Tag Archive for: Russia–Ukraine war

Things I was wrong about

This is an article about things I was wrong about. It’s not exhaustive.

It’s also an unconventional way to take stock of some of the biggest ongoing issues in foreign affairs and security: Australia’s relationship with Papua New Guinea and the rest of the near region, big military acquisitions, and what to learn from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

I am a small fish in an admittedly shallow think tank pond, and I assume few have paid attention to my mistakes. But I’ve been doing this for long enough now that I ought to hold myself to account.

In May 2022 I wrote in The Strategist that the next National Rugby League team should come from PNG.

A rugby league deal has now been struck worth $600 million over 10 years across PNG and the wider Pacific—though not, of course, because of anything I wrote—and I find myself deeply ambivalent about it.

An esteemed colleague who must remain nameless is culpable for changing my mind. Among many questions: how would failure be dealt with, and what will the Australian government do if the league comes asking for more? And, as Stephen Howes and Oliver Nobetau have emphasised, is this the best use of Australian money in PNG?

A PNG team playing in Australia is not an inherently bad idea. It’s a significant diplomatic achievement and one that will have deep symbolic import for many people in both nations. It is also backed by elite politicians on either side of the strait. One cannot underestimate the near mythical role sport plays in the psyche of Australia. Sharing that with our closest neighbour is potentially soft power genius. Advocates also point out that sports might be used to drive engagement with other social programs. If unlimited money were available, a PNG team would make some sense.

But there is not unlimited money. The long-run strategic payoffs of addressing the basic human development challenges that drive PNG’s fragility seem likely to be greater. This isn’t a call for more development assistance; the case for expanded visa arrangements is strong, for instance. In the cold light of day, this deal looks like an extravagance in the face of average Papua New Guineans’ daily struggle to be safe, healthy and educated—though I hope I am wrong again.

Mistake number two. In September 2022, I parsed some developments in advanced military command-and-control systems in the United States. I wrote that ‘Truly integrated command-and-control systems are one priority that might be considered in the various [Australian] assessment processes’ then underway—for example, the Defence Strategic Review.

The pursuit of comprehensively integrated sensor and communications networks now seems to me a fool’s errand. In acquisition terms, we know how difficult big, complex projects are, and any all-seeing, all-talking network would be just that. There are many cases where there is no other choice (submarines, for example) but we should try to avoid it.

And operationally, I should have listened to my own advice, which followed closely at the heels of far more credible others, including now-Major General Chris Smith, that in warfare the best that can be hoped for is rough coordination, because of the ever-present friction that bedevils military operations. It’s a matter of satisficing, not perfecting. Ukraine’s resistance to Russia so far appears to validate both these dimensions, showing what hastily acquired, messily integrated arrays of kit can achieve in determined hands.

Thankfully, my third mistake was not on the record. Had I been making predictions about the outcome of Russia’s February 2022 invasion of Ukraine, I would have been wrong. So many analysts were very wrong, and these analytic failings have attracted welcome reflection.

Like many, I thought—or assumed—that a concerted Russian attack would quickly overwhelm Ukraine. I failed to appreciate Ukraine’s development of its military capabilities since 2014, the realities of scale and distance in the theatre, the level of mobilisation therefore required, and the disfunction of Vladimir Putin’s Russia and its armed forces.

I still think acute concern about escalation has been entirely legitimate. I also wonder whether small changes might have seen a successful coup de main on Kyiv, or what might have happened had President Volodymyr Zelensky been killed in the early hours or days.

My fourth mistake was underestimating the power of narratives to cloud specifics. I contributed to an Asia-Pacific Development, Diplomacy and Defence Dialogue paper exploring the emerging ‘all tools of statecraft’ rhetoric. I also published related shortform work shortly afterwards.

My intent—aligned with that of many others, much more distinguished—was that our international affairs community rebalance the books, elevating the roles of conflict prevention alongside defence preparedness, and long-term resilience building alongside shorter-term tactical responses.

This rhetorical turn towards ‘all tools of statecraft’ has become mainstream. Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, Foreign Minister Penny Wong, the National Defence Strategy and the International Development Policy all reflect the advocacy of many for a more integrated ‘statecraft’ approach.

But I’ve found myself increasingly sceptical. For one thing, there is little sign that the budget levels between Australia’s different policy levers are shifting to any greater balance. It isn’t all about the money, but the money is important.

Until very recently, it seemed like we had hollowed the idea of its political significance and rendered it technocratic, a matter of important but mundane coordination between Canberra departments.

And yet, perhaps the wheel really is turning. We’re now seeing outcomes that reflect a more ambitious rendering of statecraft: leaders opening space for genuine policy innovation and changing international relationships in consequential ways.

The Falepili Union—a genuinely comprehensive partnership, with a clear dividend for Australia—was perhaps the first big signpost. An agreement announced with Nauru late last year is another huge step and, whatever its flaws, the PNG rugby league deal reflects a clear appetite to find different ways of engaging the region. The potential to build on these successes, particularly regarding labour mobility, appears real. Replicating such innovations in bigger, more crowded Southeast Asia will remain a challenge and something to watch.

The sources of Russian conduct

This essay examines the sources of Russian power and conduct from an historical, cultural and geopolitical perspective. It aims to help assessment of Russia’s future behaviour.

My approach is based on the essay The Sources of Soviet Conduct written by the famous US State Department diplomat and leading Russian expert George Kennan (under the pseudonym ‘X’) in the journal Foreign Affairs in 1947. Kennan was struggling to get Washington to understand the threat from the Soviet Union so soon after the end of World War II, when the USSR had been an ally of the United States.

Kennan concluded that Moscow’s communist expansion ideology was the central threat to the US and needed to be thwarted by ‘a long-term, patient but firm and vigilant containment of Russian expansive tendencies.’ Kennan’s objective was the bringing about peacefully either the breakup or ‘gradual mellowing’ of the Soviet Union.

This was at a time, however, when Russia had no nuclear capability. Later, Kennan foresaw that the USSR would become the US’s most serious military challenge in the new nuclear era. In 1986, when the number of nuclear weapons peaked at around 70,000, just under two-thirds belonged to the USSR. And, at that time, the Soviet Union’s conventional military power in Europe was widely seen as easily outmatching that of NATO. There was a general worry that, if NATO didn’t use nuclear weapons, Moscow could be at the English Channel in weeks, if not days.

Today’s Russia is a very much reduced military threat from the peak of its power at the height of the Cold War. Now, Moscow is struggling to progress beyond what looks like a three-year stalemate in the battle for military supremacy in Ukraine, which is a middle-sized non-nuclear country with less than 30 percent of Russia’s population.

Today’s strategists in the West are debating the underlying reasons for Putin’s war on Ukraine. And they shake their heads when Putin so frequently and irresponsibly rattles the nuclear threat. Russia’s small relative economic size these days (a GDP of US$2.24 billion, little more than Italy’s US$2.04 billion) makes it even harder to explain why Putin would embark on and persist with such a war. Moreover, Moscow no longer has the leverage of leading a world communist movement towards an ideological victory.

But Kennan believed Russia’s history, geography and the ‘permanent characteristics’ of the Russian national character were key determinants of Soviet conduct, in addition to its ideology. His conclusion was almost Freudian in its determinism: ‘Nations, like individuals, are largely the product of their environment.’

I begin by examining Russia’s historical experience, which is so different from our own, and the development of the distinctive Russian view of itself as a uniquely Slavic power that is neither European nor Asian. We move on to explore the relevance of Russia still being geographically the largest country in the world, even though it lost a huge part (more than 5 million km2, or double the area of Western Australia) of the former territory of the USSR when that country collapsed in 1991. The Soviet Union was then divided into 15 countries, eight of which still share a common border with today’s Russia.

I then move on to a consideration of Russian culture and how it illuminates Moscow’s view of the world today. And its unique concept of a bigger Russian World, or Russkii Mir, encompassing places with significant numbers of Russian speakers, such as the Baltic countries, Moldova, Georgia and Kazakhstan.

Finally, we must consider the issue of the new Russian ideology, which—while it no longer seeks to rule a future communist world—persists with dangerous authoritarian and expansionist geopolitical ambitions, not least in what it terms ‘the near abroad’. We need to understand that Russian domestic politics is still burdened with heavy imperial baggage from the early 20th century. And its central geopolitical priority these days sees the West as a hostile concert of powers seeking to destroy Holy Mother Russia.

So, let’s start with Russia’s history. Many Western observers have consistently misread Russia and the way it is driven by its geography, history and ideological ambition. Successive Russian or Soviet regimes have been seen in the West as simultaneously dangerous and essentially fragile, and yet we are surprised when, once again, the Russian phoenix re-emerges from the ashes.

Indeed, when the former Soviet Union collapsed in December 1991, the sudden reaction in the West, especially in the US, was to write Russia off. No longer regarded as a global superpower, it fell as low as being dismissed by then president Barack Obama as a ‘regional’ European power. This description was (and still is) bitterly resented in Moscow.

Russia on the eastern flank of Europe but extends to territory more than 8000km away in Siberia that is part of east Asia. Russia has the longest border in the world, with China. Its history goes back more than 1000 years and includes, according to Yale University professor George Vernadsky, being occupied in a period ‘of enormous significance in Russian history for almost 250 years (1223-1452) under Genghis Khan’s Mongols.

Unlike most Anglo-Saxon countries, Russia has no obvious or clear-cut geographical borders and for practical purposes is almost landlocked, with only a few significant ports on the Black, Baltic and Barents seas and the northwest Pacific. It was invaded by Sweden in the 18th century, by France in the early 19th century and by Germany twice in the 20th century.

The eminent Harvard University professor of Ukrainian history Serhii Plokhy has stated—correctly, in my view—that the questions of where Russia begins and ends and who constitutes the Russian people have preoccupied Russian thinkers for centuries. Plokhy also says the current Russia–Ukrainian conflict is only the latest turn of Russian policy resulting from the Russian elite’s thinking about itself and its Slavic neighbours as part of an allegedly common historical and cultural space and ultimately as one nation.

Plokhy asserts that the current conflict reprises many of the themes that have been central to Russia’s political and cultural relations in the region for the previous five centuries. These include Russia’s great power status and influence beyond its borders; the continuing relevance of religion, especially Orthodox Christianity, as defined in Russian history; the assertive conduct of Russian policy abroad; and the importance of language and culture as tools of Russian state policy. The conflict in Ukraine reminds the world that the formation of the modern post-imperial Russian nation is still far from complete.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has already become the worst international crisis since the end of the Cold War. Plokhy has worried that a new and terrible stage in the shaping of European borders and populations was emerging. He has said that it all depends on the ability and readiness of the Russian elites to accept the post-Soviet political realities and adjust Russia’s own identity to the demands of the post-colonial world. The alternative, he concluded, might be a new world war.

In my view, we now face the spectre of not only a new Cold War but the prospects of a wider war in Europe, and perhaps beyond Europe, if Russia persists with its post-imperial expansion objectives. This is occurring at the same time as an increasingly authoritarian China is collaborating with its strategic partner in Moscow to remake the international order. This deeply disturbing picture is made all the worse by Putin’s now frequent threats of the potential use of nuclear weapons.

I have deliberately begun these introductory words with reference to the deeply entrenched historical context of Russia’s relations with Ukraine, which extend over more than nine centuries. For much of that time, and particularly during the 74 years of Bolshevik power, Russia’s long history with Ukraine has been consistently reinvented. Russians like to say, ‘The future is certain; it is only the past that is unpredictable.’

And for Putin, today’s past is being continually reinvented, along with his reasons for his so-called special military operation in Ukraine, which is now Europe’s biggest war since World War II. Fake news and facts are the key tools of his huge propaganda offensive to reinforce Russian popular support for his war in Ukraine. It is now claimed by Moscow’s Levada poll that more than 70 percent of Russians believe that the war is not just a war about Ukraine but is also about the West trying to destroy Russia itself.

This brings me to Russia’s geography and Putin’s attempts to mix his fantasies of history with Russia’s geographical vulnerabilities to reinforce his position as the acknowledged authoritarian leader. Countries with long, porous borders become endlessly obsessive about their geographical security. This is something that Australians, with such obvious natural borders, find hard to understand. For more than 400 years, between 1500 and the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, the Russian Empire grew at an astonishing average rate of 47,000 km2 per year. From the nucleus of Muscovy, it expanded into the world’s largest contiguous empire.

Russia is now much smaller than it has been for the past three centuries. Even so, at 17 million km² it is almost double the size of China or the US, and more than double the size of Australia.

But the fact remains that much of the Russian Far East was taken from a weak China by the unequal treaties of Nerchinsk in 1639 and Aigun in 1858. The current Chinese leadership seems to have put this historical inequity to one side for the time being. But it lurks there as a possible geographic cause for a future Chinese conflict with Russia. The Russian Far East Federal District, which shares a long border with China, has scarcely 8 million people but accounts for 40 percent of Russia’s area.

This leaves us with the question of Putin’s further manipulation of Russian culture and his bid for a uniquely Russian ideology. Putin’s primary aim is to revive Russia as a great power and recover an acknowledged sphere of influence over its former Soviet territories in the near abroad. His view is that, without dominance over Ukraine, Russia cannot be a great power again, and that a Ukraine within NATO would be a direct national security threat to Russia. Or, as one of Moscow’s prominent political commentators, Sergei Karaganov, puts it, Ukraine’s membership of NATO would be ‘a spearhead aimed at the heart of Russia.’

So, Putin’s aim is to restore Russia’s reputation as a great power and end the post-Cold War era of its humiliation. By invading Ukraine, Putin intended to send a strong signal to NATO of Russia’s dissatisfaction with its refusal to treat Russia as a major power with a vital geographical interest in Ukraine. Putin’s problem is that he now faces a relatively unified NATO and European Union opposing him. He has not only failed, so far, to establish Russia as a key player in European security; he has also ensured NATO’s enmity for the foreseeable future.

There is one final geopolitical consideration about Russia that requires mention. In recent years, leading Russian figures, including Putin, have begun to stress the geopolitics of what they call ‘Eurasianism’. In this geopolitical ideology, Russia’s economic and political orientation is changing dramatically from being predominantly European in historical outlook to being a great power in what it calls Eurasia. Former foreign minister Igor Ivanov argues that Russia is no longer the eastern flank of a failed greater Europe but is becoming the western flank of the emerging greater Eurasia, albeit led by China.

Many of these musings about Eurasia reflect the sort of imperial revival mentality that can be found in many writings in Moscow these days. They desperately reflect Russia’s seeking a new ideology as a powerful driver for Moscow. Karaganov argues that Russians have ‘our Asian traits in our genes, and we are in part an Asian country because of this.’ And he sees Russia’s greatness as being increasingly focussed on the development of Siberia.

But I believe most Russians would disagree with him. For example, the former KGB rezident in Canberra, Lev Koshliakov, said to me a couple of years ago, ‘I am not Asian.’

All this, of course, begs the question of how Russia can reassert its great power status in the permanent shadow of a rising, if not dominant, China? The central geopolitical question here is how can the West detach—or, more realistically, distance—Russia from China? Zbigniew Brzezinski observed in 2016 that the most dangerous scenario facing the US would be an anti-hegemonic grand coalition of China and Russia united not by ideology but by complementary grievances against the West. A current concern is that such a coalition now exists and is reflected in official worries in Washington that for the first time the US could now face war on two fronts with two great nuclear powers.

Another issue we need to explore, however, is whether Russia is now going to cease to be a major power and what that would mean for global order. The worst-case scenario for Putin would be for Russia’s war in Ukraine to end in a comprehensive military defeat and Ukraine’s integration into the EU and NATO. This would mean that the course of Russian history would change, with the irrevocable and final fall of the empire of the Tsars and the Bolsheviks.

As some Russians recognise and fear, the consequences of that calamity would be far-reaching, plunging Russia into a chronic identity crisis with unpredictable political consequences. It would mean the utter destruction of three long-held Russian beliefs: that Russia is different and is neither European or Asian; that this difference is transcendently important to the continuing existence of the uniquely Russian World or Russkii Mir; and that this gives Russia a unique role in world history.

So, what we are witnessing in Ukraine today may be the prolonged death throes of the Russian Empire, which started three decades ago with the end of the Soviet Union. How much weaker and smaller may Russia become?

Long-term trends of Russia’s demography and economy will certainly further weaken Russia. Russia’s military power and sheer size have led most commentators, reasonably, to still describe it as a major power. But, in view of the dismal performance of Russia’s military power in Ukraine, we must now revisit that judgement. It is hard to see the weakened and still kleptocratic Russian economy quickly rebuilding Russian military strength whenever the war ends.

In this context, strategic failure for Russia will be enormously consequential for the West. Some Russian experts, such as Andrei Kolesnikov, talk about ‘the complete collapse of everything’ in Russia, because under Putin ‘Russia’s future has been amputated.’ In that view, an entirely isolated and weakened Russia faces not only long-term decline but the risk of further chunks of its already much reduced territory deciding to go it alone and to separate from the Russian Federation. A severely weakened, isolated and smaller but still heavily nuclear armed Russia might then become more, not less, dangerous for the world.

In conclusion, the purpose of this essay is to make readers aware of just how different Russia is from Australia and what drives Moscow’s actions. The worry, as Oxford University’s Robert Service reminds us, is that many of the older attitudes and practices under the tsars and the Communist Party have been reinforced with severity in the 21st century under Putin. He has emasculated democratic processes and curtailed freedom of expression. Opposition leaders have been killed, imprisoned or driven into exile. The rule of law has been dumped and the mass media neutered. The corrupt Russian state has seized back control of the commanding heights of the economy. And the West is being treated as a hostile concert of powers. Service concludes, ‘It is resoundingly clear that Russian politics are still freighted with heavy baggage from the early twentieth century.’ The oppressive conditions that held back Russia in the past ‘have yet to be consigned to the ash heap of history.’

In my view, however, the last act of Russia’s threat to the established international order is still to come. Therefore, we need to be vigilant and ensure the current checks and balances against Russian aggression remain firmly in place. Even more importantly, insufficient attention has been paid in the West to the evolution of Russian security thinking, and to understanding Russia’s emergent strengths and ongoing, perhaps fatal, weaknesses. Western policymakers’ grasp of the Russian leadership’s motivations and decision-making processes, especially in respect of military matters, has degraded since the end of the Cold War.

The fact is that the West has been caught napping, and we need to think afresh about planning for Russia and its new security policy, including the role of nuclear weapons. But in thinking afresh, we need to keep in mind that many of the historical forces at work in Russia will persist—including beyond Putin’s term in office.

EU, NATO forge closer ties with East Asia as Russia, China threaten

The Russian invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022 brought the European Union and Poland closer to like-minded states in Asia, including Japan. We realised that despite different histories and cultures we share the same values regarding international politics, namely the adherence to the international law-based order established in 1945.

We do not accept the concept of spheres of influence where the stronger dictate policies to smaller countries, we do not accept that might is right, that internationally agreed borders can be changed by force, or that members of the United Nations can be made to disappear. The Ramstein group created to help Ukraine militarily in April 2022 consists of over 50 states. It includes all NATO members, as well as Australia, Japan, New Zealand, South Korea and some African and Latin American countries.

Over almost three years of the war in Ukraine, a linkage was made between Eastern Europe and East Asia. From a political perspective, a Russian victory would be interpreted as proof that aggression pays and can succeed because the liberal democracies of the world are weak, divided, lack strategic understanding and prefer to concentrate on commerce and profit, rather than sticking to the law-based order that made the world so successful after World War II. As a consequence, the South China Sea and the Taiwan Strait may soon face similar pressures. Abandoning Ukraine today will set an ominous precedent for some countries in East Asia.

In the European Union, and in Poland in particular, we realise that in the current situation security is the most important part of state policy. Germany’s Ostpolitik engagement and Wandel durch Handel (change through trade) policies failed in the past. Policies that encouraged Russia ended with its invasion of Georgia in 2008, Crimea in 2014 and the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. This is why the Polish EU rotating presidency in the first half of 2025 will concentrate on security: military, energy, food, pharma and cyber. This is why Poland will spend a record 4.7 percent of GDP on defence (in real terms, the fifth-largest spender in NATO) and already has the third-biggest army among member states.

In this context, the EU notes the political and economic support provided to Russia by China. In 2019, the organisation accepted the paradigm that China is a partner, economic competitor and systemic rival. Due to the war and the results of the American presidential election, this assessment has changed. China supports in principle Russia’s position on the United States, NATO and Western Europe. Specific Russian goals were described just before the invasion of Ukraine in the two treaty proposals from Russia to the EU and the US and published on the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs website on 17 December 2021.

The message was that NATO activities in former Soviet territories should be constrained and NATO should not be permitted to expand. The proposal was unacceptable to NATO members. The Russian invasion of Ukraine rendered them obsolete. NATO has a military presence on its eastern flank and previously neutral Finland and Sweden became full members.

The increasingly assertive security policies of China in the Indo-Pacific, which includes the supply of sensitive dual-use items to Russia (though denied by the authorities) may put in doubt China’s partner status in relation to the EU. As the EU’s new top diplomat Kaja Kallas stated in a hearing in Brussels, ‘My priority in contacts with China will be protection of the geopolitical and economic security of the EU.’ The new approach to China may concentrate more on the rival part and on pursuing de-risking strategies, especially in areas critical for EU member security. These areas include energy transformation, the pharmaceuticals sector, agriculture and new technologies. The new sanction regime may include Chinese companies suspected of selling components of potential military use to Russia.

We can expect that the US will demand that the EU follow the restrictions of trade and accept US regulations and technological standards in relation to China. Incoming president Donald Trump’s policy may concentrate on decoupling and there may be an expectation that the EU should follow suit, given that the bloc remains a large and basically open market for Chinese products and is dependent on China in some key industrial areas.

Should the US introduce high tariffs on Chinese products, the European countries may face increased imports. This in turn may result in a more assertive EU approach, as exemplified in the antidumping duties for Chinese electric cars. China, which regards the EU as a weak body dependent on the US, may in turn try to increase bilateral contacts with some EU member states that rely primarily on their supply chains and China-based production. As a result, EU member states may have different views on the de-risking strategy.

China regards Russia as its ally and partner in its rivalry with the US. The post-1945 international order is challenged, although in different forms, by both these countries. Both accept the idea of the spheres of influence and the logic that a few big and powerful states should exercise control over the other smaller and weaker entities. China regards positively the proposals for European strategic autonomy, as that may weaken transatlantic relations. It also aspires to be a partner or a guarantor of the new European security architecture proposed by Russian President Vladimir Putin—a suggestion that is obviously unacceptable to the EU and NATO members.

The geopolitical changes after February 2022 produced some unexpected results. For the first time since the collapse of the Soviet Union, most European countries started to take defence and security seriously. In 2024, the goal of spending 2 percent of GDP annually on defence by NATO members was reached by 20 out of 32 states (three years earlier there were six). Europe decided to produce arms and munitions to recreate the once thriving industry dismantled in the 1990s.

Most importantly, the Europeans and the like-minded East Asians came to cooperate closely with each other on security. We have now strong links with the IP4 (Australia, New Zealand, Japan and South Korea), but also with India and the Philippines.

Together, we can become resilient while facing international challenges.

From the bookshelf: ‘War’

Russia’s war on Ukraine, the war in the Middle East and the yawning chasm between liberal Americans and MAGA supporters defined much of the presidency of Joe Biden and are likely to define the political landscape for the initial years of Donald Trump’s second presidency.

In his latest book, War, Bob Woodward provides a vivid inside account of the three intertwined conflicts, casting fresh light on recent global events and providing the reader with tools to compare the outgoing and incoming administrations.

Woodward and his colleague Carl Bernstein, both working at The Washington Post, rose to instant fame in 1972 for their coverage of the Watergate scandal, which led to the resignation of US president Richard Nixon. Their book about Watergate, All The President’s Men, has been hailed as ‘the greatest reporting story of all time’.

Woodward has gone on to author or co-author a further 22 books about US politics, including several about Trump’s first presidency, and still has a desk at The Washington Post. More than half a century of reporting on the US political establishment has given him access to inside sources that other journalists can only dream of.

Woodward’s research is meticulous and his sources impeccable. As a result, War brims with direct quotes from US and world leaders and their aides that provide fresh perspective on recent political dealmaking.

Woodward takes us behind the headlines to the minute-by-minute decision-making that has shaped key political outcomes. The reality that he describes is often very different from that depicted by the media.

When Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in April 2024 ordered a missile strike on Iran that killed the ranking commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards, and Iran responded with a massive missile strike on Israel, Netanyahu was ready to retaliate in kind and the elements were in place for all-out war. Woodward provides a blow-by-blow account of the exchange between Netanyahu and US President Joe Biden that convinced the former to back down.

Ultimately, Netanyahu agreed to a ‘small precision retaliatory response’ while sending Iran a back-channel message that Israel was ‘going to respond but we consider our response to be the end’. Iran did not respond further and, thanks to Biden’s intervention, a major crisis was averted. The reader can only speculate how Trump would have handled the situation.

Woodward also contemplates what drives presidents Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump. He reminds us that Trump views everything through a personalised prism. At a 2018 press conference in Helsinki following a summit with Putin, Trump accepted the Russian leader’s denial of meddling in the US presidential elections at face value, despite having seen extensive evidence to the contrary, and had great difficulty subsequently withdrawing his remarks. ‘[Putin] said very good things about me’, Trump explained to his aides, ‘why should I repudiate him?’

In stark contrast, Putin is driven by a deep frustration with the collapse of the Soviet Union and a desire to restore Russia to greatness. In October 2021, Biden’s intelligence directors presented him and his closest advisers with conclusive intel that Putin intended to invade Ukraine. Woodward details the incredulous responses within the US administration and among its closest European allies trying to understand why the usually low-key Putin would make such a high-risk move.

When confronted about the planned invasion by secretary of state Antony Blinken, Russian foreign minister Sergei Lavrov denied the intel point blank, blustering ‘Are you serious with this stuff?’ Interestingly, Blinken concludes that Lavrov, who is not part of Putin’s innermost circle, probably had not been kept fully in the loop.

Woodward details many other high-level exchanges. In late 2022, German Chancellor Olaf Scholz was unwilling to authorise other European countries to supply Ukraine with German-made top-of-the-line Leopard battle tanks without the United States matching the move by providing M1 Abrams tanks, which Biden was reluctant to do. Blinken and other senior staffers spent long hours convincing Biden to announce the decision without immediately providing the tanks, thus allowing Germany to go ahead.

In October 2022, Russia publicly accused Ukraine of preparing to use a dirty radioactive bomb, and indicated that it would consider this an act of nuclear terrorism to which it would respond. Woodward provides a fascinating account of the tense phone call from US Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin that convinced his Russian counterpart Sergei Shoigu to back down from the implied nuclear threat.

For Blinken, convincing Netanyahu and his war cabinet to allow the first shipment of humanitarian aid into Gaza was no less challenging.

On balance, Woodward considers the Biden presidency a success. At the centre of this success lie teamwork and continuity. Biden’s tight-knit team from the State and Defense Departments, National Security Council, Joint Chiefs of Staff and CIA worked together throughout his term to pursue a sound and coherent foreign policy. Woodward provides a set of benchmarks against which to assess the incoming US administration.

Editors’ picks for 2024: ‘As important as Ukraine is, a Taiwan war must be Australia’s biggest worry’

Originally published on 30 September 2024.

Other than the Middle East, the world faces the possibility of two major wars escalating in Europe and East Asia, over Ukraine and Taiwan.

Australia must worry about either of those wars, but ultimately it’s the possible loss of Taiwan to China that could be the front-and-centre issue for our national security.

Ukraine and Taiwan each face a military threat from a large neighbouring great power that is nuclear armed. In Ukraine’s case, Russia has already invaded, and the two have been at war for more than two-and-a-half years. In Taiwan’s case, communist China’s President Xi Jinping is making increasing threats that China should integrate Taiwan, and he reserves the right to use force to occupy it.

In Russia’s case, Putin is bogged down in a slow war of attrition, which he did not expect. And he is making increasing threats of the use of nuclear weapons. Ukraine’s recent occupation of Russian territory in the Kursk oblast (region) is the first time that a non-nuclear power has invaded the territory of a nuclear superpower. One of Putin’s self-proclaimed advisors, Sergei Karaganov, has recently said, ‘Any attack on our territory must get a nuclear response.’

There are, however, some obvious differences between Ukraine and Taiwan. First, Ukraine is an internationally recognised independent state, and we should remember that post-communist Russia recognised it as such in the 1994 Minsk Agreement.

In the case of Taiwan, there is no such recognition that it is an independent country. To the contrary, nearly every major power in the world does not recognise Taiwan as a separate independent nation state. Even so, more than 70 percent of Taiwanese identify themselves as being Taiwanese—not Chinese.

This leads us to another significant difference. Ukraine cannot yet be recognised as a full democracy free from corruption and having an independent judiciary. Quite the opposite. After Ukraine became a separate country, it suffered prolonged instability and violence due to the rise of oligarchs and widespread corruption involving criminal gangs. Corruption continues to be a major impediment against it joining the European Union.

By comparison, Taiwan is not only a much longer established democracy, but it does much better in surveys about corruption and has a basically independent judiciary.

Both these countries have a chequered recent history. Ukraine declared its independence from Russia in 1990. Yeltsin was so anxious to be president of a separate Russia that despite being reminded by one of his senior advisers to raise the issue of Crimea with the new Ukrainian president, Leonid Kravchuk, Yeltsin hastily remarked that Crimea could be settled later.

In January 1994, Ukraine agreed to cease being a nuclear power; it transferred 1300 strategic nuclear warheads to Russia in exchange for security reassurances from the US and Russia about Ukrainian sovereignty. Had Ukraine retained some nuclear weapons, it would probably not have faced the humiliation of being invaded by Russia.

In Taiwan’s case, it was effectively under ruthless martial law from 1949 under the dictator Chiang Kai-shek until the demise of the KMT single-party system and the rise of the democracy movement in the 1980s. Martial law was eventually lifted by Chiang’s son, president Chiang Ching-kuo, in 1987, and constitutional democracy was restored.

We have now seen a vibrant democracy in Taiwan with routine, peaceful changes of government over the past 37 years. The success of democracy in Taiwan has contradicted an old assertion that Chinese people, including those in Singapore and Hong Kong, would never be able to make democracy work properly.

This brings us to the crucial issue of all-out military contingencies involving the survival of both countries and their differing strategic implications for Australia. In the case of Ukraine, the big question is what Australia would do if Russia’s war with Ukraine escalated into a full-blown military confrontation between Russia and NATO. From a moral and international legal perspective, there would be pressure on us to make some sort of contribution. But Ukraine is not in our region of broader strategic concern in the Asia-Pacific region. Moreover, if the war in Europe were to escalate to include Russian attacks on neighbouring NATO members, such as Poland and the Baltic countries, it would involve high intensity land-based military conflict for which the Australian Defence Force is not structured. We could make no more than a limited military contribution.

But such an escalated European war might create an opportunity for China to attack Taiwan. China could perhaps attack Taiwan at the same time as Russia expanded its war to neighbouring NATO countries. Although Taiwan itself is not in Australia’s area of immediate strategic interest (Southeast Asia and the South Pacific) a successful conquest of Taiwan and defeat of America by China would raise potentially first-order strategic threats to Australia, and our own survival as a fully independent state, for the following reasons.

First, if China decisively defeated the United States in such a war, then there might be nothing to stop China from expanding southwards and establishing military bases in our immediate vicinity. And a beaten US might retract into one of its historic phases of isolationism. Australia would then be strategically isolated and without a protector. Southeast Asia and the South Pacific would effectively come into China’s sphere of influence.

Second, such a shock defeat of the US would have grave consequences for Japan and South Korea. It would involve them conceding sea and air control of the East China Sea and the South China Sea to China. A China commanding the island of Taiwan would have military dominance over the South China Sea and Southeast Asia. A new China-centric geopolitical order would then most likely prevail throughout East Asia. Such a crisis might reasonably drive Japan and South Korea into acquiring a reliable retaliatory nuclear strike capability of their own.

Third, Australia would have to consider where its future lied under the jackboot of a dominant Beijing. Without the US alliance and our critical access to American intelligence, surveillance, targeting, weapon systems and world-beating military platforms, we would no longer have credible military capabilities. Would we then retreat into a neutral posture with only the pathetic remains of a credible military force?

Fourth, the truly nightmare scenario would be a conjoining of Russian military successes against contiguous NATO members such as the Baltic countries and Poland with China’s defeat of America over Taiwan and the resulting dominance of Japan and South Korea. This wicked brew then drums up the ultimate contingency of an all-out nuclear war.

Those Australians who carelessly proclaim that the United States is finished, that China will inevitably dominate the entire Asia-Pacific region and that our only survival will be to get out of the ANZUS partnership need to think again. Theirs is a value-free world where we would be on the receiving end of communist China’s dominance.

So, in the event of a US war with China over Taiwan, what could Australia contribute? Our defence force is of a modest size but we have considerable potential to defend ourselves if, instead of just waiting for AUKUS submarines, we rapidly acquire sufficient long-range anti-ship missiles with ranges of more than 2000km.

We would, however, require access to airfields and ports—for example in Okinawa, which is less than 600km from Taiwan. But a more credible military mission for us would be to deny the narrow straits of Southeast Asia (Malacca, Sunda and Lombok) to China’s maritime traffic—including the 80 percent of its oil imports.

The purpose of this analysis has been to demonstrate the dangers of listening to those who focus only on the risks of resisting and deterring China. Instead, my analysis here concentrates on the dangers of not resisting and not deterring China.

Moreover, when strategic push comes to shove, we need to recognise that, unlike Ukraine, Taiwan may become directly important in our defence planning priorities. Even so, we do have a strong national interest in seeing Ukraine liberated from Russia’s illegal invasion and we should do what we can to bring that about.

After a rocky year in Northeast Asia, prepare for another

2024 proved to be an unexpectedly dynamic year for Northeast Asia, and we must be ready for an equally unsteady 2025. Changes in political leadership, evolving ententes and uncertain policy trajectories may all contribute to confrontation, or they could open policy windows to de-escalation and cooperation. Both risk and opportunity await in the new year, and it will be up to policymakers to recognise them and take deliberate steps towards desired outcomes.

To prepare for the new year, it is essential to set the scene for the current political-military situation among the major Northeast Asian players: Russia, China, North Korea, South Korea and Japan. This builds a foundation for tackling the regional issues that await.

Immediate attention will fall to Russia, whose war of aggression against Ukraine has gained from participation by North Korean soldiers. Although both Pyongyang and the Kremlin disavow formal North Korean involvement, its personnel and materiel support reflects deepening ties, that were formalised in what they called the ‘Treaty of Comprehensive Strategic Partnership’ signed during Vladimir Putin’s visit to the North Korean capital in June. An outstanding question heading into the new year is what North Korean soldiers will be bringing back from the Ukrainian front lines, be it tactics, techniques, and procedures; Russian equipment and technology; or all of the above.

Another lingering question is how deepening Russo-North Korean ties will affect each country’s relationship with China. North Korea has demonstrated its capacity for deftly playing the Kremlin and Beijing off one another, and while China still maintains substantial economic leverage over the North Koreans, financial and resource support from Russia shifts the power dynamics.

China has also expanded outreach and contact with other governments since the last meeting of the National People’s Congress in March, including resumption of the Military Maritime Consultation Agreement mechanism meetings with the United States, a trilateral summit with South Korea and Japan in Busan, and a stated ‘turnaround’ in relations with Australia in 2024. While Russia seems unfazed by this outreach, its impact on Sino-North Korean relations bears observation.

Meanwhile, North Korea began the year with its most important policy declaration since its announcement in 1993 that it was withdrawing from the nuclear non-proliferation treaty. The government said in January that it was abandoning its decades-old unification policy with South Korea and, for the first time in its history, would recognise two sovereign states on the Korean peninsula. Steps to implement this policy soon followed, including dismantlement of inter-Korean related organisations and infrastructure. It also made substantial efforts to harden the boundary between the two Koreas with fences, walls and landmines.

Tensions on the Korean Peninsula were low throughout 2024. While Pyongyang employed tactics such as propaganda broadcasting and delivering trash into South Korea with balloons, it took measures to mitigate risk of runaway escalation. This was evident in early October when North Korea notified the US-led United Nations Command before dismantling roads and railways in the northern half of the demilitarised zone, as well as by its muted response to South Korea’s unexpected political turmoil in December. The forthcoming end-of-year Workers’ Party of Korea meeting will offer insight into its policy priorities for 2025, including possible signals to foreign governments—particularly the incoming US administration. Given its policy trajectory since abandoning unification with the South, North Korea may seek to normalise its status as a separate sovereign state in the coming year.

Elsewhere on the Korean peninsula, South Korea will enter 2025 in political disarray. Yoon Suk Yeol’s short-lived declaration of martial law led to his swift impeachment. While this demonstrated the strength of South Korea’s democratic institutions, the saga is not yet over. There is still a constitutional process to determine Yoon’s fate, which could take up to six months, including for deliberations in the country’s constitutional court. If it confirms Yoon’s removal, final resolution of the crisis with a general election may take a further two months.

While the exact date is unknown, observers should expect a new presidential administration in South Korea in 2025. Assuming the transition happens, a shift in power from the country’s conservatives to its progressives will be all but certain. As it stands, the current conservative platform, which champions South Korea’s role as a ‘global pivotal state’ and embraces multilateral security ties, will likely give way to a platform that returns the government’s focus to rekindling engagement with North Korea. While those two lines of effort are not mutually exclusive, past progressive administrations in South Korea have treated them as such, leading many observers to wonder what may come of the country’s outreach to NATO, its increased joint training with foreign partners such as Australia, and its improving relations with Japan.

In Japan, meanwhile, the Liberal Democratic Party will enter the new year as a minority government for the first time in decades. Prime Minister Ishiba Shigeru won his spot atop the government by a narrow margin in a surprise victory over intraparty opponents, further complicating the political landscape. Ishiba’s administration must navigate fraught political waters when attempting to pass legislation in the parliament, and the prime minister must do the same to build consensus within his own party.

Political discord and uncertainty tend to reinforce Japan’s foreign and security policy trajectory. In other words, formulation and implementation of those policies falls back to the historically strong bureaucracy that continues to move forward under the standing legislation and guidance. While this offers some stability, it presents challenges for championing new initiatives or adjusting to rapidly evolving situations. This may make it difficult for the Japanese government to respond to the changes that come with new US and South Korean presidential administrations or to any sudden shifts in Russian, Chinese or North Korean behaviour.

These conditions demand an agile approach to security decision-making in 2025. A new trilateral alliance forming between Russia, China and North Korea is not a foregone conclusion. Once-in-a-generation political conditions in South Korea and Japan should be given particular consideration by states looking to engage and respond to security issues. Those hoping for success must be ready to anticipate, assess and adjust to tackle the challenges that await in the new year.

War risks from nuclear power plants? Just look at Zaporizhzhia

Proposals for nuclear power in Australia will have to take national security risks into account.

As evidenced in an International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) report released in September, Russia’s occupation of the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine continues to create high risk of a nuclear disaster. In considering future conflicts, no one can safely assume that an enemy will avoid targeting nuclear power stations.

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s repeated threats to use nuclear weapons and new nuclear doctrine are alarming. But, as Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky warned at the United Nations on 25 September, the immediate nuclear risk is at Zaporizhzhia.

The Zaporizhzhia plant has been on or near the frontline since the Russian invasion in February 2022, exposed to nearby combat and, since Russian seizure in March 2022, dangerous mismanagement. There is significant risk of an accidental or intentional nuclear incident at the plant.

It is no longer tenable to argue that nuclear power plants are protected in conflicts by taboo. This must be considered as the Australian Liberal-National opposition proposes building seven major nuclear power plants and two small modular reactors in Australia.

The IAEA, the global nuclear watchdog, has been clear on the risks associated with the Zaporizhzhia plant. As established in the most recent and earlier reports, Russia’s actions during the conflict have either partially or fully compromised all seven of the IAEA’s ‘indispensable pillars’ of nuclear security. Notably, this framework was developed only in response to the invasion of Ukraine and Russia’s unprecedented wartime targeting and occupation of nuclear facilities.

Physical integrity (Pillar 1) and safety and security systems (Pillar 2) have been compromised by damage to the plant from direct attacks and nearby combat. The plant was first shelled in March 2022 when Russia seized control. More recently, on 27 June, an external radiation monitoring system 16km away was destroyed by shelling—which also compromised radiation monitoring and emergency preparedness (Pillar 6).

Drone strikes targeted the plant in April and July, and IAEA monitoring teams at the plant reported nearby explosions as recently as September. In August, fires at the plant coincided with the Ukrainian incursion into Kursk, with large amounts of smoke billowing from a cooling tower.

In 2023, Russia conducted unauthorised structural changes and Russian forces even stored explosives in proximity to a nuclear reactor. Additionally, anti-personnel mines were also laid between the plant’s inner and outer fences in 2022, and more mines were laid in January 2024.

The capacity of operating staff, (Pillar 3) has been affected by the treatment of Ukrainian employees at the plant, including physical violence and torture, some fatal, by occupying Russian military and security forces. Workers have also been denied access to critical security systems and exposed to high stress. The chain of command has become unclear, resulting in conflicting messages to workers.

Shelling and other damage to the nearby city of Enerhodar has left workers and their families in poor living conditions, intermittently without power or fresh water supply. By early 2024, Ukrainian employees were reportedly no longer permitted at the facility. It is now operating with a personnel shortage: the plant has about 5000 workers, down from the pre-war peak of 11,000. In May, remaining staff were reporting severe psychological stress.

Russia has also weakened the facility’s necessary off-site power supply (Pillar 4). Since Russia tried to connect it to the Russian energy grid, the plant has lost three 750kV power lines and five of its 330kV backup power lines. It now operates with one of each and has suffered eight complete losses of off-site power. External power supply is essential to secure operation of the plant and continued operation of safety systems. In early 2024, the plant went 23 consecutive days without a backup connection.

As for Pillar 5 (an uninterrupted supply chain), the IAEA has reported the plant’s fragile logistics for spare or replacement parts and safety equipment. This is in part due to reliance on equipment from Western suppliers. Pillar 7, the requirement for reliable communications, has been compromised by the limitations on communication between the plant and the Ukrainian energy grid operator.

Additional threats have come from the destruction of the Kakhovka dam in June 2023, an event that is widely attributed to Russia. This reduced water supply to the Zaporizhzhia plant for cooling reactors and spent fuel.

Russia has targeted other Ukrainian nuclear facilities, too. The Institute of Physics and Technology in Kharkiv, which housed a small experimental reactor, was destroyed from the air in March 2022. Moscow has also continually spread disinformation and stoked nuclear fears, most recently regarding the security of the Kursk Nuclear Power Plant after the Ukrainian advance into the region.

This is a lesson on the vulnerability of nuclear infrastructure during a conflict. Political leaders and policymakers must pay attention to it as they consider domestic energy policy.

After the gift of tanks, Australia needs a long-term approach to supporting Ukraine

The 17 October announcement that Australia would give 49 surplus M1A1 Abrams tanks to Ukraine is welcome, regardless of quibbles over the timeliness of the decision.  

Australia’s domestic debate over the process for donating materiel to Ukraine is important, but it mustn’t distract Canberra from the larger strategic task of helping Kyiv to end the war on its terms, which President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s newly unveiled victory plan has brought back into focus. That requires NATO allies and their Indo-Pacific partners visibly stepping up and pulling together ahead of the US election in November. 

Canberra can and should play an outsized role in that process because outcomes in Ukraine affect stability in our region. It needs a long-term approach for doing so. 

Australia can never hope to tilt the balance in Ukraine, but these US-made vehicles will make a military contribution on the ground. The donation accounts for the bulk of the 59 Abrams tanks that have been in Australian Army service since 2007. They are being replaced by 75 tanks of the much more advanced M1A2 SEPv3 version of the Abrams, the first batch of which has been received from the US. The fate of the Australian Army’s remaining 10 older Abrams tanks is less clear, but some may conceivably become available for donation to Ukraine once transition to the M1A2 version is complete. 

While the tanks are valued at around $245 million, the package does not appear to include funds for training, ammunition, repairs or alterations that improve survivability, such as fitting more armour to counter drones and other anti-tank weapons. But since Ukraine already operates Abrams tanks that the US has donated, it may be well placed to attend to those requirements.  

The announcement will not silence calls for a clearer and more consistent approach towards Australia’s support for Ukraine. Andrew Hastie, the shadow defence minister, said the move was ‘better late than never’. But Defence Industry Minister Pat Conroy said the timing reflected the delivery of the newer tanks and the need to obtain permission from Washington, which controls the transfer of military technology.  

Donating the tanks conforms to one of the recommendations of a Senate committee that looked at support for Ukraine. Focus will now shift to other equipment slated for retirement, such as the 22 Tiger armed reconnaissance helicopters.  

As we’ve argued previously alongside ASPI colleagues, the government needs a prompt and thorough mechanism for screening assistance to Ukraine that covers Australian defence industry capacity and military inventories, generating a long-term pipeline of support. The Australian Defence Force should not surrender kit that it needs; rather, we should nurture our capacity to make and improve equipment for capabilities that we and our democratic partners need.  

Australia’s approach to supporting Ukraine needs to be understood by Kyiv, other partners and the Australian Parliament and public. If a robust process is already in place in Canberra, it’s not yet sufficiently transparent to garner widespread trust. That task will remain harder while the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade continues to delay the reopening of the Australian embassy in Kyiv—a logjam that the government and Parliament should work together to solve by amending health and safety law.  

Crucially, capability bucket lists and domestic political scraps must not distract Canberra from the larger strategic goal. Helping Ukraine to end the war on its terms includes restoring deterrence and establishing collective security arrangements as the basis for a durable peace. Zelenskyy’s victory plan, also announced last week, lays out a pathway to achieve that, potentially as early as next year.  

The crux of the plan is that Russia must lose the war, as freezing the conflict would embolden further aggression by Valdimir Putin and what Zelenskyy brands the ‘coalition of criminals’ backing Moscow. One of those criminals, Kim Jong Un, should be considered a direct party to the conflict if it’s proven that North Korean troops are operating in Ukraine. Meanwhile, China and Iran continue to ramp up material support.  

Zelenskyy is clear that Ukraine’s victory depends on the will of its partners. Encouragingly, Australia’s military aid has no conditions attached beyond compliance with international humanitarian law, which means the tanks may be used to attack and hold Russian territory—one of Zelenskyy’s criteria for forcing the Kremlin’s hand. Our intelligence and security agencies must now redouble their vigilance against Russian retaliation, which might be directed against Australians. 

At the strategic level, Canberra’s urgent task is to work with Japan, New Zealand and South Korea to emphasise that a durable peace on Kyiv’s terms is also essential for deterrence in the Indo-Pacific. The inclusion of ministers from those countries in the opening session of NATO meetings on 17 October helps get that message across. 

Australia should go further by spelling out a long-term approach, including by joining the over 30 countries that have signing onto the G7 declaration of support for Ukraine. Canberra should also consider forging a bilateral security and defence agreement with Ukraine, following the example of the 26 countries that already have.

Slovakia’s anti-democratic government is doubling down

Just as Slovakia entered a moratorium on public speeches and campaigning ahead of this month’s European Parliament elections, Prime Minister Robert Fico delivered his first public remarks since he was seriously injured in an assassination attempt in May.

On May 15, Fico was shot four times at close range in the former mining town of Handlova in central Slovakia after chairing an offsite cabinet meeting. He was transported to the hospital in critical condition, underwent several rounds of surgery and is now recuperating at his home in Bratislava.

In a recorded video address, Fico said he ‘forgives’ the man who tried to kill him. But he swiftly blamed the ‘politically unsuccessful and frustrated’ opposition for the circumstances that led to the shooting, calling the assailant the opposition’s ‘messenger of evil and political hatred’. Fico added that he had ‘no reason to believe this was an attack by a lone madman.’

The shooter, 71-year-old poet and former security guard Juraj Cintula, reportedly opposed Fico’s media policies and his government’s stance on Ukraine. But as an anti-minority, anti-immigrant activist with ties to an ultra-nationalist group that has acted as a pro-Russia propaganda tool, Cintula could hardly be described as a supporter of the progressive liberal opposition, let alone its messenger.

Nevertheless, the attempted assassination is indicative of Slovakia’s toxic political climate and deepening polarisation (among the highest in Europe), which reflects three main factors. First, an intense intergenerational conflict is playing out across Slovakia’s political spectrum as older, rural and often disillusioned voters find themselves at odds with the opposition’s younger, urban and more pro-Western voter base.

These groups increasingly struggle to find common ground, causing rifts within households and local communities. For example, while the current government’s supporters are preoccupied with pensions, social benefits, and ‘preserving peace’—having been convinced by Fico that aiding Ukraine would drag Slovakia into a military conflict with Russia—younger voters view the country’s NATO and European Union memberships as crucial security guarantees. Meanwhile, social conservatives, seeing ‘progressive’ or ‘liberal’ politics as a threat to traditional family and religious values, assume a defensive stance that stifles constructive political dialogue.

Second, Slovakian voters have been inundated with incendiary rhetoric, misinformation and hate speech, all amplified by social media. Fico himself has repeatedly, and falsely, accused former president Zuzana Caputova of being a ‘foreign agent’ serving ‘American interests’, possibly contributing to death threats against her and her loved ones. His cabinet members similarly mischaracterised pro-Western presidential candidate Ivan Korcok as a warmonger to stoke fears among supporters of the ruling party, Smer-Social Democracy.

Lastly, Fico’s return to power has exacerbated the problem. Fico, Slovakia’s longest-serving prime minister, staged an unlikely political comeback in 2023, five years after he was forced to step down to quell a political crisis sparked by the murder of a journalist investigating allegations of high-level corruption. Over the past few years, several members of Fico’s former cabinet have been suspected of, and in some cases charged with, serious criminal offenses.

Consequently, the government dismantled the Special Prosecutor’s Office, which was responsible for investigating such crimes, and tried to overhaul the penal code immediately after assuming office, triggering widespread protests. The government has also sought to restructure public media to tighten control over news content, thereby undermining press freedom and the European Union’s rule-of-law standards.

The outcome of April’s presidential election could further undermine democratic checks and balances, as the government-aligned president, Peter Pellegrini, is unlikely to challenge the executive branch, as Caputova did. Notably, the president is responsible for appointing constitutional court judges and has the authority to pardon convicted criminals. With Pellegrini’s victory, the administration’s control of the legislative and executive branches may extend to the presidency.

Any hope that Fico’s shooting would serve as a wake-up call and unite Slovaks in support of their fledgling democracy has been dashed. Shortly after the assassination attempt, several senior government officials suggested that the media played a role in radicalising the prime minister’s shooter, telling journalists to look in the mirror. Fico’s address has made it abundantly clear that the government intends to use this tragedy to suppress the opposition and independent media, enabling it to pass controversial laws with little pushback.

Fico’s shooting could also fuel political violence across Europe and beyond, as populists around the world push for peace in Ukraine at the expense of Ukraine’s territorial integrity. In the days following the assassination attempt, Michal Simecka, the leader of Slovakia’s main pro-democracy opposition party, and Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk both received death threats.

But while Fico appears emboldened, the government might be overestimating how long it can maintain its current policy course, given Slovakia’s heavy reliance on its trading partners, allies and international investors. The looming threat of losing crucial EU funds could constrain the government’s illiberal reforms, especially as Slovakia faces increased pressure from soaring energy prices and the EU’s reformed Stability and Growth Pact, with its rigid debt-reduction targets.

Moreover, Slovakia’s shift from legacy car manufacturing to electric vehicles will demand fresh inflows of foreign capital. But the ongoing political turbulence has diminished the economy’s international appeal and undermined its fiscal prospects, driving young Slovaks to seek opportunities abroad.

Even if Fico’s shooting bolsters his political support, the opposition and the media must continue to scrutinize and challenge the ruling coalition. Amid a recent spate of government bills aimed at eroding Slovakia’s remaining democratic safeguards, sustained international pressure is more important than ever.

Old and new lessons from the Ukraine War

Two years ago, I outlined eight lessons from the Ukraine War. Though I warned that it was too early to be confident about any predictions, they have held up reasonably well.

When Russian President Vladimir Putin ordered the invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, he envisaged a quick seizure of the capital, Kyiv, and a change of government, much like what the Soviets did in Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968. But the war is still raging, and no one knows when or how it will end.

If one sees the conflict as Ukraine’s ‘war of independence’, rather than focusing too much on borders, the Ukrainians are already victorious. Putin had denied that Ukraine was a separate nation, but his behaviour has only strengthened Ukrainian national identity.

What else have we learned? First, old and new weapons complement each other. Despite the early success of anti-tank weapons in the defence of Kyiv, I warned, correctly, that proclamations about the end of the tank era might prove premature as the battle moved from the northern suburbs to Ukraine’s eastern plains. However, I did not anticipate the effectiveness of drones as anti-tank and anti-ship weapons, nor did I expect that Ukraine could drive the Russian navy from the western half of the Black Sea. (Artillery and mines also have played a major role as the conflict has settled into World War I-style trench warfare.)

Second, nuclear deterrence works, but it depends on relative stakes more than capabilities. The West has been deterred, but only up to a point. Putin’s nuclear threat has kept NATO governments from sending troops (though not equipment) to Ukraine. But the reason is not that Russia has superior nuclear capabilities; rather, it is that Putin has designated Ukraine a vital national interest for Russia, whereas Western governments have not. Meanwhile, Putin’s nuclear sabre rattling has not prevented the West from extending the range of the weapons it provides to Ukraine; and the West, so far, has deterred Putin from attacking any NATO countries.

Third, economic interdependence does not prevent war. Some German policymakers assumed that cutting trade ties with Russia would be so costly that neither party would allow for open hostilities. But while economic interdependence can raise the costs of war, it does not necessarily prevent it. More to the point, an uneven economic interdependence can be weaponised by the less dependent party.

Fourth, sanctions can raise costs, but they do not determine outcomes in the short term. Recall that CIA Director William Burns met with Putin in November 2021 and warned, to no avail, of impending sanctions should Russia invade. Putin probably doubted that the West could maintain global unity on sanctions, and he was right. Oil is a fungible commodity, and many countries, not least India, are more than happy to import discounted Russian oil transported by an irregular fleet of tankers.

Nonetheless, as I expected two years ago, China’s concerns about getting entangled in secondary sanctions do seem to have set some limits on its support for Russia. While China has provided important dual-use technology (suitable for either military or civilian purposes), it has abstained from sending weapons. Given this mixed picture, it will be some time before we can fully judge the long-term effect of sanctions on Russia.

Fifth, information warfare makes a difference. Modern wars are not only about whose army wins; they are also about whose story wins. The careful disclosure by the United States of intelligence revealing Russia’s invasion plans proved effective in debunking the narrative that Putin wanted Europeans to believe, and it contributed greatly to Western solidarity when the invasion occurred as predicted. Equally, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has done an extraordinary job of promoting his country’s story in the West.

Sixth, both hard and soft power matter. While hard, coercive power trumps the soft power of attraction in the near term, soft power still counts for a lot. Putin failed the soft-power test early on. The sheer barbarism of Russian forces in Ukraine led Germany finally to cancel the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline, an outcome that years of US pressure had failed to bring about. Zelensky, by contrast, has been relying on soft power from the start. Using his skills as an actor to present an attractive portrait of Ukraine, he not only won Western sympathy, but also secured deliveries of the military equipment that underwrites hard power.

Seventh, cyber capability is not a silver bullet. Russia had used cyber weapons to meddle with Ukraine’s power grid since at least 2015, and many analysts predicted that a cyber blitz against Ukraine’s infrastructure and government would make any invasion a fait accompli. But while there have been many (reported) cyberattacks during the war, none has proved decisive. When the Ukrainians’ Viasat network was hacked, they started communicating through Starlink’s many small satellites. With training and battlefield experience, Ukrainian cyber defence and offense has only improved.

Another lesson, then, is that once a war has begun, kinetic weapons provide greater timeliness, precision and damage assessment for commanders than cyber weapons do. That said, electromagnetic warfare can still interfere with the linkages that are essential to the use of drones.

Finally, war is unpredictable. The most important lesson from the Ukraine war remains one of the oldest. Two years ago many expected a quick Russian victory, and just one year ago there were great expectations of a triumphant Ukrainian summer offensive. But as Shakespeare wrote more than four centuries ago, it is dangerous for a leader to ‘cry “Havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war.’

The promise of a short war is seductive. Putin certainly never expected to be bogged down indefinitely. He has managed to sell his war of attrition to the Russian people as a great patriotic struggle against the West. But the dogs he has unleashed could still turn around and bite him.

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