Великолепен анализ от чешкия премиер.
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By Petr Fiala
March 2, 2023 2:01 PM
Ukraine is the latest victim of Russia’s entrenched wish to march west
The invasion of Ukraine by Russian armies in February 2022 changed the face of Europe. War returned to the Old Continent, with all the horrors we had known only from old war movies: bombed-out streets, destroyed cities, shelling, mass murder, the expulsion of populations, homes without heating, light, or water, ruined lives and property, devastation. The war also let old demons out of the bottle that we had thought, somewhat naïvely, did not belong in the 21st century: the imperial conquest of foreign territory, Cold War rhetoric, aggressive nationalism, and the largest wave of refugees since World War II. Russian tanks west of Russia — an observer endowed with historical memory might feel a sense of déjà vu. Yet these are not images from the past or forgotten stories of a previous century’s wars, but our contemporary reality: facts we have to live with, come to terms with, and, above all, face head-on.
Europe has changed. On February 24, 2022, it woke from its illusions of security for which there is no need to pay. It saw in full color the naïveté of the notion that one can come to an agreement with Russia by making concessions to it, because after all that country poses no threat to Europe at all. It experienced firsthand how weak it had become by allowing itself to be dependent on eastern dictatorships for its strategic resources and supplies. A policy of insouciance and appeasement was brutally uprooted overnight. But as it often happens, not everyone awoke from these dreams at the same time. Nonetheless, facing the Russo–Ukrainian war and its consequences, Europe soon found unprecedented strength and determination.
Not everyone was entirely surprised. In the previous century, the countries of Central and Eastern Europe were part of the Soviet Union or were occupied or directly influenced by it. At that time, the Russian imperial instinct, combined with a dreadful totalitarian communist ideology, left tens of millions of innocent victims in its wake. Because of its history, the east of Europe therefore remained vigilant vis-à-vis Russia, at least to some degree.
I share this experience and historical memory. On August 21, 1968, as a little boy, I observed Soviet tanks in the streets of my native city, Brno. Czechoslovakia was occupied by the armies of five Warsaw Pact countries, but nobody described it as anything other than that the Russians were occupying us. They remained in our country for 23 long years; the last Russian soldier left in June 1991, a few months before the Soviet Union finally disintegrated. August 1968 was not the first time we had seen Russian soldiers in our streets, however. In May 1945, Czechs welcomed them with lilac blossoms as liberators from the seven-year-long Nazi occupation. Czechs had no idea that the celebration would soon turn into a nightmare. For long decades following the defeat of Nazism, our country found itself in thrall to Moscow and its communist regime.
Our experience is telling. Russian tanks do not bring freedom, justice, or peace. They serve Moscow to enlarge its empire and secure territory on which it can immediately exercise its influence and its interests. Any people who find themselves in Moscow’s sphere of influence, whether directly or indirectly, must be unconditionally subjugated. Attempts at independent decision-making tend to be brutally suppressed. In August 1968, Moscow occupied us because Czechoslovakia wanted to go its own way at least in some respects and breathe a little more freely. Kremlin rulers always see this as a betrayal and a danger to Russian interests. They followed this mindset more than 50 years ago in my country and have now attacked Ukraine according to the same pattern.
Ukraine is a large European country with many problems and historical burdens. For a long time, it was joined with Russia in one state; some in its population speak Russian; the years of its independent existence have been marked by economic problems, corruption, and internal disputes, often about the appropriate measure of cooperation with Russia. When the domestic situation improved, Ukrainians made it increasingly clear that they wanted to cooperate more with Western democracies than with authoritarian Russia. They wanted to be included in the community of democratic countries and had the ambition to join the European Union and the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. Independent Ukraine wanted to make its own decisions about where it belonged and what its future should be, and that is precisely the reason why Russia attacked it.
There are two fundamental mistakes to avoid when interpreting the Russian invasion of Ukraine. First, it cannot be reduced to a Russo–Ukrainian conflict. This is not “just” a local war with limited impacts that can be resolved by negotiating the territorial or other demands voiced by Russia. Second, Russian aggression is not solely Vladimir Putin’s affair. It would be tempting to believe that the idea of this brutal war originated solely in the Russian president’s head, that Putin is ill or isolated, and that when he is weakened or no longer around, Russia will once again be peaceful and friendly, a country with which we can get along easily. Indulging naïve ideas in international politics is a reliable way to lose a lot.
Russian aggression in Ukraine is a gross violation of the international order, a fundamental breaking point in international relations, which may have further devastating effects in this region and beyond, the more so because it occurs on a traditional, geopolitically neuralgic line of conflict. At the same time, Russia’s military invasion of Ukraine is not a deviation, a temporary defect in Russian foreign policy, but rather the product of its long-term direction and an expression of Russian imperial culture.
I would like to avoid excessive simplification, but I will try to say the essential plainly: Russia does not have a well-defined western border and its imperial instinct impels it to make repeated attempts to bring a part of Europe under its influence. Richard Coudenhove-Kalergi, a political thinker who explored cooperation among European nations, wrote in his 1923 book Pan-Europa that “since Peter the Great, Russia has been marching westwards.” It has repeatedly attempted to impose hegemony over Europe: “The future state form of Russia is irrelevant here. Once an opportunity arises for it to subjugate Europe, Russia will exploit this option, whether it is Red or White.” According to Coudenhove-Kalergi, “the only objective of all Europeans, irrespective of parties and nations, should be to prevent a Russian invasion.” Although his arguments about Russia were informed by World War I and the Bolshevik Revolution, he captured the country’s ambitions with remarkable foresight well before they manifested themselves in the century following the publication of his book.
Russia’s “marching westwards” and its efforts to subjugate Europe, or part of it, are bolstered by another fundamental characteristic of Russia, which has found expression in many philosophical and artistic works. Russia both is and is not European. It is part of Europe yet defines itself against it. It is becoming European, but not entirely. This struggle occurs not only on the frontier between Ukraine and Russia but also in Russian political culture, in the “Russian soul.” In his book Russia and Europe, published in German in 1913, Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk — a political philosopher and sociologist, and the first president of the independent and democratic Czechoslovakia — expressed this contradiction in a well-known statement: “Russia is what Europe was.” For Masaryk, Russia was “split into two halves,” an old Russia and a “new, European” Russia. Masaryk saw the clash between Russian and European thought as a process that would lead gradually to Russia’s Europeanization: “Europe is not fundamentally alien to Russia, but Russia has not adopted it, has not yet embraced it entirely.” This strife within Russia did not end with the victory of that which Masaryk called “European” but continues to this day, perhaps in part because Russian society did not have the historical conditions for its own emancipation. A horizontal political culture with a strong civil society and a decentralized government is alien to Russia. It would be an unpardonable mistake to overlook this aspect of Russian culture and to project our own wishes onto the country.
Russia — still open to expansion westwards and seeking to control at least part of Europe — is a permanent threat. The Russian danger to Europe is not, therefore, linked to a specific moment in its history or to a particular ruler of the Russian empire; it’s a long-term, characteristic symptom of Russian policy.
In recent years, we had plenty of signals that Russia — having bounced back after the end of the Cold War and the disintegration of the Soviet Union — was again ready to expand its territory and influence. A clear step in its march westwards was the annexation of Crimea in March 2014. Unfortunately, the underestimation of the importance of this violent step and the subsequent weak responses by Western democracies created the conditions for Russia to dare to attack Ukraine at large. In spring 2014, I published several articles, later collected in Na konci bezstarostnosti (The End of Insouciance), in which I warned about the consequences of democratic countries’ naïve and weak policy. I wrote that I did not believe in appeasement policy or relying on everyone wanting peace. Although I would wish for such a world, it does not exist. In international politics, it is the interests of states that are promoted. Whoever is not strong enough may soon wake up in a world entirely inconvenient for them. This is also true of Western democracies. I am speaking of something we do not want to hear, and fear saying out loud: If we do not have strength (military, political, and economic) and if we do not find the resolve to use it, we find ourselves under threat. An understanding of the realities of international politics is often lacking, for instance in our considerations of Ukraine and Russian policy.
I was already certain back then that Russia’s advances in Crimea cannot be accepted, even if we were personally convinced that Putin is the right thing for Russia, Ukraine is bad, and Crimea naturally Russian. However, Russian aggression has violated the rules of the game, started to change the arrangements in Europe, and created a dangerous situation for the West. History repeats itself; old European demons are coming back. Indeed, there’s more at stake in Crimea than Crimea itself. It is not only an important place geopolitically, it has value as a symbol of power.
I also criticized the West for showing its weakness. “And what might the outcome of this weakness be? Nothing but danger. Whenever someone believes that by accepting aggression they will avoid further conflict, they end up badly.”
A historical example from my country comes to mind. In September 1938, European powers believed that they could prevent war by sacrificing part of Czechoslovakia to Hitler. After all, there were German-speaking people there, too. We all know what the outcome was. In spring 2014, therefore, I appealed for decisive steps to be taken, including the imposition of severe sanctions against Russia:
Many people are making calculations as to how much it will cost in terms of economic relations. Yes, it will cost something, but if we do not face the problem head-on, the only thing we will achieve will be that the economic relations will ultimately be disadvantageous to us and/or determined unilaterally. We have to realize that Russia is now willing to pay dearly for the success of its actions in Ukraine, and not only in material terms. It is not reluctant to lose the lives of its citizens. We are not willing to allow even a slight potential decrease in our material comforts, or a dip in the sales of our goods on the Russian market, and this favors Russia and any other adversary that knows about this weakness of ours.
And I added, “Our prosperity and peace have to be paid for with our strength and determination. Nothing else works in international politics in the long term.”
I am not glad to have been right — I am only certain that the aftermath of Crimea’s annexation could not have been otherwise. Russia interpreted the mild response of Western democracies not as an appeal for peace and cooperation but as a weakness to be exploited. It exploited the dependence of European countries on Russian energy resources to systematically weaken Europe and blackmail its populations. It understood Western weakness as an invitation to take further aggressive steps westwards, into the separatist territories of eastern Ukraine, which culminated in the brutal aggression against independent Ukraine. I do not have to be a particularly good forecaster to argue that, had an appropriate response not come in 2022, Russia would have proceeded farther in the future. But several things happened that Vladimir Putin did not anticipate and that, truth be told, we did not hope for, either.
The first was the surprisingly quick emancipation of Ukraine and the completion of Ukrainian nation-building. As many authors have correctly observed, a fault line between Eastern Orthodox and Western civilizations goes through Ukraine. Perhaps the best-known version of this view is Samuel P. Huntington’s from the 1990s. In The Clash of Civilizations, Huntington inferred three possible scenarios: conflict between Russia and Ukraine; a division of Ukraine and the merger of its eastern part with Russia; or Ukraine as a “united yet fragmented country” closely cooperating with Russia, which he thought the most likely.
In the run-up to 2022, we were heading towards a scenario that Huntington thought unlikely but that some analysts (e.g., John Mearsheimer) warned about, that is, armed conflict between the two countries. The fault line between Eastern “Orthodox” and “Western” civilizations was evidently covered or shifted by the quick strengthening of Ukrainian political identity. Ukrainian citizens, including the Russian-speaking minority, increasingly identified with the Ukrainian state. Undoubtedly, the dilemma they faced — aim for a Western-type society or live under the influence of the Russian state — contributed to this. This rapid completion of the process of Ukrainian nation-building has culminated in Ukrainians’ resolute resistance to Russian aggression. Russian-speaking Ukrainians did not welcome the Russian army as liberators; they stood up in resistance to the occupation force taking their country.
The resolute and brave struggle of the Ukrainians for their independence and freedom is the second surprising aspect of the Russo–Ukrainian war. From the very first moments, Ukrainians resisted the Russian military; they were not broken by the brutality of the Russian units, the attacks on civilian targets, the encirclement of Kyiv, or the systematic shelling of Ukrainian infrastructure. There were no divisions within Ukrainian society, calls for concessions, or defeatist moods. United and with enormous self-sacrifice, Ukrainians opposed the militarily superior Russians. This factor in many ways was decisive for the course of the war and compelled the vacillating Western countries to support Ukraine. Ukrainian courage and determination are in increasingly strong contrast to Russian failures. Despite enormous superiority in numbers and matériel and its brutal methods, Russia looks weaker by the day. This will have far-reaching impacts on the Russian position in the world over the coming years.
The third important development, which after decades of European concessions surprised Russia at least, was the united and strong response by Western democracies. The European Union together with the United States and other allies adopted effective, harsh, and unprecedented sanctions. Russia and its president have found themselves diplomatically isolated; calls are strengthening for Russian war crimes to be punished; prominent figures of the Moscow regime have been added to the sanctions lists; and Russia, its leadership, and its society will feel increasing economic, technological, financial, and psychological impacts. The North Atlantic alliance has strengthened its eastern flank; practically all member states have found the will to increase defense expenditures; and traditionally neutral Sweden and Finland (the latter with its own inauspicious experience of Russian influence) have applied for NATO membership.
The West has supported Ukraine with the same firmness it has shown in opposing the Russian aggression. Humanitarian aid was soon complemented with military and financial aid on a massive scale. My country was among the first to provide Ukraine with military equipment. And crucially, more and more states joined the effort, including the strongest ones without whose support the Ukrainians could not successfully wage their struggle.
I have had the unique experience of holding the presidency of the European Union during countless negotiations over the response to the Russian aggression. For many countries, it was not easy to change position on Russia and military aid and to see more clearly the dangers and challenges we face. Yet they did so, within a few weeks. Despite the members’ varied historical experiences, emphases, and interests, they agreed that Ukraine deserves our support and that Russia must feel our disapproval and opposition. Despite skeptical predictions, the European Union has maintained a unified stance in all crucial matters for nearly a year now. As a political scientist and politician, I often criticized the weakness and indecisiveness, the bureaucratic procedures and ponderousness of European institutions and the inappropriate way they were integrated. Yet, or perhaps because of that, the Russian aggression against Ukraine has shown the hidden strength of European democracies — perhaps late, but better late than never. And this is extremely important for the future of Europe.
Russia’s steps against Ukraine have fully revealed Russia’s real intentions and objectives. For all doubters, they have shed a new light on the Putin regime. As in some horrifying jigsaw puzzle, the pieces suddenly fell together: the aggressive rhetoric with claims to power over Eastern and Central Europe and a return to the security situation of the 1990s; the exploitation of many European countries’ energy dependency on Russia; various forms of hybrid war and a mass disinformation campaign to disconcert European nations; murders of political opponents at home and abroad; and unprecedented acts of state terrorism committed by Russian intelligence services, for example the explosion at a munitions depot in Vrbětice in the Czech Republic. The individual actions could be contested, excused, or overlooked. In combination with a war of aggression, they only confirm that Europe must defend itself. And that means it must be strong, strategically independent, and resolute.
But also, and above all, it means not allowing Ukraine to fall and not allowing Russia to achieve its objectives. That is our task now.
Some of us predicted years ago that if we did not show our strength, Russia would continue with its aggressive march westwards. But hand on heart, none of us could imagine that Putin’s regime would opt for such an extensive, brutal, and massive military action, that it would unleash a war that sends chills down one’s spine. There is no space for doubt or craven equivocation here. In the Russo–Ukrainian war, it was evident from the first moment who is the aggressor and who the victim, who has truth and justice on their side and who acts iniquitously. This is not about how much we like Russian literature or music, how much some doubt the quality of Ukrainian democracy, or what we think about the history of Russo–Ukrainian relations. Russia has attacked an independent state, infringed every rule of the international order, and caused suffering to millions of innocent people; and we must act accordingly, because that is right, and because it is in our interest.
Twice during the war, I have had the opportunity to visit Kyiv, first alongside the prime ministers of Poland and Slovenia on March 15, 2022, when the Ukrainian capital was encircled on three sides by the Russian military. We saw a silent city from which hundreds of thousands had fled, with no people in the streets, dark, without lights, with roadblocks, and at war. We negotiated with President Volodymyr Zelensky and Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal. Already back then, a few days after the start of the war, I was surprised not just by their resoluteness when faced with what was then a desperate situation but also by the composure and strategy with which Ukrainian leaders defended themselves against superior Russian forces.
The second time I was in Kyiv was on October 31, 2022, with members of my government. Ukrainian leaders had lost none of their determination, faith, decisiveness, or hope. But I saw a different Kyiv now, full of life; the streets were crowded with people who despite war wanted to live normally, if possible. Although missiles fell on them at least once a week and occasionally they had no heat or light, they did not give up but, as far as possible, lived their lives to the fullest. And where there is life, there is also hope. I had the opportunity to talk to many Ukrainian refugees who had fled their country to save their lives. Mostly these were women with children, whose husbands and fathers were fighting at the front, outnumbered by the Russians. They were not looking for economic or social benefits; they did not want to leave their country; they wanted only to live.
This brave European nation deserves our aid and support, because giving it is humane, just, and right, but also because Europe will not be safe unless Ukraine successfully defends itself. Whatever we do for Ukraine today, we are doing for our own future. Peace and normal relations with Russia can be established only when its western border is clearly defined and secured, and today that is the border with the independent Ukraine. Our common task is to make everyone respect this. Without our strength, determination, and readiness to sacrifice some of our comfort, we will not prevail. There is no other option.