Tag Archive for: Russia–Ukraine war

The absurd irony of Putin’s invocation of Stalingrad

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s address in Volgograd on 2 February, in which he sought to draw moral parallels between the heroic Soviet defence of Stalingrad in World War II and the current Russian invasion of Ukraine, represents a new low for Kremlin propaganda.

First, by asserting that the victory of Stalingrad was a Russian victory, Putin is effectively repudiating the legacy and contributions of the large proportion of the approximately 750,000 Soviet troops that died in the defence of Stalingrad who were not ethnic Russian. The Soviet victory at Stalingrad involved military units drawn from a large number of Soviet national republics and was arguably as much a Ukrainian victory as it was a Russian one.

The Soviet commander of the Stalingrad Front, General Andrey Yeryomenko, was a Ukrainian with an illustrious military career, and ethnic Ukrainians made up a significant proportion of Soviet armies deployed to Stalingrad and other areas of the Eastern Front. While reliable detailed breakdowns by nationality of individual Soviet armies are difficult to locate, figures from the archives of the Soviet Ministry of Defence suggest that, proportionally, the contributions of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic to the Soviet war effort were actually greater than the Russian republic’s.

For example, the Soviet census of 1939 indicated that Ukrainians made up 16.6% of the population of the Soviet Union. Soviet defence figures for 1944 indicate that Ukrainians made up approximately 22% of Soviet armed forces on two unidentified fronts. In comparison, the Soviet Union’s Russian population in 1939 was approximately 58.4% of the overall population, and ethnic Russians comprised approximated 58.3% of Soviet military forces on the same two fronts in 1944. While these figures represent only part of all Soviet military deployments, they suggest that Ukrainians were actually overrepresented in the Soviet armies that defeated Nazi German forces.

These figures are even more noteworthy when it is considered that for much of the war Ukraine was under the occupation of German forces, limiting the options for conscription. Ukraine also likely suffered a disproportionate number of casualties, both military and civilian, during the war. While actual figures of Soviet casualties across the war remain highly contentious, eminent historian Timothy Snyder has claimed that, in absolute terms, more inhabitants of Ukraine died during World War II than inhabitants of Russia. And others, such as Russian historian Vadim Erlikman, have clearly demonstrated that, proportionally, Ukraine experienced much higher casualties during the war than Russia.

Second, Putin’s continued propagation of the idea that Soviet forces saved Europe from Nazism during World War II also obscures the fact that for the war’s first two years, the Soviet Union was effectively an ally of Nazi Germany. Current Russian historiography and mythmaking appears hellbent of excising the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact from Russia’s collective memory. But the reality was that Soviet support for Nazi aggression in the period immediately prior to the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union went much further than just a non-aggression pact. As outlined by historian Edward Ericson in his book Feeding the German eagle: Soviet economic aid to Nazi Germany, 1933–1941, the Soviet Union under Stalin maintained a robust trade relationship with Germany that sustained the Germans’ capacity to conduct offensives in western Europe right up to the date of Germany’s invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941.

Third, while comparisons of Putin’s Russia with Nazi Germany are fraught and not necessarily defensible, the ideology and increasingly genocidal intent of Russia’s ambitions in Ukraine arguably make the current Russian leadership in the Kremlin a modern-day successor to Germany’s Nazi party. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has given rise to a new term, ‘ruscism’, that signifies Russian ideology as a particular form of fascism. Furthermore, the letter Z, which has emerged as a symbol of Russia’s ‘special military operation’ in Ukraine and a lightning rod for Russian nationalist support for the war, has been associated with the Nazi swastika as a new symbol representing totalitarianism and modern-day fascism.

Putin’s speeches since the start of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine have contributed to the perpetuation of this view, especially as they have been littered with genocidal references foreshadowing the elimination of not only Ukrainian sovereignty but also the Ukrainian people. And, as amply demonstrated by Julia Davis’s Russian Media Monitor, Russian television has been inculcating the broader Russian population with Putin’s genocidal vision for Ukraine, fostering Russian support for the horrors that the Russian military is inflicting on Ukraine.

A concrete manifestation of Russia’s fascist and genocidal ambitions in Ukraine is the widespread deportation or forceable displacement of Ukrainian children from occupied territories to Russia, where they are subjected to the ‘de-Ukrainisation’ of their identity. Any territory annexed by Moscow either through military successes or as a result of a settlement to end the war will likely also be subjected to a deliberate campaign of genocide focused on the eradication of Ukrainian identity.

Putin’s use of Stalingrad as a symbol of Russian greatness and the inevitability of Russian victory in Ukraine fits with his tendency to use mythology and fabricated history to sustain his vision for the future of Russia.

But, ultimately, his choice of Stalingrad is both curious and flawed. Stalingrad represented a triumph of all the nationalities of the Soviet Union, not just of Russians. It also stood as a victory over an overwhelmingly militarily dominant power that had no compunction in leveling cities and exterminating entire populations in pursuit of its imperialist objectives.

In this regard, there are some parallels between the battle of Stalingrad and the current war in Ukraine. But in this case, Russia is playing the role of Nazi Germany, and the Ukrainian people will hopefully emerge victorious from the horrors of the Russian war.

Western tanks will bring their own complexities to Ukraine’s fight against Russia

The extensive debate about the provision of a relatively small number of Western tanks to Ukraine has created the impression in some quarters that the additional armour will be a game-changer. That’s unlikely to be the case.

Modern main battle tanks are complex pieces of equipment requiring a high level of crew training and expertise to operate effectively. For example, the US training course for the M1 Abrams tanks takes six months to complete.

A third-generation Western tank is a world away from the old basic Soviet-era tanks that Ukraine has been accustomed to operating. (Third-generation main battle tanks are characterised by composite armour and computer-stabilised fire-control systems that allow firing on the move, as well as very high first-hit probability on targets up to 2,000 metres away.)

Ukraine is likely to end up with a mix of 14 British Challenger 2s, 112 German Leopard 2s (only 14 in the short term) and 31 American M1 Abrams tanks. Delivery of the M1s could be delayed by US federal policy that forbids the export of tanks with classified content, which includes depleted uranium armour. Supply will therefore depend on availability of the less sophisticated export version of the M1. Ukraine could also end up with Leopard 2s from other donors, as well as 100 refurbished Leopard 1 tanks. In terms of military organisation, 14 tanks form a tank company and 56 a tank battalion.

Tank types have their own unique characteristics, and strengths and weaknesses, but something they share in common is that they are all fuel guzzlers, particularly the M1. Tanks operate on litres to the kilometre rather than the other way around.

Ukraine managed to limit Russia’s use of tanks in 2022 by targeting their vulnerable soft-skinned fuel-supply tankers. Without fuel, even the best tank in the world becomes a stationary artillery piece. For both fuel and maintenance reasons, tanks need to be transported to as close to the battlefield as possible. Transportation can be a challenge because a modern tank weighs around 60 to 70 tonnes.

It’s not yet clear whether the tanks being provided to Ukraine will be in new condition. Donor militaries tend to get rid of older equipment that is past its use-by date. Donations of large numbers of armoured vehicles might look good politically, but pre-loved vehicles will be of limited value to Ukraine because it lacks the capability to maintain old Western equipment. Australia has donated 28 M113 armoured personnel carriers, which could fall into that category.

What Ukraine wants is new equipment that can be run into the ground with minimal maintenance (much like the utes co-opted by terrorist groups such as al-Qaeda and Islamic State that were never serviced and still ran for 200,000 kilometres on poor roads before they expired).

Another factor to consider is the effectiveness of Russia’s anti-tank capabilities and the availability of anti-tank weapons in the forward areas of the battlefield.

In 2022, Ukraine made good use of Western anti-tank systems to deal a heavy blow to Russian armour, particularly during the initial months of the invasion when Russia had long and vulnerable lines of communication. Most effective were the FGM-148 Javelins supplied by the US and the NLAWs (next-generation light anti-tank weapons) from the UK. Crucially for Ukraine’s armed forces, the missiles were easy to transport and simple to use.

Little has been said about Russia’s anti-tank capability, but it has a range of weapons specifically designed to destroy NATO third-generation tanks. They include the 9M133 Kornet, a Russian man-portable anti-tank guided missile that was first introduced into service with the Russian army in 1998. It’s the Russian equivalent of the American Javelin.

Russia also has the RPG-29 and RPG-30, which were designed to defeat NATO third-generation tanks that have composite armour and explosive reactive armour. Explosive reactive armour is fitted to the exterior of a tank. When a penetrating warhead strikes the armour, the explosive component detonates, preventing the projectile from penetrating further. Reactive armour can be defeated with multiple hits in the same place, such as by tandem-charge weapons firing two or more shaped charges in rapid succession.

Russia’s operational tank fleet consists of various modifications of three main types: the T-72, T-80 and T-90. Russia probably has around 2,600 operational tanks. Ukraine can probably field around 600 tanks, mainly T-72s, including undamaged Russian tanks that ran out of fuel.

It seems unlikely that Ukraine will be able to crew and field an effective force of Western tanks before Russia mounts its threatened major offensive this year. NATO’s offer of 157 third-generation tanks to Ukraine, 129 of which will come later, won’t be enough to make a significant difference on the battlefield, but it may help boost Ukrainian army morale.

Only Russia’s decisive loss on the battlefield will end the Ukraine war

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s invasion of Ukraine is a global crisis. Putin could not let Ukraine chart its own political path or accept an independent Ukrainian identity. The invasion thus is not only about one country attacking another. It is about undermining the post–World War II liberal global order in favour of one in which great powers hold imperial spheres of influence. This war, the largest in Europe since World War II, has also resulted in a worldwide economic slowdown that is unlikely to abate. The war is far from over.

Yes, Ukrainian forces have had major successes in recent months, including the counteroffensive around Kharkiv and Russia’s forced withdrawal from the city of Kherson. Russia’s military overall has performed worse in the war than Western military analysts had anticipated. Some analysts also underestimated Ukrainians and their will to fight. But Ukraine has also suffered heavy losses. According to the latest US estimates, approximately 100,000 Russian and 100,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been killed or injured since the start of Russia’s invasion.

More to the point, Ukraine remains reliant on Western military and economic aid, the bulk of which comes from the United States. Ukraine cannot sustain itself without this aid, and Putin knows that. He remains committed to a war-of-attrition strategy and the long game of breaking Western unity on Ukraine, and to years of fighting with his neighbour. Last month, Putin signed a decree to establish a centralised electronic database of information related to Russian citizens’ military registration that is set to open on 1 April 2024. This example shows that he is thinking in years, not months. Conversely, while there’s evidence that Ukraine’s Western allies are reaching a point of fatigue regarding their own military stocks and what they are willing to transfer, they have not energised their industrial bases to offset this reality. Putin is also aware of this fact.

Recent polls indicate that the majority of Americans continue to support aid to Ukraine. But internal congressional disagreements, both from a minority of Republicans who seek to reduce aid to Ukraine and from Democrats who are calling for diplomatic engagement with Russia, suggest that next year’s approval process for US government aid to Ukraine will be difficult. Meanwhile, Ukraine’s energy sector is reportedly close to collapse as a result of Russia’s latest bombing campaign using Iranian-made drones and Russian missiles, and the spectre of what a cold winter might bring has already arrived.

Only Russia’s decisive loss on the battlefield will bring this conflict to a complete end. All wars are ultimately settled through diplomacy, but unless Russia undergoes a process of fundamental internal reckoning with itself, Russia’s elites will not let go of their imperial impetus to control Ukraine that originates in the very founding of the Russian state around 500 years ago with the military campaigns of Ivan III, the autocratic ruler of the Grand Dutchy of Muscovy. Indeed, the current war against Ukraine is not simply Putin’s war, even as he bears the bulk of responsibility for waging it.

Historically, countries that faced a reckoning with themselves only did so after a complete military defeat, such as Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. If a peace settlement between Russia and Ukraine occurs before the Russian military is defeated, that will only doom Ukraine to face another Russian attack years later, after the Russian military has had time to regain its strength.

Russia has certainly lost wars in the past, such as the Crimean War of 1853–1856 and the Russo-Japanese war of 1904–05, and those losses prompted internal reforms. But the losses were not substantial enough to prompt a fundamental re-evaluation of Russian decision-makers’ core beliefs. Instead, the Russian state built a myth of victory on the ashes of these defeats, like a dark phoenix rising out of the ashes.

The scale of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is far greater than anything the Russian state faced in Crimea or with Japan—wars that did not hold global implications. True, Russia unlike Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan has nuclear weapons—and never fails to remind the world about them—but the Ukrainians for their part remain committed to fighting, even as they would be the primary target of a nuclear strike. It would of course be irresponsible to dismiss Russia’s nuclear threats, but the chances that Putin will use them at the time of this writing remain low, and giving in to blackmail carries its own repercussions.

Russia is not impossible to defeat, and nor are the Russian people incapable of change. But free liberal nations need to remain committed to the long game of helping Ukraine win. To be sure, the West is not abandoning Ukraine. Yet it hasn’t sent a clear message that it aims to permanently change Putin’s strategic calculus. And while the war has seemingly prompted leaders of liberal nations to re-evaluate their core assumptions about Russia, it’s unclear if they internalised the costs of years of Russia’s unresolved conflict with Ukraine and the full implications of the post–World War II global order. This means that all liberal nations have to look beyond their national interests to the bigger picture. Indeed, the same self-deterrence of liberal nations that has empowered Putin in the past two decades will empower China’s Xi Jinping.

Russia must be humbled

With Russian forces retreating in eastern and southern Ukraine in the face of a masterful Ukrainian counteroffensive, some commentators in the West have argued that the war the Kremlin launched in February mustn’t end with the ‘humiliation’ of President Vladimir Putin or Russia. In fact, the opposite is true: Putin’s appalling aggression must leave Russia thoroughly chastened on the world stage.

Leaving aside the immorality of this one-sided appeal to give Putin a face-saving exit (no one seems to be appealing for Ukraine not to be humiliated by an eventual peace settlement), can the argument be justified by history or the cold logic of dealing with a nuclear superpower (even one that has been demonstrated to be super-powerful only in this dimension)?

To answer that question, we must start with the fact that any defeat in war will always be deeply humiliating for the losing side—regardless of whether it is the aggressor or the victim. War always entails humiliation for at least one side, and sometimes for both. Those arguing against humiliating Russia typically point primarily to the aftermath of World War I. The Treaty of Versailles, they claim, imposed such humiliating terms on Germany that it led to the rise of Hitler a decade later, and then to World War II.

In fact, Germany suffered only moderate territorial losses at Versailles. It was obliged to return Alsace-Lorraine (taken from France in 1871) and lands seized from Poland during the partitions of the 18th century. Others—including the Russian, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires—lost far more territory than Germany did.

It was the Versailles treaty’s reparations provisions, not the territorial settlement, that may have contributed to Hitler’s rise. The reparations were certainly just, in the sense that they were proportional to French war losses and to the French reparations paid to Germany after the war of 1870. But, as John Maynard Keynes (and, later, many historians) argued, Germany’s reparations payments may have contributed to the hardship suffered by its population during the hyperinflation of the early 1920s and the Great Depression of the early 1930s.

This point about the economic impact of the Versailles treaty is driven home by the events following World War II, when Germany once again ceded Alsace (again to France) and lost a quarter of its territory to Poland and to the Russian puppet state of East Germany. If anything, its sense of humiliation should have been far greater than after World War I. Instead, the Nazis’ defeat turned out to be massively beneficial for both Germany and its neighbours. The aid received from the United States under the Marshall Plan far outweighed the reparations that West Germany had to pay, and the German economy has boomed ever since. It reunified peacefully with East Germany when communism fell, and it has never again pursued a revanchist foreign policy.

Nor is Germany the only example of a country that has benefited from defeat and humiliation in war. Japan, too, renounced imperialism and militarism after its surrender in World War II. France came out better off for having lost the Algerian War, because that defeat enabled Charles de Gaulle to put his country on the path to becoming a modern, economically dynamic nation that is deeply integrated with the rest of Europe. Likewise, after its defeat and humiliation in Vietnam, the US under Ronald Reagan reinvented itself economically and technologically to become the undisputed victor of the Cold War.

Russia, too, is no stranger to this type of experience. Its defeat and humiliation in the Crimean War led to the abolition of serfdom in 1861, when 23 million people were freed (almost six times the number freed in the US following the Emancipation Proclamation of 1863). Forty years of rapid economic development followed. Then, Russia’s defeat and humiliation in the Russo-Japanese War led, in 1905, to a revolution the same year and the establishment (albeit temporary) of a constitutional monarchy.

In 1916, Russia’s losses to Germany precipitated the fall of the tsar and the establishment of the liberal provisional government under Alexander Kerensky in February 1917. Unfortunately, Kerensky was unwilling to accept humiliation and continued the war effort, leading to further losses and the catastrophic Bolshevik Revolution of November 1917. But then, the Soviets’ defeat and humiliation in the Polish War in 1921 prompted Vladimir Lenin to introduce the partly market-based New Economic Policy. The policy ended mass starvation, and could have given Russia a sustainable path to economic development, had the subsequent rise of Joseph Stalin not closed it off.

Finally, defeat and humiliation in the Afghanistan War led to the fall of the Soviet Union and an all-too-brief period of democratisation, during which Russia at last showed respect for its neighbours. Again, as in the case of Germany after World War I, the return of Russian revanchism was caused not by the loss of territory or great-power status, but rather by the hardship that followed the collapse of the Soviet economic system.

Was the West at fault for not providing more support to Boris Yeltsin’s Russia? I believe it was, though there were also powerful domestic forces pushing for the kleptocratic model that prevailed. Ultimately, a more ordered, less painful transition of the kind seen in the Soviet-bloc countries in Central Europe may not have been feasible.

In any case, there’s ample historical evidence that humiliation for imperial or aggressive polities often yields significant benefits in the medium to long run for both their neighbours and themselves. Some will argue that the short-term risks of humiliating one of the world’s main nuclear powers are too great. But that argument ignores the likelihood that having succeeded once at an invasion followed by nuclear blackmail, Putin would do the same again—and again.

‘Mum, I don’t want war’: heartbreaking messages from children under fire

Anyone unconscious of the impact of high-tech war on children should look at an exhibition of children’s art running now at the Australian National University.

They are drawings spanning seven decades, from survivors of Nazi horrors in World War II Poland, and children in Ukraine still being subjected to Russian artillery fire and missile attacks.

The exhibition, ‘Mom, I don’t want war!’ 1939–45 Poland/2022 Ukraine, is a Polish–Ukrainian archival project brought to Canberra by the Polish and Ukrainian embassies. It has been shown across Poland and in many other countries around the world. The Polish drawings were held in Warsaw’s Central Archives of Modern Records.

The drawings carry chilling messages, and they are all breathtakingly sad.

Some appear simple at first glance, until you register that the Nazi soldiers who’ve invaded Poland are about to shoot an unarmed man tied to a large barrel.

By A. Kubale, 7th Grade, Sroda, Poland.

Others have an awful sophistication. Outlined in a violent red, a child clasps a hand over a bloodied chest wound. There’s a teddy bear in a pool of blood on the floor nearby.

By Marho, aged 14 years, Kyiv, Ukraine.

Another, in stark black and white, shows a house with a fence and a girl huddled in a candlelit basement deep underground as a formation of helicopters thumps overhead and tanks blast across open ground nearby. There’s a coloured thought bubble as she remembers tossing a ball with a friend under blue skies and sunshine.

By Sofiia, aged 15 years, Korosten, Ukraine.

From Polish children of long ago are drawings of women and children fleeing ahead of tanks, of soldiers shooting men and women in a town square, and of people being rounded up by armed men.

From Ukraine, there are fresher images from children of their families with mum, dad and the dog while a tank and an aircraft set the buildings around them ablaze, and of vivid explosions and apartment buildings with giant chunks bitten out of them by artillery shells and missiles.

By Mariia, aged 9 years, Kharkiv, Ukraine.

There’s a blank section in the exhibit for atrocities carried out by Russian occupiers in Poland. There are no such drawings because the Russians were in charge when the children were invited to sketch their impressions in 1946, a year after the war ended. Russian atrocities then were not included.

Welcoming guests, Katarzyna Kwapisz Williams, deputy director of the ANU’s Centre for European Studies, commented: ‘Normally when we look at children’s drawings, we smile a lot. Unfortunately, we will not be smiling much tonight.’

The inclusion of drawings from Polish children just after the end of World War II with those of children now suffering through Russia’s bombardment in Ukraine was particularly heart rending, she said. The images were strikingly, shockingly similar.

‘What seemed historical is still happening in the present day,’ Kwapisz Williams said. Seven million children were living the reality of a brutal war. ‘We have still not learned the reality that war is the worst thing.’

Ukraine’s ambassador to Australia, Vasyl Myroshnychenko, described how, at one point, he and his family were in Romania. He explained to his young son that they were safe there because Romania was a NATO member country, and the Russians would not attack.

When Myroshnychenko brought his family to Canberra, the boy asked him if Australia, too, was a NATO country, or ‘will Russia attack us here?’

The symbolic significance of the Crimea bridge attack

In the early hours of Saturday 8 October, an explosion on the Kerch Strait Bridge connecting Russia to Crimea demolished lengths of its road and railway tracks. Commentators in Ukraine are saying there are three possible explanations for what happened: the bridge was mined, explosives carried on a truck were detonated on the bridge, or the bridge was targeted by rocket attack. It is considered unlikely that the Iranian drones that were being transported in the truck ignited spontaneously.

We don’t yet know who is responsible. Ukraine doesn’t have adequate rocket capacity to have targeted the bridge from a distance. If Ukrainian forces were responsible, it’s worth noting that the attack occurred very early in the morning before the bridge was busy with daily traffic, in stark contrast to Russian attacks, which have consistently targeted civilians. The office of the Ukrainian president has said that the attack on the bridge was a result of internal friction within Russia itself. The arrest of eight people by Russia’s Federal Security Service because they allegedly ‘participated in the preparation of the crime’ is not credible, given Russia’s track record in disinformation and President Vladimir Putin’s need to find a scapegoat quickly.

Regardless of who is responsible, the damage to the bridge undoubtedly provides a military advantage for Ukraine. The Kerch bridge is a major supply line for Russian military personnel and weapons as well as a route into Crimea, which then allows access to southern Ukraine. However, the attack on the bridge is also of immense symbolic significance. The war began eight years ago with the annexation of Crimea, and the Kerch bridge became a symbol of Russian occupation of the peninsula.

The bridge was built at huge expense four years after Russia’s annexation of Crimea. It opened with great fanfare and a motorcade of formidable Kamaz trucks, one of which was driven by Putin himself. Footage of him behind the steering wheel, a Russian flag by his side, was beamed across television screens in Russia as a sign of imperial victory. Now there is another televised image flooding screens—that very same bridge in flames, again with a truck on it, but this time with three of its four spans severely damaged. Ukraine’s official silence, which has led to much tongue-in-cheek commentary on social media, magnifies the symbolic impact.

The Ukrainian Postal Service is now issuing a new postage stamp to capitalise on the event’s symbolic significance, the third in a series released since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The first stamp showed a silhouette of a Ukrainian soldier raising his middle finger in a display of profanity facing an image of the Russian flagship Moskva, which was destroyed by a Ukrainian-made missile. The second stamp featured a Ukrainian tractor towing away a Russian tank. The new stamp will include a drawing of the Kerch Strait Bridge in flames, presenting a third image symbolising Russian military failure.

Meanwhile, there are fractures emerging in Russia itself, between Putin, the military and others who hold financial or ideological power in the regime, such as oligarchs, military bloggers and propagandists. This has come to the fore with the recent mobilisation drive, which has divided the Russian population. At the same time, the Ukrainian counteroffensive, which has reclaimed more than 9,000 square kilometres of occupied territory since it was launched on 29 August, has been remarkably successful and is maintaining momentum.

It had been claimed by the Kremlin-controlled media that it was impossible to destroy the Kerch Strait Bridge because it was shielded by some 20 different protection systems. That has been proven wrong. Regardless of whether Russian or Ukrainian elements were responsible for the damage to the bridge, either way it looks bad for Putin.

What also looks bad is his brutal act of retaliation—84 missiles struck 15 cities across Ukraine the following day. Timed to coincide with the busy morning peak hour, Russian rockets rained death and destruction in attacks on innocent civilians, including in the cultural precinct of the capital city Kyiv. More and more, the world sees that Putin’s aim is nothing less than total destruction of Ukraine.

Ukraine’s coming winter of decision

Russia’s war against Ukraine, which President Vladimir Putin began in 2014 and expanded in February, has taken a dramatic turn following Ukrainian forces’ liberation, in less than a week, of some 8,800 square kilometres of territory in the country’s northeastern Kharkiv district. Russian strategists, apparently focused on the ongoing Ukrainian counteroffensive in the south, were unprepared for the attacks, and Russia’s poorly trained and poorly led troops were no match for their highly competent and motivated Ukrainian counterparts.

What happened was a turn, but not yet a turning point, in the war. It’s too soon to extrapolate from Ukraine’s gains in one area, much less conclude that what happened in Kharkiv is a harbinger for the entire country. Russia still occupies the vast majority of the territory it seized in 2014 and afterwards, and many Russians regard Crimea in particular as being theirs. This suggests that taking it back would prove extremely difficult, especially as more military force is required to conduct offensive operations than to defend.

Still, what Ukraine has accomplished is significant by any measure and has led to a major shift in thinking within the Ukrainian government, as I learned firsthand in Kyiv. Months ago, the goal for many Ukrainians was the survival of an independent, viable Ukraine—even if the state wasn’t in possession of all its territory. But the government’s war aims—the definition of what constitutes victory—are becoming more ambitious, owing to Russian brutality and Ukrainian forces’ recent territorial gains. In response to my question, Defence Minister Oleksii Reznikov called for the return of all the country’s land, including what Russia took in 2014. To this he added a call for economic reparations to finance a reconstruction bill estimated at US$350 billion. And he insisted that those in Russia responsible for this act of aggression and associated war crimes be held legally accountable.

Recent military developments will also influence the politics of European countries, where surging energy prices have kindled opposition to providing Ukraine with arms and money. But the argument that Russian military superiority made support for Ukraine useless has now been proven wrong. With Russia cutting off gas supplies, Ukraine’s recent military success will make it easier for European governments to justify economic and personal sacrifice during what promises to be a difficult winter.

Ukraine’s counteroffensive is having a powerful impact on Russian politics as well. Putin, facing growing criticism from conservative, nationalist forces at home, will have to decide whether to double down on the war effort and, if so, how to go about it. Doing more and asking more of the Russian people isn’t without domestic political risks, but arguably it could be less risky for him than a course of action that leads to additional, cascading military defeats.

For now, there’s the prospect of several more months of intense fighting in the northeast and south of the country. Eventually, though, the scale will diminish as a result of frigid weather and the inability of either side to sustain large military operations.

A reduction in the fighting will provide time for reflection. Ukraine’s leaders will need to consider their expanding war aims and whether they are of equal priority. Here, a major consideration will be the war’s growing economic costs: loss of an estimated one-third of output, double-digit inflation, a sinking currency, skyrocketing debt and ever-greater dependence on foreign aid. Economic reconstruction will be slowed by uncertainty over whether the conflict will continue.

Then there are the human costs. Ukraine has suffered a high number of casualties among its armed forces and civilian population, while nearly 13 million Ukrainians are internally displaced or living as refugees across Europe. Ukraine will press for a complete military victory, but hanging over this objective is the question of whether some compromise on goals, perhaps on an interim basis, might need to be explored.

Russia also faces choices. Putin retains many options that would make it more difficult for Ukraine to regain more Russian-occupied territory. Up to now, Putin has refused to acknowledge that Russia is in a war that requires widespread conscription and mobilisation, because he either underestimated his foe or worried about domestic political reactions. That could change at any time, as could the Kremlin’s avoidance of attacking a NATO country or using chemical or even nuclear weapons. What Putin has to weigh is the likely military and economic response from the West and whether it would leave him better or worse off at home.

The West, for its part, should continue to provide Ukraine with the quality and quantity of military and economic support it requires. There are strong strategic reasons for doing so, including to deter future aggression by Russia, China or anyone else. In addition, Putin and others in Russia should be made to understand the price they would pay for expanding the war geographically or introducing weapons of mass destruction. Plans to implement such responses need to be readied if deterrence fails.

We are thus facing a winter not only of discontent (as Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky described it at a meeting in Kyiv last week) but also of decision. What seems certain is that the war will go on for the foreseeable future. It’s inconceivable that Putin will agree to Ukrainian demands, just as it’s impossible to see Ukraine settling for much (if anything) less. What remains to be seen is how decisions made away from the battlefield this winter affect the course of the war come spring.

Ukraine war: gradually, then suddenly

‘How did you go bankrupt?’

‘Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.’

― Ernest Hemingway, The sun also rises

As with bankruptcy so with military defeat. What appears to be a long, painful grind can quickly turn into a rout. A supposedly resilient and well-equipped army can break and look for means of escape. This is not unusual in war. We saw it happen with the Afghan Army in the summer of 2021.

For the past few days we have been witnessing a remarkable Ukrainian offensive in Kharkiv. We have the spectacle of a bedraggled army in retreat—remnants of a smashed-up convoy, abandoned vehicles, positions left in a hurry, with scattered kit and uneaten food, miserable prisoners, and local people cheering on the Ukrainian forces as they drive through their villages. The speed of advance has been impressive, as tens of square kilometres turn into hundreds and then thousands, and from a handful of villages and towns liberated to dozens. Even as I have been writing this post paragraphs keep on getting overtaken by events.

It would of course be premature to pronounce a complete Ukrainian victory in the war because of one successful and unexpected breakthrough. But what has happened over the past few days is of historic importance. This offensive has overturned much of what was confidently assumed about the course of the war. It serves as a reminder that just because the front lines appear static it does not mean that they will stay that way, and that morale and motivation drain away from armies facing defeat, especially when the troops are uncertain about the cause for which they are fighting and have lost confidence in their officers. Who wants to be a martyr when the war is already lost?

Ukrainian objectives

The Kharkiv offensive has been described as opportunistic. This is because the Ukrainian high command appears to have decided to take advantage of Russia moving substantial forces towards Kherson to deal with the much-advertised attack there by opening up a new offensive against areas that had been left with weaker defences. According to an alternative explanation, this was not opportunistic but always intended. The Russians were suckered by Ukraine’s regular talk of this coming Kherson offensive into diverting troops, even though Kharkiv was always the real objective. It would, however, be unwise to assume that the Kherson offensive is of only secondary relevance: southern Ukraine remains of great strategic importance for the Ukrainian economy, the links to the Black Sea, and the connection to Crimea. The offensive there has not been halted for the sake of Kharkiv and is also still making progress.

In practice, as with all good strategists, the Ukrainian commanders probably prepared for a range of contingencies. Their choices depended on what the Russian did. Once they saw the extent of the Russian troop movements, and the developing vulnerability this created, then the plan for Kharkiv will have firmed up in their minds. I also suspect that they wanted to make sure that the Kherson offensive was well established before risking opening up another front and that this governed the timing.

What we can be sure of is that the Kharkiv offensive was not impulsive. It required careful preparation, including getting troops and their equipment into position without their intentions becoming too obvious. A sequence of moves has unfolded over the last few days designed to shock and disorient Russian forces, breaking through thin lines of defence, avoiding distractions by bypassing Russian positions that were in no position to interfere with their movement, and threatening them, and the rest of the Russian force in the region, with being cut off from their sources of supply and reinforcement, and also means of escape. The aim was not simply to grab territory and inflict blows on Russian forces, though that has been done. One aim was to get to Kupyansk, a city of 27,000 inhabitants, a major transportation hub for both road and rail. The other was to take Izyum (45,000 inhabitants), with its substantial garrison and command centre.

When the operation started, the first target was the city Balakliya (over 25,000 inhabitants), which was encircled before the Russian defenders were pushed out. From there the Ukrainians drove forward, achieving a pincer movement by also pushing forward to the Oskil river, south of Kupyansk. To prevent reinforcements coming in, Ukraine damaged the bridge across the Oskil to Kupyansk. On Friday, another offensive line opened up with an attack on Russian positions in Lyman (over 20,000 inhabitants), which had been taken by the Russians after a fierce battle at the end of May. This opened up the move against Izyum. Reports suggest that both Izyum and Kupyansk have either fallen or are close to falling, with Russians troops in disarray. According to the Ukrainians, hundreds of Russians have already been killed and many captured. Ukrainian sources have described whole units wiped out. It is not clear how many Russian troops may be caught by these manoeuvres—perhaps some 10,000.

There are dangers in offensives where the supply lines get too stretched and forward units lose air defence cover. These are, after all, some of the problems that thwarted the initial Russian offensive last February. Unsurprisingly, the Russian Ministry of Defence has insisted that all will be well and that reinforcements are on the way. Some footage was supplied showing vehicles on the move, although doubts were soon expressed about how real these reinforcements were, what they could do when they arrived, and if they could arrive at all. The main Russian response, as per normal, has been to send random rockets into the city of Kharkiv, killing civilians.

Russian angst

There is one group of Russians who are far from complacent. Russian military bloggers are a patriotic group who are desperate for a Russian victory. Unlike the crude and increasingly risible propagandists, whose instructions are to show that all is well and that any apparent Ukraine advance has already turned into a disastrous failure, the bloggers assess the conflict with a degree of objectivity. They have no desire to praise the regime because they feel badly let down by its ineptitude, by its failure to prepare properly for a major war and also its refusal to put the country on a proper war footing. These nationalists are therefore furious because the best chance to reconnect a wayward Ukraine to Mother Russia has now been lost, and the armed forces are suffering personnel and materiel losses, along with a deep humiliation, from which they will take years to recover.

When it comes to explaining what went wrong, the bloggers consider both the possible underestimation of the enemy as well as overestimation of Russian capabilities. At times it can seem as if the bloggers (in sharp contrast to the propagandists) are talking up the Ukrainians to make their own troops look less bad. They note that Ukrainian forces are benefiting from an inflow of advanced weaponry and have been influenced by Western tactical and operational concepts which they have been applying effectively. Here the bloggers have reported the competence of the Ukrainians in combined arms, synchronising the effects of armour, infantry and artillery, while avoiding unnecessary urban battles and moving with sufficient air defences to make conditions hazardous for Russian airpower.

The bloggers certainly don’t blame their own troops for the current disarray. They are usually portrayed as fighting valiantly. They instead point to weaknesses such as lack of coordination between units, aggravated in the case of Balakliya by part of the defending force being composed of units from Russia’s national guard (Rosgvardia) as well as miserable units from the occupied Donbas, given little choice but to join the army. They note that neither was prepared for this sort of warfare, poorly trained in the proper use of their weapons. Another weakness has been the lack of sufficient artillery and air support, with inadequate intelligence so that, unlike the Ukrainians, the Russians have been unable to call in precise artillery fire.

The limits of intelligence have also been evident in other respects. The local Russian command failed to pick up any signs of the impending assault. The poor performance of airpower, one of the few means available to Russians to disrupt the Ukrainian advance, suggests that it has been effectively neutralised. ‘In general things are really bad’, writes one blogger. ‘There has not been much resistance from our side for the third day already. Our troops abandon not particularly fortified positions and retreat.’

Most importantly, some now consider defeat possible. Few believe that the position in Kharkiv can be recovered. One contemplates catastrophe: ‘Sergei Shoigu [Minister of Defence] and Valery Gerasimov [Chief of the General Staff] are one step away from an unthinkable achievement—the strategic defeat of the RF Armed Forces by a deliberately weaker enemy with almost no aviation, and with their own aviation.’

The notorious Igor Girkin has observed: ’The war in Ukraine will continue until the complete defeat of Russia. We have already lost, the rest is just a matter of time.’

What next?

Russia is losing but it has not yet lost. It still occupies a large chunk of Ukrainian territory and still has substantial military assets in the country. As I have argued regularly, wars can take unexpected turns, as we have just seen. Calamitous miscalculations as well as audacious manoeuvres can transform the character of a conflict. There is always a risk of analyses getting too far ahead, jumping from the current state of affairs to the next and beyond and then asking what happens in purely hypothetical situations. Earlier in the summer there was a tendency to assume that the coming months would be dominated either by more gruelling Russian offensives as in the Donbas or perhaps a stalemate, so that the war could last months or even years. This stalemate philosophy still persists, not least because it is hard to even contemplate such a great military power being humbled.

So while the situation is far more positive for Ukraine, the same cautions about extrapolating too far ahead must apply. Even if Kharkiv is completely liberated there will still be much to do. In the Kherson Oblast the other offensive is also developing and taking shape. This has so far been in the ‘slow grind’ category, though it is picking up pace and more encirclement operations are possible there. The Russians must now be worrying about their position in Donetsk. Unresolved is the extraordinarily dangerous situation at the Zaporizhzhya nuclear power plant. This is an unsustainable situation, one the director-general of the International Atomic Energy Agency has described as ‘precarious’ as the plant’s offsite power has been turned off and it is still being shelled.

The initiative is now firmly with Ukraine. The experience of the last few days will create doubts in the minds of Russian commanders about the reliability and resilience of their troops, and add to the predicaments they already face when working out how to allocate their increasingly scarce resources of manpower, intelligence assets and airpower. Might they risk a repeat of this operational disaster if they move forces to plug one gap only for another to open up? How much more can they expect from their forces, many of whom will now have been fighting for long weeks without respite and without much to show for their efforts? By contrast, there will have been a boost to the morale of even the more beleaguered Ukrainian forces (and, as the Washington Post reports, some of their units have also had a tough time). There may also have been a boost to their capabilities from supplies of equipment and ammunition captured in Kharkiv.

There is now talk of defeat on the Russian side. There was no sense of this in President Vladimir Putin’s insouciant remarks at the Vladivostok economic forum, with Russia’s isolation symbolised by the lack of international presence (Myanmar, Chinese and Armenian representatives turned up). He claimed that nothing had been lost by the war and sovereignty had been gained, as if his desire to intensify autocracy and achieve autarky in the name of self-reliance has been worth the tens of thousands of Russians dead, wounded and taken prisoner, and the years of defence production and economic modernisation up in smoke. His forces might stabilise the situation, at least away from Kharkiv, and provide more breathing space while he hopes Europe’s economic pain leads it to abandon Ukraine. But as I argued in my last post, that is unlikely to happen, and he may now have less time than he thought to find out.

Because of the opacity of Putin’s decision-making and his delusional recent utterances, presenting Russia as the keeper of some core civilisational values, there is no suggestion that he has reached the point where he can acknowledge the position into which he has led his country. Prudence therefore requires us to assume that this war will not be over soon. But nor should it blind us to the possibility that events might move far faster than we assumed—first gradually, and then suddenly.

Note: I should thank the many accounts on Twitter that provide translations of the Russian blogs as well as news from the front lines. In no particular order: @wartranslated, @ChrisO_wiki, @RALee, @WarMonitor3, @JayinKyiv, @KyivIndependent, @IAPonomarenko, @Leonidragozin, @Hromadske and there are many more.

How much damage have Putin’s threats done to the nuclear non-proliferation regime?

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, it’s fair to say, has already profoundly shaped the global discourse on nuclear weapons. In the deliberations at the inaugural meeting of the states parties of the Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons in Vienna last month, the Ukraine war cast a long shadow over the utility and limits of nuclear weapons as a deterrent and as a tool of coercive diplomacy, the wisdom of having given them up, the incentives to either acquire them or shelter under another country’s nuclear umbrella and, above all, the cataclysmic risks of an all-out nuclear war that no one wants but everyone dreads.

This, then, is the first and in some ways the most important lesson. The existence of 11,405 nuclear weapons in the Russian and US arsenals (90% of world totals), far from helping to stabilise the crisis and calm the tensions, has added to the dangers and threats of the Ukraine war.

At an event in Vienna the day after the conference finished, on a panel he and I shared, the host and president of the conference, Alexander Kmentt, said with evident pride that the Vienna declaration (plus a 50-point action plan) adopted by the states parties was exceptionally strong for a multilaterally negotiated document. It was neither an activist text nor a bland statement of trite platitudes, but a declaration that demonstrated the seriousness of the new treaty.

Although some countries had wanted to censure Russia’s actions in Ukraine, the Vienna declaration adopted a more neutral and even-handed tone. In paragraphs 4 and 5, participants expressed alarm and dismay at the ‘threats to use nuclear weapons and increasingly strident nuclear rhetoric’. They condemned unequivocally ‘any and all nuclear threats, whether they be explicit or implicit and irrespective of the circumstances’, and also their use ‘as instruments of policy, linked to coercion, intimidation and heightening of tensions’ rather than to preserve peace and security.

A popular pastime, going back to the Euromaidan revolution in 2014 and the annexation of Crimea, is to claim that the Russians wouldn’t have dared to attack and dismember Ukraine if it hadn’t given up its nuclear arsenal after the Soviet Union imploded. The claim doesn’t withstand serious scrutiny. Like the US’s nuclear-sharing arrangements with some NATO allies (and in the past, South Korea), the bombs weren’t owned by the host, but by Russia, which retained exclusive operational control and launch authority.

Not one of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council, who are also the only five recognised nuclear-weapon states under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, would have tolerated the emergence of another nuclear power with a stockpile of 1,900 strategic and 2,500 tactical nuclear weapons—several-fold more than Britain, China and France combined. Ukraine would have struggled to survive as an international pariah state and the whole history of the region would have been so different that the deterrence claim for the events of 2014 and 2022 is simply not a credible counterfactual.

Five months into the war, what I find most striking with respect to nuclear weapons is their near complete lack of utility. The presence of nearly 6,000 bombs in Russia’s arsenal as a back-up for the biggest ground war in Europe since 1945, and none in Ukraine’s, failed to intimidate Ukraine into surrendering. Kyiv has simply got on with the job of valiantly defending its territory confident that, having failed as a tool of coercive diplomacy, nuclear weapons are not militarily useable. Having already suffered severe damage from the illegal invasion, Russia’s reputation would tank completely were it to use the bomb. Nor could Russia protect its own troops, the Russian-speaking enclaves of Ukraine and even parts of Russia proper from the radioactive fallout.

It’s true that President Vladimir Putin repeatedly reminded NATO of his formidable nuclear arsenal, publicly placed them on ‘special alert’ and warned of ‘unpredictable consequences’ if outsiders dared to intervene. None of that has stopped NATO from providing increasingly lethal and by all accounts very effective arms to Ukraine that have taken a deadly toll on Russia’s military.

Of course, NATO has refrained from introducing its own ground troops or declaring and enforcing a no-fly zone over Ukraine. Yet it’s debatable how much of this caution rests in consciousness of Russia’s nuclear capability and how much arises from internalised memories of the failure of NATO military operations in Africa, the Middle East and Asia since the end of the Cold War. These operations against minor regional opponents have mostly dramatically worsened the volatility, violence and regionwide instability. Who would want to own the chaos of the vast Russian landmass even if battlefield military victory was achieved? The catastrophic miscalculations of Napoleon and Hitler too, surely, play some role in injecting caution into rushing into a direct military fight with Russia, nukes or no nukes.

Yet, the Ukraine crisis is likely to damage the already enfeebled efforts to promote nuclear arms control and disarmament. Russia has clearly broken its pledge under the 1994 Budapest memorandum to respect Ukraine’s territorial integrity and borders in return for Ukraine giving up the nukes.

This will not reassure the 184 non-nuclear weapon states about their security concerns. On the contrary, it might confirm North Korea in the strategic foresight of having gone down the nuclear path and encourage Iran to do the same. It has already reopened debates in some NATO and Pacific allies about joining in nuclear-sharing arrangements as an insurance policy, in the belief that the presence of US bombs on their territory, even if they remain in American hands and control, will create new facts on the ground and serve as tripwires against aggression.

And the fact that Finland and Sweden—the latter a major champion of nuclear disarmament and the former of a regional nuclear-weapon-free zone in the past—will become the latest to join NATO is yet more evidence that history does irony. For, as I have argued elsewhere, the alliance’s unbroken eastward expansion is a major explanation for Russia’s actions in Ukraine. NATO’s northward expansion into the Baltic in turn becomes a major consequence of Russia’s aggression against Ukraine.

Would Russia use bioweapons in Ukraine?

In March, not long after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine began, claims from the Kremlin of a US-funded bioweapon program in Ukraine flooded global media. Those reports were amplified by China and picked up by conservative news outlets and conspiracy groups in the US. Although the US and Ukraine denied Russia’s claims, and they were deemed false by the United Nations and the World Health Organization, this piece of disinformation raises questions about the Kremlin’s strategy in the current war and beyond.

When the reports first appeared, the US warned that Russia could be using this thread of disinformation to stage a false-flag incident using bioweapons, or to justify the use of its own bioweapons against Ukraine. It wouldn’t have been the first time Russia used false-flag tactics, and the threat of Russia using bioweapons in either scenario isn’t an outlandish prospect.

The Soviet Union’s bioweapon program began in the 1920s and was the largest and most sophisticated undertaken by any nation in the world. Despite joining the Biological Weapons Convention in 1972, the Soviets, and then the Russian Federation, continued the program into the 1990s. In 2021, the US concluded that Russia still possessed an offensive bioweapon program, or, at the very least, stockpiles of bioweapons and prevailing production capacities, in violation of the convention.

Russia has a history of deploying chemical weapons that includes using them in assassination plots  and in the wars in Syria and Chechnya. Moscow neither follows international law prohibiting the use of chemical weapons nor adheres to international norms that proscribe their use as inhumane and abhorrent. It’s not clear that Russia’s mentality towards the use of bioweapons is any different.

An alternative explanation for the bioweapon disinformation campaign is that it was undertaken in part to justify Russian President Vladimir Putin’s decision to invade Ukraine. The invasion has been accompanied by a concerted disinformation campaign and internal propaganda tactics that originated long before 24 February.

A flood of disinformation narratives has emerged from Russia about the West over the past few years. The main theme since the start of the invasion has continued to be that the former Soviet nation is an innocent victim strong-armed into aggression to stave off NATO encroachment. The invasion has also been framed as a necessary ‘denazification’ of Ukraine. The bioweapon disinformation narrative has also played into this strategy and could be just another narrative spread by Russia to justify its unprompted invasion of Ukraine.

If Russia’s intent isn’t to use the bioweapon disinformation to escalate the war via military means, the Kremlin’s strategy could be to use this narrative to erode trust in the US, or to endanger the Cooperative Threat Reduction Program, a post–World War II initiative that converted the Soviet Union’s offensive bioweapon laboratories into safe public-health research facilities.

Russia’s use of bioweapon disinformation isn’t a new phenomenon; it’s a 70-year old strategy that has simply been ramped up since the invasion in Ukraine. The Soviet Union carried out major international bioweapon disinformation campaigns against the US in the past, including one declaring that the US used bioweapons against North Korea and China during the Korean War. Another accused the US of synthesising the HIV virus to deliberately wipe out African populations.

Russia also used the Covid-19 pandemic to undermine social cohesion and sow mistrust in rival nations’ governments by circulating conspiracy theories about the virus, particularly the Chinese narrative that it was a bioweapon engineered by the US. Covid-19 disinformation has undoubtedly played into the Kremlin’s claims about a US–Ukrainian bioweapon program, using scepticism surrounding the virus to provide credibility to its false narrative. Russia has also used the current monkeypox outbreak to target the US, saying that the virus was spread from US-operated laboratories in Nigeria.

It’s unclear at this stage whether Russia intends to use bioweapons in its war against Ukraine, but we shouldn’t rule out the possibility. Russia has a history of chemical weapons use that indicates a lack of adherence to international norms and laws prohibiting the use of weapons of mass destruction in conflict. And it is believed to possess offensive bioweapon capabilities. If Russia’s plan isn’t to use bioweapons, we should still be concerned about the Kremlin’s use of bioweapon disinformation as a tactic to sow mistrust in the US and NATO, for example, and to undermine initiatives that aid bioweapon non-proliferation.