is open to criticism.

In modern history, the role of international currencies has usually been played by national currencies, and only few were specially designed to serve this function (issued and managed by a national central bank, or by a regional bank, like the euro). Since the issuing country’s objectives do not usually coincide with others’, the international currency can rarely serve the interests of other nations.

Today, we need to create a new international currency that would not perform national functions. Before discussing its characteristics, let me show why there are no efficient ready-made alternatives.

Discarding Options

The options now available are either inconvenient or unlikely.

One would be to continue living in a world dominated globally by the U.S. dollar (and, regionally, by the euro). However, the U.S. dollar system is inefficient, unreliable, and even dangerous. It has become an instrument of blackmail and sanctions. The precariousness of the monetary, fiscal, and financial foundations of the U.S. economy is becoming increasingly clear. This does not suit the emerging economies of the Global South.

Can the U.S. dollar be replaced, at least partly, by some other national or regional currency of the Global North? This scenario is not feasible on a large scale. The euro, compromised as an instrument of sanctions, suffers from the same problems as the U.S. dollar. Europe’s economic situation is even more problematic than that of the U.S.

The Japanese yen has similar problems: the Japanese economy is not doing well and does not inspire confidence. Besides, the yen has never played a major international role. Other national currencies of the Global North are either too small (e.g., the Swiss franc, the Canadian or Australian dollar) or suffer from the country’s economic weakness (the British pound sterling).

As for gold, it can replace the U.S. dollar only partially, as a reserve asset for central banks and other economic agents. However, its high price volatility, caused by the widespread nervousness about the U.S. dollar, makes this option unreliable.

There are two preconditions for the renminbi’s internationalization: free convertibility and China’s willingness to allow a large exchange rate appreciation. The Chinese government is hesitant on both—and rightly so. In the Chinese case, free convertibility would essentially mean removing capital controls—a central element of China’s economic policy in recent decades that has greatly contributed to its stability. The renminbi’s external appreciation would threaten the competitiveness of exports, one of the main factors of the Chinese economy’s dynamism. Moreover, in recent years China has seen deflation in wholesale prices and close-to-zero inflation in consumer prices, so a sharp rise of the renminbi may put the economy in a deflationary trap and at associated risk of recession.

There also remains the question of whether other countries of the Global South would want the renminbi, just another national currency, to replace the U.S. dollar and the People’s Bank of China, another national central bank, to replace the U.S. Federal Reserve. With China issuing an international reserve asset on a large scale, the rest of the world would continue to experience, albeit perhaps in a milder way, the same problems it now has with the U.S. dollar.

In any case (and there are more possible options), creation of a new reserve currency faces challenges—geopolitical (fundamentally, the U.S.’s resistance) and technical (building a trustworthy monetary institutional and operational structure is no easy task). But we need to address this task, not least because we cannot rule out a major financial crisis of the Western capital markets in the coming years, e.g., associated with artificial intelligence and technology companies. If this happens, the decline of the U.S. economy and dollar, will accelerate. Everyone will be scrambling for a solution. So, we’d better look for it today.

A Possible Path

Theoretically, one way would be to back the new currency with gold, as suggested by Russian economists. However, they have so far not solved the main problem this alternative entails: how to ensure a new currency’s stability while supporting it with an eminently unstable asset. If there is a solution, it is beyond my knowledge.

It seems more appropriate to back the new currency in the way I briefly discuss below.

The first question to address is who would create the new currency. In the current international circumstances, there seems to be only one possibility—a group of 15 to 20 Global South countries, including BRICS members and other middle-income countries. Yet none of them can accomplish this mission reliably by delegating the issuance of a new reserve currency to an existing financial institution.

Thus, a new international financial institution—an issuing bank—must be established with the sole and exclusive function of issuing the new currency and putting it in circulation. This bank would not replace national central banks, and its currency would circulate in parallel with the national currencies of the sponsoring countries and other national and regional currencies. Its operations would include international transactions only, excluding domestic ones. Contrary to what is often suggested, it cannot be a euro-type currency, i.e., a single currency issued by a single central bank which replaced national currencies (Deutsche Mark, French franc, Italian lira, etc.).

There are other questions, too. How can we ensure the success of a new international currency? What would make it widely used? The essential thing is to ensure confidence, and this depends on how the new monetary arrangement will be constructed institutionally.

The way that seems most viable to me should be based, among other things, on five legal guarantees: 1) the currency’s stability in terms of value; 2) its non-use as an instrument of sanctions or pressure; 3) operational autonomy of the issuing bank; 4) maximum limit for its issuance; and 5) backing by a basket of the sponsoring countries’ government bonds.

Let me briefly describe these five points.

First, the currency should be based on a weighted basket of the participating countries’ currencies, with its fluctuations following the changes in these currencies. Since all currencies in the basket would be floating or flexible, the new currency would also be a floating currency. The weights in the basket would be determined by the share of each country’s PPP GDP in the total GDP of the sponsor group.

The new reserve currency’s exchange rate is expected to be relatively stable since China accounts for at least 40-45% of the total (depending on the exact composition of the group). The renminbi’s relative weight in the basket would provide certain stability, given the stability of the Chinese currency. Another endogenous factor of its stability is that the basket would be formed by currencies of both exporters and importers of commodities, i.e., countries standing at the opposite sides of the commodity price cycle. These factors could be further reinforced by establishing a weighted, geometrically and symmetrically trimmed, average. Currencies with large fluctuations, beyond pre-established limits, would be temporarily excluded from the basket.

Second, the participating countries would make an explicit commitment to non-use of sanctions. This would contrast with the insecurity caused the abusive use of the U.S. dollar and the euro for punishment and blackmail. This legal guarantee would be reinforced by the issuing bank’s operational autonomy.

Third, to ensure the bank’s operational autonomy and avoid political interference and diplomatic maneuvering by its founders, its president and vice-presidents should be granted long terms (e.g., five years). This kind of guaranteed autonomy, typical of international financial organizations, does not fully protect the bank from interference, but it has its advantages.

The institution’s management could be overseen by and accountable to the Board of Governors and on the Board of Directors designated by the sponsoring countries. The oversight and accountability should be implemented through normal institutional channels, not through the president and vice presidents’ individual pressure.

Fourth, a limit should be set to the amount of the new currency circulated by the bank as a safeguard against excessive issuance. The new international currency would thus have a constraint that the U.S. dollar does not have. Yet this ceiling is secondary to the most important instrument—back-up of the new currency.

Fifth, therefore, is the importance of defining a proper procedure for creating a basket of national bonds of the founding countries and those that will join later. The issuing bank would issue the new reserve currency (NRC) and new reserve bonds (NRB), whose interest rates would be attractive as they would reflect the interest rates on the bonds of the participating nations, all of which are higher than the rates on the bonds in the U.S. dollars and euros. The NRC would be fully convertible into NRBs. The high weight of the Chinese currency, issued by a country with a solid economy, would raise confidence in the NRC’s backing and help stabilize the new currency’s average exchange rate.

The West’s Reaction

The proposal has its vulnerabilities, discussed in detail in [2]. Here let me just note the most significant one: the initiative may provoke negative reactions from the West, which can resort to threats and sanctions. This risk is real: today the declining West is more violent than ever before.

Yet we must decide now whether we are going to live indefinitely with the Western increasingly dysfunctional monetary system used as a geopolitical tool, or we will gather economic, political, and intellectual efforts to get out of this trap.

The next few years will tell whether Global South countries are up to this challenge.

The defeat of Viktor Orban and his Fidesz party in Hungary’s parliamentary election shouldn’t be seen as a shock. Opinion polls had long pointed in this direction. Nor should the outcome be divorced from a simple political reality: sixteen consecutive years in power, twenty in total, is an exceptionally long tenure by the standards of Central and Eastern Europe. Fatigue with familiar faces is inevitable, and psychologically understandable.

Yet the result contains a paradox. Orban’s defeat appears, in some ways, to confirm the very trend he has come to embody: the primacy of the national agenda, “my country first.” In recent years, particularly since the escalation of the Ukraine conflict, Hungary’s sovereignist approach has become deeply entangled with external issues. Opposition to the European Commission’s line on Ukraine, justified in Budapest as a defense of Hungarian interests, led to sustained confrontation with both Brussels and Kiev. What began as a domestic political stance increasingly played out on the international stage.

This dynamic shaped the election campaign. Orban’s camp leaned heavily on external themes, portraying Ukraine and its leadership, especially Vladimir Zelensky, as central antagonists. His opponents took the opposite approach. They focused on domestic concerns: living standards, and the promise of restoring smoother relations with the EU as a pathway to improving everyday life. Whether that promise proves justified is another matter, but it resonated with voters. The message was entirely consistent with the logic of sovereignty, only turned inward rather than outward.

It’s also notable what didn’t matter. The visit to Budapest by US Vice President J.D. Vance, along with repeated expressions of support from Donald Trump and his circle, appears to have had no measurable impact. This, too, fits the pattern: overt external endorsement rarely helps in national elections.

Indeed, Trump’s team has so far failed to influence outcomes in any European country where it has attempted to intervene, including Romania and Germany. External pressure, regardless of its source, cannot substitute for domestic political conditions.

That said, external actors were not absent. The Western European mainstream, as usual, worked against Orban where possible. But such involvement has long been a structural feature of European politics. Without underlying domestic factors, it’s rarely decisive.

There were, however, surprises in the details. Fidesz had anticipated potential losses in the proportional vote but expected to retain strength in single-member districts. The opposite occurred. The party’s relative resilience in the lists contrasted with a collapse at the constituency level. This suggests that, at a local level, voters viewed opposition candidates as more attuned to their immediate concerns, and less associated with a government perceived as preoccupied with broader geopolitical battles.

In Brussels and other Western European capitals, the mood is celebratory. Orban had become a persistent irritant, an obstacle to consensus and, at times, to policy itself. His departure will be framed symbolically as a triumph of liberal integration over a disruptive and illiberal figure, often portrayed as aligned with Moscow and Washington’s more nationalist wing.

The incoming government will be expected to demonstrate its credentials quickly. Chief among these expectations is the unblocking of the €90 billion package for Ukraine, something that will likely happen without delay.

From Moscow’s perspective, this isn’t welcome news. Yet it would be naïve to assume that the European Commission would have been unable to advance its agenda had Orban remained. Mechanisms to bypass obstruction were already under discussion.

Beyond these immediate questions, however, the direction of Hungary’s new government remains unclear. Peter Magyar’s campaign bore many of the hallmarks of a personal project. The composition of his cabinet, the balance of power within it, and its concrete priorities are still unknown.

More importantly, the structural realities facing Hungary haven’t changed. Geography and the broader geopolitical environment impose constraints that cannot be wished away. Magyar has already acknowledged the need for dialogue with Russia, a recognition that reflects practical necessity rather than ideological alignment. Whether this pragmatism can coexist with expectations from Brussels and Kiev remains to be seen.

Orban’s defeat is therefore symbolically significant, but its practical implications are far less certain. Hungary’s new leadership will have to navigate the same complex and often unfavorable conditions as its predecessor. The difference may lie less in the direction of policy than in the manner in which it’s presented.

In that sense, the election may mark not a fundamental shift, but a recalibration. The slogan may change. The constraints will not.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team. 

Donald Trump has declared the start of a new “golden age” in the Middle East after announcing a ceasefire with Iran. The war, at least for now, has been paused. And while predictions are always risky with this White House, there is at least a chance that the fighting will not immediately resume.

That alone matters. A prolonged war would raise risks for everyone, but above all for Washington. For all the bombast coming from the US administration, America has always been deeply uncomfortable with prolonged uncertainty and strategic risk. It is one thing to threaten. It is another to endure the consequences when threats fail.

The precise terms of the ceasefire remain unclear and may not yet be fully agreed. But the central political fact is already visible: Faced with determined resistance, the US stepped back.

None of the sweeping demands set out at the start of the operation were met. Trump’s all-caps demand for Iran’s “UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER!” now looks more like political theater than strategic doctrine. Yet behind the social media drama, something more rational prevailed in Washington: When pressure fails, it is better to retreat than to escalate into a situation you may no longer control.

The feverish rhetoric before the truce served a purpose. It allowed Washington to claim that Tehran had blinked, while creating such a sense of looming catastrophe that any pause in fighting could be sold as relief. The White House will now try to present restraint as victory.

This conflict is undoubtedly a milestone in the wider transformation of the international system. But it is not the end of that process. Nor is it the final chapter in the struggle for the Middle East. Iran, above all, has demonstrated resilience. It has completely undermined the core assumption behind the US-Israeli campaign, namely that a sufficiently powerful blow would be enough to bring down the Islamic Republic or force it into submission.

Tehran’s response was not spectacular in the conventional military sense, but it was effective. Iran widened the theater of tension and signaled that the costs of escalation would not be confined to military targets. It forced its opponents to reckon not only with Iranian retaliation, but with the fragility of the wider regional system.

This matters because the endurance of the US and its regional partners is limited. Iran’s, by contrast, has historically been much greater.

The so-called Axis of Resistance also proved more durable than many had assumed. Despite the serious damage inflicted by Israel over the past two years, pro-Iranian forces in Lebanon, Yemen, and Iraq remain a strategic factor. Even where they did not intervene directly, they raised the temperature and forced the attackers to remain on edge.

The broader effort to neutralize Iranian influence has therefore backfired. Iran has emerged bloodied but still standing. Even if Tehran’s claims that any settlement must happen on its terms are partly negotiating tactics, one thing is already clear: Iran’s regional weight has not diminished in the way Washington and West Jerusalem intended.

Negotiations with Tehran are now unavoidable. The real question is what Iran itself wants.

Its previous strategy of regional expansion contributed to many of the crises now engulfing the Middle East. There is also the unresolved issue of its nuclear program. What exactly is Iran seeking, and what price is it prepared to pay? Iran appears to have entered a new internal phase as well, with power shifting further toward security institutions. That leadership will now have to weigh ambition against reality.

For the wider region, the implications are profound.

The Gulf monarchies have had a sobering experience. There will be no return to the comfortable old formula in which security could simply be outsourced to Washington in exchange for money and loyalty. That arrangement, which underpinned the region since the Cold War, has been badly shaken.

Publicly, the Gulf states are unlikely to make dramatic gestures. But privately, their search for new hedges and new partners will intensify. China, South Asia, Russia and, to a lesser extent, Western Europe will all become more important in their calculations.

That doesn’t mean the Gulf will accept Iranian dominance. The monarchies will not tolerate Tehran having unchecked influence over the Persian Gulf or the ability to dictate terms in the Strait of Hormuz. Their policy is likely to become more complex: containing Iran where possible while engaging with it where necessary.

Israel, meanwhile, has not achieved its stated aims either. However loudly victory is proclaimed, the basic strategic reality has not changed. The Iranian factor remains. It has not been eliminated, nor weakened enough for Israel to feel genuinely secure.

The domestic consequences for the US are harder to judge. Trump’s self-congratulation already rings hollow, but much will depend on economics. If oil markets stabilize, the White House will try to move on quickly and insist disaster was averted thanks to Trump’s leadership. Whether that helps Republicans in the November midterms is unclear.

Still, Trump has always had one instinct his critics often underestimate: He knows how to survive setbacks and reframe them.

The larger conclusion, however, goes beyond Trump. The US remains immensely powerful. Its military reach, financial leverage and ability to shape events are still formidable. But they are not limitless. America can still influence outcomes but can no longer simply impose its will at any cost.

That lesson has now been absorbed far beyond Tehran. Allies and adversaries alike will draw their own conclusions. Iran may be a special case, but a precedent has been set.

This is another step toward a different world, one in which coercion is less decisive and the old assumptions about American omnipotence increasingly obsolete. Trump may wish to replace a liberal American-led order with an illiberal one under US dominance. But the events of recent weeks suggest something else: a world moving beyond any order Washington can fully control.

This article was first published by Rossiyskaya Gazeta, and was translated and edited by the RT team.

When President Trump made the fateful decision at the end of February to go into Iran with full force and decapitate its leadership, there were a number of likely consequences to that decision that the President, apparently, did not fully take into consideration. Foremost among these was Iran’s effective closure of the Strait of Hormuz, putting a stranglehold on a critical route of international trade and hence the global economy – an outcome which had been widely discussed and expected beforehand but which, as Trump himself has stated, took him by surprise. It soon became clear that the President had expected a quick and decisive victory in Iran and didn’t fully consider the potential fallout of failing to achieve that. 

But it’s not only the consequences of failure that the President and his advisors seem not to have fully considered. It’s also certain consequences of the operation’s success, or even of its having been undertaken at all – especially the success of its decapitation strike, during negotiations, on Iran’s top leaders at the outset. One such consequence is the chilling effect that this move was likely to have on one of the top declared priorities of Trump’s presidency: improved relations with Russia and a negotiated peace in Ukraine. It’s not clear whether he is personally aware – as many of his advisors must be – of certain foreboding undercurrents in Russian political sentiment that have been developing and gaining ground over the past two or three years, and which his invasion of Iran has almost certainly exacerbated.  

Being vaguely aware of these currents among Russia’s military and political elite, and wanting to learn more about what impact the US attack on Iran has had on the political mood within Russia, Jonathan McCormick (Marker) spoke with Fyodor Lukyanov, Editor-in-Chief of the influential foreign affairs journal Russia in Global Affairs. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): There’s been a lot of discussion about the impact of the war with Iran on the economies and strategic objectives of various countries. And in all these discussions, Russia seems always to come out on top. From your perspective, how has the Iran crisis actually impacted Russia, and the political mood within the country? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Of course this is closely watched in Russia. And I would say the impact is ambivalent. I know that in the West, many commentators assume that what is going on with Iran is favourable for Russia. And it’s true that economically, of course, we see oil prices going up – which is pretty important for the Russian budget at this point, because we have economic problems. And additionally, there’s a further sense that the whole attention of the United States and the Europeans will be diverted from Ukraine, and that the capacity to deliver arms to Ukraine might be limited. Both points are fair. But I don’t believe many people in Russia think that these are significant factors in the long term, or even the medium term. Because what the Americans and Israelis have done has caused a major disruption, obviously. And Trump miscalculated heavily, expecting an easy and quick defeat of the Iranian regime, which of course didn’t happen. And now no one knows how to get out of this.

It looks like Trump cannot simply declare victory and go home, because Iran has demonstrated the efficiency and the capacity to block the most important strategic sea route in the world. And if Trump allows Iran to get away with this, it would mean a significant blow, a huge blow to the prestige of the United States.

So now the Americans have to do something to unblock it, and to guarantee for the future that something like this will not happen again. And that’s a very risky operation. I can imagine the Americans will simply have to do it, but it’s very risky. But anyway, this is the short term outlook. In Russia, many people are looking at it through a more long term lens. And from this perspective, the whole thing could be pretty devastating for international relations at large. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Well, on that point, the US has actually made a series of aggressive moves recently: first Venezuela, then Cuba – which is ongoing, the Americans may well invade – and now Iran. And in the case of Iran, the US attacked and killed their leaders while actually in negotiations with them. And of course, Russia is also in negotiations with the US. How does this sort of thing affect diplomatic relations, especially with countries like Russia that have an adversarial relationship with the United States? Are people in Russia looking closely at this? Are they worried about it? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, absolutely. People both at the top, and in the more rank and file public, have come to a couple of conclusions based on what happened this year, starting with Venezuela and then all the other moves. First of all, as you said, diplomacy has been discredited – heavily, massively. Because what the Americans and Israelis have demonstrated – with the Americans in the lead – is that negotiations do not mean anything. It can happen that those with whom they’re negotiating will be killed immediately, even during the negotiations. This was already demonstrated to a lesser extent last year when the Israelis attacked Iran, and even more so when they tried to kill the Hamas negotiating team in Doha, in an attack on Qatar. Which was absolutely outrageous, of course. And as you said, these same people, the same US negotiators, are conducting negotiations with Russia. Of course, Russia and Iran are different, it’s not exactly the same. But the aftertaste of that is strong. So it will be pretty difficult for Mr Kushner and Mr Witkoff to fully regain trust. Secondly – and from my point of view, this is more important and more dangerous for the international situation – the very fact of the possibility of a decapitation strike, which at once eliminates everybody, the whole political leadership – this is being very seriously considered here. First of all, because it is seen as proof that the Americans are actually capable of doing anything. It’s a kind of lawlessness. Whatever they imagine is to their benefit, they will do. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): In terms of assassinations and decapitation strikes, that sort of thing? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, assassinations of leaders – which until recently was not very common. Maybe historically, but not in the 20th century for example. But in Russia, this is having an additional impact. Beginning in 2022, and especially since 2023, we’ve been having an interesting, and somewhat terrifying, debate here in Russia, about the nuclear factor. Some have been arguing that in the case of real trouble, Russia should be ready to use nuclear weapons, even without any nuclear provocation from the other side. The debate was launched by certain commentators and scholars – in particular by Professor Karaganov, a senior colleague of mine. Of course, the idea is not to persuade the whole leadership to use nuclear weapons. Rather it’s the opposite – to avoid this scenario, by lowering the threshold for usage, as a credible deterrent. And to some extent the debate has had an impact, because Russia did correct the concept of its nuclear policy – not in support of immediate usage, but as suggested, the threshold was lowered. Of course, it’s a big debate. I would not say that the people arguing for that view are in the majority here, not at all. But after what happened in Iran, I think the national leadership has moved, at least psychologically, closer to the position of people like Professor Karaganov. Because they see that nuclear arms – the red button, the final red button – might be the only guarantee, the only means against such an aggressive policy. You remember from Cold War times, the whole system of the “dead hand” that could still launch a nuclear attack even after its own country had been annihilated – there’s that famous movie by Stanley Kubrick, Dr. Strangelove. I don’t insist, of course, that we are moving towards that. But again, with the psychological impact of such behaviour on international politics, in particular within Russia, we’re looking at very disturbing scenarios now which we couldn’t imagine a couple of years ago. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Some months ago there was an incident where it looked like Putin’s residence in Valdai was targeted by a drone strike. And I remember there was a general feeling coming out of Russia that the Americans were likely involved – which of course led people to doubt the sincerity of American negotiations. From your perspective, did this incident have a serious impact on how Russians view the Americans? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: You know, it’s difficult to judge, because this episode was put on a very high level initially. And we remember some moves – including when Russia’s chief of military intelligence personally visited the US Embassy in Moscow to deliver some documents proving that it was an attack. But the Americans disregarded that. They said they didn’t receive sufficient evidence that this was the case. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): I believe he gave them some actual electronics containing targeting data, didn’t they? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, some sort of chip. But paradoxically, the issue then disappeared. We heard no more about it – either in the Russian political position, or in their negotiations, or continued statements. So, I don’t know what that was.

But, of course, as we already discussed, what happened in Iran has demonstrated to many Russians that there are absolutely no limits to what the Americans might be willing to do. They’ll do whatever they think is good for themselves, and that’s it. And this is being projected onto everything else – including Ukraine, of course.

And the Maduro case – that was something else again. To some extent, it was more shocking – because we had already seen the killing of leaders. We saw it done by the Israelis in Lebanon and in Iran. But just to abduct a functioning head of state – that’s quite new. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Russia has been supporting Iran throughout this conflict – at least, it seems, in terms of providing critical intelligence. And as the situation has escalated – and in response to certain extreme threats made by Trump toward Iran – Russia has at least once issued a strong statement warning the US against a certain course of action. Do you or others in Russia perceive any risk that this situation could lead to a direct confrontation with the US?

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Not really. It’s not necessarily the case that we would get into a direct confrontation with the US over this particular issue. It’s true that early last year, a couple of months before the 12-day war, Russia signed a treaty – a strategic partnership – with Iran. This treaty is pretty cautiously formulated, and it’s not binding, I would say. And to be accurate about the Russian position, Russia is in a pretty delicate situation here. Because the Russian leadership actually has a rather tense relationship with Iran – and at the same time basically a good working relationship, and a very extensive one, with the Gulf monarchies. Russia has a lot of converging and diverging interests with Turkey.

Russia has a not very good relationship, but an extensive one, with Israel. And in the case of Putin and Netanyahu – I don’t know whether they like or dislike each other, but they normally understand each other very well, because both are pretty straight-to-the-point kind of guys.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): And how would you characterize Russia’s current relationship with the Americans? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: With Trump, despite all the nuances we discussed earlier, Russia – and Putin in particular – doesn’t want to break with Trump, because at the end of the day there is still the expectation, the hope, that some kind of settlement can be negotiated between Russia and the US on Ukraine. I wouldn’t say it’s a very big chance, or a very high expectation, at this point. But still, it’s something. And Putin doesn’t want completely to disrupt his relationship with Trump. So within this complicated equilibrium of relations, it’s not so easy to know how to navigate in a proper manner. And I think that’s why Putin has been pretty silent. He hasn’t made any statements since the war against Iran began. He’s had a lot of phone calls, and phone diplomacy, and probably discussed certain things with all involved, but never public statements. It’s quite remarkable, really. So again, coming back to your question – at the end of the day, I don’t think Iran’s situation will create a casus belli for Russia to involve itself in a direct conflict with the United States. But the atmosphere is very, very complicated, and there’s a question as to how Russia will be able to manoeuvre through it.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): In terms of the global impacts of the war with Iran – apart from energy, a lot of people are also worried about the possibility of a widespread threat to food security. And in the case of the Gulf States, even water security – if the desalination plants are destroyed. And all of this, of course, could lead to more wars. How are these issues being looked at inside Russia? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: In terms of Russia itself this is not a big problem, because Russia is self-sufficient when it comes to food security. We do have certain shortages and certain deficits – like for example, in the process of enhancing and improving the whole food industry. Many of those things that are needed have been imported from other countries, from Europe in particular. But in general, Russia can survive very easily in terms of food, even if isolated. But when it comes to the global situation – yes, this is serious indeed. The Ukrainian crisis, when it started, created problems – but they were more or less resolved. Partly by force – to be frank, Russia failed to isolate Ukraine from the world market. But also diplomatically – as despite all the hostility, Russia was not absolutely committed to this. So at the end of the day, it worked. This time it is worse, because we see a blockade of the world’s most important channel through which fertilizers come, and elements to produce fertilizers. And just now, at this time of year, when countries have to prepare for agricultural work – this is really bad. Especially for Asia – in countries like India, Bangladesh and others, this could be really disastrous if it continues. So Russia, of course, is ready to extend support to so-called “friendly countries”, those who did not introduce sanctions against Russia. But the problem is still pretty severe – because even if those countries quickly reorient their relationships toward other partners, like Russia, this cannot be accomplished easily or in a few days. It will take months to rearrange the whole system, and then it will be too late. So I think this is a real possibility, and one of the serious dangers we face. That’s why Trump is so nervous about this, and wants to stop it. But of course, in this situation, the blockade of Hormuz is the only means Iran can employ against the Americans. And of course, they will use it. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Let’s talk a bit about Europe. Obviously Europe has been trying since 2022 to rid itself of all energy imports from Russia, and to a large extent has done so. But now, with the war in Iran and the closure of Hormuz, it seems Europe will be facing a critical energy situation. Is there any sense within Russia that Europe might come and ask to have its energy imports resumed? And what do you think Russia’s response would be if that happened?

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Well, I think it’s pretty ambivalent on Russia’s side. On the one hand, to be frank, of course Russia would be very much interested in resuming exports to Europe, because those contracts and relations cannot be replaced. Not with Asia, not with anybody else. Asia might partially compensate for the loss of Europe, but not entirely. But at the same time, the European Union has proved itself to be an absolutely unreliable partner – a 200% unreliable partner. So unreliable, in fact, that it is ready to act against its own interests, even to its own harm – to damage itself, in order to punish Russia. And of course, this makes things very difficult.

Even if, theoretically, we assume that the Europeans now decide to come to Russia, it will be very difficult to restore trust, to restore confidence. Frankly, I don’t see it happening. And I cannot imagine how it could, because that would mean basically the elimination, the cancellation of the whole policy conducted by the European Union for more than four years now.

And this is not just a policy of confrontation with Russia, or simply the replacement of Russian energy. This is very much a principled position – even proclaimed early on as a holy war, a holy war between good and evil. And nothing has changed since then. Okay, they don’t say it as frequently as they used to do, but it’s still there. The Americans may be more flexible, insisting as they do that they want to negotiate a deal for both sides – that they are not on either side, and so on. Which may be hypocritical, but still, it shows some flexibility. But with Europe, it’s different. Europe is still committed to its initial position: Russia must not gain anything at all from this war – Russia has no right to gain anything. And the war should continue as long as it takes for Ukraine to win. This will be difficult, of course, in the context of a severe energy crisis, but I don’t see how they can change it. Maybe I’m underestimating the flexibility of some European politicians. But so far, they’ve never demonstrated this skill vis-à-vis Russia.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): I believe the Belgian prime minister, Bart De Wever, has recently moved a bit in that direction. 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes – but I think, at the end of the day, it depends on one particular country. It depends on Germany. Because Germany was the biggest consumer. Germany had the most extended relationship with Russia, the biggest economic relationship, biggest energy relationship. And Germany was the key element of this new policy of cutting off Russia: We’ve cut it off completely, we can never restore it, we will never go back, and so on. And historically we know that in many respects, what happens in Germany defines the whole European political environment. So we will see. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): I want to ask about the ongoing dispute between Zelensky and Orban. It seems Ukraine is blocking Russian oil going to Hungary, Orban responded by vetoing the EU’s 90 billion euro loan to Ukraine, and Zelensky responded with a thinly veiled threat to kill Orban, or his family. And with Orban up for election this month – an election he could conceivably lose – the EU is trying very hard to use the opportunity to get rid of him. And so it looks like the whole future of the war in Ukraine could be hanging on the results of this one election. How are people in Russia looking at this situation? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Well, this is, of course, a moment of glory for Hungary. Who could imagine that this local election, pretty small on the global scale, would make such a big noise? On the Ukrainian side, Zelensky believes that he can afford to do anything towards anybody because he is in the right – he is fighting against Russia, and so on. As for the election, I would neither underestimate nor overestimate its significance, or the significance of Orban’s position. I suppose that if he wins and remains in power, the European Union will do everything it can to find some way around him – although this will be not easy, because it will undermine many aspects of the European Union.

In Russia, I think this situation is seen as a symptom, as one more sign of how severe the gap is between all of us, and of how nervousness creates aggressiveness – from Ukraine towards Hungary, and from Europe towards Hungary and towards anyone they believe is pro-Russian. Although neither Orban nor Fico, for that matter, is really pro-Russian – they are simply trying to keep some kind of balance for their economies.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): There are people who believe that all of this tension, all this splintering within the EU, is only going to get worse. How are people in Russia evaluating the future of the EU?

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Of course, many people here discuss and speculate about the future of the European Union. And it seems clear that Orban per se, or Hungary per se, cannot undermine the European Union significantly. But we’re hearing more and more dissenting voices, for example from the Belgian prime minister, as you mentioned, or the Italian prime minister, Meloni, who is not in favour of what Trump is doing in Iran, for example. I think the European Union is in confusion – in a confused situation. To some extent this is bad for Russia, because a confused European Union – which is feeling serious problems regarding its own integration – needs the Russian menace, and needs Ukraine as a herald of the free world, in order to keep itself going and to deal with internal problems. It needs to divert public opinion away from its multiple internal troubles, and towards this issue of an imagined external threat. As we discussed earlier, some people – especially in the West – believe the Russians are very happy to see what is happening in the European Union. Okay, there might be some Schadenfreude, but on the whole Russians understand that an uncertain, nervous and confused European Union might become even less able to make rational decisions vis-à-vis Russia. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Coming back to Ukraine – how do you see the future of that conflict, and its possible resolution? What do you think Ukraine will look like, and Russia-Ukraine relations, after this war is finished? It seems obvious there are nationalists in Ukraine that won’t accept any kind of settlement, and presumably they will still have weapons. How does this future look from your perspective? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: It’s a question which I can hardly answer, because the outcome of this war – the endgame – is still not clear. In spite of the fact that Russia generally prevails on the battlefield, this advantage has not been enough to achieve a breakthrough. It’s not easy for us to admit, but the Ukrainians are resisting pretty bravely. Nobody can be sure that it will end anytime soon – for example with the collapse of Ukrainian defences or the Ukrainian state. This could happen, because the severity of internal problems within Ukraine is huge. It’s really enormous, and it’s growing – in terms of demography, in terms of everything. But no one knows when. And to be honest, Russia is suffering some problems as well. The whole situation has turned into a full-scale attrition war, and there’s no telling how long it will continue. I think we are approaching a point where the situation will be clarified, either diplomatically or militarily – but again, I don’t dare to guess.

What is clear, however, about any post-war Ukraine-Russia situation, is that any Ukraine that will still be in place after the war – reduced, exhausted, destroyed, whatever – any remaining Ukraine will be an arch-enemy of Russia. And it will be something worse than the India-Pakistan situation.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Worse than India-Pakistan? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, worse. It will be similar, but much worse, because of the closeness of the two countries – because of many things. And I think many people here understand that if Ukraine remains in place – however this war ends – Ukraine will pose a very long-term problem and threat to Russia. And there’s no reason to believe that Ukraine will disappear or be totally destroyed. And that’s why some people here argue that we shouldn’t stop – even if it’s difficult, even if it’s costly, we should continue. Because otherwise, we will create a huge precondition for another war to happen pretty soon. And that war might be much worse than this one, because then it will be a war between Russia and NATO, not between Russia and Ukraine. And so that’s part of the current debate. I wouldn’t say it’s the only view, but that’s what you can hear in Moscow and in many other places.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Is there still actually a worry that Ukraine could end up joining NATO? Because it seems to me that a lot of people on the European side have pretty much given up on that. 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: No, not necessarily joining NATO. Because NATO has no appetite for it, because Ukraine has finally realized it’s a bad idea, because the Americans are absolutely not in favour of it, and so on. But the question of formal NATO integration is just a symbol – it’s not something that actually matters. The scale to which Ukraine is already part of the Western military and political machine is enough. You don’t need to be formally integrated into NATO. What’s probably more important for the Ukrainians is the European Union. Because if they were to join, that would create new opportunities. But frankly, I simply cannot imagine that the European Union would accept such a Ukraine. That would ruin the European Union completely, both economically and politically. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): So when you say Russia is worried they could be at war with NATO next time, you’re not talking about Ukrainian membership – you mean a direct war with NATO? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, I mean a war with NATO. Because the European part of NATO will never, in a sense, surrender – they will never accept the fact that this war brought about this result. And in the event that a new war does erupt after some time, I’m afraid that this new war will be much harder. There will be much more mutual hatred, even compared to what we have today. A postponed hatred is sometimes worse than the present one. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): You mentioned earlier that Orban and Fico are kind of exceptional in that they’re not really pro-Russian, but are pragmatic and looking after their own economies, which involves having decent relations with Russia. Does Russia see Hungary and Slovakia today as somehow different from the rest of Europe? And what do you think Russia’s attitude will be towards these countries in the context of future situations or confrontations? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, indeed, Russia sees Hungary and Slovakia as countries with a different position. And despite the fact that both countries are very small, they’ve demonstrated a very firm position, both of them. Which is, of course, appreciated in Russia very, very much. But having said that, realistically speaking, of course neither Hungary nor Slovakia, nor even a larger bunch of central European countries – which might include Czech Republic under Babiš, or I don’t know, maybe Bulgaria – would be enough to make an important, decisive influence on European policy. And to imagine a separate relationship between Russia and individual countries inside the European Union, countries that have different positions, that’s very difficult. Because how to go about this? These countries are so fully integrated into the European system that they are basically limited in their sovereign decision-making. Which was the whole idea, after all, of integration. Of course, in the middle-term perspective, I can guess – and many Russian experts expect – that the European Union will change as well. Because European integration, as it was designed in the 20th century and then developed in the 21st century, cannot survive. It will change.

I don’t mean the collapse of the European Union – I mean that the model of integration will need to change in order to correspond to what is now a completely different international environment.

And then we will see. But so far as I understand, there is absolutely no clear idea within Europe itself as to how to change it – neither among the establishment, nor among those so-called populist parties. Because the original model seemed to be forever – but now it is not.

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Do you mean because of international pressures – the various wars, Ukraine and Iran, and now energy issues? The pressure on Europe because of all these things coming together? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, indeed, all these things are coming together. But I think the more important factor is that the whole idea of this European integration was designed for a peaceful world. Even during the Cold War – because the Cold War in Western Europe was actually pretty peaceful. There were a lot of fears, but it was a very stable, peaceful situation. And of course, after the Cold War, people believed that all the big threats were now gone. So this model was not designed for a wartime situation. And the world today is moving towards a situation of war in general – not just Iran, not just Ukraine, but in general. There is a very, very high level of hostilities, and at all levels. So Europe will have to change. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): You personally have been targeted by Europe and added to the EU’s sanctions list in December, along with a number of others. Did this surprise you? What do you think is behind it? And to what extent has it impacted your life? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: I did expect it, actually, because I’m a public person. I’m very much on the stage and the screen, and I appear once a year with the President of the Russian Federation. So the whole world sees me. And actually, if you read the explanation for the sanctions as written in the official document, I felt very much pleased. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Pleased? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Because it seems my role was highly appreciated – my role as a person who shapes Russian debate, who shapes Russian public opinion. I never believed I was that important. So I would like to thank the external service of the European Union for pointing this out. As to whether it’s had an impact on my life – to some extent, yes. Because I cannot travel to the European Union anymore. I haven’t done so anyway for quite some time, and I didn’t have any plans to do so, but still – before this, there was at least the possibility, and now that’s been ruled out. My only real disappointment is that my favourite city in the world, which I love passionately, is Rome. I think it’s absolutely the best city in the world, and unfortunately I can no longer visit it. As for practical life – yes, the sanctions of the European Union do have a certain impact on my capacity to make financial transactions – even with countries which are not part of the European Union. The influence of the Western world, both America and Europe, is quite big actually, even on places that are outside it. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): How do you perceive this step taken by the European Union, in terms of its actual effectiveness in bringing about some sort of result? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: I think it’s a stupid move. Because, if we assume that sanctions are designed to have an influence on policy, this will not change anything. First of all, because I’m simply not someone who can shape policy. And secondly, even if I could, I don’t believe that under pressure I would. And there’s another aspect to this.

The ability to communicate with our counterparts in the West – to interact, to discuss important issues – is now absolutely minimized, limited to almost zero.

Because people like me, and my colleagues in the Valdai Club and other organizations affected by these sanctions – yes, we are on the side of the Russian Federation, but we are always trying to find ways to build up or maintain relationships, in particular with people in the European Union. And in fact, within the Russian context we are actually quite liberal. If the European Union rejects us, then I’m afraid Europeans will not have any vis-à-vis in Russia for a very long time. Okay, that’s the choice they make. We can live without it. But it’s strange. And frankly, I could not imagine something like this happening five years ago. 

Jonathan McCormick (Marker): Do you have any sense of whether these sanctions will outlast the war – whether you’ll still be sanctioned even after open hostilities cease and there is some sort of dialogue, some normalisation? 

Fyodor A. Lukyanov: Yes, I think it will outlast the war. And I’m afraid that even after the war – even in the beginning stages of normalisation – there will be a very long process of bargaining. Both Europeans and Russians – because we introduced many sanctions as well – will attempt to sell them back at the highest possible price. So frankly, I don’t expect the sanctions to be lifted during my lifetime. I’m not so old, but not so young either.

Marker

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).

*  *  *

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.

For citation, please use:
Taki, V., 2026. The Crimean War and Russia’s Relations with European Powers. Russia in Global Affairs, 24(2), pp. 174–200. DOI: 10.31278/1810-6374-2026-24-2-174-200

The Crimean War occupies a very special place in the historical memory of Russian society, as well as in public discussions of international relations and foreign policy. This war was far from Russia’s first—and certainly not its last—defeat, yet it was in some ways the most painful of all. This defeat was the outcome of a clash with a West European coalition, against which Russia found itself completely without allies. Contemporary Russian observers perceived the Crimean War as they did Napoleon’s 1812 campaign, i.e., as Russia’s conflict with a ‘united’ Europe, with the important difference that, this time, Russia lost.[1] Thus, the defeat in Crimea became an important topic for successive generations of both Slavophiles and Westernizers. For the former, the Crimean War confirmed the West’s inexorable hostility towards Russia, as well as the cynicism and duplicity of European politicians. For the latter, it served as an illustration of the consequences of Russian backwardness and inertia—those supposedly constant companions of Russian authoritarianism—and the inevitable outcome of any attempts by Russia to bypass the main track of European historical development and find its own “special path.”

In light of such polar and equally flawed interpretations of the Crimean War, it is important to emphasize the uniqueness of the situation of 1853–1856. Neither before nor after did Tsarist Russia have to confront a coalition of some great powers without the support of other great powers. The Crimean War thus represents an exceptional moment of crisis in the nearly bicentennial history of Russia’s involvement in the European great-power balance, in that all other Russian successes and defeats in Europe, whether military or diplomatic, took place within the framework of coalitions or alliances.[2] This article reinterprets the Crimean debacle as the product of mistakes by Nicholas I during the 1830s and early 1840s, i.e., at the height of Russia’s integration into the Concert of Europe. After the tsar’s early victory over the Ottoman Empire in 1829, and his decisive intervention into the conflict between Mahmud II and the rebellious Egyptian vassal Muhammed Ali, Nicholas I wrongly concluded that France rather than Britain was Russia’s main adversary in the East. As a result, Nicholas I ignored French interest in a rapprochement with Russia over the Eastern Question, which was expressed by notable French politicians and segments of French public opinion over the first half of the 19th century. This missed historical opportunity had important consequences for both Russia and Europe. It helps explain the tsar’s diplomatic isolation and the formation of the anti-Russian coalition in 1853–1854.

The subsequent clash in Crimea triggered important structural transformations in European politics, and generated new great-power tensions that would ultimately lead to the outbreak of WWI.

International Relations in Europe and the Eastern Question

To understand the reasons for the Crimean breakdown in the functioning of the European balance of power and in Russia’s participation in the Concert of Europe, it is necessary to examine the Eastern Question from the perspective of the long-term evolution of international relations in Europe. At first glance, the history of international relations appears to be a history of great events (histoire évènementielle) that are merely the foam on the waves of economic cycles (conjonctures), beneath which lies a seabed of long-term structures and processes (longue durée) (Braudel, 1958). However, upon closer examination, it becomes clear that international relations themselves also contain long-term structures that change little over the centuries. These include both the centennial conflicts between European countries, and the alliances that these conflicts generated (Thompson, 1999).

To the first category belongs the long Anglo-French rivalry, the origins of which can be traced to the dowry of Duchess Eleanor of Aquitaine, the spouse of Louis VII of France and Henry II of England (Devries, 2016; Black, 1999). This dowry formed the core of the Angevin Empire (1154–1224) and was the object of the centuries-long struggle between the English Plantagenets and the French Capetians (and the Valois, who succeeded them) (Aurell, 2003). The famous Hundred Years’ War of 1337–1453 was the culmination of the first stage of the Anglo-French rivalry. After a hiatus of two and a half centuries, marked by occasional conflicts, there followed the “Second Hundred Years’ War,” or a series of almost continuous Anglo-French clashes extending from 1689 to 1815 (Scott, 1992).

Another long-standing element in the structure of European international relations was the conflict between the Valois (and later the Bourbons) and the Habsburgs, which can be seen as an echo of the struggle for the crown of Charlemagne (Simms, 2014, p. 4-5; Rule, 1999). Beginning in the late 15th century and reaching its early climax in the clash between Charles V and Francis I, this struggle continued between their heirs and successors and did not end even with the imperial coronation of Napoleon in 1804 and the subsequent abolition of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation in 1806 (Rodriguez-Salgado, 1990; Anderson, 1998; Schroeder, 1999). Rather, Napoleon’s victories over Austria and Prussia in 1805–1806 transformed the dynastic dispute into a conflict between the French and German nations, which would remain one of the defining factors of European international relations until World War II, and even, in some more subtle sense, to this day (Hensen, 1999; Wawro, 2016).

The long-term alliances born of these centuries-long conflicts proved to be another important element in the long-term structure of European international relations. This applies primarily to the so-called ‘Eastern Barrier,’ which the Valois began to build in response to their strategic encirclement by the Habsburgs (Kudelin and Popova, 2022). Francis I’s cooperation with Suleiman the Magnificent became the first step in creating long-term counterweights to the hegemonic aspirations of Charles V and his successors (Heath, 1989). Subsequently, Sweden and Poland would become elements of the Eastern Barrier alongside the Ottoman Empire (Norrhem, 2019). As a result, the Austrian Habsburgs had to reckon with the possibility of a two-front war. The French system of alliances with peripheral and/or regional powers of Northern, Central, and Southeastern Europe, in turn, contributed to a rapprochement between France’s adversaries and eventually contributed to the long-term Anglo-Austrian cooperation. From the War of the Grand Alliance (1689–1697) onward, and for nearly two centuries, the Anglo-Austrian partnership became a near-constant in European politics, replacing the preceding two-hundred-year alliance of the Austrian Habsburgs with their Spanish cousins. Both partnerships joined the continental (Austrian Habsburg) empire to an Atlantic maritime power (first Spain, then England).

Despite the nearly permanent war of the early modern period, the fundamental contours of European international relations thus remained quite stable and recognizable until the French Revolution and the Long Nineteenth Century that it ushered in.

The European system’s stable elements, which existed for three centuries or even longer, can be described as ‘long-term structures’ that constitute the essence of Braudel’s longue durée. The subsequent Long Nineteenth Century, despite its name, represents a much briefer moment of these structures’ breakdown or radical transformation (Osterhammel, 2014). In a strictly diplomatic and international political sense, this moment of breakdown and transformation is called the Eastern Question (Frary and Kozelsky 2014; Case, 2018; Schumacher, 2023).

The Eastern Question was a consequence of the ostensible weakening of the Ottoman Empire, a key element of the Eastern Barrier, which until the end of the 17th century served France to contain the Austrian Habsburgs and then their important ally, the Russian Empire (Nelipovich, 2010). The weakening of the Ottomans manifested itself during the Ottoman-Habsburg and then Russo-Turkish wars, which provides grounds for considering these wars as a kind of continuum, especially since several overlap chronologically (in 1684–1699, 1737–1739, and 1788–1790) (Whatcroft, 2016; Guskov, et al., 2022; Davies, 2011). In its actions against the Ottomans, Russia not only relied on an alliance with Vienna, but also received some logistical support from London during the crucial war of 1768–1774 (MacDougall, 2022, pp. 102-113; Davies, 2016, pp. 152-154). When the Russian fleet launched its anti-Ottoman expeditions to the Greek Archipelago, their initial success, from the British point of view, served to weaken the Sultan’s French ally—Britain’s main trading competitor in the Levant (Tarle, 1959; Rodzinskaia, 1967).

The first moment of breakdown in the long-standing international political structures, and thus the first stage of the Eastern Question, occurred at the very end of the 18th century, when further weakening of the Ottomans forced both London and Paris to temporarily reconsider their respective policies towards the Tsar and the Sultan. Russian victories over the Ottomans in the late 1780s sparked the so-called “Ochakov Debates” in England, which demonstrated how little remained of London’s self-serving support for Russian actions against the Turks in the Archipelago some two decades previously. On the contrary, a significant portion of the British political elite, led by William Pitt the Younger, began to view Russia as an increasingly important threat to British trade interests in the East (Cunningham, 1964). Although the initial wave of anti-Russian sentiment did not culminate in direct conflict (partly due to the skillful actions of the Russian ambassador to London, Semyon Vorontsov), this episode foreshadowed the anti-Russian thrust of British foreign policy for much of the 19th century (Worontsoff-Dashkoff, 2014).

At the same time, the sharp decline of France’s commercial position in the Levant following the outbreak of the French Revolution (1789) and the Revolutionary Wars (1792/93) produced a fundamental revision of the century-old French policy of alliance with the Sultan, a revision that took the form of Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition (1798). And although both these sharp reversals in the Anglo-Russian and Franco-Ottoman relations proved temporary, they made possible several other, albeit equally temporary, changes in the system of rivalries and alliances that had existed since the early modern period. Thus, in 1798–1800, St. Petersburg and Constantinople for the first time put aside their mutual hostility and concluded an alliance against Revolutionary and early Napoleonic France. This was followed in 1800–1801 by the first attempt to create a Russo-French alliance (Feldbæk, 1982).

Over the next decade and a half, Russo-Ottoman, Franco-Russian, and Anglo-Russian relations went from war to truce, peace, or even alliance, and then back to war. Although the acute phase of this turbulence ended with the final downfall of Napoleon in 1815, a full restoration of the former international political constants did not occur. The continued weakness of the Ottoman Empire, demonstrated by the Greek War of Independence (1821–1830), was a significant factor in the Anglo-Russian and Russian-Austrian tensions that were building up beneath the outward harmony of the Concert of Europe that was established by the Congress of Vienna in 1814–1815. These tensions would eventually make 19th century Anglo-Russian relations akin to the Cold War, and ultimately undermine the long-standing Russian-Austrian alliance (Emerson, 2024).

At the same time, the post-1815 period brought uncertainty in the place of early-modern international political constants such as the Anglo-French struggle and Franco-Ottoman alliance. On the one hand, France’s apparent defeat in the Second Hundred Years’ War would fuel revanchist sentiments. On the other hand, the political evolution of post-Napoleonic France towards a constitutional monarchy would serve as an argument for a rapprochement with its age-old rival. The same contradictions and uncertainty would also characterize France’s post-1815 Eastern policy, where one sees neither the restoration of the traditional alliance with the Sultan, nor the continuation of the 18th century efforts to contain Russia. The memory of Napoleon’s catastrophic 1812 defeat and the incompatibility of Russian autocracy with the French Revolution’s ideological legacy certainly fueled revanchist and anti-Russian sentiments, yet the impossibility of restoring the Eastern Barrier and reestablishing France’s former commercial position in the Levant necessitated a search for alternative solutions, including a rapprochement with Russia for a possible partition of the Ottoman Empire.

Taken together, these developments illustrated the long-term transformation of early modern international political structures, a transformation that began in the late 18th century and continued through the post-Napoleonic period. Despite the apparent stabilization of international relations after 1815, and the absence of wars between European powers over the next four decades, the Eastern Question became a marker of the uncertainty that persisted in the relations between the great powers and the Ottoman Empire, opening the door to a wide range of scenarios. Moreover, the greatest uncertainty during this period characterized France’s foreign policy and its relations with Great Britain, Russia, and the Ottoman Empire. Therefore, to better understand how this uncertainty gave rise to the Crimean War, rather than something radically different, it is necessary to focus further analysis on the French foreign policy debate. Specifically, on the debate between advocates of an alliance with Britain and advocates of rapprochement with Russia in order to realize French goals in the East.

Franco-Russian Relations and the Eastern Question

Despite the Russian elite’s early Gallomania and Catherine II’s well-publicized relations with leading figures of the French Enlightenment, Russia and France remained almost invariably rivals during the century preceding the sudden and short-lived alliance of Paul I and Napoleon. Although the two powers found themselves in the same camp during the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), their relations remained tense due to France’s aforementioned Eastern Barrier, which involved alliance with Sweden, Poland, and the Ottoman Empire. Initially conceived as a counterweight to the Habsburgs in Central Europe, the Eastern Barrier eventually became a tool for Paris to contain the ambitions of Peter the Great’s successors. The latter responded to this containment by collaborating with Vienna and London—France’s traditional adversaries.

The situation changed in the late 18th century, when Britain’s influence over the Ottoman Empire began to eclipse France’s, while Great Britain itself became increasingly worried by Russian successes in the East. The failure of Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition, and Paul I’s disappointment with his Austrian and British partners in the Second Coalition, created the preconditions for a Franco-Russian rapprochement on the Eastern Question based on anti-British sentiment (Schimmelpenninck, 2014). However, as is well known, an aristocratic conspiracy against Paul I, formed with the support of the British ambassador to St. Petersburg, Charles Whitworth, put an end to this first attempt at a Russo-French alliance (Kenney, 1977). A decade later, the same fate befell the alliance between Napoleon and Alexander I, after the commercial interests of the Russian nobility forced the Tsar to end his participation in the Continental Blockade (Lieven, 2010, pp. 102-137). Another chance to create a Franco-Russian condominium in continental Europe was lost in early 1813, following the defeat of the Grande Armée. Then, Alexander I, contrary to Mikhail Kutuzov’s opinion, decided to continue the war until Napoleon’s complete defeat, rather than preserve Napoleon’s regime as a long-term counterweight to Great Britain and Austria (Lieven, 2010, pp. 288-289).

The Franco-Russian alliance materialized only 80 years later, under completely different conditions created by the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–1871 and the unification of Germany around Prussia, as well as by the transformation of Austria-Hungary into a de facto German satellite after the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–1878 and the Congress of Berlin (Kennan, 1984). Nevertheless, it would be a mistake to ignore the moments of Franco-Russian rapprochement that occurred throughout the 19th century, and particularly in the post-Napoleonic decades (1815–1848). Despite the mutual animosity between Alexander I and Louis XVIII, relations between Russia and France were quite good in the early years of the Restoration, largely due to the former Governor-General of Novorossiya, Duke Armand Emmanuel de Richelieu, who became French Prime Minister and Minister of Foreign Affairs in September 1815. On the Russian side, the de facto Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count Ioannis Kapodistrias was the main advocate of cooperation with France (Grimstead, 1969, pp. 226-258).

Russia played a key role in France’s remarkably rapid return to the Concert of Europe as a full member. To this end, St. Petersburg persuaded other European powers to reduce the military occupation of French territory and the indemnity imposed on France after Waterloo. Alexander I and Kapodistrias sought France’s rapid return to the club of great powers in order to create an alternative to Metternich’s legitimism, which in practice meant the restoration of Austrian hegemony in Italy and Germany (Reinerman, 1973). To this end, the Tsar and his Greek minister supported experiments in the spirit of “monarchical constitutionalism” (Prutsch, 2014) in various countries as a way to achieve political compromise between rulers and elites and prevent further revolutionary crises. This pan-European strategy of the Tsar, an alternative to narrow legitimism, explains Russia’s support for the French Constitutional Charter of 1814 and the constitutions of small German states (Bavaria, Baden). It also involved broad autonomy for regional and local elites on the western outskirts of the Russian Empire itself (Finland, Poland, Bessarabia) (Wirtschafter, 2015).

A rapprochement with France also had an impact on Eastern affairs. In particular, it helped contain early Orthodox-Catholic tensions over the Holy Places, tensions that would lead to France’s participation some 35 years later in the anti-Russian coalition during the Crimean War (Hopwood, 1969). When reports of these tensions reached Alexander I at the First Congress of the Holy Alliance in Aachen in November 1818, Kapodistrias instructed the Russian envoy to Constantinople, Baron Grigory Stroganov, to communicate to the Greek Orthodox clergy the Tsar’s displeasure at their excessive claims. Stroganov was to use all means of persuasion at his disposal “to put an end to any errors into which the spirit of factions might lead the Greeks.” The Russian envoy was to work closely with his French counterpart, Rivière, who was expected to exert a similarly pacifying influence on the Catholic clergy. Stroganov and Rivière were to “agree on a method for the coexistence of the two different faiths” (Narochnitskii, 1976, pp. 601-602). At the same time, the Russian ambassador to Paris, Catholic Pozzo di Borgo, conveyed to Richelieu the Tsar’s desire “to prevent any incident that might disturb the long-standing brotherhood of the two faiths” (Taki, 2015, pp. 15-18).

The revolutionary wave of 1820–1821, which culminated in the Greek War of Independence, forced Alexander I to abandon his policy of monarchical constitutionalism and ultimately dismiss Kapodistrias, which, in turn, halted the Russo-French rapprochement. To preserve the Holy Alliance, the Tsar refused to declare war on the Sultan in support of the Greek rebels and, after officially breaking relations with the Porte in July 1821, preferred to work together with Austria and Great Britain on the “pacification of Greece.” However, the initial post-Napoleonic efforts to improve relations with France ultimately proved fruitful: in the final year of his life, Alexander I became convinced of the futility and ineffectiveness of Austro-British mediation on the Greek issue, and his younger brother and successor, Nicholas I, heeded the advice of Stroganov, the former ambassador to Constantinople, to pursue a “strictly national and religious policy” in Eastern affairs (Bitis, 2006, pp. 167-176).

By that time, Richelieu had already died, but so had Louis XVIII. His younger brother and successor, Charles X, was much more open to the idea of ​​active French intervention in the Sultan’s conflict with his Greek subjects. During this period, Paris was interested in a formal or informal agreement with St. Petersburg that would grant Russia free rein in the Danubian Principalities and on the lower Danube, while France would be able to occupy the Morea and seize some of the Sultan’s African possessions (Puryear, 1941, pp. 76-79). Although Nicholas I and Russian Vice-Chancellor Karl Nesselrode did not share Charles X’s interest in dividing the Ottoman Empire, the French government’s position undoubtedly helped Russia declare war on Turkey in April 1828, without fear of the sort of hostile coalition that Great Britain would assemble a quarter of a century later. Ultimately, the Russo-Ottoman War of 1828–1829 played a key role in restoring Russian protectorates over Moldavia and Wallachia, and also contributed, albeit indirectly, to the Porte’s recognition of Greek independence (Bitis, 2006, pp. 274-324; Taki, 2024, pp. 42-67).

Soon, however, the Revolution of 1830 and the overthrow of Charles X again interrupted Russo-French cooperation on the Eastern Question. The final fall of the Bourbons and the establishment of the July Monarchy, which imitated English parliamentarism, was followed by the November Uprising in Poland, the suppression of which triggered a powerful wave of Russophobia in both Great Britain and France (Gleason, 1950; Corbet, 1967, pp. 160-169; Adamovsky, 2006; Tanshina, 2017). The long-term consequence of these events was the ideological division of Europe, pitting the liberal ‘Europe as the Two’ (the English parliamentary and French constitutional monarchies) against the conservative ‘Europe as the Three’ (the absolute monarchies of Prussia and Austria, and autocratic Russia). According to Martin Malia, this ideological confrontation was in many ways decisive for European politics of the 1830s and 1840s (Malia, 1999, pp. 89-102).

Nicholas I’s hostility towards the July Monarchy and his dislike of Louis Philippe are well known (Gonneau, 2018; Vyskochkov, 2003, pp. 361-366). This hostility became fully evident during the Ottoman-Egyptian War of 1832–1833, when the Tsar dispatched the Black Sea Fleet and 10,000 soldiers to the shores of the Bosphorus to support Sultan Mahmud II, whose capital was threatened by the army of his rebellious Egyptian vassal, Muhammad Ali (Karsh and Karsh, 1999). The latter, on the contrary, enjoyed the sympathy and support of France, being something of a successor to Napoleon’s Egyptian project. The crisis of 1832–1833 and Russia’s intervention led to the Treaty of Unkiayar Iskellesi, which for the next eight years guaranteed the Tsar’s assistance to the Sultan in the event of renewed conflict with Muhammad Ali, and also mandated the Sultan’s closure of the Straits in the event of war between Russia and a third power (Noradoughian, 1897, pp. 229-231). Following the events of 1832–1833, Russia’s position in Constantinople reached its apogee, while the Tsar emerged from the crisis convinced that France, not Great Britain, was Russia’s main adversary in the East (Puryear, 1941, p. 85).

However, even a cursory glance at the political and intellectual life of France in the 1830s and early 1840s reveals the fallacy of this assumption. Alongside the supporters of a British alliance, the most significant of whom was Talleyrand, there were also many advocates of a rapprochement with Russia (Keir, 2017). One finds among them some French royalists, such as Richelieu’s former colleague in Novorossiya, Vicomte de Saint-Priest, who returned to France in 1821 and became a member of the Chamber of Peers. But it would be a mistake to look for French ‘Russophiles’ of the post-Napoleonic period only among the most conservative segments of the French elite. Along with legitimists like Dominique Dufour de Pradt and Louis de Carné, supporters of a rapprochement with Russia also included the former Napoleonic Marshal Auguste Marmont, as well as some leftist publicists, notably Émile Barraultand Louis Blanc (Corbet, 1967, pp. 175-192).

It is thus incorrect to see the Russophobia of many representatives of French and Western European society in the mid-19th century as a natural consequence of liberal or socialist ideas.

Not all Western European liberals and progressives were automatically hostile to Russia, just as not all of them became sympathetic to the Ottoman Empire after the sultans embarked on a path of Westernizing reforms and imitation of Western European legal and constitutional principles (Caquet, 2000). Even in England, such key liberal figures as Richard Cobden and John Bright, champions of free trade, took exception to the Turkophilia and Russophobia predominant in foreign policy and public opinion (Gleason, 1950, pp. 183-185; Taylor, 1995). The situation was even more complex in France, where traditional anti-British sentiments and the specific legacy of Napoleon’s Eastern policy prevented French progressives from quickly following London’s pro-Ottoman and anti-Russian line on the Eastern Question.

The French liberals during the July Monarchy were no less burdened by the treaties of 1815 than the French royalists had been during the Restoration. Seeking to erase this national disgrace, the liberal leaders (and in particular renowned journalist and politician Adolphe Thiers, who served as prime minister in 1836 and 1840) pursued a bold, if not risky, foreign policy. Along with continuing the conquest of Algeria, begun under Charles X, this policy included intervention in the Spanish Civil War and the aforementioned support for Muhammad Ali in his conflict with the Sultan. Thiers’s Egyptian policy ultimately led to France’s diplomatic isolation after Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia signed the First Treaty of London in July 1840, collectively supporting the Sultan. Soon thereafter, the British bombardment of Acre forced Muhammad Ali to relinquish control of Syria and agree to a reduction of Egyptian forces in exchange for the Sultan’s recognition of his hereditary rule in Egypt (Sedivy, 2017).

This foreign policy defeat for France led to the replacement of bellicose Thiers by the Anglophile Guizot, whose policy of rapprochement with Great Britain ultimately led to the first “Entente Cordiale” of 1843–1846 (Schroeder, 1994, pp. 765-775). However, not all French liberals immediately embraced Guizot’s Anglophile line. In a number of cases, anti-British sentiments triumphed over Russophobia, converting the revolutionaries of 1830 into supporters of an alliance with Russia. This was the case, in particular, with François Mauguin, one of the most radical opponents of Charles X, who took an active part in the July events of 1830 and soon afterward advocated France’s military aid to the Polish insurgents (Corbet, 1967, pp. 163, 169-170). One of the French ‘demagogues’ whom Alexander Pushkin famously rebuked in To the Slanderers of Russia, Mauguin gradually lost his anti-Russian animus over the 1830s. In late 1840, he returned from a trip to St. Petersburg as a supporter of alliance with Russia to counter British hegemony in the East (Grangeville, 1841).

Around 1840, there were many French critics of the rapprochement with England, which required the abandonment of Napoleon’s designs in the East for the sake of preserving the Ottoman Empire and containing Russia (Marmont, 1836; Le Francoois, 1841; Chaussenot, 1843; Quesnet and Santeuil, 1843). Along with Frenchmen, these critics also included some Eastern Europeans, such as Greek poet Alexandros Soutsos and Wallachian publicist Mikhail Anagnosti (Anagnosti, 1841; Soutsos, 1841). With varying degrees of literary talent and theoretical sophistication, these authors insisted that an alliance with Russia was more in line with France’s interests than a rapprochement with London, whose defence of the status quo in the East was little more than a means of maintaining its hegemonic position in Oriental commerce. Although such authors were in the minority, their role in the public debate around French foreign policy was significant, at least as long as the French retained independent geopolitical ambitions and were able to perceive Russia as an enlightened—rather than Asiatic—despotism.

This ability was severely undermined by Astolphe de Custine’s scathing critique of Nicholas I’s Russia published in 1843 (Cadot, 1967). However, even before the publication of Custine’s Russia in 1839, French supporters of an alliance with Russia had no concrete evidence that Nicholas I himself wanted one. With the outbreak of the Second Ottoman-Egyptian War in 1839, the Tsar preferred to adhere to the status quo in the East as he had done six years earlier. Through his envoys in Constantinople and Alexandria, Nicholas I supported young Sultan Abdülmecid I (r. 1839–1861) and restrained Muhammad Ali (Ingles, 1976, pp. 102-106).

Once again, French support for the Egyptian pasha confirmed the Tsar’s view of France as the primary source of subversive influences, whether in the East or elsewhere. Nicholas I apparently overlooked certain French political circles’ interest in rapprochement with Russia, preferring to seek a gentleman’s agreement with London on Eastern affairs (Puryear, 1965, pp. 32-36; Ingles, 1976, pp. 124-147). The illusory nature of this approach became evident ten years later, when Great Britain not only failed to diffuse the Franco-Russian dispute over the Holy Places that flared up in the early 1850s, but in fact used it to create an anti-Russian coalition (Figes, 2010, pp. 61-70).

The Character of the Crimean War and Its Consequences

Among the immediate preconditions of the Crimean War was another revolution and regime change in France, as a result of which the July Monarchy gave way to the Second Republic and the presidency of Louis Bonaparte. Neither the republican regime, nor the election of Napoleon’s nephew in December 1848 automatically turned France and Russia into enemies, yet they made possible a peculiar conjuncture of international and domestic French developments that complicated a possible rapprochement between Paris and St. Petersburg while increasing the number of potential flashpoints between them. Although Nicholas I delayed official recognition of the new French government until May 1849, the Tsar and his diplomats repeatedly assured their French counterparts of Russia’s non-interference in the internal affairs of France, as long as it did not support revolutionary movements in Germany, Austria, or Italy (Martens, 1909, pp. 228-229). For his part, the Second Republic’s first foreign minister, Alphonse de Lamartine, declared himself convinced that “the most natural alliance for France was the one with Russia,” regretted that the Polish Question had prevented its conclusion in the past, and expressed hope that it would happen sooner or later under more propitious circumstances (Martens, 1909, p. 230).

Those circumstances would in fact come later rather than sooner. While Russia’s post-1848 policy towards France was no longer constrained by Nicholas I’s prejudices against Louis-Philippe and the liberal constitutionalism of 1830, French foreign policy of this period proved to be even more shaped by anti-Russian public opinion than had been the case under the July Monarchy. Russia’s role in the suppression of the Wallachian and Hungarian revolutions in September 1848 and August 1849, respectively, generated a Russophobic wave even greater than that which swept France and broader Europe during the Polish November Uprising of 1830–1831 (Malia, 1999, pp. 146-159). As a result, France and Russia fell on the opposite sides of the diplomatic crisis around the Hungarian and Polish revolutionary emigres in the Ottoman Empire, whose extradition was demanded by St. Petersburg and Vienna in the fall of 1849 (Goldfrank, 1994, pp. 68-71). Some eighteen months later, Louis Bonaparte’s desire to secure the votes of French Catholics—to become Prince-President and ultimately Emperor of France—led him to support the Catholic monks in their clashes with the Greek Orthodox clergy (supported by Russia) over control of the Holy Places (Mange, 1940, pp. 18-23). The Porte decided in favor of the Catholics at the end of 1852 (Goldfrank, 1994, pp. 75-100).

Nicholas I responded to this decision by sending his Minister of the Navy and personal friend, Alexander Menshikov, on an extraordinary mission to Constantinople with the task of restoring the rights of Orthodox co-religionists and demanding from the Porte a definitive guarantee of these rights in the form of a convention (Goldfrank, 1993). Menshikov accomplished the first but not the second. Supported by the British ambassador, Lord Stratford de Redcliffe, the Porte refused to sign the convention, which would have meant official recognition of a Russian protectorate over the entire Orthodox population of the Ottoman Empire. Menshikov’s subsequent departure from Constantinople marked the official break of Russian-Ottoman relations and made a new Russian-Ottoman war imminent.

On 3 July 1853, Nicholas I ordered his troops to occupy Moldavia and Wallachia in an attempt to force the Porte to accept the demands he had previously voiced through Menshikov (Palmer, 1992, p. 21; Figes, 2011, pp. 116-117). However, by this time, the Ottoman government had become accustomed to temporary Russian occupations of the Danubian Principalities and hoped to regain them after the conflict, as had happened after every previous Russian-Ottoman war. Therefore, the entry of Russian troops into Moldavia and Wallachia was insufficient to force the Porte to make such a sweeping concession as recognition of a Russian protectorate over the entire Orthodox population of the Ottoman Empire. Instead, the occupation of the principalities served as a pretext first for the Ottomans, and then for the British and French governments, to declare war on Russia (Badem, 2010, pp. 99–100; 180).

The Crimean War was one of the first global military conflicts (Curtiss, 1979; Palmer, 1992; Figes, 2010; Kozelsky, 2019). Although the Crimean Peninsula was undoubtedly its main theater, military operations were also conducted in the Baltic, Arctic, and Pacific Ocean, not to mention the well-known Transcaucasian front, where the Russian army was most successful overall.

The Crimean War was the first modern war: it marked the end of the age of sail, demonstrated the superiority of French and British rifled weapons over Russian smoothbore muskets, and was the first conflict to be photographed and telegraphed.

British diplomacy played a major role in creating the anti-Russian coalition, and the British navy provided logistics for the Allied landings in Crimea, but the French army formed the core of the coalition forces. At the battles of Alma and Inkerman, French troops outnumbered their British allies (though not by much), and they were the sole authors of the allied victory in the decisive Battle of Chernaya in August 1855. At the siege of Sevastopol, French troops outnumbered the British two to one. The quantity of France’s contribution to the coalition was matched by its quality: the joint action of the French and British armies revealed the superiority of the former over the latter in most respects (Figes, 2010, pp. 178-181, 278-290). It is therefore entirely justifiable to call Napoleon III the “soldier on the continent,” without whom the coalition’s victory—and the war itself—would have been impossible.

The role of Austria also confirms this thesis. The entire first half of the 19th century saw growing contradictions behind the screen of the continuing Russo-Austrian alliance. Joint action against the Porte during the previous century gave way to Austrian concerns about the consolidation of Russian hegemony in Moldavia and Wallachia. In the context of the dispute over the Holy Places and the Menshikov mission of 1853, this hegemony threatened to turn into a formal Russian protectorate over the entire Orthodox population of the Ottoman Empire, which would further have strengthened Russia’s influence over the Southern Slavs (Sedivy, 2013). These concerns dictated Metternich’s close cooperation with his British counterpart, Viscount Castlereagh, in 1821–1822 to prevent unilateral Russian intervention in the conflict between the Sultan and his Greek subjects (Kissinger, 1957, pp. 298-299; Sedivy, 2013, pp. 71-80). During the Crimean War, the desire to prevent another Russian victory over the Ottoman Empire led Vienna to issue an ultimatum that forced Nicholas I to withdraw Russian troops from the Danubian Principalities in the summer of 1854.

However, while Austria displayed an “ingratitude” for Russian assistance against the 1849 Hungarian Revolution that “astonished Europe,” Vienna did not directly enter into military conflict with Russia, even when London succeeded in drawing Paris into the war. Austria was unwilling to replace France as Britain’s main “soldier on the continent.” Around 1830, when Paris’s interest in partitioning the Ottoman Empire hindered the formation of an Anglo-French coalition against Russia, Metternich limited himself to purely diplomatic means of containing Russian pressure on the Porte. As a result, Francis I and Nicholas I revived the Holy Alliance during a meeting in Münchengratz in 1833 and agreed to jointly safeguard the status quo in the Ottoman Empire’s European territory (Kiniapina, 2001). Four decades later, after the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–1871 had temporarily sidelined Paris as a serious player, Metternich’s successor, Gyula Andrássy, proved equally unwilling to confront Russia militarily during another escalation of the Eastern Question. Instead, Vienna and St. Petersburg concluded a secret convention that guaranteed Austria’s benevolent neutrality in the upcoming war for the “liberation of Bulgaria,” on the condition of Austria’s post-war occupation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. The convention also excluded the possibility of a large Slavic state in the Balkans after the war (Sumner, 1962, pp. 273-289).

The Crimean War, born of a unique international political configuration, was also exceptional in its consequences. In the context of Russia’s historical development, it represents a rare example of a ‘useful’ defeat that unleashed internal reforms beneficial for the Russian autocracy’s political survival and military successes. In this sense, the Crimean War again stands in contrast to the Patriotic War of 1812. Being a victory of the post-Petrine military-political system over the French Revolution’s new mass army, the war of 1812 contributed to preserving the military and social organization of Russia’s Ancien Régime precisely when the other European great powers were beginning the transition to short-term universal military service and a system of national reserves (Fuller, 1992, pp. 217-218). Serfdom’s incompatibility with this method of raising an army became the main factor in its 1861 abolition, followed by judicial, provincial, and municipal reforms, and finally the military reform of 1874 (Rieber, 1966, pp. 15-58; Zaionchkovskii, 1952; Menning, 2000, pp. 6-50; Fuller, 1992, pp. 275-285; Baumann, 2004).

The Crimean War was even more exceptional in its international consequences: it reactivated the aforementioned long-term transformation of international political structures that began in the late 18th century. The post-1856 period witnessed a disruption of the internal German balance of power, which had constituted one of the constants of early modern European politics, alongside the Anglo-French and Franco-Austrian conflicts and their associated alliances. The balance between the Protestant rulers of northern Germany (the dukes, later kings, of Saxony and Brandenburg-Prussia), versus Catholic Austria and its southern German satellites, constituted the core of the 1648 Peace of Westphalia, and had its roots in the early Reformation and the even earlier 12th–13th century struggle between the Holy Roman Emperors and the German princes.

Throughout their struggle with the Habsburgs, the French kings sought to exploit the internal German conflict. After 1648, they even acted as arbiters of the internal German balance. One finds a concrete example of this role in the ‘Diplomatic Revolution’ of the mid-18th century, in which Louis XV sought rapprochement with the weakened Austrian monarchy (and Russia) to contain the growing strength of Prussia (resulting in the Seven Years’ War of 1756–1763) (Black, 1990; Bély, 2013). From the end of the 18th century, Russia also became an arbiter in the Austro-Prussian competition for influence in Germany. In 1779, St. Petersburg (along with Paris) sponsored the Peace of Teschen, which ended the Austro-Prussian War of the Bavarian Succession (Grebenshchikova, 2018). After 1815, Russia’s role in the internal German balance of power was realized through the Holy Alliance.

However, the Crimean War (or, more precisely, the need to repeal the provisions of the 1856 Treaty of Paris, which were unacceptable to Russia) became a significant factor in upsetting the internal German balance of power in Prussia’s favor. Bismarck’s success in uniting Germany “by iron and blood” was facilitated by Russia’s “concentrating” on domestic reforms and its desire to reverse the humiliating 1856 Treaty of Paris, something that could be achieved only in tandem with Prussia. The memory of Austrian “ingratitude” in 1854–1855, as well as Vienna’s attempt (along with Paris and London) to intervene in the Tsar’s latest conflict with his Polish subjects in 1863 (Revunenkov, 1957), secured Russia’s benevolent neutrality towards Prussia in the Second Schleswig-Holstein War of 1864 and in the Austro-Prussian War of 1866, which led to the formation of the North German Confederation. The same benevolent neutrality allowed Bismarck to decisively challenge France on the southern German issue in 1870, without fear of a two-front war (Vinogradov, 2005).

France’s stunning defeat in 1870 allowed Russia to officially declare null and void the Black Sea demilitarization clause of the 1856 Treaty of Paris.[3] Seven years later, a new war with Turkey secured the return of southern Bessarabia—the only territorial concession that Alexander II had been forced to accept at the very beginning of his reign. Thus, Chancellor Alexander Gorchakov’s old school diplomacy and Dmitry Milyutin’s military reform enabled Russia to completely overcome the consequences of its painful defeat in Crimea within some 15–20 years—but at the price of fundamental changes to the European balance of power.

The disruption of Germany’s internal balance, and the unification of small German states around Prussia, produced the strongest and yet most vulnerable European great power, right in the center of the Old Continent. The military and industrial might of unified Germany was counterbalanced by its food insecurity and relative scarcity of natural resources, which made the country dependent on external, primarily Eastern European, sources of minerals and agricultural products. The Second Reich’s combination of strength and vulnerability explains the aggressiveness of its foreign policy, which the Concert of Europe ultimately failed to neutralize.

This epochal change in the structure of European international politics finally led to the conclusion of a Franco-Russian alliance in the early 1890s. However, this alliance proved insufficient to counterbalance unified Germany and its Austro-Hungarian satellite. In July 1914, the Franco-Russian alliance even contributed to the transformation of another Balkan crisis into a pan-European conflict, in which Russia suffered defeat while France achieved only a pyrrhic victory. The fatal character of the Russo-French alliance, when concluded on an anti-German basis, only highlights what the Franco-Russian alliance could have been if concluded in the first half of the 19th century, i.e., before the structural changes brought about by the Crimean War (Vinogradov, 2005).

In that case, a Franco-Russian alliance would not only have prevented the formation of an anti-Russian coalition in the context of the Eastern Question, but it would also have helped maintain the internal German balance of power, with France and Russia continuing to act as arbiters in the Austro-Prussian standoff. This, in turn, would have created the objective preconditions for the gradual displacement of British influence in continental Europe and the establishment of a long-term Franco-Russian condominium. It was precisely this historical opportunity that Nicholas I missed at the turn of the 1830s and 1840s, when he preferred the illusion of a gentleman’s agreement with Great Britain to a rapprochement with France. The cost of this missed opportunity was the Tsar’s personal defeat in Crimea in 1854–1855, and the global “Thirty Years’ War,” (1914–1945) that Russia was able to win only at the cost of a radical (and bloody) transformation.

Although the Crimean War was a consequence of the Eastern Question, this does not justify viewing the Question—like Nikolay Danilevsky and other Russian Pan-Slavists did—as a confrontation between Russia and Europe.

Throughout the entire history of the Eastern Question, fundamental antagonism existed only between Russia and Great Britain, whose rivalry for predominant influence in the Ottoman Empire and other parts of Asia is sometimes called the ‘Cold War of the 19th century.’ In 1854–1855, this Cold War went hot, but all previous and subsequent Eastern crises (including in the 1820s and late 1870s) passed without the formation of a hostile West European coalition, let alone a military conflict between it and Russia.

This article was originally published in Russian in: A.I. Miller (ed.) The Russian Empire’s European Wars. A Collection of Articles. St. Petersburg European University, 2025.