Russia, NATO and Cooperative Security: Bridging the Gap [annotated edition] 0415407230, 9780415407236, 9780203969243

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RUSSIA, NATO AND COOPERATIVE SECURITY

Russia, NATO and Cooperative Security explores the common ground between Russia and NATO and the potential to move beyond cultural differences. Lionel Ponsard clearly demonstrates how cooperative security could serve as a means to bridge the gap between two supposedly antagonistic entities: NATO and Russia. He skilfully shows that by building confidence between the two parties about each other’s intentions, cooperative security can regulate attitudes that might otherwise lead to misperception. Drawing on his extensive knowledge of Russia, the author focuses on the peculiarity of NATO–Russia relations and emphasises the Russian approach to analyse them. Three parts articulate his work: the definition of the Russian identity, Russia’s attitude to NATO, and the question of cooperation in Russia–NATO relations. The analysis of the Russian identity sheds some light on what happened to this relationship in the past several years and offers some appropriate lessons for consideration. Difficulties that arose after the demise of the Soviet Union up until the creation of the NATO–Russia Council in 2002 are also stressed and interpreted. Last but not least, the importance of cooperation between Russia and NATO is highlighted and the author puts forward some ideas for easing major points of friction between the two parties. This book will be of great interest to all students of NATO, Security Studies, Russian studies and International Relations in general. Lionel Ponsard is currently Deputy Chief of the Academic Research Branch with the NATO Defense College in Rome. He holds a PhD in Political Science from Leiden University.

CONTEMPORARY SECURITY STUDIES

NATO’S SECRET ARMIES Operation Gladio and terrorism in Western Europe Daniele Ganser

THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF PEACEBUILDING IN POST-DAYTON BOSNIA Tim Donais

THE US, NATO AND MILITARY BURDEN-SHARING Peter Kent Forster and Stephen J. Cimbala

THE DISTRACTED EAGLE The rift between America and old Europe Peter H. Merkl

RUSSIAN GOVERNANCE IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY Geo-strategy, geopolitics and new governance Irina Isakova

THE IRAQ WAR European perspectives on politics, strategy, and operations Jan Hallenberg and Håkan Karlsson (eds)

THE FOREIGN OFFICE AND FINLAND 1938–1940 Diplomatic sideshow Craig Gerrard

STRATEGIC CONTEST Weapons proliferation and war in the Greater Middle East Richard L. Russell

RETHINKING THE NATURE OF WAR Isabelle Duyvesteyn and Jan Angstrom (eds) PERCEPTION AND REALITY IN THE MODERN YUGOSLAV CONFLICT Myth, falsehood, and deceit 1991–1995 Brendan O’Shea

PROPAGANDA, THE PRESS AND CONFLICT The Gulf War and Kosovo David R. Willcox MISSILE DEFENCE International, regional and national implications Bertel Heurlin and Sten Rynning (eds)

GLOBALISING JUSTICE FOR MASS ATROCITIES A revolution in accountability Chandra Lekha Sriram ETHNIC CONFLICT AND TERRORISM The origins and dynamics of civil wars Joseph L. Soeters GLOBALISATION AND THE FUTURE OF TERRORISM Patterns and predictions Brynjar Lia NUCLEAR WEAPONS AND STRATEGY The evolution of American nuclear policy Stephen J. Cimbala NASSER AND THE MISSILE AGE IN THE MIDDLE EAST Owen L. Sirrs WAR AS RISK MANAGEMENT Strategy and conflict in an age of globalised risks Yee-Kuang Heng

EUROPEANISATION OF NATIONAL SECURITY IDENTITY The EU and the changing security identities of the Nordic states Pernille Rieker INTERNATIONAL CONFLICT PREVENTION AND PEACE-BUILDING Sustaining the peace in post conflict societies T. David Mason and James D. Meernik (eds) CONTROLLING THE WEAPONS OF WAR Politics, persuasion, and the prohibition of inhumanity Brian Rappert CHANGING TRANSATLANTIC SECURITY RELATIONS Do the US, the EU and Russia form a new strategic triangle? Jan Hallenberg and Håkan Karlsson (eds) THEORETICAL ROOTS OF US FOREIGN POLICY Machiavelli and American unilateralism Thomas M. Kane

MILITARY NANOTECHNOLOGY Potential applications and preventive arms control Jurgen Altmann

CORPORATE SOLDIERS AND INTERNATIONAL SECURITY The rise of private military companies Christopher Kinsey

NATO AND WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION Regional alliance, global threats Eric R. Terzuolo

TRANSFORMING EUROPEAN MILITARIES Coalition operations and the technology gap Gordon Adams and Guy Ben-Ari

GLOBALISATION, CONFLICT AND THE SECURITY STATE National security in a ‘new’ strategic new era Robert G. Patman (ed.)

KENNEDY, JOHNSON AND NATO Britain, America and the dynamics of alliance, 1962–68 Andrew Priest

MILITARY FORCES IN 21 ST CENTURY PEACE OPERATIONS No job for a soldier? James V. Arbuckle

SMALL ARMS AND SECURITY New emerging international norms Denise Garcia

THE POLITICAL ROAD TO WAR WITH IRAQ Bush, 9/11 and the drive to overthrow Saddam Nick Ritchie and Paul Rogers

THE UNITED STATES AND EUROPE Beyond the neo-conservative divide? John Baylis and Jon Roper (eds)

BOSNIAN SECURITY AFTER DAYTON New perspectives Michael A. Innes (ed.)

RUSSIA, NATO AND COOPERATIVE SECURITY Bridging the gap Lionel Ponsard

RUSSIA, NATO AND COOPERATIVE SECURITY Bridging the gap

Lionel Ponsard

First published 2007 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2007 Lionel Ponsard All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book has been requested

ISBN 0-203-96924-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0–415–40723–0 (hbk) ISBN10: 0–203–96924–3 (ebk) ISBN13: 978–0–415–40723–6 (hbk) ISBN13: 978–0–203–96924–3 (ebk)

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

ix

1

Introduction

1

2

Russian identity

6

Introduction 6 Geographic and historical components of Russian identity 7 Russian national identity, the search for the Russian idea 18 Russian schools of thought 23 Conclusion 31 3

Russian orthodoxy

33

Introduction 33 Orthodox components of Russian national identity 34 The Russian Orthodox Church: a national and a State Church 36 Conclusion 42 4

Russian political culture

44

Introduction 44 Definition and concept 45 Russian political–cultural heritage: from the Mongol yoke to the dissolution of the Soviet Union 47 A political culture for Russia 54 Conclusion 58

vii

CONTENTS

5

The evolution of the Russian attitude to NATO

60

Introduction 60 From the end of the Cold War to the Founding Act 61 The Kosovo crisis 72 Russia–NATO after 9/11 77 Conclusion 85 6

Russia’s perception of NATO enlargement: a case study

87

Introduction 87 Evolution of the Russian perception of NATO enlargement 88 Why Russia opposed NATO’s enlargement 91 Russia’s countermeasures 99 Opting for cooperation 107 Conclusion 108 7

Theories of cooperation

111

Introduction 111 Realism and cooperation 112 Theories of international regimes 120 Multilateral approaches to security 123 Conclusion 127 8

The Russian approach to cooperative security

130

Introduction 130 Russian cooperative security initiatives 131 Gorbachev and the ‘Common European Home’: case study 137 Conclusion 144 9

Conclusion

147

Notes Bibliography Index

158 190 208

viii

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A number of people have given considerable time and effort in support of my research for this book. I would like to express my sincere thanks to Professor Dr Rob de Wijk whose criticism and suggestions played a key role in helping me to bring this work to completion. I am also deeply grateful to Professor Dr Bruno Colson, Dr Dmitri V. Trenin and Mr Chris Donnelly who have given me the benefit of their judgement and expertise. As it was impossible to rely simply on printed sources, I have also depended to a large degree on face-to-face contacts with officials and specialists. In particular, I am glad to acknowledge the help that I have received from Russian academics. There are too many to list all by name, but special thanks are due to those who submitted themselves to interviews: especially Dr Tatyana G. Parkhalina, Dr Nadia K. Arbatova, Dr Lena Nemirovskaya, Dr Irina Kobrinskaya, Dr Lilia F. Shevtsova, Dr Dmitri A. Danilov, Professor Viktor B. Kuvaldin. Many senior NATO officials also provided key off-the-record interviews. I am particularly appreciative to Colonel Richard Williams, retired US Army Colonel, for his personal friendship and professional support. Our thanks go also to the NATO Information Office and the NATO Liaison Mission in Moscow, especially Dr Rolf Welberts and Major General Peter Williams. The Research and Technology Department of the Belgian Ministry of Defence and its staff also deserve our deepest appreciation for their financial assistance. I particularly wish to thank the staff of the George Marshall Centre Library, one of the great libraries in the world for Russian issues, to which I was allowed access; the Peace Palace Library in The Hague; the King’s College Library in London; the Lenin Library in Moscow; and the Belgian Ministry of Defence Library. Last but not least, I am especially in debt to my dearest Peggy who has been my bedrock of support and inspiration. The views expressed in this book are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation.

ix

1 INTRODUCTION

How could yesterday’s enemies become tomorrow’s friends? This is, in a nutshell, the challenge that the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) and Russia have been facing since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Indeed, from 1949 until the early 90s, NATO–Russia relations have been built on a conflicting basis only. There is no need to recall that one of the fundamentals of the North Atlantic Alliance was the protection of the West against the emergence of a threat posed by communism, then embodied by the Soviet Union. Almost simultaneously, the newly created Euro-Atlantic organisation found its immediate rival in the emerging bloc of the Warsaw Pact. By the same token, one of the justifications of the Soviet Union’s status as one of the two major powers in the aftermath of Second World War was based on the existence of a threatening military organisation at its borders. In these conditions, for over 50 years, the existence of NATO and of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) in their respective capacity had become mutually justifying. From 1989 to late 1991, the well-structured post-Second World War order was fundamentally disrupted. The demise of the Warsaw Pact and the subsequent dissolution of the Soviet Union put a sudden end to the bipolar world. The idea that the Russian Federation was recognised as the official heir of the USSR was only true on paper. In reality, Russia had definitely lost the power status of its predecessor. In the same period NATO also lost its initial raison d’être. After the disappearance of the Warsaw Pact and the communist threat, many wondered what could still justify the existence of a defensive alliance in the Euro-Atlantic area. NATO’s future not only depended on its ability to adapt to the new international environment, but it was also closely related to the turn of its future relations with the Russian Federation. What future was there for NATO and Russia in the new international environment, and above all, was there a common future for the former enemies? Could they wipe the slate clean of their past and emerge together as a new security force? When these questions first came to the fore, they gave rise to a great debate. There were those calling for full integration of Russia into NATO since the Russian threat had been eradicated. There were on the contrary, those who objected to that option on the grounds that it would give Russia an opportunity to 1

INTRODUCTION

dismantle the Alliance from the inside. However, in their views, the perspective of a Russia remaining at the borders of the Euro-Atlantic zone was not very attractive either. A number of obstacles seemed to be in the way of any constructive relations between the two parties. Among other things, the identity gap between Russia and NATO countries, and the belief in Russia’s inability to truly cooperate were very often mentioned. In other words, NATO and Russia were deemed too antagonistic to forge lasting relations. And yet, while these relations were first shrouded in paradox, today they are a tangible reality. Indeed, against all expectations, NATO and Russia have recently embarked on relations that are no longer antagonistic. Of course, building such rapport has not been an easy task. From the inauguration of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) in 1991 to the creation of the NATO–Russia Council in 2002, NATO–Russia relations have been punctuated with a succession of historic achievements and resounding failures. Even today, some 10 years after the debut of closer interaction between NATO and Russia, the feeling persists that nothing has been won for good. There is still a long way to go before these relations will be fully normalised. However, this past decade of oscillating relations is very instructive in many respects. As mentioned earlier, the primary interest in analysing NATO–Russia relations rests on the fact that it places two antagonistic entities in a context of cooperation. This point is all the more relevant in that these entities have to evolve in a new international security environment. Throughout the Cold War, the traditional menaces, like that of the USSR for NATO, were identifiable geographically; and the capabilities of their originators were known and could be deterred. This postulate went up in smoke in light of the developments of the last few years. As this work is being completed, the new threats to world security are defined as unpredictable, transnational, asymmetric and non-conventional. How do Russia and NATO perceive this new security environment? How could they approach it together? Could this new security environment serve as a basis for new relations between the two parties and eventually lead to true cooperation? Focusing now on the peculiarity of NATO–Russia relations, another interest is to adopt the Russian approach to these relations. Indeed, extensive analyses have already been produced on NATO’s perception of Russia and its expectations with regard to its relations with this country. However, very few experts in and around NATO are sufficiently familiar with Russia to understand, explain and even anticipate any of its actions/reactions. This is even more surprising since, as the saying goes, knowing your enemy is already part of the victory. Without placing NATO–Russia relations in a conflicting context, the idea is that the better your understanding of the other’s approach is, the more successful your common undertaking will be. Going then into the substance of NATO–Russia relations, it seems worth looking at what type of relations best suits NATO and Russia. Are these relations only foreseeable in the framework of an integrated Russia? Or is there a solution, halfway between full integration and mere coexistence, that can best apply to 2

INTRODUCTION

NATO–Russia relations? Since the end of the Cold War, NATO has been developing a policy of cooperative security with the former Warsaw Pact members. This policy was first introduced as a ‘hand of friendship’ between the Allies and their Central and Eastern European neighbours. Opting for this approach of NATO, is it possible to say, from a Russian point of view, that cooperative security is indeed the most suitable answer to NATO–Russia relations? At this stage, the question is thus whether cooperative security could serve as a means to bridge the gap between two supposedly antagonistic entities: NATO and Russia. This study explores mutual common ground and the potential to move beyond cultural differences, particularly in political culture. By building confidence between the two parties about each other’s intentions, cooperative security regulates attitudes that might otherwise lead to misperception. In addition, the closer the interaction between NATO and Russia, the more they will find ways to further their security cooperatively. True interaction implies indeed a constant knowledge, respect and understanding of one another. We also have the methodology that will be used to bring this research to its achievement. As mentioned earlier, the approach that will be taken throughout the study will be the Russian one. Again this is mainly motivated by the fact that the Russian approach to its relations with NATO is often ignored or misunderstood. This is usually due to either the difficulty of acceding to Russian expertise on the issue or to the lack of Western work from that angle. Our work will be articulated in three parts: the definition of the Russian identity, Russia’s attitude to NATO and the question of cooperation in NATO–Russia relations. The first part will aim at answering the following questions: how do the Russians define themselves? What is it to be a Russian? Are Russian traditions, culture and history closer to Europe or Asia? In this way, we will try to arrive at a definition of the Russian identity that is as precisely as possible as to what the Russians themselves would say to define their identity. This first implies looking at the Russian identity based on some of the fundamental elements of any national identity namely: history, geography, religion and culture. Indeed, outside observers have long encountered difficulties in defining the Russian identity as anything but what Churchill once described as ‘a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma’. In order to reach the most accurate definition possible, we will have to underpin our work on an analysis of the Russian approach to the notion of national identity. In so doing, we will have to focus on the role of religion in the determination of the Russian identity. Orthodoxy and the Russian Orthodox Church indeed provide both a background and a framework for understanding many of the issues pertaining to the Russian identity. With regard to NATO–Russia relations, it is important to assess, from an identity point of view whether or not Orthodoxy can hamper relations with countries of mainly Western Christian faith. We will also try to see to what extent Orthodoxy, as a dominant element of Russian culture, has an influence on the shaping of Russian domestic and foreign policies. All this 3

INTRODUCTION

information will notably be instrumental in assessing the identity gap between Russia and the countries of the North Atlantic Alliance. We will conclude this part of our research with a study of the Russian political culture as one of the factors framing today’s Russian policies. In this context, we will use the 1993 Russian Constitution as a case study and a possible illustration of our conclusions on the Russian political culture. The work on the Russian identity will help us view NATO–Russia relations in a new light. In order to develop a positive, lasting relationship between NATO and Russia, it is first necessary to make a clean sweep of mutual mistrust remaining from the Cold War. It is also important to understand what has happened to this relationship in the past several years, and to draw the appropriate lessons. This analysis will review and explain the difficulties that have arisen in that quest. It will also assess the relative importance of cooperation between NATO and Russia and set forth some ideas for easing major points of friction between the two. To this purpose, we divided up the 10 years of NATO–Russia relations into three main phases: from the end of the Cold War to the Founding Act; the Kosovo crisis; and Russia–NATO after September 11. Not only will this aim at reviewing the evolution of Russia–NATO relations up to this day, focusing on the structure used to formalise these relations and looking at how NATO and Russia dealt with difficulties, but this work will also permit us to assess whether the peculiar Russian identity is indeed a stumbling block to Russia–NATO relations. At a later stage, we will look into the question of NATO’s first wave of enlargement as the policy that was long presented as the major conflicting issue of NATO–Russia relations. The question of what kind of cooperation would best suit both NATO and Russia is paramount. Exploring cooperation first entails defining a theoretical model that encompasses various strands of International Relations theory: Realism, Neorealism and International Regimes; but also traditional international security arrangements such as Cooperative Security, Collective Security and Collective Defence. A number of specific arguments will be developed to permit the application of the different strands of International Relations theories to the security realm and to integrate them into a cooperation theory. The purpose of this discussion will be to explore, both theoretically and pragmatically, the proposition that cooperative engagement may be the appropriate principle for security relations under the new international circumstances that have emerged. In evaluating the prospects for cooperative security to become an accepted framework for security relations between Russia and NATO, we will consider some explicit examples of Russian cooperative security initiatives throughout history: the Holy Alliance, Brezhnev’s détente, the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). Gorbachev’s New Political Thinking and Common European Home will serve as a case study for this part. Based on this analysis, we will try to draw the main conclusions necessary for cooperative security to be applied successfully to NATO–Russia relations. 4

INTRODUCTION

It should also be noted that this whole endeavour implies a certain degree of humility on the part of the researcher, as well as a certain degree of indulgence on the part of the Russians who might consult the study. Indeed, describing the view of a society without being a native member of that society must be based on the assumption of a highly self-conscious ignorance. Such a mindset is all the more important when the work mainly relies on theoretical sources. There are no shortcuts to understanding the Russians. It takes time, and Western officials often seek quick fixes for complex issues. Obviously, frequent visits to Russia and discussions with eminent scholars and experts of Russian society are instrumental in developing a better knowledge of this fascinating country.1 Mastery of the Russian language is also a critical asset to fine-tune the understanding of the Russian mind. Russian speakers, be they diplomats, business people or scholars, all have a significant advantage. The ability to carry on a conversation in Russian raises the relationship to a more meaningful level. Together with it comes mutual trust and understanding.

5

2 RUSSIAN IDENTITY

The notion of ‘Russia’ is already tattered and torn; everyone uses this notion, whether appropriately or not. When the monstrous USSR went to grab slices of Asia or Africa, the entire world repeated: ‘Russia, the Russians . . . ’ What exactly is Russia? Today, and tomorrow (even more importantly). Who sees himself as part of the future Russia? Where do the Russians themselves envisage the borders of Russia?1

Introduction If the notion of Russia appears as a real challenge to the most renowned of its national intellectuals, it is easy to imagine what challenge it could represent to those non-natives having to deal with it. Many came up against this ‘riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma’, as Sir Winston Churchill once said. To many, this very challenge of understanding the workings of the Russian identity2 acted and still acts as a deterring factor. When NATO embarked on closer relations with Russia, many experts had produced the Russian identity argument as the main impediment to the success of this endeavour. Therefore, whoever wishes to analyse NATO–Russia relations, especially with the aim of confirming the feasibility and utility of these relations, has no choice but to start grappling with this tortuous issue and to try lifting all the fears that are linked to it. How can we define what Russia is and what the Russian identity means if Russians themselves come up with more questions than answers when addressing this matter? As mentioned earlier, the question of Russian identity is indeed a long-standing one.3 Despite the incessant efforts of numerous Russian experts, writers, historians and political leaders throughout history, the notion of Russian identity still lacks any commonly agreed definition. Famous figures like Berdyaev, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, Blok and Herzen have nevertheless tried to formulate what the Russian self-image embodied. Even President Yeltsin initiated a public debate aimed at developing a definition of the Russian identity that would be in line with the then new democratic government.4

6

RUSSIAN IDENTITY

All these unfruitful attempts have led many Russians to believe that it is actually impossible to come to a definition of their identity. And yet, these same Russians would agree that they are different, unique, that they can on no account be assimilated to any other existing identity, be it Western, European, or Asian. This very observation confirms that a Russian identity does exist, and that it is possible to define Russians based on the basis of unique characteristics that make them distinct from the other people. Our attempt to define the Russian identity will be based on what are traditionally considered to be the fundamental components of the identity concept, namely history, geography, ethnicity, culture and religion.5 Consequently, when looking at Russian history, geography, religion and culture, we will try to determine to what extent these contribute to defining the Russian identity, in the same way as the French revolution and the peculiar geographic situation of France help compose the French identity. In so doing, we will notably focus on the notion of diversity and multiplicity of the Russian history and geography in the hope that this will prove useful in understanding why no one has ever come to terms with a unique definition of the Russian identity. Understanding the nuances and the importance of the dual signification of ‘Russian’ in the Russian language meaning – rossiskii (of the Land of Rus’) or russkii (ethnic Russian) – will be the first step of our approach. We will then dwell on the notion of international messianism, a self-perceived vocation to carry out a universalist Christian mission. These two considerations will be instrumental in addressing the issue of whether or not the Russian identity has a national dimension.6 We will then confront the results of our research to three paramount – and yet radically opposed – political phases: the tentative Europeanisation of Russia by Peter the Great; the negation of the Russian identity and its internationalisation under the Soviet rule; and the consequent identity crisis that emerged in post-communist Russia. At the theoretical level, several schools of thought have tried to develop a definition of the Russian identity. We will first distinguish the Westernisers and the Slavophiles who, while both denying the significance of the Mongol yoke in shaping the Russian identity, argue that either the Slav origins or the Western influence is the primary determinant of the Russian identity. We will then tackle the theories of the Asianists, Scythians and Eurasianists, whose main common ground is to place the Mongol yoke to the fore in their defining of the Russian identity.

Geographic and historical components of Russian identity Like other people, Russians soon agreed on the fact that there must be a significant link between their geographical position in the world and their national identity. Writers from Fyodor Dostoevsky to Alexander Solzhenitsyn have elevated the Russian land to the status of a symbol of the essence of Russia

7

RUSSIAN IDENTITY

and Russian identity. According to them, the Russian steppe, the Siberian taiga and the peasant villages are all inherent features of this identity. Russia’s land stretches across both Europe and Asia. Its immensity provides the country with natural strategic interests throughout Europe, the Middle East, the Indian subcontinent and the Far East. However, this immensity is also the cause of scores of invasions of the Russian territory, from the Mongols to Napoleon to the Nazis. At the same time, it is a country the brutal weather of which has often repelled these same foes with equal power. According to George Vernadsky, ‘the Russian land was, because of its flat topography, the meeting place for European and Asian peoples’.7 The nomads who periodically swept westward from the depths of inner Asia, such as the Scythians, the Huns, and the Mongols, had intermarried with the more sedentary eastern Slavs. He further explained that ‘each of these invasions brought new cultural patterns and each, when it retreated years or centuries after, left its imprint indelibly on the land that was to become Russia’.8 A continuous sense of occupying some kind of critical middle ground between highly differentiated zones of global civilisation has been pervasive in Russia, since the reforms of Peter the Great (the so-called Petrine reforms) at least. This feeling must be understood in terms of ‘a sort of existential indeterminacy between East and West a veritable geo-schizophrenia which for nearly three centuries has penetrated irresistibly and tormentingly to the very core of the society’s self consciousness’.9 In this context, Russia’s geographical position is a fundamental factor in the Russians’ sense that they are different – not part of the European family or the West, but surely not part of Asia either. In this respect, Russian history is also very explicit indeed.10 Russian identity today is in many ways the product of historical determinants as much as it is the victim of those determinants. Distinctions were already being drawn in the earliest origins of Russian civilisation, that is to say in Kievan Rus’.11 Ancient Russians were different from their eastern neighbours in most aspects of their social, political, religious and economic life. These firstly included their Christian faith – from the second half of the tenth century –, but also political institutions of monarchy and the economic foundations of Kievan Rus’ in commerce. By contrast, Russia’s neighbours were at that time nomads practicing a variety of shamanistic–pagan religions. Despite few social contacts and commercial intercourse, relations between these two communities were most often antagonistic. The Mongol yoke At the beginning of the thirteenth century, the Mongolian armies of Ghengis Khan launched a devastating campaign against Kievan Rus’. In front of the weak resistance of disunited and militarily unprepared Russian princes, the Mongol victory was rapid and almost absolute. By 1241, all of Kievan Rus’ had been conquered and as Nicolas Riasanovsky noted, it was ‘the only instance of total subjugation to a foreign invader throughout Russia’s long history’.12 The Mongols maintained effective control over the remnants of Kievan Rus’ for about a century 8

RUSSIAN IDENTITY

and a half. This rule, however, was not imposed by direct physical occupation, but ensured by regular payment of tributes to Russian princes on the condition that these acknowledge Mongol rule. Towards the end of the fourteenth century, Russians began to rebel against Mongol domination. In 1380, one of the most famous battles in Russian military history was fought at the fields of Kulikovo, south of Moscow, where the Muscovite prince Dmitry defeated Mongol armies. Mongol authority had been radically undermined, and it continued to decrease over the following century. Russian allegiance to the Mongols was officially revoked by Ivan III in 1480. The whole legacy of the steppe nomads, and most important of the Mongol domination, has, since the eighteenth century, been the subject of controversial interpretations and continuous debate. To certain experts, the relevance of the ‘experience of nomadic Asiatic domination’ is considered to be either negligible or inexistent. The famous leading Russian historian Solovyev considered the long Mongol subjugation as merely an episode, albeit an important one, in Russian history. This attitude is not very different from that of the British people vis-à-vis the Norman Conquest, or the Spanish people vis-à-vis the Moorish domination. It stems from a systematic tendency of nations to reduce the impact of foreign interference in their history, especially when it is assimilated with conquest. Other experts, however, consider the Mongol rule as highly influential and decisive for Russian history. Several scholars, amongst whom was the famous Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu, perceived it as entirely deleterious. According to this historian, the ‘Tatar Yoke’ could be defined as follows: The Mongol invasion was not merely to put back the hand of Russia’s timepiece 300 years, it was to turn her from the European road on which she was travelling, bend her to alien manners, and, in a measure, twist her out of shape. It was in the early years of the thirteenth century, at the very dawn of Western civilisation, when mediaeval Europe was on the point of blossoming out on all sides – in poetry, in architecture, in scholasticism, that the hordes of Djinghiz-Khan cut away from Europe Russia’s cooperation.13 Nikolai Berdyaev, one of the main exponents of the Russian Idea14 shared quite the same view: ‘It is the generally accepted opinion that the Tatar domination had a fatal influence upon Russian history and threw the Russian people back’.15 By the same token, Nikolai Karamzin stressed the very negative impact of Mongol rule of Russia in his famous ‘History of the Russian State’.16 Russia’s historical experience since the Mongol conquest and domination perpetuated those prejudices among Russian writers. During the imperial period, Russia was constantly at war with Asiatics like the Ottoman Turks, the central Asian Muslims, and the Japanese, whom Russians tended to regard with hatred and mistrust. The alternative perception, while admitting Russia’s basic differentiation from Europe that was the result of Mongol rule, nevertheless underscores the positive aspects of this experience. It notably considers that the Mongols helped to politically unify the vast steppes of Eastern Europe and Northern Asia. Renowned members of the Eurasian school like Nicholas Trubetskoi, George Vernadsky and 9

RUSSIAN IDENTITY

Charles Halperin advocated this interpretation by considering Russia as the natural heir of the Mongol empire.17 According to them, the Muscovite Russia is the successor of the Tatar-Mongolian Empire and not of Kievan Rus’.18 More recent research on the Mongol rule tends to confirm this last approach, along with the lines of the famous French epigram attributed to Napoleon: ‘Grattez le Russe et vous trouverez le Tatare!’ (Scratch a Russian, find a Tatar!). Tsarist Russia between change and stability Russia’s first rapprochement with Western Europe dates back to the sixteenth century, when Tsar Ivan IV called for England’s, Germany’s and Denmark’s expertise in the commercial and military fields, anticipating Peter the Great by more than a century. However, Ivan IV’s only objective was to gain the practical advantages from such cooperation, as he did nothing to further facilitate cultural links and political rapprochement.19 As Europe’s Renaissance progressed toward the Enlightenment, Russia still remained a realm isolated from the West. It was only at the end of the seventeenth century that so far xenophobic Russians really began to be concerned with defining themselves in terms of geopolitical location. This is not to say that they had previously been ignorant of their geographical distinction between Europe and Asia, but that this distinction was not particularly relevant to them. This condition of mind was about to change fundamentally as a result of the revolution in Russian society initiated by Peter the Great during his long reign. Petrine reforms were driven by the strong belief that Russia was, or at least ought to become, a European country.20 In the space of two decades, Peter I forcibly opened his country to Western ways. He intended to ‘wake his people from what he understood to be a sleep of lethargy and barbarism, to make entrepreneurs of the traditionalist merchantry, to make statesmen, administrators, generals, admirals and scientists of the gentry’.21 He therefore launched far-reaching economic, political and cultural reforms for the purpose of Europeanising the Russian society.22 At a first stage, Peter’s rapprochement with the West generated in Russia an enthusiastic emulation of the West European model (mainly French), but by the end of the eighteenth century a process of resentment had emerged.23 In this respect, Petrine Russia stands as a striking example in the controversy about the Westernisation of the country. Russian intelligentsia, in particular, argued that the Western model could not be easily transplanted in Russia.24 And yet, Peter the Great’s purpose was not to create slaves but rather to transform the old backward nobility into a modern, cultured and active ruling class.25 While his major concern was the elite, a by-product of these reforms was a growing cleavage between this increasingly ‘European’ elite and the traditional, xenophobic peasant masses. As the former changed, the latter increasingly regarded them as an ‘alien race of foreigners in their own land’.26 If it is true that Peter’s achievement was significant among the aristocracy, which a century later 10

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would push itself toward further Europeanisation, his efforts were nevertheless the source of one of the great schisms to afflict Russian history. Adherents to the old and new systems, educated classes and the peasantry state and people: these were some of the gaps opened up by Peter’s reform. Montesquieu was very explicit in this respect: Thus, when a prince wants to make great changes in his nation, he must reform by laws what is established by laws and changes by manners what is established by manners, and it is a very bad policy to change by laws what should be changed by manners. The law that obliged the Muscovites to shorten their beards and their clothing and the violence of Peter I in trimming up to the knees the long robes of those who entered the towns were both tyrannical.27 The lack of conviction among Russians about the possibility to actually implement a Western model in Russia consequently led to a relatively brief flirtation with the West. Petrine reforms soon gave rise to vehement resistance among Russians forced to change in dress, manners and customs. Opposition also arose among those required to accompany the tsar’s court from Moscow to St Petersburg, Russia’s new ‘window on Europe’. Even the well known Marquis de Custine expressed his pessimism about Petrine upheaval: It was Peter the Great, who, with all the imprudence of an untaught genius, all the temerity of a man the more impatient because deemed omnipotent, with all perseverance of an iron character, sought to snatch from Europe the plants of an already ripened civilization, instead of resigning himself to the slow progress of sowing the seeds in his own soil. That too highly lauded man produced a merely artificial work: it may be astonishing, but the good done by his barbarous genius was transient, the evil is irreparable.28 However, the importance of Peter the Great’s reforms are now commonly admitted, albeit to various extent. Indeed, without these forceful and painful reforms, the Russian State would have been incapable of ensuring its sovereignty and its future development.29 Peter I had sought to transform the Russian society on the basis of some set of goals foreign to and not understood by the people. His was the first cultural revolution from above in modern history, but the absence of transmission belts for modernisation as well as Russia’s underdeveloped social structures hampered Russia’s Westernisation. If Russians were still passive and apolitical, while accepting that their rulers represented some higher values that gave them legitimacy, they were now confronted with the problem of finding their own place in Europe. When Catherine II came to power in 1762, many of Peter’s reforms had at least been launched or even completed. She had modern European views and had been 11

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schooled in Peter the Great’s ideas which she drew upon for her own reforms. Most important was Catherine’s following advantage over Peter I: she was born in and part of the civilisation she wanted to introduce within her people.30 Her own personal objective was to see Russia becoming a fully accepted member of the French–international court culture of the eighteenth century. In this context, St Petersburg continued to be the centre from which Western influence illuminated Russia. Catherine herself had acquired some kind of ‘French taste’ during her education in Germany and enabled the Russian aristocracy to use French culture to establish a common identity.31 By and large, the results of Peter’s, and to a lesser extent, of Catherine’s reforms appeared to be far more tangible in the cultural sphere than in socio-economic and political spheres. There was no more cultural isolation, and Russia found itself compatible with Western values. At its early stage of development, there were merely powdered wigs and French aristocratic culture, but then came new books, new ideas, universities and academies; a new layer of society with European education had emerged. This layer was far from being dominant, but nevertheless it represented a new material and spiritual culture within Russia’s traditional society. Not only the noble estate, but Russia’s general population became acquainted with Western values, especially in the period of the Napoleonic wars (1812–15), when Russian soldiers crossed Europe.32 The advance of the Russian armies through Germany and into France after 1812–13 exposed officers and soldiers to the views of the French Revolution and German liberals. These wars thus brought more Russians into prolonged, closer contact with Europe than ever before and inspired them to compare Russian and Western social and cultural patterns. As Anatole Mazour noted, ‘Russian nationalism came as an answer to the fiasco of Napoleon to bring Europe to a federation of states and bend Russia to that scheme’.33 For the foot soldiers, the main consequence was increased xenophobia. Russian officers, however, experienced Western freedoms and prosperity after Napoleon’s defeat and the majority became convinced of the benefits of a relatively open society. Returning home, many of these ideas were developed in discussion groups and secret societies, which hoped for liberal changes, but the reactionary and mystical views of the tsar left them disappointed. It is instructive to trace these movements, especially because they formed the basis of the changes of the early twentieth century which influenced the reactions of liberals, reactionaries and Bolsheviks in the turbulent revolutionary period 1905–18. These ideas, events and structures provided the inheritance of the leadership of the communist party and set the structures of the Soviet regime which in turn provided the present post-Soviet regime with modes of its thought and administrative structures. In 1825, some of those Russian officers, the so-called Decembrists, attempted a revolt, staged in St Petersburg’s Senate Square, in the city that symbolised Russia’s receptivity to Western ideas. Their objective was to pre-empt Nicholas I to the throne and call for a new constitution.34 This Decembrist uprising 12

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aborted and resulted in death and exile for these advocates of reforms. In the near term, their revolt only brought more repression under the ‘Iron Tsar’, Nicholas I.35 Nicholas I ensured social order by declaring Pravoslaviye, Samoderzhaviye, Narodnost (Orthodoxy, Autocracy, Nationalism)36 as the three principles of his governing doctrine. As it turned out, this doctrine was able to hold the Decembrists’ heirs at bay,37 and order was restored for nearly a century. Nicholas I’s doctrine was not suited for reform and economic development, which required local initiative and freedom of movement.38 As a logical consequence, Russia fell further behind the West. Nevertheless, the Decembrist movement had heralded a growing opinion for change and an important shift in the evolution of national and self-identification psychology. The Iron Tsar’s autocracy had not been strong enough to bury Peter’s legacy. With the death of Nicholas I, these pressures had grown so overwhelming that his successor, Alexander II, launched a series of indispensable reforms.39 These so-called ‘Great reforms’, would finally include the abolition of serfdom and move the country closer to Europe.40 Despite the formal emancipation of the serfs in 1861, not until 1907 were the peasants entirely freed from their servitude. In any case, great though these reforms were, they did not solve all Russia’s problems and led to other troubles and difficulties. These finally resulted in the murdering of the ‘Liberator Tsar’. As long as Alexander II was on the throne, reforms and progress were on the right track, at least for the first part of his reign.41 This was no longer true with Alexander III whose xenophobia led him to push for so-called ‘counter-reforms’.42 The evolution of nineteenth-century Russian thought appears to have been excessively rapid. This was perhaps because Russia had somehow to catch up with the whole history of Western thought in the course of a single century. Very explicit is the rapidity with which the Russian thinkers put on and then cast aside the mantles of Shelling, Saint-Simon, even Schopenhauer, and finally turned to Marx and the Hegelians of the Left with an enthusiasm which left Western philosophers aghast.43 As at the turn of the twenty-first century, the late nineteenth century was a time of profound unease in Russia about the relationship with the West, and Russian nationalism did rear its head several times. Still, Western influence was felt in powerful, though indirect, ways. At the end of the nineteenth century, when nationalism became a potent global force shaking the foundations of all existing empires, the Russian people were ill-prepared to separate their own identity from that of the empire in general and its Slavic core in particular. Despite the vast empire created in the name of Russia, the national identity of its masses remained very weak. This topical question was intellectually vital for both the Westernisers and the Slavophiles who dominated the Russian intellectual debate throughout the nineteenth century. Nicholas II was equally opposed to any reform. He wanted to maintain autocracy at any cost and like his father initiated a reign of reaction. He lacked the indispensable qualities to face a situation where determination, strength of will 13

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and flexibility were urgently needed. If Nicholas II had been a wiser ruler willing to accept the reforms necessary for the survival of his regime, the Bolsheviks might never have taken power.44 The Russian historian Nicholas Riasanovsky shared the same opinion: Another Peter the Great could have saved the Romanovs and imperial Russia. There can be no doubt that Nicholas II did not. In fact, he proved to be both narrow-minded and weak, unable to remove reactionary blinders even when circumstances forced him into entirely new situations with great potentialities, and at the same time unable to manage even reaction effectively.45 The failure to provide a civilised future to the peasantry forced Tsar Nicholas II to concede a form of parliament whilst retaining the powers of autocracy. Count Witte, probably one of the most liberal and intelligent ministers in Russia, became Prime Minister but was powerless to prevent the Duma raising issues of agricultural and social reforms.46 Other practical statesmen like Peter Stolypin47 who strove to bring order back to Russia after the events of 1905,48 thus had an extremely constricted arena in which to work. This period was merely dominated by social unrest, armed repression, illiberal acts49 by the tsar and some reactionary ministers. The regime entered the world war and perished with it. The Soviet period After the October Revolution, Lenin and other Bolshevik leaders tried to eradicate national values and to replace them with ideas of international proletarian brotherhood. As a consequence, during the first two decades of the new regime, every single link to Russian national culture was suppressed. Thousands of churches were razed, and the few that remained had their bells removed ‘so that their ringing would not disturb the workers’.50 The establishment of a global communist ideology by the late 1920s resulted in a Manichaean conception of the world divided into Marxist workers and capitalist Westerners.51 The regime’s monopoly on information had created a view of America (and the capitalist West in general) as aggressive and bent on world domination.52 Shortly after the Bolsheviks seized power, Moscow became the Soviet capital. In 1924, St Petersburg completely lost its symbolic ties to Europe when it was renamed Leningrad in honour of the Bolshevik leader. This name would remain until the final collapse of communism, when the city’s original designation was restored. Another important aspect to note is that in reproving the reactionary capitalist world, the communist regime was merely following the path of the tsarist regime, which was also distrustful of market forces and the bourgeoisie. Soviet Russia soon transformed critical attitudes towards the West into ‘proletarian irreconcilability’ with the ‘bourgeois democracy’. Though urgently needed for the country’s development, so-called capitalist industrialisation was viewed with suspicion 14

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and considerable hostility.53 In seeking to build a new society, the Soviet elite had slid back into totalitarian rule, which could be envied by almost all despots in the world’s history.54 In the 1920–30s, ‘revolutionary expediency’ helped justify general human rights violations. The new Soviet Russia soon became isolated from the outer world.55 In the 1930s, Stalin became more and more aware of the fact that the Soviet regime would be easier to defend by appealing to certain popular symbols. Obviously, clearly defined limits to this renewed national symbolism were imposed. Nevertheless, the works of Russian literary classics, such as Pushkin, Lermontov, Tolstoy, Turgenev and Dostoevsky, initially banned as ideologists of the Russian nobility, reappeared in new editions stressing their revolutionary content.56 The same happened with pre-1917 Russian art, music, painting and ballet.57 Revolutionary internationalism, though conserved in official parlance, was thus progressively giving way to great-power nationalism. Ideologically, it was nurtured by a slogan of advantages of socialism over hostile Western capitalism. Marxist internationalism was consequently supplanted by an increasing anti-Western Russian nationalism. After the Second World War, the Stalinist regime became endangered by the comments of Soviet soldiers58 whom the war had brought to Europe. They were ‘amazed to learn that, over there, it was nothing like what we’d been told for so many years before the war. They lived more dignified, richer and freer lives than we did’.59 The majority came out of the war with new, more positive than negative, impressions of the West, together with hope that alliance could continue and contribute to a better life at home.60 This reminds us of the Decembrist officers who had rebelled against the autocracy after experiencing European liberties in the post-Napoleonic occupation of Paris. Stalin too was mindful of history. He rapidly discouraged any expectation of rapprochement with the West by returning to rigid isolation. Anti-Western propaganda, investigations and arrests were also part of Stalin’s successful post-war campaign to undermine any positive image of the West. Even among well-informed people, a ‘majority were deformed by pervasive ideology, propaganda and fear’.61 After the Second World War, the division of the world into camps of ‘bourgeois democracies’ and ‘people’s democracies’ also resulted in conflicts with the outer world, including the 1956 and 1968 invasions of Hungary and Czechoslovakia. A counter-example could be found in the Khrushchev thaw which opened a period of exchanges with the West, thus undermining Soviet isolation. Every crack in isolation could be seen as an indirect step forward in the promotion of Western values. We may put this in another way: any promotion of Western values was also a heavy blow at self-isolation. As a consequence, a ‘window of opportunities’ opened, and Western mass culture began to penetrate through the ‘iron curtain’. Comparison of the Soviet and Western structures of consumption was a mortal blow to anti-Western stereotypes of Soviet official ideology. Stagnation of economy and degradation of ideological norms in the 1960s led to a sort of cultural pluralism, though it failed to result in the Western-type ideological or political 15

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pluralism. Multiple West-oriented trends emerged together with dissidents persecuted by official propaganda. The improvement of East–West relations in the early 1970s, known as détente, was also the result of the military parity achieved by the Soviet Union with the United States. New thinking and pro-Western orientation In the late 1980s and early 1990s, one of the most influential factors at work was an ideological turmoil within the Russian political and intellectual elite. It derived from drastic re-orientation of the country’s leadership to a rapprochement with the West, borrowing Western patterns in modernisation of Russia’s political and economic system. It was Gorbachev who initiated this shift as he tried to combine socialist and ‘universal’ values in the framework of his ‘New Thinking’. This ‘New Thinking’ first emerged in 1985 with the beginning of Gorbachev’s reforms and would last until the end of 1992. This new approach in Russian foreign policy was mainly characterised by a new direction in East–West relations. The Brezhnev doctrine62 had become irrelevant, and the main objective was then the improvement of relations with the West. Very explicit examples include the consent to German unification and its integration as such into NATO in 1990, the Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty (CFE) and the support for UN Security Council (UNSC) resolutions against Iraq during the Gulf crisis, but also the withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan and the non-intervention in the upheavals in Central and Eastern Europe in 1989. During the first phase of Yeltsin’s rule, this line in ideology and politics was considerably reinforced as the main driving forces of Yeltsin’s revolution were anti-communist and liberal values. The failed coup attempt of the communists in 1991 even reinforced the New Thinking trend and popularly elected President Yeltsin adopted an even more democratic, market-oriented and European–Atlanticist policy. His declared goals were full participation in international economic institutions like the International Monetary Fund (IMF), integration into the democratic community of states and even NATO membership. The pro-Western and liberal orientation of the new elite immediately faced growing resistance from hard-line communists, the military and special services, ‘red directors’, especially in the military-industrial complex. Non-communist nationalist and anti-communist intellectual and political forces that had emerged even before the perestroika, also challenged Western Liberalism. Since the opponents of liberal reforms proved incapable to counter them in the field of economic rationalism and efficiency, they preferred a metaphysical sphere of nationalist myths and emotions. Communists benefited therefore from the nostalgic mood of the general population referring to a happy life under communist rule. There were some reasons for such a choice: first, the liberal orientation towards an alien Western model was painful for national pride and self-esteem, and this made a liberal paradigm vulnerable; second, the bulk of Russian society suffered from the syndrome of dismemberment stemming from the break-up of the Soviet Union 16

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and the collapse of its status as a great power; finally, Moscow’s euphoria regarding prospects of its political rapprochement with the West and its joining the club of Western powers was replaced by disillusionment. After the collapse of the Soviet empire, Russia engaged in a transition from imperial power to a much more modest status and continuously tried to overcome some ‘lost empire syndrome’63 by finding a new Russian identity. Undoubtedly, even though the disintegration of the Soviet Union was in a certain way rather peaceful, no one could expect such a tremendous transformation to proceed smoothly. Russian society then tried to find explanatory reasons for the widespread annihilation of its national culture under the communist regime. This appealed to an inner-soul examination of the original cause of this situation and a reappraisal of old values. This quite ambivalent legacy is well described by the French Sovietologist Alain Besançon: The alliance with Bolshevism that brought so much satisfaction to Russian nationalism – the pleasure of domination, the accomplishment of Slavophile messianic prophecies, the extension of the language, and so on – has also produced an extraordinary diminution of the Russian nation.64 Moreover, the Russians’ sentiment of humiliation was exacerbated by their elite’s foreign policy, considered as pro-Americanism,65 contradicting Russian national interests. If in 1991–2, the Russian leadership had been quite open to the world and offered many opportunities for intensified cooperation, it thus soon came under internal pressure. In 1993, Yeltsin initiated a greater assertiveness in foreign policy by introducing his own ‘Monroe doctrine’,66 namely a neo-imperialistic policy towards the former Soviet republics, the so-called near abroad. Obviously, by putting on the opposition’s political clothes, Yeltsin played the card of pragmatic nationalism, but he also sacrificed the principles of liberal democracy. Some explicit examples include bilateral treaties for continued Russian military presence in most states of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS): Georgia was practically compelled to accept CIS membership; and Azerbaijan was forced to reduce its ties with Turkey, as well as oil and gas exploitation rights.67 Already confronted with a general loss of influence in world affairs, the Russian leadership simply refused to abandon the great power status left by the Soviet empire. As a result, it attempted to establish its predominance in the entire area of the former Soviet Union. The near abroad thus represented a sphere of vital interests for Russia and we may even say that Russia’s own current reforms depended for a great deal on progress in the newly independent states. It is an established fact that Russia has special interests in its near abroad. We should not forget that about 25 million ethnic Russians are still living in the former Soviet republics and suddenly find themselves beyond Moscow’s direct protection. In the present case, Russian peacekeeping in the near abroad seems to 17

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take the form of attempts to restore a former empire and to establish the former Soviet Union as a Russian sphere of influence. Nevertheless, Yeltsin’s new foreign policy preserved its underlying orientation towards partnership with the West, yet with more emphasis placed on the ‘Great Power’ rhetoric in the sense of some Russian-led re-integration of former Soviet republics. It is also important to note that in the 1990s, the major goal of the society was to get out of the economic crisis, a problem that overshadowed all others. In this context, the Westernising ideology assumed features characteristic of technocratism and economic determinism. Ideological and political opponents of this Westernising liberalism failed to challenge it with the same type of rational argumentation. The ideology of the anti-liberal forces was primarily nurtured by nostalgic expectations of the former Soviet nomenklatura that has become an integral part of the new post-Soviet elite. However, the main anti-Western political force, the communist party, having proclaimed its adherence to national patriotic values, at the same time, failed to soften Egalitarianism and anti-capitalist Populism nurtured by virulent Stalinism and its supporters and activists. The communist leaders could not stop praising the ideals of the recent communist past. The communist mythology was based on people’s memory of the lost paradise (i.e. grandeur of the Soviet empire) and of their very modest and restrained, but nevertheless quiet and stable existence under communism. As for the modern ‘social Capitalism’ of Gaidar, reforms resulted in a substitution of civil–political for socio-economic rights. Under communism, the general population, lacking political freedom, nevertheless benefited from social welfare. The reform era brought in political freedom but almost demolished the old system of social guarantees. Devoid of socio-economic rights, the general population was in a poor position to benefit from political freedoms. Russians had thus to come to terms with the loss of empire in December 1991, and to clarify the new role and status of their country in the international system. As Margot Light described it: From the point of view of geopolitics, for example, the establishment of new, independent states to the west of Russia reinvoked an old identity problem: was Russia part of Europe, or had the loss of empire turned it into an Asian or Eurasian power? It was certainly geographically further from Europe than it had been for 300 years. Westernizers, who equated progress and prosperity with Europe, argued that Russia must be European no matter how many miles or states separate the country from the rest of the continent. Others, however, claimed a unique Eurasian role for Russia, bridging Europe and Asia.68

Russian national identity, the search for the Russian idea69 Russian historic experience is full of ambiguities and paradoxes. Undoubtedly, Russians have no difficulty in believing in a Russian civilisation when this is 18

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associated with the concept of empire. However, when referring to a distinct Russian national identity, the notion of ‘Russianness’ is often imbued with vagueness and confusion. Debates over Russia’s national identity since the eighteenth century did not preclude the persistent view of Russia as a superior civilisation and a timeless empire with a universal mission. Obviously, a Russian national identity without this perception has yet to appear. The implementation of such a concept of national identity would enable Russia to make peace with itself and the international system. Various factors have made Russia’s search for a new national identity particularly complex. Rossiskii or Russkii:70 imperial identity and national identity Russia became an empire under Ivan IV who for the first time incorporated large numbers of people who were neither Orthodox nor Russian speaking.71 The early imperial expansion resulted in Russia acquiring an imperial identity before it developed a national identity. Karen Dawisha and Bruce Parrot even noted that because the formation of the Russian nation did not precede the process of tsarist colonial expansion, Russian nationality could hardly be defined and Russia’s political identity became dependent on the tsarist state’s imperial exploits.72 During most of the twentieth century, Russian identity continued to be based on the international power of the state.73 It is also often mentioned that Russian tsars rarely appealed to the notion of a Russian people to legitimate their rule. Alexander III,74 and after him Nicholas II, were the first tsars to promote Russian nationalism for their legitimisation. Even then contradictions were plentiful. Both tsarist and Soviet empires resorted to nationalism when they eventually faced their decline. However, this was nothing more than the last gasp of a decadent regime. The incapacity of tsardom to address either Russian or minority national aspirations left the Russian nation, despite the wealth of its language, arts and history, the ethnic group least prepared to develop a post-imperial identity. The lack of evolutionary features in Russian historic development also contributed to the conflicting and uncertain character of the Russian national identity. Short periods of radical reforms (under Peter I, Catherine II, Alexander II, communism, perestroika and liberalisation), often gave place to periods of conservatism and stagnation. Moreover, changes often did not derive from natural evolution of the society, but were planned and arranged by the top echelons of power. As a result, every stage of social transformation remained unfinished: new norms, values and orientations proved capable of only shattering the old ones but failed to replace them. One of the ambiguities of Russian national identity was that though the empire was incapable of satisfying Russia’s national feelings, the Russian national consciousness remained fused to the empire. Undoubtedly, the link between Russia’s national development and this empire-consciousness remains a fundamental characteristic of Russian national psychology. 19

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A very explicit example of the regime’s ambiguity regarding a distinct Russian identity can be found in the Russian language. The tsar and all imperial institutions traditionally referred to themselves as rossiskii (of the land of Rus), rather than russkii (ethnic Russian). This helped to create a supranational imperial identity, distinct from an ethnic identity.75 The equation of the term narod76 (the people) with gosudarstvo (the state) also reflects this ambiguity. The use of rossiskii persisted among the ruling classes until the very end of the Romanov dynasty. As David Laitin explained: Late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century state development in Russia compelled a distinction between a Russian as a subject of a political entity (Rossiia), which was itself a vast multinational state, and as a person of the nationality (russkii) that was at the core of the Russian State, but not the sole nationality of that state. A dual or ambiguous national identity emerged: Russians were both ethnic Russians and subjects of a state that was Russia, in which Russians were ‘elder brothers’ to a wide variety of nationality groups that were not russkie, but only rossiskie.77 Even today, the question whether Russians are russkie or rossiskie78 is still a topical question in Russia.79 The rather diffuse state of Russian identity had several long-lasting effects on the formation of the Russian consciousness and its ability to create an identity separate from the empire.80 Throughout their history, ethnic Russians have identified themselves mainly with the state – the Russian empire or the Soviet Union. Thus they acquired what is often described as an ‘imperial mentality’. The merit of the tsarist and Soviet empires, if any, was that they presented the country’s development as a common cause of all their constituent peoples. A degree of ethnic tolerance was an indispensable part of the Russian imperial mentality – a feature that is also vital for maintaining stability in the Russia of today. Regardless of their specific orientation, Russian thinkers across the spectrum remained attached to the belief that Russia is a civilisation, rather than a nation, into which all peoples of the empire should be brought. In contrast to nineteenthcentury Western and Central European nationalist historians, who increasingly asserted an integralist nationalism, Russian historians continued to follow Karamzin’s line praising Russia’s ability to absorb and Russify other peoples. Russia was to consolidate itself as a multinational state.81 Russian cultural superiority over the collective nations of the East has always been a common belief. This provides explanation for Russia’s perceived mission to bring enlightenment and civilisation to those benighted zones of the empire like Siberia. Russia’s mission of civilisation and spiritual salvation was to be realised not only through a programme of enlightened internal imperial administration, but through one of active political expansion as well. This aspect is closely related to Russia’s messianic policy. 20

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Russian international messianism The absence of any clear definition of their national identity left the Russian people without national egotism and thus made them particularly fit to carry out a universalist Christian mission.82 A common sense of Russia’s old religious past, contributed to the development of the idea that Russians as a people were distinguished by a particular religiosity or a particular spiritual vocation. The Russian people admirably integrated this messianic idea, as did the Hebrew people. Russian messianism is present throughout the whole of Russian history, including the communist period. As Kartashev aptly observed, ‘the Russian has chosen a very explicit name to designate his people, his land, his government and his Church: Holy Russia’.83 But this religious idea, while exerting a strong influence on Russians, soon became a justification for imperial expansion.84 Moscow, the Third Rome,85 the last bastion of Christianity, had the unique mission of teaching the world some great lesson. Unfortunately, the doctrine of the Third Rome further complicated Russia’s national development and sacrificed a distinct Russian national identity to a universalist mission cum imperialism. While some may find this debate an exercise in hair splitting, its impact on the formation of Russian national identity should not be underestimated. The messianic idea was to some extent the spiritus moves of the stardom.86 This messianic conception of national origins is also shared by such eminent figures of Russian literature as Pushkin and Dostoyevsky. This latter, despite his declared pacifism, exempted Russia’s military expansion from charges of aggression. For him, wars were fought in the pursuit of a sacred idea, due to Russia’s universalist mission, that would ultimately lead to perpetual peace. Some giants of Russian literature like Tolstoy disagreed. Nikolai Berdyaev criticised this linking of the Church with imperialism, observing that: The whole idea of Moscow as the Third Rome contributed indeed to the power and the might of the Moscow State and the autocracy of the Tsar, but not to the well-being of the Church and not to the growth of spiritual life. The vocation of the Russian people was distorted and despoiled.87 However, authors who openly challenged the notion of mission civilisatrice were a minority. Russian messianism did not disappear with the end of tsardom. During the Second World War especially there was a revival of the Russian messianic idea. According to Fred Barghoorn: The Russian component of Soviet messianism placed particular emphasis upon the claim that a Russian, Lenin, rendered unique service to humanity by his application of Marxism. Russia was the chosen nation charged to bring light and truth to the toilers of those parts of the world who have not yet been saved from capitalist slavery.88 21

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Peter’s tortuous legacy and anti-national post-Petrine Monarchy Several factors hampered the success of Peter’s project to ‘Europeanise’ Russian society, contributing to an even more conflicting status of Russian national development. Among the most relevant of these was the final resentment generated by Petrine reforms. If in a first stage, Russian nobles copied the Western model with admiration, this attitude soon led to a shamed feeling of inferiority. This feeling then gave way to resentment and to the rejection of the West.89 In addition, Peter’s reforms were principally meant for the nobility and not for the peasantry. As a result, the rural masses were almost completely ignored and kept away from progress and enlightenment.90 This moral and social unease was also present in politics, since the new legislation looked entirely alien to Russian people. Additionally, Europeans were relatively skeptical about whether the immense and almost unknown Russian empire had really come so suddenly to possess those indispensable qualities necessary to be admitted into Western civilisation. These reservations of Europe itself to welcome and to recognise the validity of Russia’s Westernising endeavour inevitably undermined the Russians’ own conviction about this new trend in their national development. And, indeed, how could they possibly feel themselves an inalterable part of Europe without the official and unconditional acceptance of Europe itself?91 As Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu observed: To Peter’s reforms are traceable many of the oppositions, or rather anomalies, which, in Russia, caused contrast to become law. Institutions and customs, ideas and facts find it hard work to get attuned together. In the nation as in the individual, dissonances of all kinds abound. The Russian is divided against himself, he feels double; at times he does not know what he believes, what he thinks, what he is.92 The post-Petrine Monarchy would have to live with this tormented legacy. In the nineteenth century, both tsars and people tended to oscillate between antipathy and sympathy for the Western model. Under Alexander I, Western influence was predominant. Nicholas I then distanced himself from any further Europeanisation. Alexander II began his reign with reforms that were later abandoned. Alexander III and Nicholas II followed this last path. In any case, the tsardom’s misleading position resulted from the forced implementation of an alien model in Russia. The communist regime made the same mistake.93 Russia still awaits a new concept of national identity that will heal the rift between Petrine and Muscovite traditions in Russian political culture. The Soviet regime’s nihilism and post-communist Russia Neither the late tsarist system, nor the communist regime was able to generate a viable alternative society, one with a new social logic and potentially authoritative 22

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new leaders, to replace the old system. In both cases, the replacement of the old regime has been twisted and painful beyond expectation. The official ideology (both tsarist and Soviet) adhered to an instrumental view of nationalism, one that served the needs of the state and its ruling elite. After the collapse of the Romanov dynasty, Bolsheviks embarked upon a policy discrediting most Russian national traditions. The fact that Bolsheviks had a very limited and simplified understanding of Russia’s particularities and national tasks resulted in a nihilistic attitude towards the country’s past. When the USSR disintegrated, the myth of the Soviet state fell apart as material flowed from the archives illustrating the atrocities and tragedies of this period. The wave of revelations about the Soviet past had the most damaging effect on the Russian identity. Not only had the framework of Russian national identity been ruined, but the responsibility for the creation of this framework was also undeniable. It was no longer possible to avoid the complicity of the Russian population in the great Soviet experiment. In the aftermath of the collapse of the USSR, the ever thorny problems of Russia’s national identity and destiny re-emerged with undiminished vigour, and as before, these problems were linked to a debate over how to define Russia and to establish its statehood. While Russians could hardly accept responsibility for the policy of the Soviet Union, or for the conduct of imperial Russia, they made claims for the international status of the Soviet Union. The search for a Russian identity took place within an external environment that proved less sympathetic than liberal Westernisers had expected, since the results of their early pro-Western policies were disappointing. Delays and difficulties contributed to the perception that Western politicians patronised Russians and treated them as if Russia had been vanquished in the Cold War. After 300 years as a great power, or as part of a great power, Russia was now looking for financial aid and humanitarian assistance. Much of today’s Russian nationalist movement can be seen as a direct response to this loss of pride and national self-confidence. Russians are currently putting an end to their self-depreciation and beginning to search for their new identity in the post-Soviet world.

Russian schools of thought In the last third of the eighteenth century, a growing number of Russian intellectuals tried to define who they were and what they believed in, independently of the court-sponsored Westernisation which had increasingly dominated Russian life since the reign of Peter the Great. This phenomenon was not exclusively Russian and could be observed elsewhere in Europe. However, it was particularly relevant in Russia since questions of national identity were so acute. In contrast with most Western European nations, these intellectuals merely represented a small and isolated group. Nevertheless, out of their sense of Russia’s traditions and customs, they began to promote a much more modern idea that Russians as a people were distinguished by a particular religiosity or a specific spiritual vocation. 23

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The Slavophiles–Westernisers debate The Slavophiles–Westernisers debate, that commenced in the nineteenth century, was but one episode in this struggle for the Russian consciousness that had been continuing for centuries.94 The long and tormented nature of Russian history had contributed to the emergence of the sentiment that there ought to be a Russian path belonging exclusively to Russia itself. Ultimately, of course, this debate cannot be resolved, it can only be moderated by democratic institutions and a culture of civic discourse. Its origins lie in vastly differing conceptions of Russia’s national ideal that will no doubt persist and even gather strength in democratic Russia.

The Slavophiles The decades of the 1820s and 1830s saw the creation of the first really visible current of thinkers to develop a fairly consistent version of the Russian Idea. Scholars like Ivan Kireevsky, Aleksei Khomiakov, Iurii Samarin and especially Ivan Aksakov emphasised the specific values of Russia’s past and traditions and projected an ideal Russia distinct from and superior to the West. Interesting to note is that the original fundamentals of Slavophilism were drawn on European, and especially German, romantic conservatism. The fact is that some of the leading figures of the first generation of Slavophiles had studied in Europe with some eminent German philosophers, such as Hegel and Schelling, from whom they absorbed many of their ideas. As Nicholas Riasanovsky noted: The Slavophiles were affected by numerous currents of Western thought which composed the cultural climate of the Romantic age. The period immediately preceding the development of Slavophilism was characterized in Russia by the influence of Schelling [. . .]; but the growth of Slavophilism itself corresponded with the spread of Hegelianism in Russia.95 The Slavophiles idealised and exalted certain institutions like Russian Orthodoxy. Their conception of the existing Church institution mostly relied on the Russian concept of sobornost usually translated as ‘conciliarism’ or ‘communalism’. This major aspect of Slavophile thought was first formulated by Alexis Khomiakov.96 As James Edie wrote: Sobornost was primarily a theological conception: an organic conception of ecclesiastical consciousness which, externally, placed the Russian conciliar or synodal system above the papal absolutism and Protestant individualism of the West, and which, internally, defined the Church not as a centre of teaching or authority, but as a ‘congregation of lovers in Christ’. The Church is ‘polyhypostatic’; its members are 24

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united ‘organically’ rather than ‘organizationally’. The Church is not an authority which can force obedience but a free union of believers who love one another. The only source of faith (the highest and truest kind of knowledge) is the consciousness of believers in their collectivity. No Council or Church pronouncement has any force unless it is ratified by the community of believers.97 In other words, the Russian sobornost differed from the religious autarchy of the papal government, on one side, and from the anarchic and subjective individualism of the Protestant response on the other.98 Likewise, the Slavophiles advocated other Russian institutions that they viewed as being endangered by the Petrine reforms. One of the most striking examples is probably the village/peasant-commune (obshchina)99 perceived as ‘the highest form of social, moral and political organisation because it emphasises the primacy of the social over the individual, and yet guarantees the freedom of the individual as a part of, not apart from, the community’.100 Some eminent figures of Slavophilism, like Dostoevsky, to some extent reworked and widened this Slavophile point of view and came to think that the Russian people was a ‘God-bearing people’. This revealed the potential messianism within Slavophilism and contributed to its further development. Nicholas Riasanovsky described the Slavophiles’ messianism as follows: The Russian future lays in a return to native principles, in overcoming the Western disease. After being cured, Russia would take its message of harmony and salvation to the discordant and dying West.101 Slavophiles also favoured individuals’ capacity for personal judgement and accountability, so essential to civic responsibility in their conception of a system of government. They strongly opposed Petrine absolutism where the emperor ruled over his subjects, rather than by their consent. They preferred a Muscovite system of government customs rather than constitutions or legal rules restraining an autocratical monarchy. If Slavophiles usually considered monarchy as a desirable form of government, they truly believed in the need for reform. Some Slavophiles even argued that ‘the state, not the people, would lead Russia to universal glory’.102 The distinctive character of Russian history and development was also very explicit in the Slavophiles’ conception of ‘Nationalism’.103 For them, further Europeanisation could only harm Russia’s civilisation. And yet, they did not oppose the Europeanisation of Russia because they wanted their country to remain backward. Their concern was more linked to a fear of Russians becoming overly pragmatic and materialistic, as they thought Europeans were. Generation after generation, various circles of Russian intelligentsia have expressed an apprehension that modernisation would entail the imposition on 25

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Russian society of an alien socio-economic model – namely, that of the West. In their perception: The individualism, secularism, and rationalism of Europe – the aggregate mythologies of Faust and Prometheus – were leading the European world in the direction of an Armageddon of national and class conflict, fuelled by rapacious industrialization. Beneath the overweening and prideful façade of secular European culture were blight and decay, already far advanced.104 This Slavophile Manichaean view can also be described as follows: ‘In the foundation of the Western state: violence, slavery and hostility. In the foundation of the Russian State: free will, liberty and peace’.105 While many nineteenth century Russian intellectuals were educated in Germany, they opposed some basic concepts like the Eurocentric premise of the Hegelians. In this respect, they eventually replaced the generated German hegemony with a Russian-centred world.106 Nevertheless, the Hegelian influence proved to be powerful and contributed to the assertive nature of Russian nationalism. Since a parallel between Nicholas I’s Official Nationality107 and the Slavophiles’ own characteristics can easily be drawn, it is hardly surprising that some scholars tried to link them. However, perspicacious critics soon noticed that, in contrast to ‘official nationalists’ who endlessly celebrated the dynasty and the government, the Slavophile ideologues were far from glorifying the achievements of the Romanov dynasty.108 In fact, the Slavophile view that proper balance in the Russian political and social system had been terribly damaged by Peter the Great,109 contained a barely concealed subtext, critical of the autocracy of Nicholas I. It suggested that the dynasty’s frequently coercive sponsorship of Westernisation had been a mistake and an affront to Russia’s past; despite the regime’s ostensible glorification of Orthodoxy, it had humiliated and damaged the Church. This attitude may provide an explanation for the fact that Slavophiles were nearly as bitterly persecuted as the Westernisers during Nicholas’ reign. Slavophiles were not just a group of utopian ideologues emulating European romantic conservatism. They extensively referred to pre-Petrine Russia’s unique qualities and stressed what the reforms of Peter, in this respect, had cost. As the first ideological structure in Russia, Slavophilism would resonate well into the twentieth century. The reasons for its persistence lay not in the accuracy of its political prescriptions or its historical analysis, but in the powerful attraction of ideals of an alternative political culture at the turn of the century.110 The Westernisers At the outset, the Westernising movement was only a feeling or a tendency among some Russian intellectuals who were turning away from Russia and towards

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Western Europe for new rationales. The Westernisers111 (Zapadniki)112 believed that Russia was a European nation and an integral part of the Western cultural mainstream. In their view, the long Mongol subjugation had separated them from the West and Russia should now mature as a nation, transform itself and return to the European orbit.113 In this respect, Westernism followed the path of the Russian thought initiated at the time of Peter the Great and Catherine II. Westernisers logically considered the Petrine reforms as part of a natural evolution and a useful guide for the future.114 As soon as they became fully conscious of their existence and influence as an organised current of thought in Russia,115 the Westernisers immediately opposed the Slavophiles. Although Westernisers and Slavophiles both originally relied on the same philosophical inspiration,116 their perceptions of Russian identity were completely different. Westernisers, just like Herzen, Vissarion Belinsky and others, were very critical about the Slavophile romance with Russia’s past. Their respective judgements of the value of Russian culture and its place in history were also antagonistic. In contrast with the Slavophiles, Westernisers were either atheistic or at least felt no interest in religion. Bakunin, one of the leading figures of Westernism, considered it necessary to choose between the existence of God and the freedom of man: if God exists, man is a slave.117 Less extreme was Herzen’s atheism, closer to eighteenth-century Voltairism. This focus on the study of man was shared by all Westernisers and therefore constituted a common front against the Slavophiles. The Westernisers’ attitude toward the monarchy was also entirely different as they were requesting the destruction of the political and social system. Since the monarchy was impeding reforms, they came to view the tsarist regime as the root cause of Russia’s evils. For them, it was better to renounce Russia’s historical traditions on the way to a brighter future based on the liberal or socialist inheritance of the French Enlightenment. The Westernisers wanted to save Russia from a dramatic backwardness by helping it to assimilate the Western civilisation in order finally to take its place in Europe. However, they soon realised the quasi-impossibility of transplanting a Western model to Russia. In addition, their perception of the West was more idealistic than realistic. They soon came to deal with a disillusioning image of European materialism and individualism. As a consequence, Westernisers progressively abandoned their infatuation and took a large step towards the Slavophile orientation. As a result, ‘a succession of Westernisers from Karamzin (who reversed his positive attitude toward Peter’s domestic policies) to Herzen (the doyen of Russian Westernisers) migrated from unabashed admiration of the West to enthusiasm for the purity of the Russian village and rejection of the decadent West’.118 This might provide some explanation for the stated fact that the Westernising tradition has almost always been weaker than that of the Slavophiles.

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Asianists, Scythians and Eurasianists In Europe we are hangers-on and slaves, but in Asia we are masters. In Europe, we are Tatars, but in Asia we too are Europeans.119

In the twilight years of imperial Russia, much of the intelligentsia was sceptical about Occidentalism.120 The implementation of European models was a matter of concern, not just in the way it challenged the old order, but also because it seemed to emphasise Russia’s inherent inferiority vis-à-vis such modern industrial rivals as Great Britain and Germany. However, if Russia looked to the West from a position of relative weakness, it could still face the East with confidence and strength. If enthusiastic Westernisers were still a minority, even the Slavophiles, who stressed Russia’s apartness from the West, had never considered themselves to be part of Asia. During the Great War, educated Russians generally viewed their country as equal to the other powers in the Triple Entente: France and Britain. Like their allies, most Russians saw their racial roots as firmly planted in European soil. Yet there were Russians who were more doubtful about their continental allegiance. As we shall see, the Orient did at a certain period fascinate a small but influential minority. By the fin-de-siècle, for some Russians the term ‘Asiatic’ was not an insult and the Orient appealed to many poets in St Petersburg and Moscow. Russia’s intellectual flirtation with the Orient coincided with a redirection eastward of its imperial objectives. In the early 1890s, tsarist diplomats had negotiated a secret treaty of alliance with China, in addition to a leasehold and extensive economic privileges in Manchuria. As the twentieth century dawned, it appeared to many influential political writers that Russia was fundamentally Eastern rather than Western in character. The tumult of revolution and war together with the mistakes, compromises and ambitions of the country’s new leaders would bring Russia’s ‘Asiatic’ heritage to the fore and sweep away a still-fragile Westernism.121 From Asianism to Scythianism At the turn of the century, those intellectuals who had begun to stress their nation’s affinity with the East rather than the West were identified as vostochniki or Asianists. Like Slavophilism, Asianism122 reflected a profound unease with Russia’s sense of itself and its place in the world. But whereas the Slavophiles usually claimed their heritage from the more peaceful European Slavs, the Asianists ‘cast their gaze further east’. This Asian identity was also now cast in a positive rather than a negative light. Some of Russia’s extreme attempts to redefine its national identity through the Asian lens resulted in a ‘cultural apotheosis’ known as Scythianism. Playing upon the image of an aggressive inner Asian nomadic tribe that had roamed the southern steppes and the Black Sea coasts in pre-Slavic times, a group of leading writers and poets at the turn of the century began to refer to themselves and to Russians in general emphatically as ‘Scythians’. By claiming their Asian identity, these 28

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intellectuals were at long last acknowledging that they actually were the very ‘Tatars’ who, as Dostoevsky insisted, Europe had always believed them to be.123 These active nationalists thus believed in the absolute necessity of separating their native Russia from the all-too-civilised West. Russia’s emerging Scythian identity was in consequence affirmed with passion and even hostility. Alexander Blok portrayed with brio the rebellious face of Russia’s Scythian identity: Of you, there are millions. We – are numberless, numberless, numberless. Just try to fight with us! Yes, we are Scythians! Yes, we are Asiatics! With slanting and greedy eyes!124 Eurasianism125 Asianists and Scythians were among the first to suggest that the origins of Russia’s differentiation from Europe were to be found in Asia. Yet their group was not prepared to press this insight very far since they were confronted with a great deal of antagonistic pressure and tension. If part of the Asianist convictions had already ‘foundered, along with the Baltic Fleet, in the Straits of Tsushima’,126 their advocates soon appeared to be entirely at a loss when facing the pervasive Eurocentric influences of the Petrine legacy. It therefore was left to others to restore some of the deeper implications of Asianism and to perpetuate its legacy. In the chaotic aftermath of the First World War and the Russian Revolution, a group of Russian émigré intellectuals in Prague set forth a new perspective on Russia’s relationship to the Europe–Asia juxtaposition, and with it declared the creation of a new current of thought, Evraziistvo or Eurasianism.127 Whereas the Asianists focused on Russia’s fundamentally oriental nature, to underline its apartness from the Occident, the Eurasianists argued that their nation was an autonomous cultural–ethnographic complex, a sixth great continent called Eurasia. Indeed, for Eurasianists, Russia was thus neither Asian nor European, but combined elements of both. Nevertheless, most of Eurasia’s basic aspects were explicitly in opposition with the West. The Eurasian autocratic political nature, its spirituality and its rejection of materialism predominantly referred to the same Asianist Europhobia. If the geographical emphasis of the post-revolutionary Eurasianists was a little different from that of the pre-revolutionary Asianists, they both shared a strong antipathy to the West. Eurasianists also referred to some elements of the Slavophile thinking: very explicit was their perception of the Russian form of government which, they argued, was superior to Western forms of rule. As Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu wrote: The modern Scythian fancied he had found out the emptiness of that Graeco-Latin culture whose splendour had dazzled him, and, with his race’s versatility and proneness to rush from one to the other extreme, with the bitter wrath of a believer undeceived and ashamed of his long credulity, he blasphemed what he had worshipped yesterday.128 29

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Obviously, the discourse about Russia and Asia was moved to a completely new level. Eurasian Russia was irrevocably disengaged from the West and firmly fixed instead in a kind of integration with the East. It was neither European, nor even Slavic, but rather a complex amalgam characterised as Eurasian civilisation. The defining moment in the formation of this complex was the conquest of ancient Russia by the steppe nomads that had so fatefully ruptured the country’s early evolution, and the Eurasians focused upon the protracted experience of Mongol domination as the essential crucible in the history of the Russian people and the Russian State. Eminent Eurasianists such as Nicholas Trubetskoi even presented linguistic arguments to provide evidence of a Eurasian linguistic alliance.129 According to Trubetskoi’s analysis, the Russian verb verit (‘to believe’) was formed on the Zoroastrian verb varayaiti (‘to choose’). The first Slavs viewed accordingly the religious act as a ‘choice’ between good and evil, just like the Zoroastrians. Another very explicit example can be found in the origins of the Russian word bog (‘God’), linked to the Russian baga (‘rich’), as in old-Persian languages.130 Despite the committed support it attracted during the interwar period from some of the Russian intelligentsia’s most illustrious representatives, Eurasianism failed to receive broad support, and was accepted neither in the international émigré community nor indeed within the Soviet Union itself. Nevertheless, while the movement did not survive the Second World War in its original form, Eurasian ideas have found contemporary adherents. In the last few years, a current of thought has emerged which promotes the lasting importance of Russia’s connections to Asia. Strongly opposed to Atlanticism, this new current of opinion claimed that Russia’s path to the future could only be constructed on the basis of these connections and on their absolute prioritisation above relations with the European and transatlantic West. In order to bolster this position ideologically, the doctrines of the original Eurasians were resurrected and freshly embraced, and the term Evraziistvo became one of the most important political keywords of the day.131 The contemporary revival of Eurasianism is an unmistakable indication of the persistence and enduring vitality in today’s Russia of that ideological process which we have attempted to trace in this section, namely the attempt to articulate a vision of Russia’s own character and national identity in terms of its juxtaposition and relationship to Asia. Russia’s Asian–Byzantine orientation resulted in a conservative and xenophobic world conception that contributes to the permanence of the East–West division in post-Cold War Russia. Many still believe that Russians are constitutionally incapable of participating in Western culture. In this scheme, there is also a widespread opinion that the fundamental incompatibility of views between Russia and the West derives from the idea that Russia’s conversion to Orthodoxy contributed to its isolation from the mainstream of European history for a number of centuries. In forming attitudes towards the West and by symbolising a specifically East Slavic worldview, the Russian Orthodox Church provides both a background 30

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and a framework for understanding many of the issues in the present search for a new Russian identity.

Conclusion Two main objectives motivated our analysis of the Russian identity. The first aimed at providing, if not a perfect definition, at least sound features of this identity. As mentioned in the main introduction, this would permit us to assess whether or not the particularities of this identity were incompatible with those of the countries of the Euro-Atlantic alliance, and could thus constitute an obstacle to enhanced relations. This also required our looking into whether or not the Russian identity was of national nature, all the more as ‘national identity’ is usually the concept used to define the identity of the Allied member states. To reach these objectives, we followed a progressive approach consisting in first considering the historical and geographical components of the Russian identity; second, weighing the existence of a national dimension of that identity through the Russian thinking, culture and historic-political legacy; and third, taking into account the Russian theoretical approach to that subject. What Russian geography has taught us is that the immensity of the Russian territory, stretching from Europe to Asia, and the consequent heterogeneity of that territory and the people living there, has been the ground for an identity that includes the consciousness of plurality and the acceptance of differences. In other words, the Russian identity cannot be that of the Russian people in its ethnic sense only; it must embrace a dimension that is broad enough for all the inhabitants of the Russian territory to identify themselves with. This conclusion was later supported by our analysis of the meaning of ‘Russian’ in the Russian language context. The co-existence of two different terms to refer to ‘Russian’, one – russkii – relating to the ethnic characteristic of the idea of being Russian, the other – rossiskii – pertaining to the rather territorial aspect of it, proved that the Russian identity was more inclusive than exclusive. In this context, one can even say that rossiskii prevails over russkii: a Russian is first and foremost an individual that was born on Russian territory; being of Russian ethnic origin is only of secondary importance. This proves that it would have been wrong to assume that the Russian identity was of national nature, as this would have meant giving more importance to russkii than to rossiskii. Our study of the different approaches to the question of Russian identity later proved that any attempt to define the Russian identity based on fixed references, should they refer to the belonging to the Slav people and culture or to the proximity with the Western or the Asian world, did not meet with success. In the end, none of the Westernisers, Slavophiles, Asianists, Scythians and Eurasianists managed to take real precedence over the others. Each of these trends only gathered the support of a minority, for the very reason that they were exclusive, focusing on only one aspect of the Russian identity. 31

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At the historic–political level, we also realised that the successive attempts to shape the Russian identity according to external identity references ended in sound failures. Peter the Great’s tentative Europeanisation of Russia or the imposed Sovietisation of the Russian people failed because: (a) they implied the destruction of all the existing identity references; (b) they consisted in the forced introduction of alien identities, one cultural and the other ideological; and (c) because these unilateral policies were not welcomed by the outside world. The consequences of these experiences were not felt immediately but re-emerged after the demise of the Soviet Union. Then the Russians were faced with a profound identity crisis, having either to resurrect identity references long annihilated or to find their way in the midst of multiple and often contradictory alternatives. At this stage of our research, several points can be made. First, we are now in a position to ascertain that the Russian identity is not one but plural, that it is not exclusive but inclusive, and that the prime nature of what we may call the Russian national identity is not ‘national’ stricto sensu but multinational. Since it lies on inalterable factors and stands as the precondition to the existence of the Russian State in its present form, rossiskii prevails and will continue to prevail over russkii in the Russian mind. Second, we can say that because the alien identity references that were deliberately imported to Russia were of Western origin, the Russian identity today does have a greater Western connotation than the Asian one. The other feature that survived the tortured path of the Russian identity is the strongly anchored conviction within the Russian mind that it is a ‘chosen people’ with a universal spiritual mission. What we started to study under international messianism finds its roots in the dominant religion in Russia, Orthodoxy. Our understanding of the Russian identity cannot be complete without exploring the fundamentals and the powers of Orthodoxy in Russia.

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In the modern world, religion is central, perhaps the central, force that motivates and mobilizes people . . . What ultimately counts for people is not political ideology or economic interest. Faith and family, blood and belief, are what people identify with and what they will fight and die for.1

Introduction It is now common knowledge that the history of Russia is a long succession of extreme events, throughout which the very identity of the Russian people was put in danger. In such turbulent times, there was an imperative need for some kind of force that would be able to keep the Russian people united and to protect them from these ordeals. Only a force beyond down-to-earth considerations could play that role. For this reason, religion can be seen as that central force ‘that motivates and mobilizes people’. Religion is thus not only another component of a given identity, it can also become the one reference people think of when trying to define themselves. The latter formula applies perfectly to the Russian case. Orthodoxy, as the main religion in Russia, not only stands as a component of the Russian identity; it has also become, throughout this long and tortuous history, the primary reference used by the Russian people to define themselves. As Robert C. Tucker wrote: Until as late as the early twentieth century a peasant – and the vast majority of Russians were peasants then – would speak of himself not as a ‘Russian’ but as ‘Orthodox’ ( pravoslavnyi). Russian was his language; Orthodoxy his identity.2 It is thus imperative for our understanding of the Russian identity to pay due attention to Orthodoxy. First, our work will consist of determining the various Orthodox components of the Russian identity, with special emphasis on the Orthodox impact on the Russian approach to foreign countries, more particularly the West. Our goal will be to assess whether Orthodoxy’s place in the Russian 33

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identity is so important that it has to be taken into account when building up relations with Russia. We will also try to evaluate whether Orthodoxy has a favourable/unfavourable influence on Russia’s interaction with the West. Second, we will focus on the Russian Orthodox Church3 as an institution, and its position in the Russian State system. Our objective there will be to determine whether the State/Church relationship in Russia is of a secular nature or if the Church should still be regarded as a State actor. Again, the answer to that question will have an impact on what importance is worth giving to Orthodoxy when considering relations with Russia.

Orthodox components of Russian national identity Russia’s historical faith is Orthodoxy, which is deeply embedded in the Russian soul. Aside from being the claimed religion of 60 per cent of Russia’s population,4 Orthodoxy also embodies a Russian sense of nation, history and identity, even when the individual is not devout. Many Russians say that they are not believers, but they do know which the true faith is. As Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu underlined: This bond between religion and nationality was tied by history and made fast and faster by time. In this respect Russia puts us in mind of Spain, with the difference that all her national struggles, all her political wars, be it in West or East, have been looked upon by people as religious wars. Whether Asia or Europe was to be dealt with, the North or the South, the Mongol or the Turk, the Swede or the Pole, the German or even the French, the enemy was, first and foremost, the infidel, the heretic, the schismatic, the foe and contemner of God himself.5 In the new Russia, the Church stepped in to solidify the ideological definitions of ‘Russia’ and degrees of ‘Russianness’. In August 2000, the ‘Social Conception’ of the Russian Orthodox Church6 placed Orthodoxy at the top of this hierarchy, and Western ideals, especially American, at the bottom. Orthodoxy as an element of Russianness Orthodoxy and Russian national identity remain as closely interconnected today as in the past.7 At the end of the tenth century, the need for a single religion to bring together the Russian tribes was fully recognised by Prince Vladimir. Paganism was inadequate for centralisation and Christianity was therefore adopted from Byzantium. The Church then preserved the Russian nation during the Mongol yoke. During this critical period, ‘the Russian Orthodox Church became the symbolic repository of national identity’.8 The importance of the Church as a symbol of national unity again was very clear during the ‘Time of Troubles’ (1598–1613), when Moscow was occupied by the Poles. The Church 34

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also mobilised Russian bravery against Teutonic Knights, Lithuanians, Frenchmen, Swedes and many others. Nikolai Petro exemplified Russian national resistance as follows: It was Patriarch Ghermogen who kindled the spirit of national resistance by refusing to surrender the monastery fortress of Smolensk to the Poles. Meanwhile, the stewards of St. Sergey Trinity Monastery, and the Kirillov and Beloe Ozero Monasteries, initiated a letter-writing campaign to Russian cities, calling upon all citizens to take up arms and march for country and faith.9 During the Soviet period, the communist regime failed to erase the links between Russian national and religious identity. It appears that the regime was only successful in closing churches and in forbidding religious rituals. If it is true that the Church hierarchy submitted to the regime under constraint, many Orthodox clergymen rebelled. The spiritual vacuum left by communism also explains the Church’s persistence during the Soviet regime. Indeed, the Party had no choice but to admit that religion could act as a stimulus for people, inciting them to do things, which otherwise they would not choose to do, and as such it was an indisputable aspect of the country’s development.10 In the words of Jane Ellis: As thinking people in the Soviet Union attempt to rediscover and resurrect the culture in their past (in its pure, as opposed to its ideologically distorted form), they encounter Orthodoxy at every turn – in art, architecture, music, literature, poetry.11 By granting the Church greater predominance, glasnost and perestroika also served to magnify Russian Orthodoxy as an instrument for ‘Russification, discipline, control, and order’.12 Soon thereafter, the resurgence of Russian nationalist thought became more apparent, together with various nationalist movements identifying themselves with Orthodoxy.13 Today, the Patriarchate seems to favour a modified version of the tsarist ideal (Orthodoxy, Unity, National Spirit), while Pan-Slavism and Russian nationalism are very convenient ideologies for finding allies within the Duma. Tsarist Holy Russia, Soviet Russia and Democratic Russia, become a confusing blend for national identity and standardised values. However, it is this very confusion that brings the Church much of the respect it enjoys. The lack of a standardised national identity in Russian society often finds security in the traditions and values of the Church.

Orthodoxy, conservatism and xenophobia In the words of the great Russian philosopher Vladimir Solovyev, the central characteristic of Byzantine Orthodoxy was – and continues to be – its vigorous 35

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adherence to the traditions of the past. As he pointed out: In the East, the Church was understood and defended mainly as a sanctuary, steeped in tradition – in its immobile static elements. This tendency to preserve tradition corresponded to the general spiritual disposition of the East.14 It was precisely this characteristic that helped the Church to survive the Mongol yoke, to endure the reign of Peter I, and to live through 70 years of the Soviet government’s stubborn atheism. This also contributed to the preservation of values partly neglected by other Christians. Most striking is Orthodoxy’s opposition to the revision of holy writings. Bitter accusations of betrayal15 thus accompanied attempts to correct mistakes in the Russian translations of the Greek sacred texts, sanctified by the Russian Church Council of 1551. This Council, called the Sto glav Council,16 was held in Moscow during the reign of Ivan the Terrible. It introduced reforms designed to fight against sects and Western interference in religious thought. More recently, in 1993, the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation passed a new law aimed at changing particular aspects of the 1990 law on Freedom of Conscience and Religious Belief, finally granting privileges of government support to Russia’s traditional religions. Moreover, in 1997, a new legislation on Freedom of Conscience and Religion, consolidating and legitimising the Russian Orthodox Church itself, was adopted. In this manner, Alexis II confirmed the Orthodox Church’s place in Russia and neutralised home-grown competitors. This law is also very representative of the Russian xenophobic attitude that, together with an irremovable attachment to the past, to traditions, and a pronounced anti-Western feeling, characterises the Orthodox religion. All this notably explains why the Russians encounter so many difficulties in accepting any novelty or change, be it a new world order, the supremacy of the United States, or a new world status for their country. Instead of striving to adjust to an ever changing international environment, the Russians will tend to focus all their efforts on the re-establishment of the reality that would reflect their inalterable values. In other words, in the Russian eye, Russia remains and ought to remain an empire and a superpower. The fact that these religious values, and, to a greater extent, the Orthodox Church itself, benefit from a legal and political recognition since the early 1990s is also illustrative of a unique relationship between the Church and the State.

The Russian Orthodox Church: a national and a State Church According to the Western accepted concept of secularity, the Church, in international relations, is considered as a non-State actor. Such a title is a false assumption in Russia for two reasons. First, the ambiguous state of democracy in Russia 36

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today complicates the definition of what is part of the State and what is not. Second, the pre-Soviet tradition of joint Church-State leadership as well as the Soviet infiltration of the Church both make the Church much more a State actor than a non-State actor. In principle, the Russian Orthodox Church has never truly been free or separate from the State in Russia. Today, while enjoying religious freedom, its governmental ties and even partnership with the State makes it closer to the status of a semi-governmental institution. Nationalisation of a faith From the ninth to the sixteenth century, pagan Russia was being transformed, little by little, into Holy Russia,17 ‘the country of innumerable churches, incessant chiming of bells, long night services, strict periods of fasting, and zealous genuflections, as pictured by foreign visitors’.18 Russian piety acquired a quality differing as much from the West as from the East, and in its substance the Russian faith became characteristically national. As religion was being nationalised, the Russian Church also became national in its form. In so doing, it found valuable and fully reliable support in the universal theory of Moscow, the Third Rome. At the end of the fifteenth century, this famous theory was fully developed in Pholotheus’ letters,19 who wrote to Ivan III: The church of ancient Rome fell because of Apollinarian heresy; as to the second Rome – the Church of Constantinople – it had been hewn by the axes of Ishmaelites, but this third Rome – the Holy Apostolic church, under thy mighty rule, shines throughout the entire world more brightly than the sun. All the Orthodox Christian realms have converged in thine own. Thou art the sole Autocrat of the universe, the only Tsar of the Christians . . . Observe and hearken, O pious Tsar, [. . .] Two Romes have fallen, but the third stands, and no fourth can ever be. Thy Christian Empire shall fall to no one’s lot.20 The Russian tsar had thus to preserve the only remaining fragment of true Orthodoxy unscathed until the second advent of Christ. By the end of the sixteenth century, the theory of Moscow’s world importance was officially adopted. In the meantime, the Moscow authorities had finally obtained the Russian Church’s formal independence from Byzantium and its own Patriarch. In the charter confirming the Moscow Patriarchate, the theory of ‘Moscow, the Third Rome’ was once more proclaimed. According to this theory, Christianity finds its true haven in Russia, after escaping the degeneration of Rome and Constantinople. This placed the Russian Orthodox Church in an even more nationalistic context, pushing the Moscow Patriarchate towards a heavier reliance on Russia, and away from its alleged multi-cultural version of Orthodoxy. Until now, the feuds of inter-church politics have furthered the split with the rest of the Orthodox world. 37

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Historical components of the State Church As mentioned earlier, relations between the Church and the State have always been closely interconnected.21 In the ninth century, the Russian Orthodox Church had much more influence than the State since the Church was both the critic and the moral judge of secular power.22 One of the reasons for this can be found in the limited political authority of Kievan princes. Another reason is that the Church and the regional princes shared a common sense of responsibility for the Russian land and the well-being of the nation.23 Logically enough, many civil, legal and administrative privileges were granted to the Church hierarchy. Orthodoxy had thus no autonomy from the government: the Church diligently served the State, and the State protected the Church. During the Mongol domination, the unity of the Church was not shattered and it even remained the only functioning national institution. It is well known that, even though the Tatars destroyed the remains of the political cohesion of ancient Rus’, these believers in ‘multi-gods’ were tolerant to the Church and granted it certain privileges.24 The Tatars had also understood that they could gain some benefits in reinforcing the influence of the Moscow princes on the clergy since most of them submitted to the Khans’ will. The tradition of Church obedience to the State was thus progressively established and the symphonic ideal of dyarchy25 was reaffirmed. With its prestige and influence strengthened, the Church was able to influence the tsar on both domestic and foreign policy, although their relations were often conflicting. While the principle of dyarchy was never seriously challenged, the primacy of secular power was immovable. This was dramatically demonstrated both in practice and in theory by Ivan the Terrible who treated the Church as the inferior it simply was.26 His successor, Boris Godunov, was also aware of the usefulness of the Church as an instrument of the State. The decade of turmoil, known in Russian history as the ‘Time of Troubles’ (1598–1613), that followed Boris’s death exposed the State to peril, and endangered the Church as well. In these times of crisis, both partners of the dyarchy helped each other. The Church provided assistance to the State and, in return, the tsar recognised the moral authority of the Church and transferred many administrative and political functions to it. The tsar’s sovereignty in political affairs was balanced by the patriarch’s sovereignty in religious matters and the fact that the Church could benefit from an unlimited autonomy in its internal affairs. Peter the Great would eradicate the symbols of symphonia by introducing absolutism to Russia. The patriarchate was replaced by a Holy Synod submitted to the tsar. The Church became merely another branch State and its authority weakened over the course of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Peter and his successors, however, never succeeded in fully eliminating the symphonic doctrine. As Nikolai Petro noted: By stressing that the monarch is ultimately accountable to God, and that only the Church reliably interprets God’s will, this doctrine implicitly 38

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limited the tsar’s authority [. . .] Still, this was meager consolation to a Church that had traditionally seen itself as a sovereign power in society.27 For almost two centuries after Peter’s reign, the Church remained an obedient executor of the State’s will.28 This recalled the Byzantine era when the emperor was considered the protector of all the Orthodox Churches. By and large, the Church hierarchy was satisfied with this tacit agreement. Not only did the tsars refrain from interfering in the Church’s doctrine and dogma, they also ensured it their protection and imposed limits on the Catholics and the Protestants, as well as on foreign and domestic sects. Not surprisingly, conservative statesmen such as Count Uvarov proposed the tripartite formula of ‘Orthodoxy, Autocracy, and Nationality’ as a barrier against the spread of Western ideas. Uvarov’s formula was rapidly adopted by the tsars and became a central element of the Russian official ideology until at least 1905.29 Although quite content with this state of affairs, the Russian Orthodox Church did not hesitate to try to restore a symphonic type of relationship with the State once the autocracy’s strength started to decline. In 1917, in an attempt to restore its own sovereignty, the Church convened the first National Council30 since the times of Peter the Great. Bolshevik leaders rapidly came to consider the possible re-emergence of the symphonic ideal as a threat. According to them, this would reassert the Church’s position as a moral authority in the public arena and a restraint upon the government. Although the Church avoided opposing the regime directly, the Bolsheviks could not accept being held accountable for their actions by an independent voice of moral criticism. As Nathaniel Davis pointed out: From the start, the communist state grasped the reality of the church as a refuge for independent thought and a fortress for those who believed in a philosophy incompatible with the communists’ creed.31 While it is possible to draw correlations between the Bolshevik attitude towards religion and Church–State relations during Peter’s rule, the situation was nevertheless different in many respects. Peter preserved the Church as an instrument of the State, whereas the Bolsheviks wished to annihilate it completely.32 Lenin’s abhorrence to religion is well known: he used to call it ‘spiritual booze’, an even sharper term than Marx’s ‘opium of the people’.33 In order to achieve this destruction, the Bolsheviks launched a massive anti-religious campaign aimed at discrediting the Church. After this attempt failed, they terrorised and isolated both the population and the clergy. In reaction, the Russian Church tried to resist and proclaimed an anathema on the Bolshevik government. However, in 1925, the new patriarch Sergii swore allegiance to the new regime ‘whose joys and successes are our successes, and whose setbacks are our setbacks’.34 The new Church hierarchy thought that this obedient attitude would stop Stalin’s persecution. Unfortunately, this proved to be false. The years 1927–43 were characterised by the Soviet regime’s attempt to 39

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destroy the Church and all traces of religion. By the end of the first Five-Year plan nearly 95 per cent of Orthodox churches had been closed.35 The situation changed completely in 1941 when Hitler invaded the USSR. Stalin could not afford to further alienate the Church since he needed its support to mobilise patriotic courage. Anti-religious propaganda ceased and churches reopened under the Nazi occupation. Most of the people, brought up for centuries to respect traditions, had preserved their faith in Orthodoxy. Recognising that his pre-war policy of eliminating religion had failed, Stalin decided to desist from anti-religious activity. The Church, which had helped win the war, then experienced a more settled period. Stalin’s successors, however, renewed atheist propaganda, closing nearly twothirds of all Orthodox Churches. From 1959–64, Khrushchev launched an anti-religion campaign aimed at undermining the institutional strength of the Russian Church. Soviet authorities also employed the State Security Committee (KGB) to infiltrate religious institutions and forced priests and seminarists to collaborate with the communist government. Krushchev’s fall from power in October 1964 constituted another breathing space for the clergy. While the number of functioning Churches remained extremely low during the stagnant eras of Brezhnev, Andropov and Chernenko, the first steps were taken to restore religion in both rhetoric and policy. The regime had clearly failed in its attempt to suppress the links between Russian national and religious identity. Moreover, although the Church hierarchy submitted to the regime under duress, many individual members of the Orthodox clergy rebelled and several organisations, generally known as the ‘Catacombal Church’, continued their religious life underground. The millennial celebration of the baptism of Rus’ in 1988 was a turning point in Church–State relations. Many used this event to press the State for concessions by underlining Orthodoxy’s importance to Russian national consciousness and to its formation as a nation. In this context, Gorbachev36 progressively relaxed restrictions on religion. The Russian president also believed that an easing of religious persecution might help to restore the popularity of socialism. From this moment on, the State stopped publicly declaring its enmity towards the Church. As Nikolai Petro pointed out: In granting the Church greater opportunity to enter into the public dialog over the country’s future, the regime thus got far more than it bargained for. An emboldened civil society took advantage of perestroika to argue that the Church was indispensable to the spiritual well-being of the country. It bolstered this claim by repeatedly bringing to public attention the role that the Church played during critical times in Russian history.37 The Russian Orthodox Church regained lost ground precisely while the Soviet Union was crumbling.38 Indeed, the disintegration of the Soviet State ‘set the stage for radical changes in the challenges and opportunities confronting the Russian Orthodox Church after 1991’.39 The Church could now hope for a return to the 40

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symphonic relationship that had served Church and State so well throughout Russian history. By restoring such a ‘partnership’, the Church could not only expect State protection against religious rivals, but also a privileged position in the country. The Church’s increasing presence in public life was emphasised by the attention given to its official statements during the failed coup of August 1991 and by its role of mediator during the armed conflict between President Yeltsin and the Russian parliament in September–October 1993. By the mid-1990s, no politician could afford to ignore the Church and this generated scepticism over the appearance of political leaders at Church services. Yet, resentment towards the Church leadership’s cooperation with the Soviet regime persisted. Indeed, the Russian Orthodox Church was the only major institution in the former Soviet Union which had not experienced total changes in the clergy hierarchy. This was compounded by revelations of documents of collaboration between Church leaders and the KGB.40 Since then, the Church finds in the Duma its most reliable collaborator in pushing shared agendas into legislative action. As a lobby, the Church was successful in bringing its will into federal legislation in 1997. As an external affairs lobby, the Church works through the promotion of ideas and values, particularly in the media. Leaders of the Church, such as Patriarch Alexis II and Metropolitan Kirill actively meet with government officials, communicate Church interest and even draft legislation. The undisclosed connections between the Church and the government are an important, yet enigmatic source of influence for the Church. The crucial feature of the relationship between the Russian Orthodox Church and the State is surely one of opportunistic mutual assistance, where each party can use the other to act outside of their respective organisational limits. In terms of influence, the Church uses the State to override its own problems, and the State uses the Church to fight anti-Russian nationalism. The State also benefits from the capacity of the Church to assert Russian interests when normal diplomatic channels are inefficient due to international political tensions. The Russian Orthodox Church thus benefits in many ways from the final removal of communism. It has enjoyed new freedom and prerogatives. From the standpoint of the Church, it seems, there is nothing wrong with Church–State symbiosis as long as the Church is in the driver’s seat. A totalitarian Church In tsarist Russia, religious consecration was given to the ‘one Orthodox Tsar of the Universe’, who could then easily establish autocracy.41 As Anatole LeroyBeaulieu stressed it: To the peasant, the tsar is the representative of God, delegated by Heaven to rule the nation. That is the source of the devout feeling with which the peasant regards the anointed of the Lord. This is why he renders to the sovereign an homage almost superstitious, why he bows to the earth 41

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before him and sometimes crosses himself as he passes by, just as at the passage of holy eïkons. This also accounts for the extreme docility which abides in the masses, for the distaste which a large portion of the nation manifests for political liberties. If the tsar rules in the name of God, is not resistance against him impiety? And does not the Church, each year, anathematise those who dare to doubt the divine mission of the tsar and to rebel against his authority?42 The Russian Orthodox Church is not democratically oriented at all and has no tradition of democratic thinking to which it can refer. It is not inclined to democratic ideals and subscribes instead to ‘reactionary–romantic authoritarian’ notions.43 The attitudes of the Russian Church are thus fundamentally totalitarian, a tendency from which it has to free itself. When communism collapsed, many people in both Russia and the West thought that Russia would adopt at once all democratic values. Freedom and liberty had been prime aspirations of the Russian Orthodox Church during the Soviet era. Freedom of religion was welcomed, along with the ideals of a democratic society in Russia. However, liberalisation was a mixed blessing. Although the Church celebrated its restored freedom, it had to play in the tides of a free society and in the midst of globalisation. In other words, this new freedom of religion also meant all opposition could reign freely in society. Jane Ellis described this challenge to the Church in her most recent book, The Russian Orthodox Church: Triumphalism and Defensiveness,44 in which she concluded that the key question in the new Russian society was ‘whether or not the Russian Orthodox Church will tolerate the equality of all religions before the law’. Thus, while tolerance is preached, the Church is more concerned with the amount of freedom to be granted to ‘other’ religions. In the Russian Church–State culture, it becomes clear that the religiouspolitical system is a unified web where the elements in the religious sphere and those in the political sphere interact and tend to be mutually reinforcing. As a consequence, Orthodoxy radically determined the Russian political culture, rooted in the same historical experience of autocracy and a paternal conception of State authority.

Conclusion This chapter on the Orthodox religion and the Russian Orthodox Church has given us further insight into what the Russian identity is about, but it also provided us with valuable information as to how the Russians perceive the West and how Western countries – and, in the present case, the Allied member states – should approach their relationship with Russia. A historical overview of Orthodoxy first showed us that since the end of the tenth century, be it officially or in secret, Orthodoxy has always stood out as the living force of Russianness. Throughout the successive invasions and occupations of Russia, Orthodoxy kept the Russian people together and became the stimulus 42

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of Russian resistance. In these circumstances, Orthodoxy went beyond its pure religious nature; it was also the guardian of Russian traditions and culture. No authoritarian rule, not even communism ever managed to deprive the Russian identity of its Orthodox references. This firm connection between religion and identity has remained unchanged up to this day. Since 1991, one can notice that the Russian Orthodox Church has increasingly acted as a leading exponent of the ‘Russian National Idea’.45 As Michael Bourdeaux stressed: Events of the last decade prove that the systematic attempt to deprive human nature of its inclination to the divine failed abjectly. Religion is destined to be an important factor in the new societies that are emerging. [. . .] Religion, at this time, faces the challenge of either contributing to the process of destabilization or of fulfilling its potential as an agent of reconciliation. Meanwhile, the well-being of hundreds of millions of people hangs in the balance.46 On that basis, no country willing to build up relations with Russia can ignore the Orthodox element. This is all the more impossible as the values that characterise Orthodoxy are very assertive, indeed even radical when it comes to its perception of the West. Our study first revealed Orthodoxy’s extreme attachment to the past and its consequent extreme reluctance to accept modernity. This is what generates an almost systematic resistance to change amongst the Russians. Such a closed attitude can only make Russia’s relations with the outside world more difficult. This is aggravated by the fact that Orthodoxy also bears strong anti-Western feelings. Since the fifteenth century and the emergence of ‘Moscow Third Rome’, Rome and Constantinople embody, in the Russian perspective, the degeneration of Christianity. And the association ‘Western world–modern world’ gains no credit in their perspective either. Turning to the Russian Orthodox Church, we learnt that this institution, because it represents one of the most – if not the most – important identity reference for the Russian, still enjoys privileged relations with the Russian State. On no account is it possible to say that Russia is a secular state. The separation of power between the State and the Church in Russia has never been made clear, for the very reason that it is in the interest of the former to be assured of the Church support, and in the interest of the latter to benefit from the protection of the State. It comes as no surprise that the Church and State pursue the same grand objectives: the imperialistic aspirations of the Russian political system echoes the international messianism that we studied in Chapter 2. Last but not least, we discovered that the Russian Orthodox Church is not a democratic institution. On the contrary, it proves to be somewhat totalitarian in the policies that it conducts and the values that it defends. In this context of intimate relationship between the Russian Orthodox Church and the Russian State, one can easily imagine how influential the Church has been in Russian politics and in forging the Russian political culture. 43

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The Anglo-American relies upon personal interest to accomplish his ends, and gives free scope to the unguided exertions and common sense of the citizens; the Russian centres all the authority of society in a single arm: the principal instrument of the former is freedom; of the latter servitude. Their starting-point is different, and their courses are not the same; yet each of them seems to be marked out by the will of Heaven to sway the destinies of the globe.1

Introduction The study of political culture is not new. The analysis of a particular political system in terms of its socio-cultural peculiarities is as old as the study of politics itself. Eminent writers on political science found concern with such issues and tried to link their study of politics to sociological and anthropological works on culture. Montesquieu focused attention on the ‘general spirit’ or ‘morals and customs of a nation’ in his De l’esprit des Lois; Tocqueville in his Democracy in America considered the habits, opinions and manners as factors determining any political inclination; Bagehot’s English Constitution contributed likewise to the study of political culture. The political culture of a society consists of fundamental beliefs and values determining the context of a political action. Political culture is of course merely one aspect of politics, but it is a highly significant one. Emerging from the specific historical experience of nations and groups, it provides a subjective perception of history and politics. As Robert Daniels wrote: Political culture should be approached as a system that is both continuous and changeable, that steadily absorbs new infusions from its historical experiences and contacts, while older elements are eroded, metamorphosed, or sloughed off.2 Despite its failings, political culture still offers the best approach for understanding the collapse of communism and the prospects for Russian democracy. It remains therefore a unique tool for understanding the future of Russian politics. 44

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Our first task will be to look at the existing definitions and concepts for the notion of ‘political culture’. Our objective will not only be to confront these existing definitions and concepts and determine which one best suits the Russian case, but also to understand the rationale behind this unusual association of culture and politics. Once this first step is achieved, we will be able to test our findings with Russian history. Our goal is to draw on Russian history, from the Mongol yoke to the demise of the USSR, to identify the main features of Russian political culture. This analysis will notably include an approach to the autocratic and democratic tendencies of Russian political culture, and to the reaction of local civil society to these opposing variants. Based on this study, we should be in a position to assess what remains from these historical experiences, and what characterises today’s Russian political culture. We will inter alia have to answer to the question of whether or not this culture is of dominant autocratic or democratic nature. In doing so, we will make sure that our conclusions are underpinned by concrete examples, especially by applying them to the case of the 1993 Russian constitution.

Definition and concept Before taking the discussion any further, it is essential to make clear which meaning is to be attributed to ‘political culture’ in the present work, since this term has been defined in all too great a variety of ways. According to Sidney Verba, as we use the term ‘political culture’, it refers to the system of beliefs about patterns of political interaction and political institutions. It refers not to what is happening in the world of politics, but how people perceive these happenings. And these beliefs can be of manifold kinds: they can be empirical beliefs about what the current state of political life is; they can be beliefs as to the goals that should be pursued in political life; and these beliefs may have an important expressive or emotional dimension.3 Lucian Pye argued similarly that political culture is a ‘set of attitudes, beliefs and sentiments which give order and meaning to the political process and which provide the underlying assumptions and rules that govern behaviour in the political system’, or to put it succinctly the ‘manifestation in aggregate form of the psychological and subjective dimensions of politics’.4 By the same token, Gabriel Almond sees political culture as: ‘the particular pattern of orientations to political action’. Every political system, he suggested, is embedded within a particular pattern and therefore constrained by it. Through the understanding of these constraints, analysts might eventually learn to foresee the development of political systems.5 Stephen White also viewed political culture as a behavioural as well as a psychological concept. According to this author, political culture may be defined as: the attitudinal and behavioural matrix within which the political system is located. The political culture both expresses and influences the 45

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patterns of political belief and behaviour within a given political system: it informs the actions of political actors; comprehends political symbols, foci of identification and fundamental beliefs and values; and generally both reflects and influences popular orientations towards the institutions and practices of government.6 According to White: Political culture must be regarded as both ‘causing’ and ‘caused’: as a variable which mediates between the political system and its environment, providing a framework within which patterns of political belief and behaviour historically considered, can be located, and as a factor which will influence and constrain – though not determine – future patterns of development in a political system.7 Robert C. Tucker equally assumed that patterns of action and state of mind mutually influence one another and that both must form part of the definition of political culture.8 According to Tucker, ‘a culture is a society’s customary way of life, comprising both accepted modes of thought and belief and accepted patterns of conduct. Political culture is everything in a culture that pertains to government and politics’.9 In so defining political culture, political scientists have parted company with many anthropologists. The term ‘political culture’ links the study of politics to sociological and anthropological works on culture.10 It was Voltaire who first put aside dynasties, kings and battles, and sought what is fundamental in history, namely culture, as it is present in beliefs, in customs and in forms of government.11 ‘Political culture’ is not unconnected with ‘culture’ in the widest social sense. On the contrary, it is closely related to cultural values and more general orientations. It focuses attention, however, on that part of a culture which bears relevance to politics.12 By ‘culture’, we mean that historically created definition of the situation which individuals acquire by virtue of participation in or contact with groups that tend to share ways of life that are in particular respects and in their total configuration distinctive.13 Cultures being matters of habit and its transmission through a society’s agencies of acculturation, they are relatively persistent through time although they do undergo changes, especially in the modern age. In no instance of a revolution is the break with the past culture total. No matter how culturally innovative a revolution may be – in the sense of creating new institutions, beliefs, rituals, ideals and symbols – the national cultural ethos lingers on in many ways, and more persistently in some areas of life than in others. As a process of adaptation occurs, elements of the nation’s pre-revolutionary cultural past are assimilated into the revolutionary new culture, which thus take shape as an amalgam of the old and new. Fundamental political beliefs are particularly relevant to the study of change. 46

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The study of political culture leads invariably to the study of political socialisation, to the learning experiences by which a political culture is passed on from generation to generation and to the situations under which political cultures change. The study of political culture may also lead to a new perspective on the political history of a nation by which one focuses on the ways in which basic political beliefs are affected by the memories of political events. From the cultural point of view, we would look at political history not so much as a series of objective events, but as a series of events that may be interpreted quite differently by different people and whose effects on future events depend upon this interpretation. An event will thus be interpreted in terms of previously held beliefs.

Russian political–cultural heritage: from the Mongol yoke to the dissolution of the Soviet Union But in seeking the roots of political culture one must look beyond the direct political experiences of the individual. The political memories passed from generation to generation and the ways these memories are formed are crucial. One is forced to consider the historical experiences of a nation from the point of view of their impact on political beliefs.14 The importance of not neglecting previous political experiences lies in the fact that historical accounts are necessary for an understanding of how a particular culture has evolved. In this regard, Gabriel Almond suggested that ‘political culture can result from powerful historical experiences such as military collapse, occupation, forced migration, imaginative constitutional engineering, and economic reconstruction’.15 The often long and complicated historical events by which a nation was formed are thus likely to have a significant impact on subsequent political behaviour.16 Autocracy Oh yes, we must have a Republic, but we must have a good Tsar at its head.17

Russian political culture is primarily rooted in the historical experience of centuries of autocracy. Since at least medieval times, Russia has been successively ruled by a series of powerful autocratic monarchs. Parliamentary and legal institutions remained weak and undeveloped. Stephen White even sees autocracy as the defining principle in Russia’s history: Russians have viewed citizenship not as a legal expression of independent spheres but as submission to a patrimonial authority. Political institutions, especially those which might aggregate popular demands and constrain the exercise of monarchical power were always weak and poorly articulated. The Russian government, by contrast, was highly centralised and extensive in scope. Hence the political attachments of the majority of the citizen body were predominantly to the tsar himself, rather than to institutions 47

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within which popular sovereignty might have reposed or to parties which might have competed for representation within them.18 Autocracy was also, to some extent, the price the Russian people had to pay for their self-preservation. The country’s geography undoubtedly favoured a development process of this kind: Russia is situated on an immense plain with no physical barriers to foreign invasions or cultural influences from East and West. Mongols, Poles, Germans and others have taken advantage of this geographical vulnerability to conquer and despoil the Russian land. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Russian opposition to the Tartar yoke contributed to the consolidation of power by the Moscow princes. Their struggle against foreign domination and internal dissent truly represents a predominant theme of Russian political culture: the interplay between centralised power symbolising stability and security against anarchy. The danger of chaos and disorder provided all necessary justifications for further concentration of power in the hands of the State, with the explicit support of the people.19 Russia’s historical experience is full of examples when eventual democratic maturation was sacrificed to order and stability. In this respect, we should bear in mind that most of the Russian people are not really concerned about who establishes order, how it is to be achieved and what it implies. The Russian mass consciousness tends to associate this kind of regime with implicit notions of order rather than obvious dictatorship. As Russell Bova aptly suggested: Authoritarianism is best viewed not as a fundamental but as an instrumental value of the political culture, and non-democratic, hierarchical patterns of authority might be said to be the empirical manifestation of the primary importance attached to order.20 By the late fifteenth century, the Tartar power had collapsed and the political and cultural subordination of the Russians to the Mongols and to Byzantium came to an end. The Moscow princes, beginning with Ivan III, proclaimed themselves tsars and their autocratic power created the elementary requirements for a huge expansion of the Russian State in the next centuries.21 The principle of autocratic rule became identified with legitimate government for most Russians. In this respect, the famous historian Richard Pipes described the Muscovite system of government as patrimonial: The tsar’s absolute and unconstrained authority rested upon his ownership of the country’s resources, down to his individual subjects. As a result of this concept of patrimonial ownership, a tsar could demand unlimited service from his subjects, who, for their part, lacked any collective or individual rights.22 During the sixteenth century, Ivan IV completed the unification of Russia from the Caspian to the White Sea. The tsar already symbolised the unique source 48

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of authority and power. Under Ivan the Terrible the autocracy reached its paroxysm.23 In the beginning of the eighteenth century, Peter the Great introduced a number of innovations designed to consolidate his view of an unconstrained monarchy.24 The main countervailing institution Peter rejected was the Orthodox Church which lost its traditional function of acting as a moral restraint upon the monarch. The Russian Church became an instrument of the State purely designed to support the policies of the monarch. Nevertheless, in times of relative governmental weakness, the autocratic power could soon be endangered by the natural restoration of the traditional principles of Russian political culture: an autocracy constrained by popular will and by religious tradition. In the nineteenth century, Nicholas I faced this same dilemma: how to combine autocracy and a civil society indispensable to the State’s own purposes. In order to rejoin State and society, he provided an ideological justification for the regime based on the ideas of Orthodoxy, Autocracy and Nationality. The Iron Tsar’s attempt to impose a narrow view of autocratic privilege only exacerbated public discontent, and led to an explosion of journals and societies that openly challenged the very premises of the autocracy and asked what form of government best suited Russia’s needs. His conservative approach also failed because of the more complex and independent nature of the Russian society than in Petrine times. Profound changes in Russian culture culminated in the Decembrist movement of young officers who returned from the Napoleonic campaigns. The continuing development of the civil society also included the emergence of an educated public and the birth of an intelligentsia. Russian intellectuals divided into Westernisers and Slavophiles, and both recognised the need to constrain absolute autocracy, though they disagreed on what forms restriction should take. If Nicholas I seemed to favour the Petrine solution to the dilemma, Alexander II (1855–81) tended to promote the ‘Catherine’ pole. The tsar ‘Liberator’, was more aware of the urgent need to reform civil society, starting with the emancipation of the serfs. His far-reaching ‘Great Reforms’ also affected the military, the justice system, urban and rural administration and education. And yet, here again, the tsar’s enlightened autocracy was unable to define and control the reform process of the civil society from above.25 This inability to provide a model of autocratic rule for a rapidly developing civil society further undermined Nicholas II’s reign. The last Romanov obstinately refused to acknowledge Russia’s civil society. In Nicholas II’s view, Russian society was to be guided by the immutable rule of autocracy. As a Russian historian has written of tsar Nicholas: He believed that he alone was responsible for the destiny of Russia and that he would answer for this trust before the throne of the Almighty. Some might assist and others might obstruct him, but God would judge him alone for his custodianship of Russia. As the responsibility was solely his, so was the power.26 49

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One consequence of the weak articulation of representative institutions was a highly personalised attachment to political authority, and in particular to the person of the tsar. It is not surprising therefore that the dramatic events of January 1905 brought confusion into people’s minds. Indeed, popular uprisings which periodically convulsed Russian society in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were almost never directed against the tsar himself. Their target was far more frequently the boyar aristocracy, which was typically supposed to have removed the tsar from effective control of the nation’s affairs and from whose maleficent attentions the rebels generally proposed to deliver him. This tendency to conceive political authority in personalised terms was reflected also in the widely used term ‘Batyushka Tsar’ (or ‘little father Tsar’), emphasising the personal nature of the bond between the tsar and his subjects, and in popular proverb and folklore. Some proverbs of the nineteenth century ran as follows: ‘Without the Tsar, the country is widowed’; ‘God in the sky, the Tsar on earth’: ‘The people are the body, and the Tsar its head’.27 The personified nature of political authority is apparent also in the words used to refer to entities such as ‘the State’ and ‘government’. The Russian word for ‘state’, gosudarstvo, for instance, is simply a derivation from the word for ‘lord’ or ‘ruler’, gosudar. Gosudar is in turn a word of ancient origin, the original meaning of which was that of a lord or master (dominus) whose powers extended over both people and things (occasionally it could even mean ‘slave-owner’). From the mid-fourteenth century it came to be used, in much the same sense, to connote political authority. The closest English equivalent of the word gosudarstvo might be ‘dominion’ or ‘patrimony’; either term, at least, would better convey the notion that the State was not simply a legal expression but essentially the private property of its ruler. Unfortunately, the Russians ‘had favoured a paternalistic state, with extremely wide powers which it vigorously exercised to guide and control the nation’s destiny, but which yet served the interests of the citizen benignly’.28 This paternalistic model, which likened social groups to wilful children, remained the implicit ideological foundation of Nicholas II’s regime. In its lack of vision and inability to provide a model of autocratic rule for a rapidly modernising society, it provided no adequate rationale for the regime’s own policy of rapid change. Nicholas II had a wealth of possible historical models of autocracy upon which to rely but his image of autocracy harkened back to the Muscovite period, shutting him off from the realities of the society he sought to rule.29 In the years leading up to the 1917 Revolution, the old assumptions about the divine right to rule of tsar Nicholas II were challenged in people’s minds by the perceived incompetence of the ruling authorities as well as by the increasing influence of Western liberal ideas and Marxist ideas. Nevertheless, the events of October 1917 took everyone by surprise, not least of all the Bolsheviks. The inept handling of the war, of food distribution in the cities, the collapse of the monarchy and the internecine fighting within the ranks of the Provisional Government were testimony of the weakness of the declining institutions. However, the autocratic–paternalistic ideal survived. This persistence can partly be explained by the social chaos and vulnerability that engulfed Russia 50

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during the civil war. Many hoped to bring an end to this second ‘Time of Troubles’ by supporting a strong central authority, since the monarchy had always symbolised stability and continuity in times of crisis. Bolshevism subtly replaced the monarchical principle with the notion of a guiding force represented by the communist party and thus succeeded in combining traditional conceptions of legitimate autocratic authority with Soviet institutions. The political culture of the USSR was thus naturally shaped by the patterns of orientations to government which were inherited from the pre-revolutionary period.30 Very explicit is Stalin’s highly selective embrace of tsarist symbolism and emphasis on Russian leadership that seemed to confirm that the communist regime now embraced the very same values that it had been trying so hard to eliminate. Any account of Soviet political culture must thus largely rest upon an assessment of the extent to which distinctively communist values and beliefs have absorbed and superseded preexisting traditional patterns. Although the world of politics and political science are both in periods of rapid change, in both there is continuity with the past. As Stephen White aptly described: The new Soviet regime inherited a large, heterogeneous and backward empire from its tsarist predecessors. It also inherited a distinctive and deeply-rooted pattern of orientation to government which we shall term the traditional Russian political culture. It may be helpful at this point briefly to recall some of its essential features. Representative institutions, as we have noted, were weakly articulated and ineffective; levels of popular participation and representation were low; and governing style was centralised, bureaucratic and highly authoritarian. Popular political attachments, in consequence, were highly personalised; and political knowledge and experience, outside an extremely limited circle, was virtually non-existent. The scope of government was unusually broad: it extended not only to those spheres of life in which other governments of the time were active, but also into economic entrepreneurship and control, religion and morals, and the administration of justice.31 The famous historian Richard Pipes shared quite the same opinion. According to him, patrimonial institutions have survived for so long that they are now accepted as legitimate by the Russian people. It is this legitimacy that explains the continuity of Russian political–cultural heritage. As Richard Pipes wrote in 1987: A seventeenth-century Russian resuscitated today in Moscow . . . would not find the system all that different or hard to understand. There is a tsar, only he is called the general secretary, there are his boyars – the Politburo, indeed the whole nomenklatura – and there is no private property, naturally; law is what the authorities state they want to do and, if they can enforce it, you do it. Moreover, you can no more think of changing the government than you can of changing the climate.32 51

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Democracy The voice of the people is the voice of God.33

Although the concept ‘autocracy’ in Russia embraces a rich historical experience, it did not go unchallenged. Confronted with the tsarist overall power, the Russian civil society soon questioned autocratic claims. The seeds of liberal freedom already emerged in feudal Novgorod and Pskov (1136–1478) with town–assembly (veche) democracy. Later, in pre-Petrine Russia with its strong peasant community (mir), then in post-reform Russia with the democratic apparatus of the local authorities (zemstvos), and finally with the State Duma. We cannot therefore consider democracy in Russia as a pure Western invention.34 The country’s early political development saw the emergence of popular assemblies (veche) which were quite similar to those which existed in the same period in the West, and which also placed important constraints upon the exercise of princely rule.35 These veche, which existed in the major Russian towns of the twelfth century and later, were deliberative assemblies of towns’ populations. They contributed to the development of a reasonably stable political order and Russian towns avoided the degeneration into tyranny that befell so many Italian city-states at the same time. The Tartar invasion of the thirteenth century, however, brought this pattern of development to an end in most Russian towns. In the early tsarist period, a few popular institutions such as the mir (selfregulating peasant communities, increasingly common after the sixteenth century, responsible for preserving public order, regulating land use and collecting taxes)36 sought independence from the state. But their autonomy was ultimately frustrated by widespread ignorance, conservatism and a respect for patriarchal authority. The mir endured in various forms until the early 1930s when it was replaced by yet another form of communal life, the Soviet collective farm. The Muscovite autocracy was also limited by the tsar’s constant need to listen to the Boyar Duma, a council of senior noblemen. These acted as advisers to the tsar and discussed matters of state with him. Early tsars felt thus morally bound by the established tradition to listen to the boyars. Although the Boyar Duma survived until the end of the seventeenth century, it was an institution of little significance.37 In times of crisis, the tsar was also expected to consult a ‘Council of All the Land’ to advise him on important issues. This council, known as zemskii sobor (sometimes referred to in English as ‘popular council’),38 was an assembly chosen by the people to advise the tsar on matters of domestic and foreign policy. Although the zemskii sobor had no formal authority, ‘it is only for such assemblies in the seventeenth century that any serious comparison with the parliaments of the West can be attempted’.39 As for Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great, they exceeded their authority in many ways and all institutions of democratic character were used as instruments of State power. Catherine II re-established the collective contract between the gentry and the monarch and Russian absolutism was restored in its pre-Petrine

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shape.40 Fully aware of the possibility of social unrest, Catherine II recognised the necessity to give the gentry, townspeople and peasants some sense of involvement in politics. She therefore established social institutions to provide a connecting link with and lever over society. In the nineteenth century, Alexander II initially praised a certain democratic orientation and abolished serfdom. The emancipation of the serfs led to the inevitable expansion of the local self-government. The first step in this direction came in 1864, with the creation of local organs of government known in English as the zemstvo movement.41 Different segments of the population and social classes were now participating in local government and could have an influence in the political life distinct from, and often opposed to, the government. Facing a newly born civil society with a threatening aspect, the government began to curb the zemstvos’ autonomy through various decrees. And yet, most zemstvo leaders advocated the monarchy and saw in it a source of stability and continuity for Russia. Their intention was to cooperate with the government in order to ease society’s transition from absolutism to constitutionalism.42 However, the government maintained its policy of regarding the zemstvo as its ideological enemy, delayed the institutionalisation of popular aspirations, and so did much to bring about the monarch’s demise. The case of the zemstvos is a very explicit illustration of the dilemma of the Russian autocracy with respect to independent social institutions. Although it initiated important reforms, the State proved unable to cope with the numerous tasks that fell upon it. As for the zemstvos, they were simply ill-prepared to create new bonds between State and society. Had the reform process begun earlier, the zemstvo movement might have had more time to deepen the role of local government, and it might have been capable of providing the necessary support that the autocracy desperately needed in a period of modernisation and economic growth. By the end of 1905, the monarchical principle could no longer pretend to be absolute. The events surrounding the massacre of January 1905, remembered in history as Bloody Sunday, finally led to the transformation of the autocracy into a constitutional monarchy.43 Surprisingly, the establishment of a representative, popularly elected assembly (the State Duma) was not perceived by the Russian people as a radical break with the past, but more as a restoration of the balance between autocratic and popular sovereignty. And yet, Russians had very little knowledge of or attachment to the political institutions by which that central state authority was mediated. Comprehension of party programmes and political institutions, in consequence, appeared to be fairly rudimentary. In the elections to the Third Duma in 1907, for instance, employers sent their clerks and husbands their wives to vote for them, and some voters left in indignation when the polling clerks refused to tell them for whom to cast their vote.44 It was thus not until the early twentieth century that institutions of an embryonically parliamentary character finally matured in Russia. Although the State Duma was still a vulnerable body whose powers were constantly in danger of curtailment by a frustrated autocrat, its powers were very extensive indeed. In 1917, civil society45 finally replaced the tsarist regime with a republic 53

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committed to duly elected popular representation. Obviously, Russia’s political culture cannot be considered within the confined framework of a single autocratic tradition. As the antithesis of the statist tradition in Russian political thought, democratic claims contradicted the political beliefs of the official ideology, whether it be tsarist or Soviet. More recent examples are also very explicit. In the mid-1980s, before the start of political reform, most experts regarded Russians as having a distinctive set of political cultural attitudes which were exclusively supportive of a strong State which restricted individual freedom. Perestroika, however, provided sufficient evidence of the inadequacy of this received wisdom. Civic activism after 1987 demonstrated a strong pull from past authoritarian practices and was clearly inconsistent with the image of a politically passive population. Undoubtedly, it is possible to find democratic trends in Russian history and the struggle for Russian civil society can be traced from Muscovite times through to the collapse of communism and beyond.46

A political culture for Russia When legislative power is united with executive power in a single person or in a single body of the magistracy, there is no liberty, because one can fear that the same monarch or senate that makes tyrannical laws will execute them tyrannically. Nor is there liberty if the power of judging is not separate from legislative power and from executive power. If it were joined to legislative power, the power over the life and liberty of the citizens would be arbitrary, for the judge would be the legislator. If it were joined to executive power, the judge could have the force of an oppressor. All would be lost if the same man or the same body of principal men, either of nobles, or of the people, exercised these three powers: that of making the laws, that of executing public resolutions, and that of judging the crimes of the disputes of individuals.47

After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Gorbachev’s view was that Russia would never return to authoritarian forms of government.48 He truly believed that the Russian society was now more inclined to political freedoms it had inherited during the years of glasnost and perestroika. The experience of the early postcommunist years imposes though a more cautious approach. It soon appeared that the same people were still in power, even if they no longer called themselves communists. They had very comparable privileges, and often the same buildings and offices. Although democratic elections were held, the people could hardly exercise any control over the actions of the government. The rule of law was steadily ignored, political parties of all kinds were vulnerable and inefficiently sustained, the State itself was ruled by personal interests and appeared to be incompetent to provide stability. In spite of many similarities, this was no longer communism, but neither was it democracy, at least in its conventional form. 54

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Russia’s competing political cultures Two political cultures have existed side by side in Russia for centuries: an authoritarian variant and a democratic variant. Most political attitudes were supportive of a strong State with little societal input and almost no mass participation. Historical vulnerability to invasion and the recurrent outbreak of civil unrest had progressively led to an autocratic form of government. To this standard interpretation of Russia’s historic political culture, some scholars opposed the existence of a counterculture based on democratic premises. Nevertheless, it would be hard to think of a worst case for successful democratisation than Russia. It is well known that the Russian democratic tradition is weak and democratic claims have never had strong roots in the central political culture. There had been no radical break, not just between Soviet and post-communist Russia, but between both of them and their tsarist predecessor. The consensus of opinion in the Soviet period was that this political culture had largely persisted, with the only important difference, once the fundamentals of the Soviet system had been incorporated in the 1920s and 1930s, being that the rulers were the communist party elites rather than the tsar and his entourage.49 Support for democracy on this basis is thus shallow even if it stems from a long enduring culture of Russia’s. Russia has thus a dominant political culture, the culture of autocracy and a subordinate democratic culture. As Harry Eckstein wrote, ‘the latter emerges periodically, but only in relatively short-lived reactions against failures of the dominant culture. It is neither deeply rooted nor generally shared, its lack of depth being indicated by the fact that it has always been difficult to institutionalise’.50 He also added that this democratic culture was more some kind of ‘periodic protest by the disaffected rather than a genuine alternative set of liberal orientations throughout either the elite or the public’.51 Obviously, while historians debate the relative importance of subcultural variations from this dominant theme, it is simply impossible to get away from the predominantly authoritarian political nature of the Soviet and Russian political experience.

Russia’s political culture: between Charybdis and Scylla Russia’s democratic institutions are not rooted in long democratic practice and coexist with centuries-old traditions of authoritarian rule. There is no doubt that Russia has developed a multi-party system, free press and has held democratic elections. However, paradoxically, while the elections were a triumph for the process of democratisation, the results threatened to undermine democracy itself: never in Russian history have the communists been as legitimate as during that period. Their victory could symbolise the end of Western-type institutions and a return to authoritarianism. Therefore, the emergence of Western-type democratic institutions is a crucial but not sufficient prerequisite for Russia’s transition to democracy. Attitudes of the old period coexist with new values, in ways which are 55

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often contradictory. It follows logically that Russian politics in the immediate future is likely to continue to be dominated by this process of settling new ways of doing things, and it may be some time before Russia is governed by leaders who articulate a new set of values which can motivate and inspire her citizens. It should be seen as something which is in a process of transformation, where we have some idea of the starting point, but cannot know the final destination. What it is possible to do, however, is to identify some of the elements out of which it is made, elements which might in some possible futures grow and become dominant. The December 1993 Russian constitution is very explicit in this regard. It consolidates indeed some of the major democratic gains of the perestroika in Russia – freedom of speech, basic human rights, public elections and popular assemblies – but strongly reduces their influence upon the super presidential power.52 In this respect, the constitutional order of 1993 seems to have some potential for being well adapted to the Russian authority culture. It is based on the conduct of elections but also locates extraordinarily strong, virtually autocratic, central powers in the president who is accountable and subordinate to no one. Russia’s 1993 constitution: a case study for autocratic rule When Boris Yeltsin’s constitution was presented to the Russian people in December 1993, there was no real alternative – it was either Yeltsin’s constitution or political chaos. In the absence of any turnout, voters approved a constitution, tailor-made for Yeltsin, granting him broad powers reminiscent of those exercised by Russian tsars such as Peter the Great. A system with a powerful president fitted well into Russia’s history, replete with autocrats beginning with the tsars and ending up in the dictatorships of Lenin and Stalin. In this regard, the new constitution was merely restoring the autocratic rule of the past. And yet, this new constitutional design was a real achievement in comparison with the 1978 Soviet Constitution.53 It referred to ‘ideological pluralism’, ‘political diversity’ and a multiparty system; and there could be no ‘compulsory ideology’.54 At the same time, there were also serious flaws in the new constitution. First, it was not a document based on a broad consensus among the various Russian political forces but a document unilaterally imposed by Yeltsin. Second, the huge amount of power granted to the president as the guarantor of the constitution and the absence of any counterweight to executive power violated the principles of the separation of powers.55 This aspect was very explicit in the work of the Constitutional Court, designed so as to regulate the behaviour of the president as well as the highest levels of government. Its judges were independent and inviolable,56 but appointed via nomination by the president himself.57 Yeltsin’s 1993 constitution proclaims itself to be a document committed to the rule of law and the separation of powers. In reality, it essentially legitimises the autocratic power of a president who ‘may act outside the written law and may, 56

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without any real possibility of reproach, disregard duly enacted laws’.58 The possibility for the president to rule the country as an autocrat also stems from other various constitutional provisions. Besides his capacity to govern by decree, his power to dissolve the Duma without referring to public or parliamentary opinion59 deprives the deputies of any autonomy, freedom or independence. As a consequence, the only way for the Duma to avoid dismissal is to acquiesce to the president on a permanent basis. Under the 1993 Constitution, the president can hardly be impeached.60 As Christina McPherson wrote: The Duma would have to accuse the president of treason or other serious crime, and the Supreme Court must confirm the crime. Since treason is defined as advocating the overthrow of the government, and the president is the head of the government under the constitution, it is questionable whether the Duma could in fact bring treason charges against a Russian president, since the president may not commit treason against himself.61 The formal separation of powers thus appears to be almost completely fictive. During his presidential reign, Yeltsin governed as a tsar, rather than as a president. The emperor, the father of the nation is not supposed to share power with any other institution. Moreover, Russia’s previous parliament had not responded to the nation’s needs and many people thought that a strong president was the only viable system. The autocratic political tradition of leadership unconstrained by institutional arrangements seemed to appeal to Yeltsin’s temperament, evident from his repeated references to himself as a ‘Tsar’. This was a rhetorical affirmation of his preference for bypassing institutions, his personalisation of power and the creation of a type of Byzantine court politics around his presidency. Criticism of Yeltsin’s constitution came from all sides. Gennady Zyuganov, the leader of the communist party in Russia, stated that ‘the pharaoh, the tsar, and the general secretary did not have such powers as the president in the constitution’.62 A political commentator of the Russian newspaper Izvestia said that the only real checks and balances in Russia are Yeltsin’s personal qualities and inclinations. Critics claimed that the composition of the Parliament after the elections would matter little if the constitution passed, since Yeltsin could overcome any objections to his policies. It is commonly accepted that these broad powers given to the Russian president63 are most appropriate for a country still immature when dealing with democracy. A country that had elections but lacked the rule of law could only be a ‘pseudodemocracy’64 or to be more precise an ‘illiberal democracy’.65 This is not to say that Russians are not supportive of democratic values, in that for example they reply to pollsters that they approve of regular elections, of a range of civil and political rights, of a multi-party system and so forth.66 However, as Margaret Mead aptly described, long-standing psychological attitudes of the Russian 57

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people are ‘prone to extreme swings in mood from exhilaration to depression, hating confinement and authority and yet feeling that a strong central authority was necessary to keep their own violent impulses in check’.67 Support for democracy has no real roots in an accustomed central political culture and the social context is inhospitable to it in almost all respects.

Conclusion Analysing NATO–Russia relations from a Russian perspective does not only require a fair understanding of the Russian identity solely. It also implies getting a clearer picture of what the Russian political identity is about. The purpose of this chapter was to look at political culture as the manifestation of a country’s political identity, and to apply it to the Russian case. We first based our study on the existing academic work that has so far been produced on the very question of political culture. Only by looking at the theoretical and conceptual dimensions of political culture, would we be able to apply these generics to Russia’s special case. Our study permitted us to acknowledge the close links that bind political science with the sociological and anthropological approaches to culture. In other words, we proved that cultural factors did intervene in the determination of politics. In this context, given that culture is composed of permanent features, we can deduct that politics is also made of permanent elements, some of which are derived from culture itself. This, however, on no account deprives either politics or culture and, to a greater extent, political culture, from its evolutionary nature. Against this background, it became imperative for us to determine these permanent components of Russian political culture. Our previous work already led us to the identification of one of these components. Indeed, Orthodoxy, as a key element of culture in general, and a major determinant of Russian culture in particular, gave us some insights as to what some of these components may be. In this way, we can say that conservatism, totalitarianism and anti-Western feelings, which are characteristics of Orthodox values, will also mark Russian political culture. Of course, this will not appear in Russian political culture as such; it will inevitably evolve through interaction with the other defining parameters of this culture. History was instrumental in helping us to identify these other parameters. It soon became apparent that autocracy was one of the main characteristics of Russian political culture. Indeed, successive reigns and rules in Russia were all of autocratic nature. This became so common throughout history that, in the eyes of the average Russian citizen, autocracy is inseparable from the notion of legitimate government. Added to the fact that paternalism is also a common way of perceiving political power in Russia and its relations with the people, autocracy will be all the more accepted by the Russians as it is paternalist. Turning to democracy and to Russia’s historical experience of that concept, we realised that the relative democratisation of the Russian political system throughout centuries did not result from a genuine desire to apply such a Western value, 58

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but rather derived from a slow and progressive internal evolution of Russian civil society, consisting at the same time in the questioning of the extent of autocracy and in a social inclination for ‘communalism’. What then motivated the Russian people was more of a practical/pragmatic nature than ‘confessional’. In other words, one cannot say that the Russians ever truly believed in democracy for their country. They, however, managed to take from democracy what could be useful to the conduct of politics. As a Russian soldier said in 1917: ‘We must have a Republic, but we must have a good Tsar at its head’. On no account did this show of democracy ever threaten autocracy. This remains valid in the aftermath of the end of the Soviet Union. At that time, Russian governments opted for democracy only to gain Western support. Showing an acceptable appearance of democracy was thus a way of avoiding Russia’s isolation from the Western club. Again, pragmatism prevailed; and Russian political culture remains today one of dominant autocratic and subordinate democratic nature. The 1993 constitution is very explicit in this respect. Indeed, several democratic values were reaffirmed in the wording of the new constitution. Freedom of speech, human rights, public pluralist elections and popular assemblies composed that democratic touch of the Russian constitution. However, this democratic connotation was always subordinated to numerous conditions; its influence was significantly weakened. At the same time, autocracy remained the rule for the functioning of the Russian State. Political power remained ultra-centralised, subordinated to no one, accountable to no one. The president retains the last word in all events; one can hardly impeach him. In other words, he can decide on any action without referring to public opinion or the Parliament. The Russian State under the 1993 constitution is thus one where separation and sharing of powers are only fictitious. In conclusion, ‘illiberal democracy’ is probably the notion that best defines Russian political culture. Russia appears democratic from the outside but, in depth, it lacks some essential characteristics of other liberal democracies. In order to assess to what extent the uniqueness of Russian identity affects its relations with the West, we will now look at NATO–Russia relations from December 1991 to May 2002.

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5 THE EVOLUTION OF THE RUSSIAN ATTITUDE TO NATO

Treat your friend as if he will one day be your enemy, and your enemy as if he will one day be your friend. (Decimus Laberius, First Century BC)

Introduction In the case of NATO and Russia, the greatest challenge in the aftermath of the Cold War, was that of putting aside more than 50 years of confrontation and adversarial relations, and embarking on new relations of a cooperative nature. Let’s not forget that NATO’s initial raison d’être was the protection of its members against the expansion of the Soviet Union; and that the grounds for Russia’s supremacy in the Soviet time throughout the Cold War rested largely on its opposition to NATO. Yet, the imperatives of the new international order gave no other choice to the two former enemies but to work together on a new type of relationship. It was simply impossible that, in a world ruled by globalisation, Russia could be excluded from the international scene, and from the different arrangements that bound its Western neighbours together. When it became obvious to both NATO and Russia that they would have to build some kind of cooperative relationship, the identity gap between Russia and the countries composing the North Atlantic Alliance came suddenly to the fore. At that time, many experts advocated that this identity gap would always be an impediment to a true rapprochement between the two parties. In our first part, we identified the main features of Russian identity, and determined the extent to which these features differed from what we can present as the common identity aspects of the Allied countries. We concluded that Russia could be defined as an illiberal democracy as opposed to the liberal democracies that characterise the Euro-Atlantic countries. We also learnt that Russia is by nature rather anti-West. In this context, the perspective of cooperative relations between NATO and Russia indeed seems full of pitfalls. It is therefore crucial at this stage to assess the impact of this identity gap between Russia and the NATO countries on their relations. Not only will we try to see how this identity gap has manifested itself in NATO–Russia relations since 60

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the end of the Cold War, but we will also try to determine whether or not this undeniable identity gap stands as the major obstacle to cooperation between the two parties. The approach that we will follow in this chapter will be a chronological one, spanning a period from the end of the Cold War to the creation of the NATO– Russia Council (NRC) in May 2002. First, we will focus on the immediate aftermath of the Cold War and the subsequent transition through which Russia on the one hand, and NATO on the other, had to go through until the final signature of the Founding Act in May 1997. Our objective will be to demonstrate how Russia and NATO finally came to the conclusion that cooperation was inevitable. Second, we will look at the Kosovo conflict as the first event that challenged the very existence of this newly born relationship of not yet true cooperative nature. We will see how fundamental differences between Russia and the EuroAtlantic countries re-emerged suddenly in the face of difficulties. Third, we will analyse what impact the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on the United States had on NATO–Russia relations, and how this event changed radically the turn of these relations. More specifically, we will try to understand why the Kosovo conflict was detrimental to NATO–Russia relations and why, on the other hand, the 11 September 2001 events gave a real impetus to enhanced cooperation between the two parties. In that context, we will ask ourselves whether the peculiar Russian identity was really the stumbling block, or whether other reasons may better explain the difficulty of building cooperation between NATO and Russia.

From the end of the Cold War to the Founding Act Russia in transition and evolution of Russian foreign policy On 12 June 1990 the parliament of the RSFR (Russian Soviet Federative Republic) proclaimed the sovereignty of Russia, which, though as a separate entity, continued to be part of the Soviet Union. By the end of 1991, the USSR had ceased to exist and was replaced by the CIS.1 Russia progressively received diplomatic recognition from about 160 states and inherited the international rights and obligations of the former Soviet Union, including permanent membership of the UNSC as well as the seat of the USSR in other international organisations.2 Russia also declared itself responsible for the Soviet Union’s nuclear legacy and had therefore to ensure the observance of nuclear non-proliferation by the other members of the CIS. Russia was both psychologically and politically ready to integrate the emerging European security architecture that was to replace the bipolar organisation of the continent. In the words of the Russian Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev, NATO was not an aggressive military bloc but a force for stability in Europe and the world, which should continue its role as the only defence organisation capable of contending with threats to peace.3 For him and those of similar attitude, new 61

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Russian foreign policy was to be oriented mainly towards the West because Western states were Russia’s natural partners and allies. In presenting his arguments, Kozyrev explicitly made reference to the historical legacy of Peter the Great’s diplomacy towards the West. The ideas of Russian messianism and the pursuit of an independent role in line with its great power heritage were either understated or even denied.4 Kozyrev was actually following Mikhail Gorbachev’s New Thinking as expressed in the optimistic concept of the ‘Common European Home’.5 Like Gorbachev, Kozyrev understood that the improvement of relations with the West would require certain sacrifices from Russia. These were along the lines of Russia’s past consent to German unification and to united Germany’s NATO membership in 1990, the support for UNSC resolutions against Iraq during the Gulf Crisis, and the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan.6 The failed coup attempt of the Communists in 1991 also reinforced the New Thinking trend and the popularly elected president of the Russian Federation, Boris Yeltsin, adopted an even more democratic, market-oriented and European–Atlanticist policy. His declared goals were full participation in international economic institutions like the IMF, integration into the democratic community of states and even NATO membership. All these concessions were based on the assumption that Russia would be fully integrated into the club of great powers with equal rights. This, however, had neglected the fact that such integration would follow the Western terms because of the ‘asymmetry which existed in the West’s favour; the pillars of all-European security were, and could only be, based on Western structures’.7 On most issues, Russia merely followed the Western lead. As Nadia Arbatova stressed it, ‘this policy became a vulnerable target of right-wing opposition, attacking Ministerstvo Inostrannykh Del [Ministry of Foreign Affairs] (MID) for selling out Russian interests to the West’.8 Any condescending action toward Russia was brought to the fore and exploited by the opponents of a pro-Western policy. These antagonist forces sought to provoke a crisis in Russia’s relations with the West, so that the country would once again find itself in a malign encirclement, tormented by the ‘complex of the besieged’. The Russian leadership, but also society as a whole, could tolerate no longer ‘the millenarian omniscience and cultural insensitivity of many Westerners proffering democracy, coupled with the self-congratulatory rhetoric of victory in the West and the Western tendency to dictate to Russia on foreign policy matters’.9 We should not forget that losing the Cold War had generated a feeling of national humiliation. After the collapse of the Soviet empire, Russia had engaged in a transition from imperial power to a much more modest status and continuously tried to overcome a sort of ‘lost empire syndrome’ through the definition of a new Russian national identity. In this respect, Russia had difficulty in deciding whether it was part of, or in contradistinction to the West.10 Considering their country’s long and close relationship with Asia, Russians were unclear on whether their identity was irreducible to the Western community or a combination of, and bridge between, Western and non-Western identities. Russia was also 62

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affected by the actual loss of lands and the fact of being relegated to the status of a poor state as opposed to the wealthy United States and Western Europe. The Russian Federation appeared to be a pale shadow of the former powerful Soviet Union and despite vast military capabilities, its negotiating position on the international scene was fundamentally affected by internal instability and economic troubles.11 Moscow lost its former predominant influence in the Middle East. Likewise, in Angola, the MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) preferred to sign an agreement with the United States; and in Nicaragua, the defeat of the Sandinistas affected Russia’s position in Latin America. In Asia, while the dispute over the Kuril Islands still hampered the normalisation of relations with Japan, former close ties with Vietnam and North Korea had become little more than memories. This loss of influence would soon translate into a revived imperialist foreign policy. From the Second World War until the early 1980s, this course had guided Soviet foreign policy and was based on a close relationship between power and ideology. In the pure realist tradition, the State had to enhance its own power constantly, while at the same time diminishing that of its competitors. Military and geopolitical aspects were more important than economic considerations and ideology was used to justify this yearning for power. But the proportion of military costs in the gross national product cannot rise ad infinitum. In the 1980s, the economic decline could no longer ensure the necessary modernity of the armed forces and thus their effectiveness. For example, the Soviet Union proved incapable of responding to the high technological level of US president Reagan’s Strategic Defence Initiative and the so-called ‘Star Wars’ programme. Already confronted with a general loss of influence in world affairs, the Russian leadership refused to simply abandon the Great Power status left by the Soviet empire. As a result, it attempted to re-establish its predominance in the entire area of the former Soviet Union. In 1993, Russian President Yeltsin initiated a greater assertiveness in foreign policy by introducing his own ‘Monroe Doctrine’, namely a neo-imperialist policy towards the former Soviet republics, the so-called ‘near abroad’. By putting on the opposition’s political clothes, Yeltsin played the card of pragmatic nationalism, but he also sacrificed the principles of liberal democracy.12 Very explicit were bilateral treaties for continued Russian military presence in most states of the CIS,13 increasing tensions with Ukraine over the Black Sea Fleet14 and Crimea,15 Georgia almost compelled to accept CIS membership and Azerbaijan forced to reduce its ties with Turkey. Greater activism in the near abroad could be perceived as the first signs of ‘military adventurism’, which might lead to confrontation. An unpopular isolated leadership coupled with anti-Western feelings could push it further down that road. Nevertheless, Yeltsin’s new foreign policy preserved its underlying orientation towards partnership with the West. The fact that this policy change was particularly manifest in Russia’s attitude towards the newly independent states of the former Soviet Union resulted from the historical links that bound these states to Russia. It was also caused by the c.25 million ethnic Russians living in the 63

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former Soviet republics and suddenly finding themselves deprived of Moscow’s direct protection.16 Like any country, Russia had the legitimate right to defend its national interests – including the protection of Russian minorities in neighbouring countries – by non-military means. In Georgia, Moldova and Tajikistan, however, these interventions were justified on the ground that Russia had traditional geopolitical interests in the region and therefore had a legitimate right to intervene in its own ‘back yard’. It is commonly accepted that a peacekeeping force must be neutral, requires the consent of the parties and normally forbids immediate neighbours to take any part at all in peacekeeping operations. Russia’s peacekeeping in its near abroad could thus hardly be considered as neutral since it clearly served Russian interests. In 1993, the Russian political leadership adopted a more assertive nationalist attitude based on neo-imperialist convictions, and aimed at restoring the Soviet empire in one form or another. At that time, the new advocates of Russian ‘greatness’ argued that a strategic partnership with the West was pure fiction17 and stressed the Russian legitimate use of force in the ‘near abroad’ and potentially in the ‘far abroad’. These developments were associated with the intensification of an anti-Western sentiment among the Russian elite and the Russian populace. They took place at the very moment when the West struggled to integrate Russia into a comprehensive European order.18 NATO in transition and Russia’s perception of NATO’s initiatives The break up of the Warsaw Pact19 and the subsequent dissolution of the Soviet Union were bound to lead to the self-dissolution of NATO as a military alliance that had completed its initial tasks. However, the Atlantic Alliance did not see any reason why it should share the fate of the Warsaw Pact as an act of fair play. Western countries suggested that NATO should be preserved as a stabilising factor on the international scene. At odds with many theoretical assumptions about alliances dissolving in the absence of a threat, NATO moved to the core of an emerging European cooperative security system. At the London Summit in 1990, the NATO Heads of State and Government acknowledged the recent revolutionary changes in Europe and extended ‘the hand of friendship to former Warsaw Pact adversaries’.20 They invited Gorbachev and other political leaders from Eastern Europe to establish diplomatic liaison and military contacts with NATO. Regrettably, there was at the time no real accord within the Atlantic Alliance over how broad such contacts would be. In December 1990, the North Atlantic Council also recognised the necessity of ‘interlocking institutions’ including NATO, the European Union (EU), the Western European Union (WEU) and the CSCE, which ‘in accordance to their respective responsibilities and purposes could effectively contribute to the creation of a new European security framework’.21 In November 1991, the Rome meeting of the North Atlantic Council adopted a ‘new Strategic Concept’ defining a broader 64

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approach to security based on the ‘unlikely possibility of a major conflict’.22 Post-Cold War threats were less likely to result from ‘calculated aggression against the territory of the Allies’ than from ‘the adverse consequences of instabilities that might arise from the serious economic, social and political difficulties, including ethnic rivalries and territorial disputes, which were faced by many countries in Central and Eastern Europe’.23 Consequently, NATO decided to reduce its reliance on nuclear weapons and to streamline and reorganise its armed forces.24 In this sense, the Alliance’s 1991 Strategic Concept underlined the importance of effective ‘interoperability’ towards ‘smaller but more flexible and mobile forces’.25 Nevertheless, NATO retained Article 5 on collective selfdefence26 and stressed that ‘the Alliance would maintain an adequate military capability and a clear preparedness to act collectively in the common defence’.27 The Alliance also considered new opportunities for a cooperative dialogue with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe and by December 1991, created the NACC.28 The NACC brought together NATO members, the former Warsaw Pact states, and after the demise of the Soviet Union, the members of the CIS. NATO’s decision to create the NACC was connected, not least, to the necessity of preserving the CFE Treaty which suffered from a radical change in the military balance on which it was founded. At that time, satisfying the aspirations of Central and Eastern European countries for NATO membership was apparently only of secondary importance.29 As the then permanent representative to NATO, Ambassador William Taft, described it, the NACC was ‘a temporary mechanism to deal with former adversaries’. The objective was rather to ‘promote extended security based on assessments of self-interest by the NATO members’.30 The NACC was a step toward the inclusion of Central and Eastern European countries in NATO, but it was also a way of putting them off when they asked for membership in NATO. It is interesting to note that in December 1991, in a letter to the first meeting of the NACC, Yeltsin declared that Russia, too, had the goal of joining NATO. This letter got no real answer, except for a few comments which stated that inviting new members would make things more complicated for NATO. We cannot but acknowledge that this response was not up to the measure of the historic opportunities and responsibilities at stake.31 From the Russian perspective, although potentially useful as a consultative forum, the NACC presented three major disadvantages. First, its role and objectives were not well defined. Second, it had no decision-making power. Finally, it missed the opportunity of granting Russia the special status that it thought it could claim. Indeed, Russia still believed in its great power status. As this could not be justified economically, Russia was trying to gain, in a rather erratic manner, a distinctive role in the post-Cold War security institutions.32 Furthermore, in the Russian view, Western leaders, although seeking cooperative arrangements with Russia, had de facto decided to reduce the power of any security institution in which Russia had equal status, while at the same time strengthening NATO and the EU in which Russia did not enjoy full equity and was unlikely to do so. This explained Russia’s persistent reproof of NATO’s 65

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decision to remain a ‘defensive alliance’ rather than to initiate the ‘creation of a mechanism for the support of international security’33 to be integrated in the OSCE – where Moscow had substantial decision-making power.34 In the words of Vladimir Baranovsky: The OSCE is by far the most attractive multilateral institution for Russia. It corresponds to many of Russia’s concerns regarding the organisation of the continental political space, and one would expect Russia to make consistent efforts to promote this institution. However, Russia’s attempts to increase the role of the OSCE are often perceived as motivated by the intention to oppose it to NATO – an effort which cannot but discredit any pro-OSCE design.35 It is indeed commonly recognised that ‘the CSCE/OSCE resulted from a Soviet initiative, while NATO has been the main vehicle for US influence in Europe’.36 However, promoting the CSCE/OSCE as the superstructure of the post-Cold War European security system was rather utopian and had no immediate perspective. No major country would have agreed to fully confide its security to such a loose arrangement. Moreover, the CSCE/OSCE requirement for consensus severely inhibits its capacity of action and could render it as ineffective as the former League of Nations in the interwar period.37 Nevertheless, a strengthened OSCE vested with additional mechanisms and the capacity to take practical measures would be more effective in matters like conflict prevention,38 disarmament and minority rights. In addition, there is no doubt that the OSCE has a key role to play in avoiding Russian isolation and in integrating Russia as an equal partner in the European security framework. Most of NATO and Central and Eastern European countries had actually lost interest in the CSCE/OSCE and were unwilling to support this project. The Russian leadership therefore concluded that it had no choice but to enhance formal relations with NATO in order both to influence the Alliance’s transformation and to generate its support for a pan-European security system more appealing to Moscow. On the Western side, the challenge was to find a creative way to keep Russia facing West, without granting too much authority to the CSCE/OSCE. The solution was found in the Partnership for Peace (PfP). The Partnership for Peace The PfP was probably the first real far-reaching NATO initiative towards former Warsaw Pact and other CSCE/OSCE countries since the NACC in 1991. Les Aspin, former US Secretary of State for Defence and chief of the Pentagon, enumerated the different advantages of the PfP as follows: ‘Firstly, it does not redivide Europe. Secondly, it sets up the right incentives for those wishing to join. Thirdly, the PfP requires partners to make a real contribution (financial resources, personnel, equipment). Fourthly, it keeps NATO at the centre of European 66

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security concerns, and thereby keeps American involvement at the centre of Europe. Fifthly, possible NATO membership comes where it belongs, at the end of the process rather at the beginning’. The PfP had the required flexibility to cope with an uncertain strategic environment without ‘leaving Russia in the cold’. The programme also offered a ‘differentiated approach’ for each Participant, which in practice resulted in several different levels of cooperation. This principle of ‘self-differentiation’ was one of the central elements of the PfP. Through the Individual Partnership Programme (IPP)39 to be agreed between the Partner and NATO, cooperation was tailor-made to suit each country’s needs and wishes. The PfP had to be put into the perspective of NATO’s response to deal with the new European security landscape. The Alliance had to consider claims from states seeking NATO membership (e.g. the Visegrad Four);40 those that were unlikely to be part of any enlargement, but feared isolation (Russia); and finally NATO members themselves who did not share the same views on very important issues. Russia had first cancelled the signing of the agreement, which should have taken place on 21 April 1994. These delays over signing the Partnership for Peace were clearly motivated by Yeltsin’s need to get domestic political cooperation from the opposition.41 Furthermore, even those advocating Russia’s participation in PfP were not completely satisfied with the programme. They suggested that Russia should clarify some points and set some conditions before joining PfP. The most important of these conditions was Russia’s special status within the programme. It was widely accepted that a nuclear power like Russia should be a special partner of the Alliance in promoting security and stability in Europe.42 In addition, Russian policymakers were increasingly anxious about the participation of members of the CIS in PfP, seen as a challenge to Russian interests in its near abroad. The PfP arrangement was clearly perceived by Russia as ‘an infringement on its sphere of influence, one sign of which was the Russian refusal in November to sign documents creating military links between it and NATO’.43 Russia’s reluctance was also due to NATO’s intention to expand the Alliance by admitting Central and East European countries. Although officially presented as a compromise over enlargement, the PfP would rapidly become the first step in progressively gaining full consensus within NATO towards enlargement.44 Indeed, PfP had been initially launched as a compensation for NATO membership but ‘just as partners in Central Europe felt that PfP was not sufficient to assure their security and ties to the West, so did Russia believe that PfP was a subterfuge to paper over the dividing line between East and West’.45 It was clear enough that, for some partners, PfP was merely a path to membership. Indeed, by 1993 major Central and Eastern European states felt that ‘only full NATO membership would resolve their perceived security dilemmas, promote stability to attract economic investment and membership in the EU and provide reassurance for democratic and market reform-oriented political leaders’.46 This connection between PfP and NATO enlargement – strongly opposed by the Russian leadership for both domestic and foreign political reasons – hampered to a significant extent Russian participation within the PfP programme. 67

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After new negotiations, in which it accepted that it would not have a right of veto, Russia finally signed the PfP document on 22 June 1994. The main idea was that through its participation in the programme, Russia would be able to influence the process of NATO enlargement. As Oksana Antonenko, a Russian scholar, underlined: Russia finally joined PfP in June 1994, hoping to transform it into a substitute for NATO membership for Central and East European states, rather than a mechanism to prepare them for membership. PfP was above all a political instrument: in effect, Russia wanted to raise the cost of enlargement by threatening to pull out of the partnership. Even at the time, Russia saw its main leverage not in active partnership but in the threat of complete disengagement.47 From the Russian perspective, although PfP was potentially a useful channel for promoting military cooperation with various countries, cooperation in preparations for peacekeeping operations and reciprocal confidence, it was still too limited and technical a programme to serve as a basis for NATO–Russia relations.48 The PfP initiative actually originates from suggestions by the then SACEUR (Supreme Allied Commander in Europe) General John Shalikashvili in 1993, to establish military cooperation with partner states for peacekeeping operations.49 Numerous peacekeeping exercises with NATO’s Allies and partners have since then been organised and Russia has also participated in several of these. On 28 April 1994, a Partnership Coordination Cell (PCC) was inaugurated at the Supreme Allied Command in Europe (SHAPE) headquarter in Mons. The PCC is responsible for coordinating joint military activities within the PfP and for carrying out the military planning necessary to implement partnership programmes between NATO and individual PfP partners. The partnership between NATO and Russia must also be viewed in the context of Russian and Western policy towards the conflict in the former Yugoslavia and their collaboration within the Implementation Force (IFOR) and the Stabilisation Force (SFOR). The peacekeeping operations in Bosnia were NATO’s first joint operations with PfP partners as well as being NATO’s first land operations.50 It was composed of the UN Peace Forces already in place51 and troops of NATO countries and PfP members. The deployment of the IFOR began in December 1995 with the signature of the Dayton accords. The IFOR was to ensure compliance with the implementation of the military aspects of the Bosnian Peace Agreement.52 In practice, it had to create enough stability in Bosnia to allow the peace force to withdraw without the Bosnian government being left vulnerable to the Serbs and the Croats. NATO–Russia military cooperation really began on 15 October 1995 when Russian General Shevtsov and his staff arrived in Belgium to work with General Joulwan, the then NATO SACEUR. Their mission was to define the conditions of the participation of Russian troops in IFOR. On 8 November 1995, the Russian 68

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and the US Defence Ministers agreed to a special command and control mechanism for the Russian troops involved in IFOR missions.53 Russian troops were to be put under the command of the IFOR Supreme Commander through the Deputy for Russian Forces. The unity of command was consequently preserved without Russian troops being directly subordinate to NATO and the Commander of Multinational Division North (MDN).54 Following these special agreements, about 1,500 Russian soldiers were deployed in Bosnia and Herzegovina on 13 January 1996. The Russian troop contingent was involved as part of the US Division in Sector North. The first battalion was situated on the territory of the Muslim–Croat Federation, while the other was on the Bosnian Serb side. The location of the two Russian battalions headquarters indubitably provided evidence of Russia’s impartiality. An operational group under the control of General Shevtsov was also established at SHAPE for communication, liaison and decision-making, and was charged with the task of guiding the Russian contingent in theatre. With the termination of IFOR’s mandate in December 1996, Russia continued to contribute to the follow-up SFOR.55 While the NATO–Russia experience in Bosnia was taken as an example in the West as the model for future cooperation, few in Russia considered the IFOR/SFOR joint peacekeeping operations as a political success. Despite the practical experience of effective cooperation between troops on the ground, Russia’s participation in the NATO-led peacekeeping operation in Bosnia was widely criticised. Nadia Arbatova accurately listed two major points of friction: First, having accepted NATO’s invitation to IFOR, Russia committed itself to the Dayton Peace Agreement and the process of its implementation, regardless of all visible shortfalls. More hard-nosed opponents asserted that Russia’s presence in the NATO-led operation was nothing more than recognition of the emerging NATO-centred status quo in Europe, which undermined all arguments against NATO’s expansion eastward. Therefore, they claimed, Russia should leave Bosnia. Second, Russia’s participation was regarded by Moscow as unequal and humiliating, since Russia did not have any say in NATO.56 In spite of the practical experience gained on the ground, no real strategy for developing interoperability with NATO was truly envisaged.57 The failure to realise a genuine partnership left Russia profoundly disillusioned and gave the impression that the concessions made had only further contributed to Russia’s weakness. The publication of the NATO enlargement study in September 1995 also contributed to the intensification of anti-NATO rhetoric. The study appeared to completely ignore Russia’s interests and concerns.58 In order to satisfy, to some extent, the demands of the opposition in the Duma and of the Russian media, Yevgeny Primakov was appointed as the new Russian Foreign Minister, replacing the pro-Western Andrei Kozyrev. Primakov’s doctrine of multipolarity saw the international situation through the prism of conflicting interests with NATO. 69

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His first decision was thus to reverse Russia’s excessive orientation towards the West. In reaction to this political shift and in view of the reluctance of certain European countries to antagonise Russia, NATO members finally conceded a ‘special status’ to Russia that would nevertheless avoid granting the country a sphere of influence in the East and a veto within the Alliance. On the Russian side, as Vladimir Baranovsky noted, ‘a special relationship with NATO was considered a more practical strategy than promoting the re-emergence of the confrontational model’.59 The Founding Act and the PJC In order to establish a basis for the new relationship, NATO suggested an agreement that would assure Russia’s participation in European affairs through a mechanism of regular consultations. Negotiations were long and difficult but ultimately produced the NATO–Russia Founding Act, creating a separate forum, the Permanent Joint Council (PJC),60 for bilateral NATO–Russia discussions. The Founding Act on mutual relations, cooperation and security between the NATO and the Russian Federation represented an institutionalised framework on which to seek common approaches and solutions to common concerns. Initially, ‘the signing of the Founding Act in May 1997 was interpreted by Russia as an indication that NATO was ready to grant Moscow a new mechanism to influence Alliance policies’.61 In addressing the Duma, Primakov even presented the agreement as the best example of successful Russian diplomacy.62 Since this second generation of efforts to enhance NATO–Russia cooperation also coincided with the formal decision to enlarge the Alliance to Central Europe, this participation in NATO institutions and structures was primarily viewed by the Kremlin as a way of minimising the effects of NATO expansion. In this respect, the Russian political elite was notably motivated by ‘its wish to prevent the central security role in Europe being played by a structure to which Russia would not have direct access’.63 On the Western side, one way of securing Russia’s non-opposition to enlargement was for the Atlantic Alliance to reaffirm in the Founding Act that it had ‘no intention, no plan and no reason’ to station nuclear weapons on the territory of new member states. In short, the ultimate aim of the Act was to reassure Russia that it could have a partnership with NATO regardless of the enlargement process. The Act, however, fell far short of Russian expectations. First, it was a document that was binding in a mere political sense, and not in the juridical sense that Russia had wanted.64 As for the NATO–Russia PJC,65 it was established separately from the North Atlantic Council, NATO’s own decision-making body.66 In other words, Russia had no say in NATO’s internal affairs, this new consultation forum gave it ‘a voice, not a veto’.67 In addition, the fact that all the terms of the Founding Act had been dictated by NATO was interpreted by many Russians as a failure by the Kremlin to achieve its objectives.68 Russia would not be able to block the NATO actions it opposed. 70

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It would not even have a say on the operations where its own interests were engaged, as in the former Yugoslavia. Obviously, these elements did not allay the country’s opposition to enlargement. As Irina Isakova, a Russian scholar, stated: The Founding Act was a painful compromise that has not changed Russia’s negative view of NATO enlargement plans or of NATO itself. Russia regards as its main task the implementation of the provisions of the NATO–Russia Founding act that would guarantee the nonadvancement of NATO forces into the territory of non-member states. Russian tactics tend to focus increasingly on criticism of specific integrative efforts by the established NATO states, newcomers and prospective members, particularly with regard to the extension of military multi-national groups and joint command centres to the Central European states and the Baltic region.69 Nationalists and communists within the extremist anti-NATO block in the Duma considered the Founding Act as a betrayal, holding NATO and its advocates responsible for Russia’s problems. Most Russian officers also shared quite the same opinion. They could not see NATO but as an adversary and a potential threat. Furthermore, the Founding Act had formalised the end of NATO as the ‘enemy’ and thus made it difficult for the military to find a new rationale for their job. In addition, the Yeltsin government was openly criticised for accepting this vague charter in exchange for financial and economic rewards from the West, including Russia’s entry into the Group of Seven (G7) and the World Trade Organisation (WTO), and support from the IMF.70 As provided for in the Founding Act, Russia’s Permanent Mission to NATO was set up in Brussels, including the office of Russia’s Chief Military Representative to NATO to be responsible for coordination with NATO military structures. Cooperation was initiated on issues like ‘preventing proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, exchanging information on security and defence policies and forces, as well as conversion of defence industries, defence-related environmental issues and civil emergency preparedness’.71 With regard to the enhancement of information exchange between the two parties, a NATO European Security Documentation Centre72 was opened in Moscow, within the Institute of Scientific Information for Social Sciences (INION) of the Russian Academy of Sciences. The Centre was opened on NATO’s initiative and was designed to promote a better public understanding of NATO’s role in the European security system, and provide information about the Alliance’s activities and the new partnership with Russia. Some of the opportunities for cooperation, contained in the Founding Act were beyond imagination. This notably concerned the ‘joint decisions and joint actions with respect to security issues of common concern to NATO and Russia’73 which could include peacekeeping operations under the authority of the UNSC or the responsibility of the OSCE. 71

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Other promising suggestions from the Founding Act, ‘where the two parties will consult and strive to cooperate to the broadest possible degree’74 including: conflict prevention (preventive diplomacy, crisis management and conflict resolution and other activities); combating terrorism; exchange of information and consultation on strategy, defence policy, the military doctrines of NATO and Russia; preventing the proliferation of nuclear, biological and chemical weapons and their means of delivery, combating nuclear trafficking and strengthening cooperation in specific arms control areas, including political and defence aspects of proliferation; cooperation in Theatre Missile Defence; association of Russia with NATO’s Conference of National Armaments Directors (CNAD), conversion of defence industries and cooperative projects in defence-related economic, environmental and scientific fields; combating drug trafficking; and civil emergency preparedness and disaster relief. Unfortunately, despite these novelties, the Founding Act soon proved to be merely an empty basket.75 The political obligations of the parties – not secured from a juridical point of view – stated in the document often had general formulations creating the possibility of different interpretations. In other words, the Founding Act could serve as a good basis for Russia–NATO cooperation as long as it was strategically and politically beneficial for both parties and as long as relations remained friendly. In contrary circumstances, the Founding Act would fall into oblivion. The vulnerability of these political arrangements were illustrated when NATO decided to bomb Serbia despite Russia’s strong opposition and – in the Russian view at least – without any attempt to accommodate Russia’s legitimate concern.

The Kosovo crisis From the outset, Russia did not share the Allies’ view on the possible use of military force to end the conflict and to enforce the international community’s demands reflected in the relevant UNSC Resolutions. Nevertheless, in February 1999, both NATO and Russia emphasised their full support for the Rambouillet peace talks. On 23 March 1999, after the talks had failed and all diplomatic avenues to end the conflict had been exhausted, NATO decided that there was no alternative to the use of force.76 NATO’s military intervention in the former Yugoslavia, as from 24 March 1999, indubitably opened a new period in Russia’s relations with NATO.77 It put an end to Russia’s ‘great expectations’ and tarnished the very idea of cooperation with the West.78 The Russian government unanimously condemned NATO air strikes, requested their suspension and asked for a political solution. Its disapproval was first based on the inadmissibility of the use of force against a sovereign state without the consent of the UNSC. According to Moscow, UNSC Resolution 1199 contained nothing which gave authorisation for military attacks. Despite humanitarian arguments provided by NATO, the Alliance’s military adventure in the Balkans was perceived as an act of aggression and a rude violation of the UN Charter, the 72

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Helsinki Final Act of 1975, as well as the 1997 NATO–Russia Founding Act. In addition, NATO military action unsanctioned by the UN created precedents for subjective intervention in ethnic disputes elsewhere, as in conflicts in Russia’s Northern Caucasus Republics. Moreover, the April 1999 revision of NATO’s Strategic Concept to enable the Alliance to intervene in out-of-area situations beyond the borders of member states, such as in Kosovo, heightened Moscow’s concern that this new strategic focus would establish the basis for possible intervention in Russia’s near abroad or even in Russian territory.79 In the Russian view, NATO was giving a bad example of illegal action, allowing expediency and idealism to override the rule of law. The West had demonstrated that it was willing to follow international agreements only as long as countries like Russia or China in the UNSC did not oppose its goals. Otherwise, the West was ready to go it alone, ignoring the rules of international law and the UN Charter. As Dmitri Trenin underscored: The use of force without the express sanction of the United Nation’s Security Council resolution dramatically devalued not only the Russian veto right but also the former superpower’s actual international weight. Moscow was shown to be impotent to prevent major international military operation in an area, which it traditionally regards as crucial to its entire position in Europe.80 While principally supporting Belgrade, Russia had its own self-imposed limits. Milosevic attempted to drag Moscow into his war with NATO, but Russia overlooked the traditional Slav and Orthodox ties to pursue its own interests. In reality, Russian historic sympathy towards Serbs, as Slavic Orthodox brothers,81 was groundless and proved to be an empty and facile explanation for Russia’s apparent support.82 Moscow essentially tried to protect the interests of Yugoslavia by peaceful diplomatic means. Its support finally ruled out sanctioning arms sales to Belgrade.83 Major arguments that worked against any direct military aid to Milosevic included the danger of a global confrontation between Russia and the West – with consequences far outreaching the initial stakes in the Balkan conflict – but also basically the practical unfeasibility of such support.84 Furthermore, despite its strong rhetoric, the Russian political elite did not have much sympathy for Milosevic and did not trust him. As for the Russian people, they were, as a rule, more concerned about their daily lives than about Kosovo and the humanitarian aspects of the problem. Nevertheless, the Russian leadership could not accept a situation in which NATO was acting as the global policeman, a situation which was also potentially demonstrating Russia’s impotence in international politics and challenging its claim to power status. In an atmosphere of anti-Western nationalist hysteria, the Kremlin faced a difficult situation: it could neither ignore hard liners calling for tough response – thus increasing the chances of Yeltsin’s impeachment in the Parliament – nor start a new confrontation with the West. 73

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Nevertheless, since Yeltsin’s political survival and Russia’s prestige were at stake, the Russian political leadership had to take decisive measures. Immediately after the beginning of NATO air strikes, Yeltsin endorsed Milosevic’s proposal of Yugoslavia joining the Russia–Belarus Slavic Union – based on shared Slavic Eastern Orthodox ties and geopolitical interests as a response to the perceived threat from the West – and announced the retargeting of Russia’s nuclear weapons at the NATO members taking part in the air strikes. In addition, Russia suspended its military contacts (inter alia the withdrawal of the Russian Senior Military Representatives and the Russian officers at SHAPE responsible for the Russian SFOR contingent,85 as well as the abeyance of PfP activities) and its civilian contacts (inter alia expulsion of the two NATO information officers in Moscow, request to discontinue NATO information work in Russia in general and the closure of the NATO Documentation Centre in Moscow) with the Alliance. All forms of Russia–NATO cooperation supposedly institutionalised by the Founding Act were terminated. NATO operations also aggravated the problems resulting from NATO’s expansion eastwards.86 It was indeed: hardly reassuring that NATO action came just a few weeks after the first wave of enlargement, a circumstance that only reinforced the view of those in Russia who from the beginning expected enlargement to be a stage in the creation of a more aggressive Alliance.87 Last but not least, the Kosovo operation precipitated a revision of Russia’s military doctrine and its related defence policies. A new draft, published on 9 October 1999, reflected important changes in the assessment of threats to Russian security. The blueprint pointed to external concerns and especially a potential threat of direct military aggression against Russia and its allies; this threat was to be deterred by all means, including the use of nuclear forces.88 Other official documents such as Russia’s new National Security Concept (January 2000)89 and Foreign Policy Concept (June 2000),90 both issued in the immediate aftermath of the crisis, incorporated significant changes reflecting the evaluations that Moscow’s foreign/military defence establishment conducted in relation with the Kosovo campaign.91 The enhanced strategic threat perception after Kosovo was reflected almost immediately with the holding in June 1999 of the military exercise – codenamed ‘Zapad 99’ – involving preparation for a hypothetical NATO attack. Internal power struggles were another determinant factor influencing Russia’s policy on Kosovo. Hostility to the West in general, and NATO in particular, intensified and as a consequence strengthened support for the Communists and the Nationalists. Even pro-Western Liberals found themselves disillusioned and adopted a more diffident stance. The virulent internal press campaign on Kosovo in Russia also contributed to this increased anti-NATO feeling. The Russian media actually made little effort to 74

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present objective reports of Serb ethnic cleansing and persistently described NATO as an aggressive, predatory grouping.92 Despite the fact that many had access to Western media, the press in Russia was quite effective: all the principal political parties (including the Democrats), public opinion (including the intelligentsia and university students) and all branches of the government rallied to this reaction of indignation and hostility towards NATO and sympathy towards the Serbs. In this regard, support for Yugoslavia was the Russians’ response to the US and NATO’s arrogant policy vis-à-vis Belgrade and to the Western disregard of views and interests of other states, above all Russia. A prolonged inability to reach a settlement in the crisis could have generated illiberal political change in Russia. Indeed, the communists and the Nationalists were more and more successful in mobilising popular support for a stronger defence policy and the reassertion of Russia’s great power status. As the political balance was shifting in favour of those hostile to NATO, Russia’s constructive political engagement in the crisis proved to be essential in ending the war. The Russian government decided that it was in Russia’s national interest to constrain the Serbs to accept the NATO demands but did so after considerable internal struggle.93 The dispatch of former Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin as a key interlocutor with Milosevic was indeed more than helpful.94 As a rule, it was better to have Russia as part of the solution than part of the problem in this time of international crisis. As Alton Frye, a British expert, pointed out: Having catered to Serbian sensibilities in many ways, the Russians were in the best position to make clear to the Serbian demagogue that he [Milosevic] was completely isolated and could not rely on Moscow to intervene further in his behalf. No one can say what course the war would have followed without the multilateral diplomacy to which Chernomyrdin contributed.95 If there was a degree of pride in the Russian mediation being determinant in resolving the crisis, there was a more glorious moment of widespread jubilation on 11 June 1999 when Russian troops, originally from SFOR, moved pre-emptively to establish themselves at Pristina Airfield (named Slatina). This surprise march ‘underscored the disenchantment of the Russian military with what they perceive as NATO aggressiveness, offensiveness as opposed to defensiveness, outright bullying and arrogance toward Russia’.96 Although the manoeuvre involved only 200 men, and was largely symbolic in nature, it ‘guaranteed Russia its place in the NATO-led force even before the actual rules of participation were worked out’97 and ‘speeded up negotiations between Moscow and NATO commanders on Russia’s role in Kosovo force (KFOR)’.98 However, this sensational gesture did not change the principal guidelines of the final agreement. The UNSC resolution 1244 of 12 June 1999 was based on Chapter VII of the UN Charter, implying an action enforced against the will of one of the parties, and the peacekeeping operation was not a UN action but a NATO mission by authorisation of the UN. 75

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Russia’s participation in KFOR was made possible by the signing of a separate agreement worked out in Helsinki. Under this agreement, Russian peacekeepers were deployed in three sectors: the US-led Multinational Brigade East, the French-led Multinational Brigade North and the German-led Multinational Brigade South. Russia also shared the responsibilities for Pristina airport, together with NATO forces. The Russian General at SHAPE was, at the same time, the deputy to SACEUR responsible for the Russian participation in SFOR and the representative of the Russian Ministry of Defence for Russian KFOR matters.99 The integrated force became operational as Serb forces withdrew from the province and the work of restoring peace and stability began. Russia contributed about 3,250 troops to the 43,000-strong KFOR. For Russian political leaders and military commanders, the costly participation in KFOR was justified for several reasons. First, it demonstrated that Russia was still a world power with force projection capabilities which must be involved in peacekeeping planning and operations in the Balkans. In this respect, Moscow wanted to play a key role within KFOR from the outset in order to retain political influence in the region and to prevent NATO from unilaterally establishing a permanent military presence. Second, it showed its support to Serbia after Russia’s perceived loss of credibility following the failure to provide tangible support to the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY) during the bombing campaign. In this regard, Moscow intended to obtain a defined Russian sector within KFOR in an area where it would be able to give credible protection to remaining Serb minorities against the Albanian ‘terrorists’. Third, it permitted monitoring the implementation of the UN resolution on Kosovo Liberation Agency (KLA) disarmament and the preservation of Yugoslavia’s territorial integrity. However, Moscow was quite frustrated about Russia’s participation in KFOR. During June–July 1999, as about 40,000 NATO peacekeeping troops entered Kosovo, the arrival of the Russian contingent – beside the unit in Slatina – was held up because of delays by Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria in providing air corridors. Unlike SFOR, KFOR posed a much greater problem for both parties, given the conditions of renewed mistrust and likely clash of important strategic interests in the Balkans. The 3,000-strong Russian contingent did not actually provide any leverage over NATO policies in the region. Russia had to renounce to a special sector in Kosovo, independent of NATO’s chain of command. Furthermore, Russian troops were not granted control over heavily Serb-populated areas. Besides, Russian contingents were separated from each other and, except for one unit, they were not near the border with the rest of Serbia, and located in areas mainly populated by Albanians. Likewise, keeping control over Slatina airport had poor significance since all air traffic, as well as ground communications in all sectors, was commanded by NATO. In the words of Vladimir Baranovsky: Russia’s peacekeepers are welcomed to participate in KFOR – but, unlike leading Western countries, they do not get their own sector of responsibility. By and large the Cold War logic of ‘keeping Russians out’ 76

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seems to many of them to have mutated into a double-track task: how to prevent Russians from becoming disengaged, without however actually letting them in.100 Nevertheless, the KFOR experience finally helped restore relations between NATO and Russia101 with the latter resuming its official contacts on a limited basis. By mid-2000, the Russian representatives had returned to NATO Headquarters. Russian Foreign Ministry statements concerning PJC consultations102 took on an increasingly positive tone as the Kosovo affair receded.103 In February 2001, NATO’s Secretary General Lord Robertson presided over the re-opening of NATO’s representation in Moscow. A NATO Information Office was established under the aegis of the Belgian embassy and fully staffed in December 2001. Its main missions include inter alia: liaising with Russian media; organising visits by Russian delegations to NATO HQ and SHAPE; supporting initiatives of other NATO Directorates (Scientific Affairs, Economic); and facilitating the political link between NATO and the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. As for the NATO Military Liaison Mission, it was only opened in May 2002. Its main missions include inter alia: liaising with the Russian Ministry of Defence on issues covered by the NRC’s Military Work Plan and by PfP programmes; assisting the NATO Information Office in explaining NATO policies; and helping to implement decisions taken by the NRC.104

Russia–NATO after 9/11 The 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on the United States brought about a shift in both Russian and Western policies, which were both conducive to greater rapprochement and interaction in the struggle against international terrorism.105 From the outset, Russia actively and positively participated in the anti-terrorist coalition, not only providing diplomatic support to the campaign, but also sharing intelligence on sources and methods used to finance terrorist groups, and applying sanctions against the countries harbouring terrorists. This cooperation gave rise to frank exchanges on the entire spectrum of the terrorist threat – including the risk of nuclear, biological and chemical proliferation, and included joint exercises addressing the consequences for the civilian population of a large-scale terrorist attack. When the United States initiated a campaign against the Taliban and Al-Qaida in Afghanistan,106 Moscow opened Russian airspace to US planes and enhanced military assistance to the Northern Alliance.107 Considering Russia’s key role and military experience in Central Asia and Afghanistan, its participation was paramount to the success of the coalition against terrorism and the post-11 September international order.108 Indeed, Russia’s endorsement of US Operation Enduring Freedom facilitated the provision of practical support by the former Soviet Central Asian states. Furthermore, reluctant states like China, India and Iran finally decided to follow the Russian stance and to grant political support. 77

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It is fairly easy to misinterpret the changes of the Russian position by disregarding crucial nuances. Indeed, it should be observed that, regardless of what has been the real motivation of President Putin and his team, the main trend in the wider discourse has been not towards greater solidarity with the United States and the West as a whole, but about a reassertion of the Russian position on the international stage. In that sense, the Russian attitude has not changed an iota. It is rather the West that has adopted a new attitude towards Russia. From the Russian perspective, it looks as if the West, as it were, has become ‘more Russian’ and not vice-versa. Internally, this support and Putin’s strongly pro-Western rhetoric soon faced criticism amongst Russian political and military representatives,109 as well as within large sections of the public. Apparently, many did not share his ‘confidence in the American and European commitment to reward Moscow for its support’.110 In their perception, the US still viewed Russia as an obstacle to its interests in a number of issues: missile defence;111 NATO enlargement; spread of US influence in central Asia; relations with rogue states like Iraq, Iran, North Korea, etc. They also wanted Putin to avoid repeating the mistakes of figures such as Gorbachev and Yeltsin, who had made concessions to the West and received very little in return.112 Their position was further reinforced by severe US blows to Russian interests on issues of vital strategic concern: US withdrawal from the ABM Treaty and NATO’s expansion to the East. In addition, the prospect of a long term US military presence in the near abroad Central Asia was strongly opposed, not least by the Russian military. President Putin’s policy was not without risks to his political career, especially in the event of an economic slowdown. Yet, he was able to pursue his strategy.113 Huge popularity, strong determination and personal authority gave him an unquestionable legitimacy for his undertakings. Unlike Yeltsin, Vladimir Putin is not only seen by the public as a firm leader with no credible rival, but also as a man of action flexible enough to overcome political setbacks.114 He is swift in explaining his stance to the average Russians, and less concerned about the confused and grudging elite, which has finally no other choice than going along when confronted with the opinion polls. Many reasons justify Putin’s decision to maintain a pro-Western line.115 The 11 September events came about at a time when Putin’s dual-track strategy – relations with the West and at the same time attempts to counterbalance US hegemony by developing relations with the European Union – was not meeting its expectations. This tragedy appeared as a unique opportunity for Russia to convince the West, but especially the United States, of the necessity of a strategic partnership. Putin’s decision to call George Bush on 11 September was thus not merely a political statement, but also a way of showing that Russia belonged to the same security community. In other words, the attacks on the United States helped Russia to complete the building of what is now named the ‘threat bridge to the West’.116 By embarking on the campaign, Russia succeeded in imposing itself on the post-11 September world order. 78

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This very recognition of common security concerns with the West, and shared vulnerability to threats such as global terrorism – and more particularly Sunni Islamist extremism – constituted another reason that comforted Putin in his decision. The fact that the United States was so preoccupied with building an international anti-terror coalition, with Russia playing a central role, seemingly improved Russia’s chances of regaining some influence in international politics and of being treated as an almost equal partner by the US administration. Indeed, the success of the US operation against the Taliban in Afghanistan largely depended on the position of Russia, both in terms of its possible participation in the coalition and with regard to its influence on such neighbouring countries as Tajikistan, Kyrgistan and Iran. Not only does Russia possess military bases and units in the area close to the Afghan theatre, and exert strong influence on at least some of the local Central Asian regimes (Tajikistan), it also has strong personal interest in containing the Taliban threat.117 Given its tense relations with Iran and Pakistan, Washington could hardly dispense with Russian facilities in the region. For its part, Russia’s strategy was dictated by the perspective of short and long term benefits. Should its troops be forced to stay in Central Asia, the United States would find itself in a situation where, like the Soviet Army in the 1980s, it could be defeated. This could eventually lead to an erosion of American hegemony, its withdrawal from the region and the consequent strengthening of Russia’s position in Central Asia as the sole guarantor of security in a region still facing a growing Islamic threat. However, should the United States manage to defeat the Taliban regime, it would help Russia to eradicate the Islamic threat along its southern border. In this scenario, the US troops would then withdraw and Russia’s strategic interests in the region could be preserved. Russia’s calculations thus aimed at strengthening its position in Central Asia and making it safer with limited resources and without directly engaging its forces.118 Had Russia decided not to grant the US access to its military facilities in Central Asia, certain local leaders (Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgizstan) might have seized this opportunity to use the US position on their ground as a leverage with Russia.119 Such a situation would have set the limits of Russia’s real influence in Central Asia and of its ability to control developments in the region. Russia would also miss out on the opportunity to influence the United States and – to a greater extent – Western policy in the region, and lose credibility as a strategic partner. Third, and for Russia a related point, was the Western endorsement of Russia’s war in Chechnya120 and the recognised legitimacy of this official anti-terrorist campaign.121 Many Western political representatives soon put the Chechen rebels on a par with the organisers of the 11 September attacks.122 In this context, the West adopted a new attitude towards Russia, and this change has confirmed, in the eyes of the Russian public, that the Russian policy in Chechnya, for example, has been the right one. Of course, Western human rights campaigners had expressed their concern about a softening of criticism towards the conduct of Russia’s military operations in Chechnya.123 79

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Another important element was Russia’s desperate need for Western investment. Although the Russian economy recovered rapidly from the massive rouble devaluation of August 1998 – largely due to high oil and gas prices – there was still a strong need for further economic reform and restoring international investors’ confidence in the Russian market. In return for its cooperation in the fight against terrorism, Putin expected US and European support for Russia’s economy. In this context, the importance of oil and energy resources did not go unnoticed in Russia’s decision to join the anti-terrorist coalition. Indeed, the campaign against terrorism in Central Asia risked placing Russia as an alternative and a more reliable source of energy to the West. In other words, while not expecting short term economic or political benefits from its cooperation with the West, Russia could expect future Western investments and gains from the sale of oil and gas to the West, and could then potentially dominate its main Arab competitors – who were definitely more reluctant than Russia to join the anti-terror coalition – on the global energy market. Among the Russian people, however, there was widespread resignation and disillusionment regarding any Western support for Russia’s economic difficulties. We should bear in mind that, in acting in this way, Russia did not look at democracy and market economy as goals per se, but the best available instruments in making the Russian State stronger and more efficient. By becoming a member of the Western community, Russia would be able to save money the country would otherwise have spent on building a strategic parity or at least a credible and sufficient anti-Western defence. Russia’s choice meant a significant departure from traditional Soviet and – to a very large extent – post-Soviet thinking on Russia’s place in the international system. In other words, it would mean departing from Primakov’s policy of counterbalancing the Western influence by building strategic anti-Western alliances with alternative centres of power of a wishful multipolar world. The Russian leadership was also aware of the fact that Russia was too weak to counter all these threats on its own and to achieve its long term goals by openly confronting the West. Joining the West in this campaign was therefore not a manifestation of an identity choice, but rather a sort of survival strategy at a time when the country had to concentrate on its domestic economic revival. Russia had neither the means nor interest to undertake the very costly foreign and security policy that direct rivalry with the West would entail. Only a sound economy would permit Russia to rebuild its military power necessary to the conduct of a realistic policy aimed at rehabilitating the country’s status on the international scene. Finally, the Russian elite watched with extreme interest NATO’s transformation into a wide-spectrum security organisation focusing increasingly on asymmetric threats like terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. According to Russian experts, if NATO’s destiny was to ‘go global’, it would have to be reformed in the direction of greater emphasis on political functions.124 This could lead to NATO’s marginalisation as a military alliance, as exemplified by the US operations in Afghanistan. Indeed, NATO did not lead the campaign and 80

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the collective defence provision of the Washington Treaty – the famous Article 5125 – was invoked for pure symbolic reasons. Whatever changes NATO went through, Russia hoped that its participation in the international fight against terrorism would help further its integration into NATO’s structures. Relations with NATO also improved significantly as a result of Putin’s strategic choice. This confirms that the nature of Russia’s relations with the Atlantic Alliance is closely dependant on the degree of interaction with the United States, the latter still being viewed as using NATO as a personalised foreign policy tool. Only two days after the attack on the United States, the PJC met and issued a statement on the event, calling for closer and more intensive cooperation between NATO and Russia in defeating the terrorist scourge.126 A number of Russian politicians called for a boost in Russian–NATO relations and suggested that expanding Russian cooperation with the United States in the fight against terrorism would require a redefinition of Russia’s relationship with NATO. The PJC met again on 19 September and reconfirmed the need for intensification of Russia–NATO cooperation in the fight against international terrorism. Putin’s visit to Brussels on 3 October and his talks with Secretary-General Lord Robertson marked a new beginning in Russian–NATO relations. The dilemma that NATO was facing when discussing closer cooperation with Russia can be summed up as follows: NATO had to be convinced that Russia was really interested in developing constructive cooperation. NATO nations still feared that Russia might block the Alliance’s decision-making process and thus make it powerless, should it be given access to it. By undermining NATO’s credibility as an efficient security provider and turning it into a new version of the inefficient OSCE, Russia could also distract certain countries from NATO membership as the best protection against the revival of Russia’s great power ambitions in the region. As for Russia, it fears that under the formula of a ‘voice but not a veto’, it does not have enough influence to make a difference and that NATO will never give it any real influence. Details on the further deepening of cooperation between Russia and NATO were discussed at a series of meeting that took place in December 2001 in Brussels. On 6 December, the NATO Defence Ministers decided to explore and develop ‘new effective mechanisms for consultation, cooperation, joint decision, and coordinated/joint action’ between Russia and NATO. The final communiqué issued after the 6 December NAC meeting listed areas in which NATO was to deepen its cooperation with Russia. It was decided that the results of this work would be presented at the Foreign Ministerial meeting in Reykjavik in May 2002. The same issues were also discussed with Russian representation at a PJC meeting at the level of foreign ministers that took place in Brussels on 7 December, as well as at the PJC meeting at the level of defence ministers on 18 December. In the communiqué issued after this last meeting, the ministers committed themselves to forging a new relationship between NATO and Russia and to enhancing their ability to work together in areas of common interest and to stand up to new threats and risks to security. They also agreed to the holding of 81

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a NATO–Russia conference on the military role in combating terrorism in February 2002, and recognised the importance of defence reform as a key instrument to ensure adequate military capabilities. In Reykjavik on 14 May 2002, PJC Foreign Ministers thus approved the draft declaration on ‘NATO-Russia Relations: A New Quality’, including a work programme and the rules of procedure for a NRC. The Declaration was subsequently adopted and signed at the inaugural session of the NRC, which took place at the level of Heads of State and Government in Rome on 28 May 2002. The objective behind the replacement of the PJC by the NRC was quite clear: to provide a fresh stimulus to NATO–Russia relations, drawing on the positive cooperation generated by the post-11 September fight against terrorism. It was the British Prime Minister, Blair, who first suggested the establishment of a new mechanism of cooperation. At that time, the Pentagon was quite reluctant to support this idea. The United States’ main concern, shared by NATO’s Central European members, was that the new council would allow Russia to ‘sneak in by NATO’s back door, split the allies and veto military decisions’.127 Although Putin surely did not have an easy time selling the NRC either, he finally supported the idea, proposing that it could replace the existing PJC. Its main goals included a determination to further intensify the common struggle against the terrorist threat; strengthening of cooperation by way of a multi-faceted approach, including joint assessment of the terrorist threat to the Euro-Atlantic area, focusing on specific threats, for example, to Russian and NATO forces, to civilian aircraft and to critical infrastructures.128 The NRC operates on the principle of consensus; members take joint decisions and bear equal responsibility, individually and jointly, for their implementation; the Council is chaired by the Secretary General of NATO;129 meetings are held at various levels: Foreign and Defence Ministers (twice annually), Heads of State and Government (as appropriate), Ambassadors (at least once a month with the possibility of more frequent meetings, at the request of any Member or the NATO Secretary General); establishment of a Preparatory Committee, at the level of the NATO Political Committee, with Russian representation (meeting twice monthly, or more often if necessary); the possibility of establishing committees or working groups for individual subjects or areas of cooperation (ad hoc or permanent basis), drawing upon the resources of existing NATO committees; meetings of military representatives and Chiefs of Staff, taking place no less than twice a year, meetings at military representative level at least once a month (with the possibility of more frequent meetings if needed), meetings of military experts may be convened as appropriate. In fact, the NRC does resemble the PJC in many ways. All the 19 areas – from peacekeeping and monitoring weapons of mass destruction to combating international terrorism – for possible cooperation, as listed under Section III of the Founding Act, remain valid in the framework of the NRC. In addition, the work programmes for 2002 agreed on in December 2001 in the framework of the PJC continued to be implemented under the auspices and the rules of the NRC. 82

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Furthermore, except for the principle of consensus (actually the essential feature of the NRC differing from the PJC’s 19 ⫹ 1 format), the NATO Secretary General’s chairmanship, and the Preparatory Committee at the level of the NATO Political Committee, the functioning of respectively the NRC and the PJC is quite identical. This parallelism apparently does not bode well, since the PJC has had a troubled life. From the Russian perspective, meetings of the former PJC have tended to be pro forma, not taking the Russian views seriously. Nevertheless, the different new features introduced in the new Council exemplify an important step forward. First, meetings at ‘20’ would supplant the earlier ‘19 ⫹ 1’ dialogue between NATO and Russia. Joint political debates at 20 on equal footing would defeat the charge posed sometimes against the PJC forum that it was not a debate of 19 ⫹ 1 but of 19 against 1. Unlike the PJC, the NRC gives Moscow an equal voice on decisions concerning counter-terrorism, arms control, civil emergencies, crisis management, peacekeeping, maritime safety and the spread of nuclear, chemical and biological arms. However, it continues to deprive Russia of a veto on security issues. Indeed, in case of disagreement, full NATO members can decide to remove the issue from the NRC and to discuss it ‘at 19’. Likewise, they retain veto rights on subjects, on which they may consider that a debate with Russia may act against their interests. Second, joint political decisions should be eventually implemented in order to stress joint action and finally, the agenda of the new NRC formula should be broadened. A greater focus would be put on threats such as international terrorism and weapons of mass destruction. It should also be noted that, although the creation of the NRC represented a fundamental change in Western dealings with Russia and a move in the direction of a genuine cooperation, the key issue is still Russia’s relationship with NATO, and not – at least for the time being – Russia’s role fully integrated within NATO. This new NRC is again all about trust and confidence. The new partnership may evolve into a sort of associate membership in which Russia, along with other concerned non-NATO countries, is increasingly involved in NATO decisions and actions, short of Article 5 commitment. Though the new body was only granting Russia with relative decision-making power within the Alliance, this was compensated, in the Russian perspective, by the possibility of operating inside the NATO decision-making framework. Indeed, the joint decision-making process without adequate prior consultations within the Alliance itself would give Russia the possibility to make use of eventual differences among NATO Allies for its own benefit. Moscow also hoped to link the new NRC to other matters like, for example, NATO enlargement.130 On the NATO side, the agenda for joint debates within the NRC had thus to be specified with extreme clarity in order to avoid any faux pas. Putin’s view of the necessity of a renewed cooperation with NATO faced critics, coming, as usual, from the Ministry of Defence and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. These were concerned that the development of new forms of formal cooperation, such as the NRC, would be seen in the West as primarily 83

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‘compensation’ to Russia’s acquiescence for NATO enlargement, as occurred in the past with the Founding Act and the PJC. NATO–Russia renewed partnership could thus be used as a weapon against Putin in the domestic battle, if he was unable to provide evidence of concrete benefits and advantages. The situation would be different if Russia became a full member of NATO. At first sight, numerous factors seem to justify the full integration of Russia into Atlantic structures. As a NATO member, Russia would no longer regard its own security as being under threat and as a consequence it would also view NATO’s eastward expansion as a positive development. Moreover, this would symbolise the ultimate stage of NATO’s transformation and the effective end of the Cold War. In addition, it could eventually result in the end of the dominant role of the United States within the Alliance and the situation in Europe would be stabilised, Russia providing the counterbalance to the growing weight of a united Germany.131 However, a realistic assessment of this possibility attests to its low feasibility. To begin with, NATO countries are not interested in such a perspective, at least until the situation in Russia becomes more stable, and especially more predictable. The problem is also that, in many instances, Russia is viewed as a Partner, not an Ally.132 Furthermore, Russia simply cannot be compared to most Central and Eastern European states which have rapidly acquired a certain stability and are already familiar with democratic institutions. These countries have clearly identifiable problems while Russia’s problems are considerable and too diffuse. Russia has been the heart of an immense empire for centuries, it has a long history and a cultural heritage. It has huge potential and a geostrategic position and cannot become a member of the European family overnight. Russia remains in transition, and while it increasingly shares many values with Western democracies, democratisation is far from complete. Furthermore, the political elite and public opinion of Central and Eastern Europe countries, unwilling to find themselves once again in Russia’s shadow even within NATO, would oppose the attribution of NATO membership to Russia. Finally, many sections of the Russian society – primarily the Russian Ministry of Defence and the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs – are still against such a development. Nevertheless, as Philip Gordon noted: Being unready for membership today is very different from being rejected as a potential candidate for all time. The symbolic message of a NATO open to Russia would, at a minimum, underscore the point that NATO has been trying to make for a long time, and that in the wake of the terrorist attacks may finally be sinking in – that NATO and Russia both need to get beyond the Cold War mindset and work together for peace across the continent.133 The key issue is thus Russia’s relationship with NATO, not – at least for now – Russia’s role fully integrated within NATO.134 Nevertheless, the 11 September 2001 84

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terrorist attacks on the United States led to a turning point in relations between Russia and NATO.

Conclusion To those who may argue that 10 years are not enough to draw firm conclusions on what a relationship entails and what it is leading to, our study of the 10-year-relationship between NATO and Russia shows, on the contrary, that much can be learnt from it. Of course, we may be lacking a bit of that distance that is normally necessary to analyse events in the most objective manner. However, the lessons learnt from even the most recent developments in NATO–Russia relations following the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks, if maybe not exhaustive, are already very enlightening as to what these relations are made of, and how they may develop in the future. At the end of the Cold War, very few could predict what direction NATO–Russia relations would take, or if there would be any relations at all. At that time, both NATO and Russia were faced with a matter of survival. Russia, as the main heir of the Soviet Union, had to ensure itself what could be regarded as a decent status on the international scene. This task was complicated by the fact that Russia no longer had the means to live up to its imperialistic/superpower standards, and that the acknowledgement of this weakened status implied that Russia, just like any average power, associate itself with others. NATO, on the other hand, had to find a raison d’être after the demise of its enemy number one. This endeavour was complicated by the fact that NATO would have to review downwards its collective defence nature and evolve towards a more collective security posture,135 and that this evolution, to be successful in the long term, would have to involve the former members of the Warsaw Pact, including Russia itself. These circumstances served as the basis for the beginning of relations between NATO and Russia, first through the PfP in 1994 until the signature of the Founding Act and the creation of the PJC in 1997. At that time, the reasons advocated to explain the failure of the PJC were the peculiarities of the Russian identity and NATO’s inability to take them into account. Above all, Russia did not accept being pushed into a status where it had no say over NATO’s policies. The Kosovo conflict, and NATO’s neglect of Russia’s standpoint in the resolution of the crisis, brought miscomprehension between NATO and Russia to its paroxysm. Not only did Russia have some difficulties in accepting its loss of power and having to take orders from its former enemy, but NATO member states also could not understand or believe in Russia’s constant demand for equal partnership, fearing a Russian conspiracy to damage the Alliance. The most striking point in these conflicting times between NATO and Russia is that the freeze of relations was the only thing that did not last. Russia’s participation in SFOR was maintained throughout the conflict; Russian forces soon joined NATO’s force in Kosovo; and contacts between the two parties resumed hardly one year after they were interrupted. 85

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The events of 11 September 2001 and their subsequent positive consequences on NATO–Russia relations could have come as a surprise. Without comparing these circumstances to those of the Kosovo conflict, we could wonder how an external event could have such an opposite effect on NATO–Russia relations. Furthermore, how could certain experts still present the Russian identity as the main cause of failure in NATO–Russia relations if these took such a positive path after 11 September 2001? Indeed, one cannot say that the Russian identity suffered such a shift between 1999 and 2001 that cooperation with NATO suddenly appeared as feasible. In other words, identity cannot be the one element that once blocked any perspective of relations between NATO and Russia and next made it possible. Other reasons must explain the difficulties that NATO and Russia encounter when interacting together. Richard Pipes looked at the role of Russian identity in determining Russia’s future after the Cold War and then came to the following conclusion: Doubts linger because so much about post-communist Russia is unfinished and unsettled. Fledging democracy contends with ancient authoritarian traditions; private enterprise struggles against a collectivist culture; frustrated nationalist and imperialist ambitions impede the enormous task of internal reconstruction. Russians, bewildered by the suddenness and the scope of the changes they have experienced, do not know in which direction to proceed. A veritable battle for Russia’s soul is in progress. Its outcome is of considerable concern to the rest of the world, if only because Russia’s geopolitical situation in the heartland of Eurasia enables it, weakened as it is, to influence global stability. Whether it indeed joins the world community or once again withdraws into its shell and assumes an adversarial posture will be decided by an unpredictable interplay of domestic and external factors.136 It is probably more in this ‘interplay of domestic and external factors’ and the interaction of individual interests between NATO and Russia, than in mere identity or cultural clash, that we should find the explanation for such difficulties in building cooperation between the two.

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6 RUSSIA’S PERCEPTION OF NATO ENLARGEMENT A case study

There is no problem in Europe that is not more manageable through Russian cooperation, and none that does not become more intractable if Moscow finds its interests in ways that oppose Western interests.1

Introduction In the previous chapters, we concluded that the identity gap between Russia and NATO member states was not an obstacle to their relations. We also evoked the possibility that conflict of interests between the two parties might be a more plausible explanation. In order to test the validity of this assumption, there is no better way than to single out a situation in which Russia and NATO may have opposed interests and to see to what impact this opposition has on their relations. In this respect, NATO’s enlargement eastwards has long been presented as the one policy that Russia would never tolerate from the Alliance. More than NATO’s intervention in Kosovo, the question of enlargement drives a nail into fundamental Russian interests. At the same time, it constitutes for NATO a matter of survival. As mentioned earlier, NATO’s gradual transformation from an exclusively collective defence organisation into a collective defence and security institution implied the integration of former Warsaw Pact members. In this way, security in the Euro-Atlantic area would be guaranteed by the assurance of the definite removal of the Soviet threat. At the time when this research work was completed, NATO had already engaged in a second wave of enlargement eastwards, with seven Central and Eastern European countries – all former Warsaw Pact members – preparing for definite integration into the Alliance.2 Although this might well forebode the outcome of our present case study, we decided to focus only on the first wave of enlargement eastwards, which led to the integration of the Czech Republic, Hungary and Poland into NATO in 1999. However, it is evident that our conclusions from this case study will be made bearing current developments in mind. Again, it is the Russian approach – not that of the Alliance – that will be adopted when looking into this critical phase in NATO–Russia relations. Our first 87

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goal will be to identify what the Russian reaction to NATO’s enlargement was, and what motivated this position. Special emphasis will be put on the analysis of Russian interests when enlargement was first envisaged in 1994, and their evolution throughout the enlargement process. Our second objective will be to assess the effectiveness and the realism of the Russian policies developed in reaction to NATO’s decision. In so doing, we will have at heart either the confirmation or refutation of the arguments that the perspective of NATO’s enlargement eastwards would toll the bell of its relations with Russia.

Evolution of the Russian perception of NATO enlargement The idea that the Central European countries should become members of NATO did not even cross any Western leader’s mind in 1989, when all the communist regimes collapsed: the Soviet Union was still around, and its military might appeared unshakeable. For the West, the immediate concern was to ensure Soviet approval for a reunified Germany in NATO.3 After gradual and cautious rapprochement with the Alliance during the Gorbachev era, the new democratic Russia engaged itself in the framing of a strategic partnership with its former adversary. NATO’s enlargement first emerged as a key political issue in Russia in the aftermath of Yeltsin’s August 1993 visit to Warsaw. During his visit, President Yeltsin stated that he understood well enough Poland’s intention to integrate with NATO structures. Many observers interpreted these words as Russia’s unconditional consent to Polish membership of NATO. However, in light of the subsequent protests in Moscow, Yeltsin revised his position and retracted his earlier declarations. In a letter sent to Western leaders in September 1993, Yeltsin stated that he opposed the eastward expansion of the Alliance and that this would provoke negative reactions in Russia. He also argued that enlargement would be illegal in view of the terms of German unification.4 NATO’s decision on enlargement in December 1994 gave a new impetus to the Russian domestic debate on this issue.5 Some experts believed that enlargement was inevitable and that Russia should acquiesce to this process on acceptable terms. According to them, NATO was likely to make the following concessions: the spreading out of the integration process in order to permit Russia to adapt itself to the new situation; the provision of guarantees for Russian borders including that of the Kaliningrad region; the commitment not to station any nuclear weapons systems and allied troops on the territory of the new member states in peacetime; the acceptance not to conduct any military exercises on the territories adjacent to Russian borders without prior consultation with Moscow; Russia’s equal participation in military procurement for the former Warsaw Pact and new NATO candidate countries. In these experts’ views, these obligations should be legally binding and recorded in a NATO–Russia Treaty. However, this approach overlooked the fact that the applicant countries were aspiring to full membership and would thus be reluctant to renouncing the stationing of foreign troops and nuclear weapons on their territory. 88

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The publication of the NATO enlargement study6 in September 1995 also contributed to the intensification of anti-NATO rhetoric. In the view of the Kremlin, the study appeared to completely ignore Russia’s interests and concerns. Furthermore, this publication coincided with the launch of the first large-scale NATO offensive in history with the extensive bombardment of Serb installations in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Russia strongly criticised NATO’s increasing activism and warned that it would have to reconsider its relationship with NATO, should the air strikes continue. Although the Dayton Peace accords of November 1995 contributed to alleviating the Russian concerns and led to Russia’s decision to participate in NATO’s IFOR, the operations in Yugoslavia had seriously affected the Alliance’s image in Russia. In particular, its failure to consult with Russia over its actions and the conclusive evidence that it had ceased in practice to subscribe to its proclaimed purely defensive functions stood as worrying developments for Moscow and were taken as another instance of Western betrayal and duplicity. In 1996 and 1997, NATO enlargement was the leading issue in Russia’s relations with the West. Russian opposition began to intensify in response to US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright’s strong support for NATO’s eastward expansion. As Laurence Black pointed out, ‘all political groups in Russia claimed that their country had been stabbed in the back, or kicked when it was down, by a NATO that had promised not to do precisely what it was now doing’.7 On 24 January 1997, an anti-NATO association8 was formed within the Duma, gathering, in a few weeks, more than one hundred deputies. It more than doubled its membership in very short order. This raised the obvious concern that NATO’s enlargement could be exploited by diehard nationalist forces against the Yeltsin government.9 Indeed, NATO’s expansion represented a defeat for Yeltsin’s strategy of conciliation and reliance on the West: Accordingly, a dominant note in Moscow discourse on NATO is that Russia was compelled to accept something to which it had strenuously objected. This usually makes for a politics of anguish and vindictiveness: somebody has to take the blame for defeat and something has to be done in response to the challenge. The opposition, naturally, blamed Yeltsin and his policy of reliance on the West. Yeltsin, just as naturally, has to blame the West and thus adopt more elements of the hardline analysis and programme. Under NATO pressure, he could ill afford to challenge the hardliners; indeed, he needed them to rally around the Kremlin.10 Given his precarious political situation and the need to preserve the support of the foreign-policy bureaucracy and the power ministries, Yeltsin could hardly ignore the opinion expressed by his conservative establishment. In March 1997, he summarised Russia’s position as follows: Russia remained opposed to NATO enlargement plans and especially to the possible eastward advance of the Alliance, which risked leading to a new confrontation. For the Russian leader, his 89

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political survival depended largely on his ability to provide evidence of the success of engagement with the West. On the other hand, should his opponents manage to prove that his pro-Western policies were damaging for Russia, his political career would be doomed to failure. In this very tense political atmosphere, Yeltsin soon understood that he could use the nationalist card as leverage in his negotiations with the West, by showing that Russian pro-Western orientation needed to be encouraged.11 Yeltsin warned that the NATO policy could provoke a backlash from Russia and thus presented this state of affairs to his Western counterparts as a choice between the democrats and the reactionaries, between a government representing the force of peace and the Red–Brown nationalist opposition, the party of war. He also warned that even those political forces inclined to further engaging with the West12 might be forced to adopt tougher policies and that Russia might be tempted to revert to a more self-assertive or nationalist course if this permitted reviving its prestige and power. Alarmed by Moscow’s growing opposition to enlargement, NATO sought to repair relations. The idea – mainly advocated by the Clinton Administration – was to convince the Russian elite that it could build a partnership with NATO despite its disagreement over enlargement. However, the simultaneous achievement of two apparently mutually exclusive goals – NATO enlargement and the maintenance of partner relations with Russia – was far from easy. In the Russian view, a renewed NATO – Russia relationship was a separate issue that could never be traded against enlargement. Furthermore, Moscow was still expecting clearly worded guarantees for Russia’s security regarding the non-expansion of the NATO military infrastructure eastwards and the non-deployment of Allied nuclear weapons and foreign forces on the territories of the prospective new member states. The Kremlin also had at heart discussion of NATO’s progressive transformation from a military alliance into a political organisation. Indeed, although officially declared in Berlin in June 1996, NATO’s adaptation to the new security environment was far from being implemented. According to the Russian leadership, such discussions should also permit the development of a joint approach to all European security-related issues, and allow joint-decision on issues of particular interest to Russia on a basis of consensus. However, it soon became clear that enlargement would proceed along NATO’s terms.13 Only this was viewed by Russia as a way for NATO to contain Russia’s political influence and prevent it from re-emerging as a strong regional power. The Founding Act was a poor compensation insofar as NATO, the PJC notwithstanding, remained an organisation where Russian opinion counted for little.14 Despite Russia’s fear of see its partnership with NATO be the price of enlargement, the signing of the Founding Act did pave the way for NATO’s expansion eastwards. At the Madrid Summit in July 1997, the Allied leaders formally invited Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic to start accession talks with the Alliance, to step across the old Yalta division and become NATO’s first independent new recruits from what was once Soviet-dominated Eastern Europe, in 90

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time for its 50th anniversary in 1999. Russia accepted this enlargement, ‘albeit grudgingly and conditionally’.15 In the perception of the Russian government and increasingly of the whole population, a new world order was emerging while their country stood by as helpless observer. Even the most outspoken Nationalists were caught off guard as their most rhetorical predictions finally came true. For the Russian policy planners, this meant rethinking their country’s place in this new world order. They observed with fear the execution of NATO’s first out-of-area operations, which they considered to stand in full violation of international law and the structure of the UNSC. The old image of a rapacious West re-surfaced on Russian streets in a way that was, this time, more spontaneous than orchestrated. NATO policy was probably not entirely responsible for this unfortunate state of affairs, because overwhelming economic and political disarray are still the main sources of Russian grievance. Yet NATO provided a convenient backboard against which angry Russians of all strata could vent their spleen. At any rate, it is paramount to comprehend fully the Russian understanding of NATO expansion eastwards.

Why Russia opposed NATO’s enlargement Russia’s strong objection to NATO’s enlargement created some nervousness in the West. Some experts like Philip Zelikow interpreted this as the rebirth of a Russian imperialistic policy towards Central and Eastern Europe.16 Yet, this reaction must be put into perspective to be properly understood and assessed. A number of factors contributed to hardening Russia’s stance vis-à-vis this eastward expansion of the Alliance. These include the terms of German unification;17 Russia’s loss of superpower status; NATO membership for ex-USSR republics, especially the Baltic States and Ukraine; and domestic politics. German unification and broken promises . . . In 1989, in view of the unacceptability of German neutrality to the West, the Soviet government had initially put forward what it thought to be a compromise solution: a dual German membership of both NATO and the Warsaw Pact, with the membership of NATO framed along the lines of the French status within the Alliance.18 The reasons that finally led the Soviet Union to concede to the integration of a reunified Germany into NATO were diverse. First, the Soviet leadership soon realised that it could hardly prevent this process from happening and that any confrontational attitude would be useless and self-defeating. Moreover, such an attitude would be in contradiction with Gorbachev’s New Thinking and hamper the rapprochement process between the East and the West. Second, the Soviet Union needed friendly relations with a Germany that now stood as a major European power; and in this context, it could not ignore the will of the Germans.19 Third, Moscow needed the West to take its interests and concerns into account. Actually, apart from security guarantees, the USSR desperately needed financial 91

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aid that the West was willing to offer for the pursuit of domestic reforms. Last but not least, Soviet leaders aspired to the emergence of a new European order, based on mutual trust and cooperation, a project to which any confrontational attitude would again be detrimental. Despite all these arguments, hardliners continued to oppose reunification of Germany and its membership in NATO. In their opinion, Western economic aid in return for Moscow’s, acceptance of a reunified Germany within NATO could not guarantee Soviet security. However, these critical voices failed to change the official Soviet position, which was based on the pragmatic calculation of the country’s security and economic interests. On 12 September 1990, the ‘Two Plus Four’ Treaty was signed in Moscow between the two German states and the four powers (the United States, the USSR, Great Britain and France). Clearly, the admission of a reunified Germany into NATO precluded further enlargement since a provision of the international deal foreclosed the stationing of foreign troops within the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG)’s Eastern lands. Moscow agreed to this decision on the understanding that the West would not seek further expansion eastwards.20 Gorbachev would also later reiterate that Western leaders had then promised to observe Russia’s geopolitical interests, to take its security into account and not to put them under threat.21 Such assurances take on obligatory force in diplomatic practice and their revocation inevitably generates an atmosphere of distrust and suspicion. The question of whether such promises had been made was the subject of considerable controversy. Nevertheless, as Jonathan Eyal pointed out: Throughout this decade various Russian leaders have claimed with more or less conviction that the Kremlin was promised by Germany’s Chancellor Kohl that NATO would never expand in central Europe if a united Germany were allowed to remain within the alliance. German officials have repeatedly denied these allegations. The reality is probably that both sides are at least partly right. Helmut Kohl did not formally promise anything about NATO’s future intentions. But at the same time there is no doubt that the main thrust of the German–Soviet discussions – and, indeed, the discussions between the United States and the Soviet Union at the time – was precisely in the direction of reassuring Moscow that its loss in central Europe would not be translated into a Western gain. From the east European perspective, informal reassurances are just as effective as treaties.22 Gorbachev himself later referred to his conversations with the Western statesmen, including German Chancellor Helmut Kohl, US President George Bush, and US Secretary of State James Baker. According to the former USSR president, the fact that the promises were not part of some written agreement was irrelevant since the expansion itself crudely violated the spirit of the Paris Charter.23 92

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Not surprisingly, there was a persistent consensus in Moscow that NATO’s stated intention of developing a genuinely cooperative partnership with Russia could not be trusted since the Alliance had made promises, especially over the issue of enlargement, which it had then reneged upon. Loss of superpower status and strategic isolation After the sense that NATO could not be trusted, the second driving force behind Russia’s fierce opposition to NATO enlargement is the bitter Russian sense of loss of its superpower status – the feeling of being humiliated, driven out of Europe and outcast. Anything that was perceived as denying Russia a respectable place in an evolving European security space, or which relegated it to the sidelines of European developments and undermined attempts by Moscow to reassert its influence on the Continent provoked a painful reaction in the Russian mind. Russia was still experiencing considerable difficulties in adapting itself to the country’s radically changed geopolitical situation. The loss of superpower status and the sudden emergence of new states on Russia’s periphery were sources of considerable unease and confusion.24 This post-imperial frustration was exacerbated by the fact that Russia’s position with respect to a number of traditional security parameters – such as access to the high seas and availability of critical resources, etc. – had significantly deteriorated with the disintegration of the former USSR a decade ago. Furthermore, new problems of the utmost sensitivity had emerged, and particularly the plight of tens of millions of ethnic Russians who suddenly found themselves living outside their country. All this reinforced Russia’s feeling of being marginalised both from Europe and Asia. The former superpower was now facing exclusion from international affairs. This relates to the ‘perception that the process of NATO enlargement is symptomatic of a broader policy of undermining Russia’s capability to pursue national objectives in its domestic, regional and international policies’.25 This fear of strategic isolation was as much psychological as geopolitical. Since 1992, Russians had been discovering that history was being made around their borders and those of the Soviet Union, but that it was no longer being made by them. This was an extremely difficult reality for those people who continued to view their country as a great power. Furthermore, one could not discount the historical consciousness behind this. Historically, Russian philosophers and historians had pondered their country’s place in Europe for centuries, some of them considering that Russia should expect rejection from a combined Europe. Tsarist ideologies, in particular, laid a firm basis for a ‘them versus us’ approach long before the Marxist–Leninist assumptions that the world was divided into two immutably hostile camps, one capitalist and the other socialist. The explanation that NATO’s expansion was the continuation of an historical contest between East and West might not be correct, but to humiliated Russians it rings true. This discourse also refers to the definition of Russian national identity. Since the fall of Marxism–Leninism, some Russian politicians have used the 93

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concept of the ‘Russian idea’ to provide both society and the political elites with some intellectual support for building a foreign policy consensus.26 As Laurence Black explained: Neo-communist and nationalist thinkers have used the concept to provide Russians with a sense of uniqueness and purpose, often explained in anti-Western syllogisms. Extremists quickly turn such views into xenophobic and messianic diatribe. In short the nineteenth-century debate among Russian thinkers about the relative worth of Russian and Western cultures – Slavophile vs. Westernizer – is back in Russian intellectual and political circles. For Westernizer, however, one can now read proAmerican. The NATO question is peripheral of the philosophizing side of the debate, but often is seen as a symptom of Western distrust of Russia’s character. NATO expansion to the east had been the greatest obstacle in the way of greater Russian integration with Europe. The NATO question took up so much diplomatic energy that it obscured such important issues as expanding the mandate of the OSCE, Russian admission to the EU, and even the notion of any other basis for European security.27 The collapse of the USSR left Russians scrambling to resurrect their organic history from the shadow into which the Communist Party of Soviet Union (CPSU) had cast it. Evidence that a Slavophile vision28 lurked beneath the surface of even the most openly Westernising groups emerged when the least aggressive opponent of enlargement among Russia’s major political leaders, G. Yavlinskii, drew a parallel with German imperialism. For obvious reasons, the image of a new version of Drang nach Osten – German Drive to the East – comes quickly and readily to the Russian mind. The origins of this term can be traced to the days of Aleksander Nevskii who defeated the Teutonic Knights in 1242. More recently, it refers to the Nazi expansion into the USSR in 1941.29 Moreover, one should not forget that the majority of the Russian politicians and journalists of the 1990s were products of the USSR. A mistrust of Western, especially American motivation was inculcated in them during their childhood school days and in their early professional careers. The stereotypes learnt from the Soviet system of upbringing cannot be discounted fully unless there are compelling reasons to cast them aside. By the same token, Russia’s state of national humiliation makes the search for scapegoats inevitable. The perception that NATO was at best indifferent to Russia’s troubles, at worst delighted about them, was a psychological variable that happened to have enormous implications for European security. Not surprisingly, the NATO enlargement issue led to a sense of defeat among the Russian population and the political leadership.30 Altering the military balance In the misfortune of the disappearance and the demise of the Warsaw Pact in 1991, the liberation of Central and Eastern European countries from the yoke of 94

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Russia led to the creation of a de facto security buffer zone between Russia and NATO, that was finally perceived in Russia as the worst conceivable solution. In this context, the perspective of an integration of these countries into Euro-Atlantic institutions would not only deprive Russia of this security guarantee but might also lead to the revival of old fears and play into the hands of militarists both in Russia and NATO.31 While few people believed NATO was indeed planning large scale military aggression against Russia, the modernisation of Central and Eastern Europe’s military infrastructure was perceived as creating dangerous bridgeheads from which massive air strikes could be launched against Russian targets. Central Europe would now link the NATO northern (Norway) and southern (Turkey) flanks, making the expansion enormously important strategically even if troop contingents from other countries are not stationed in Eastern European countries. Moreover, as Laurence Black stressed: From the strategic perspective, the danger of new members making further inroads against Russia was highlighted. Romania might make a grab for Moldova, for instance, and the Baltic States could follow the Visegrad group (Hungary, Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia) into the Alliance, creating an insurmountable barrier between Russia and the rest of Europe. NATO enlargement was already perceived, therefore, as the creation of a buffer zone in reverse, a means to isolate the new Russia from continental Europe.32 The Russian leadership was convinced that the integration of East and Central European countries into NATO would not enhance their security. On the contrary, these countries might then be perceived as a potential threat to Russia’s national interests and security.33 Some experts even invoked the logic of the security dilemma in order to highlight that efforts to make Central and Eastern Europe secure would inevitably reduce Russia’s perceived security. Although Russia may not pose a threat now, the expansion could induce her to adopt more aggressive policies.34 Russian concerns over the alteration of the global security balance were reinforced by the perception that NATO’s strategy was notably intended to weaken or even supplant Russian influence in its near abroad, particularly in the Baltic region and Ukraine.35 Central and Eastern European countries had never stopped being the subject of Russia’s interests and, while Russia had finally cast aside its former imperialist policies, it could not ignore the fact that it was the biggest state in the Eurasian region. Drawing a red line: the Baltic States and Ukraine Russia’s national security concept, approved by Yeltsin on 17 December 1997, clearly stated that the prospect of NATO expansion to the East was unacceptable 95

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to Russia and represented a threat to its national security. Consequently, the fact that Russia vehemently opposed Baltic membership of NATO did not come as a surprise. On the other hand, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania also posed particular difficulties for the Alliance’s open door policy. Indeed, the Baltic region had a tumultuous history, in the course of which Russia and key European powers had competed simultaneously or consecutively for its strategic and ideological control.36 Since their incorporation into the Russian empire at the end of the eighteenth century, the Baltic nations had been the subject of cultural oppression and substantial Russification. Their independence in the aftermath of First World War was of short duration and was gradually annihilated by the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact in 1939, subsequent Soviet annexation and the Yalta Accords in 1945. The new Baltic parliaments then requested inclusion of their states in the Soviet Union. Despite decades of forced Sovietisation, the deportation and loss of tens of thousands of Baltic citizens and the successive waves of Russian immigration, the Baltic republics had always viewed themselves as part of Western Europe and maintained their sense of national identity and separateness; they finally regained their independence and international recognition in 1991, following the failed August coup in Moscow. This background explained the feeling of fear that the leaders of the Baltic countries shared concerning Russia’s toehold in the region.37 In June 1996, President Yeltsin stated that Russia was willing to provide security guarantees to the Baltic States, jointly with NATO if necessary. However, he reiterated that even the hypothetical possibility of extending NATO’s sphere of operation to the Baltic states was out of the question and absolutely unacceptable to Russia. For their part, the three Baltic republics were only interested in security guarantees emanating from the West, not from Russia. In their view, membership of NATO remained the only guarantee of their security and of stability in the region. This was also seen through the prism of prospective Western investment in the region, something that was hoped would counterbalance the still strong Russian economic predominance. Having said that, the Baltic States viewed NATO’s possible transformation into a political security organisation with a cautious eye. Indeed, they needed assurance that the defensive nature of the Alliance would continue to prevail in the near future. Likewise, they hoped that Russia would not be given any role in NATO’s decision-making process that might affect Baltic security.38 As for the Russians, they had always believed, from the time of Peter the Great, that their natural Western borders were on the Baltic Sea, which provided them with warm-water ports, a strategic position for the defence of northern Russia, and a window on Europe. During the Soviet era, the three Baltic States formed an integral part of the USSR’s cordon sanitaire in the event of an attack from the West, a fact which in itself helped to explain why Russia was far from keen at the prospect of any, if not all, of the Baltic republics becoming members of NATO.39 Obviously, there was a strong psychological dimension to the questions relating to the territory of the former USSR. 96

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Furthermore, Moscow was preoccupied by more practical security issues such as access to the Baltic Sea, border disputes40 and the maintenance of ties with the strategically important Russian minorities (especially in Estonia and Latvia). The fact that Russia had defined the Baltic region as part of its near abroad drew a red line through any possible NATO enlargement to the region. The signing of the Charter of Partnership between the United States and the Baltic States in January 1998 was thus seen in Moscow as another step towards Baltic entry into the Alliance. In reply, the State Duma passed a resolution urging the president and the government to work out a programme to counter NATO’s expansion. While NATO enlargement is the single issue that looms largest over the Baltic region, there were issues which, while not directly related to NATO’s enlargement, posed problems between the Baltic countries and Russia and needed to be addressed separately. Among these figured the Russian minorities issue, but also the case of the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad. Kaliningrad Oblast, a small piece of Russian territory sandwiched between Poland and Lithuania, posed a special problem. Formerly part of East Prussia, the enclave had been part of Russia since the end of the Second World War and its native population was overwhelmingly Russian. The planned NATO enlargement – as well as that of the EU41 – seriously complicated Kaliningrad’s special geopolitical situation, insofar as it would completely isolate the enclave from the Russian mainland, and surround it with new NATO members. Kaliningrad’s strategic and psychological importance – the latter perhaps not immediately obvious – largely outweighed other aspects.42 Indeed, given both its physical and population size, it would be fallacious to suggest that the Oblast was vital to the economic wellbeing of Russia. Even its pure military importance needed to be relativised.43 In other words, regardless of the existence of the Kaliningrad enclave, Russia remained a major power in the Baltic region, a status that it had enjoyed for over 300 years and would be quite reluctant to give up. In this context, Russia’s presence in the Baltic States could not be conditional. As an expert noted, ‘by geography, history and culture, Russia has been there, is there and will continue to be there for a good number of reasons’.44 The interpretation of Russia’s relationship with Ukraine should not be limited to that of a power trying to exert influence on its neighbour for its own purposes. The two states not only shared a long common history, but Russia also felt emotionally linked to Ukraine, insofar as it found its historical origins in the ancient Kievan Rus’. Therefore Russia and especially the Russian leadership found it difficult to accept the developments following the disintegration of the USSR. There was a clear perception that Ukraine was seeking to establish a foreign policy that was independent from Moscow. Not surprisingly, the country’s attempts to establish a West-orientated policy were considered by the Russian political elite and most of the population as a betrayal of their common history. Furthermore, Ukraine’s immediate post-independence situation was extremely uncertain. Many had predicted, even desired, that Ukraine would reunite with Russia, and many in Ukraine feared that it would not be able to withstand the political, economic and industrial might of the big brother.45 97

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The relationship with Ukraine reached an all-time low in the course of the negotiations for the revision of the Black Sea Fleet and for the rights of stationing armed forces in the Crimean peninsula. In both fields, Kiev demonstrated its autonomy. It was only when Russia started to exert growing economic pressure that Ukraine agreed to soften its position. The NATO–Ukraine Charter and the improved relations with the European Union reflected Ukraine’s ambitions to defend its interests and to demonstrate its independence from the Russian Federation. The foundation of the Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova (GUUAM) alliance,46 designed to curb Russia’s influence on the successor states of the former USSR, should be considered in the same context. In Moscow, this was obviously considered as a hostile organisation acting against the interests of the Russian Federation. Ukraine’s approach towards NATO fundamentally reflected its overall foreign and security policies aimed at seeking closer ties with the West while being mindful of its continued dependence on Russia. Since independence, Ukraine had sought to benefit from both the West and Russia, while looking for opportunities to bolster Ukraine’s sovereignty. As Jonathan Eyal wrote: For quite some time Ukraine opposed NATO’s enlargement principally because it feared the effects of a potential Russian backlash. The Ukrainian position has undergone some subtle changes, but the authorities in Kiev have ultimately concluded that NATO’s enlargement can be to their advantage. An alliance bordering Ukraine is the best proof Ukraine has that its survival as an independent state is now of crucial importance to the rest of Europe. The main problem for the West is how to make it clear to Ukraine that the country’s viability ultimately depends just as much on what the Ukrainians accomplish at home, particularly in economic reform. Maintaining a balance between sustaining Ukraine politically and simultaneously urging the country’s leaders to take charge of their own affairs will not be easy.47 Therefore, unlike Russia, Ukraine welcomed the idea of NATO’s enlargement. Unlike President Yeltsin, President Kravchuk never opposed the expansion of the Alliance or the possibility of future NATO membership for Ukraine. On the contrary, the Ukrainian president tended to favour military cooperation with Euro-Atlantic security structures at the expense of other cooperation opportunities with Eurasian structures such as within the CIS Collective Security Treaty. In this context, Kiev paid utmost attention to NATO–Russia relations. Indeed, the Ukrainian view was that NATO–Russia rapprochement might soften Moscow’s stance with regard to a developing NATO–Ukraine relationship. Reciprocally, should Russia–NATO relations break down and Moscow vehemently oppose Ukraine’s integration efforts long before its making any robust inroads into NATO structures, Ukraine would be compelled to sideline its NATO membership ambitions. 98

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On the Western side, despite Ukraine’s pro-NATO policy, the Alliance initially paid little attention to the country and its security concerns. Russia remained the Allies’ focal point of attention, something that only further raised Ukrainian security concerns. This lack of Western interest added to the necessity of pursuing close economic and political links with Russia – especially in energy and trade matters – making it difficult for Ukraine to embark on a strict pro-Western path. For Russia, this was a very effective way of hindering its neighbour’s EuroAtlantic integration and of increasing its dependence on Russia.48 According to Russian geopolitical thinking, maintaining Ukraine within its sphere of influence was crucial to ensuring Russia’s predominant role on the continent and to a greater extent to rebuilding its superpower status. Ukraine not only fell within the Russian sphere of interests, but also soon became the most important country of the post-Soviet area.49 When the question of the West’s stake in the security of the Baltic States and Ukraine arises, ‘an uncomfortably large percentage of politicians, significant portions of the media, and even some parts of the policy-making community instinctively viewed Western policies as not merely ill-advised or insensitive to Russian concerns but as aimed at diminishing or endangering Russia’.50 Not surprisingly, as NATO representatives continued to declare that the issue of NATO expansion was already predetermined and remained out of Russia’s scope, Russia felt constrained to take certain steps in order to protect its own interests.

Russia’s countermeasures NATO’s decision to enlarge was followed by a series of formal statements by Russia expressing its opposition and pointing to countermeasures including new strategic directions based on multipolarity; military integration within the CIS and the Slavic Union; and abandonment of arms control agreements. The multipolar world and new strategic partners Once Russia recognised that it could not stop enlargement and that its position on this process could hardly bear any influence, it sought to ‘limit it numerically and geographically and hollow it out militarily’.51 NATO’s expansion forced Russia to re-examine its entire foreign policy, including the initiation of negotiations with other states such as China and India.52 Until late 1996, this policy remained hesitant.53 It was then gradually integrated into a broader political approach in which the United States would not be the single dominant power. This idea of a new multipolar world54 was partly rhetorical, in that it helped President Yeltsin’s team to alleviate the sentiment of humiliation conveyed by Washington’s attitude, and appealed to Russia’s nationalists. In December 1998, Russian Prime Minister Primakov suggested the creation of a Moscow–Beijing–Delhi strategic triangle. The idea was not to create a military block but rather to build a diplomatic and economic counterweight to the current unipolar US-dominated world. 99

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NATO’s air strikes against Yugoslavia in March 1999 marked the first manifestation of a combined response by Russia, China and India to an international crisis. They subsequently announced that they would coordinate their efforts to seek peaceful solutions to the Balkan dismantlement. While implementing this doctrine, Primakov not only gained internal approval for his policies, he also introduced a well-founded justification for them that gathered support for its key positions such as the rapprochement with China. He also provided new and more viable grounds for imparting an ideological dimension to the competition with Washington and a good cover for regional involvement in Asia. The Sino-Russian partnership was also linked to important economic and political reasons. From an economic perspective, China and India – but also Iran55 – were very valuable markets for Russian military weapons; India and Iran, in particular, were consumers of Russian nuclear technology.56 The Indo-Russian technical military agreement was finalised at a meeting held in Moscow on 5–6 October 1997. Russian policy based on the principles of multipolarity and constructive or strategic partnership gave these countries opportunities to get access to certain types of sophisticated technologies which were denied to them in the West for political reasons. From a political perspective, this common battle against NATO’s enlargement was fought in Cold War language and image-making. The agreement signed between Russia and China on 23 April 1997 was presented to the media as a new partnership for the twenty-first century and included strongly worded criticism of NATO’s enlargement. Yeltsin and Jiang Zeming re-emphasised the prominent role of the UNSC and reaffirmed their opposition to a world increasingly dominated by the United States. Moscow defined this accord as a step towards a multipolar world and a positive alternative to a lingering Cold War syndrome. To many, this was a direct consequence of NATO’s intervention in an out-of-area regional conflict and of its expansion eastwards. Obviously, we cannot deny that both sides embraced a range of common interests. The two countries were pursuing the same strategy for achieving long term security within their immediate region. Russia was trying to create a peaceful and stable environment on its periphery, while China wanted to establish a goodneighbour zone around its territory. In purely geostrategic terms, Russia and China shared a strong interest in preserving stability in the regions along their common border.57 Furthermore, the two countries also shared many interests in the Central Asian region. China hoped to develop friendly and mutually beneficial relations with the newly independent Central Asian States. As for Russia, it sought to maintain strategic axes to Central Asia, through multilateral mechanisms such as the Shangai Five,58 the Treaty of the Four59 or the ASEAN Regional Forum,60 but also through bilateral arrangements with key states such as Kazakhstan and Armenia. Russia and China, as large continental powers with abundant resources, were likely to have roughly similar interests with regard to economic and strategic developments in the region. In this regard, the Chinese leadership was unlikely to object to any future Russian moves aimed at promoting political stability and economic normalisation in the Central Asia region. Finally, in the 100

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sphere of international security, Russia and China could indeed, by working together, exert enormous influence on the evolution of a multipolar international security structure. Both hoped to carve out a position of influence largely independent of predominant Western security arrangements.61 And yet, one should bear in mind that China remained a great uncertainty in Russia’s security environment. Despite this new cooperative and strategic partnership, China’s military build-up, geostrategic situation and unsettled territorial dispute with Russia made it almost impossible for Moscow to exclude any threat whatsoever from that direction.62 For their part, the Chinese leaders were perfectly aware of the fact that Russia might use their country as a bargaining chip with Europe. At the same time, on the level of practical policy, China could try to play the Russian card in its complicated relations with its Western partners.63 Although Moscow and Beijing seemed to speak a common language, there were thus clear limits to this solidarity.64 In addition, the two countries had different views on key Asian matters. While China expressed concern over the April 1996 Japan–US Security Treaty, Russia kept responding to Japan’s moves towards closer relations. Second, Russian diplomacy and media exaggerated chances for a triangular Russian–Chinese–Indian relationship to restrain US world hegemony. Although Indo-Chinese dialogue had resumed and both sides were willing to improve their bilateral relations, Chinese leaders were quick to protest. After all, only six months earlier India had become a nuclear power with the justification that it needed these weapons because of the threat from China, as well as its dispute with Pakistan. IndoChinese rivalry was too deep and extensive to be overcome by such transparent means. Therefore the potential of such a triangle was not to be overestimated:65 cooperation was handled pragmatically and limited to concrete fields of shared interests. Russia’s and China’s perceptions of their bilateral relations also differed substantially. While Russia was trying to convert common interests into some kind of mutual and binding cooperation, China preferred a multilateral approach confined to the framework of the rather abstract 1997 Declaration on Multipolar World. It was also ready to support multilateral security arrangements, but only in the framework of inter-state Asian organisations. The partnership between Russia and China resulted in only very modest exchanges of support on regional and international issues. For example, China’s opposition to NATO expansion was largely symbolic and did not evoke the passion it aroused in Moscow. It was only when the Kosovo operation started in apparent defiance of UN mandates that China began to share Russia’s fear of the NATO enlargement process. The unfortunate bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade on 7 May 1999 further intensified this sentiment.66 Added to NATO’s perceived breach of UN rules, this incident was another illustration of what actions an enlarged NATO could undertake against non-member nations and especially possible rivals. Even though they officially attacked US policy in their joint commitment to an anti-hegemonic stance in world politics, matters essentially stopped there. 101

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For sure, there was no sign of a pledge of future military support for each other in the case of conflict.67 As in the past, China rejected the idea of entering into an exclusive alliance with any power or group of powers. By the same token, Russia focused on both the West and the East to preserve its status of essential actor in world security affairs. Both were perfectly aware that ‘an exclusive alliance would serve the long term interests of neither since it would provoke other nations into developing a hostile stance towards them, and would run counter to the interests of stability and security in the Asia-Pacific region and globally’.68 In the end, the strategic partnership did not amount to a closely coordinated policy and did not impose any obligations on either side in its dealings with third countries. Many of their joint statements on international affairs were only declarations of their interests and intent. The significance of this relationship should be neither exaggerated nor dismissed. The most likely future of the relationship is that Russia and China will continue to deepen their cooperation. In the words of Sherman Garnett: Each will see bilateral ties not as a grand alliance or an alternative to ties with the United States and the West, but rather as something that increases its own options. Political linkages, growing economic ties, and arms sales give the relationship durability. Yet substantial constraints will allow the evolving relationship to go only so far.69 Undoubtedly, the Russian government did not expect to resurrect a defensive bloc in the spirit of the Warsaw Pact. These multilateral agreements were also driven by reasons that were more compelling than NATO expansion, including the need for trade, arms market requirements and Caspian Sea oil concerns. In terms of security, the Kremlin strongly believed that Russia’s security could not be disassociated from good relations with China, India and other countries in the Asia-Pacific region. However, the importance accorded to preserving relations with the West would in the end undermine Russia’s strategic partnership with China.70 Despite various grievances against the United States, both Russia and China valued their relationship with the superpower more highly than their bilateral entente. For Russia, the United States was essential in its efforts to attract foreign investment and continued support from international financial institutions. As for China, despite its frequent disagreements with US policy, its political and especially economic relations with Washington71 are more important than any prospects of an alliance with a troubled and at present relatively weak Russia.72 In the post-Cold War international security setting, Russia will, as it has for centuries, look to the East as well as to the West to safeguard its vital national security interests. Cooperation with China and Central Asian states in all spheres is a necessary element in the perspective of its self-preservation and self-enhancement. The causal drive behind Sino-Russian relations was, and will continue to be, the protection of the national interests of each. Both Russia and China have a vested 102

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interest in securing cooperative bilateral relations with each other over the long term. The existing distribution of capabilities also generated incentives for cooperation between them. The current international system is unambiguously unipolar, and as Kenneth Waltz stressed, ‘in international politics, overwhelming power repels and leads other states to balance against it’.73 Countries like Russia and China want to counterbalance US hegemony in order to strengthen multipolar and multilateral tendencies in the world. Many Russian and Chinese experts argued that, just as NATO was instrumental in imposing American will on Western Europe during the Cold War, it could likewise permit the United States to extend its influence to Eastern Europe. NATO enlargement could be seen as part of the United States’ overall strategy to preserve its global preponderance and the unipolar world that emerged in the wake of the Soviet Union’s demise. However, in a unipolar structure, counterbalancing is almost impossible to achieve and is often doomed to permanent failure. To be effective, counterhegemonic alliances must not merely content with the existing pro-US bandwagon.74 They must be reliably binding; should aggregate economic potential into the concrete capabilities necessary to be a pole; and permit the merging of armed forces, defence industries and strategic decision-making.75 This is indeed the fate that befell Russia and China when they tried to counterbalance. Notably absent was any willingness on either part to accept any significant political or economic costs in countering US power. The Beijing–Moscow strategic partnership did not entail any costly commitments or serious risks of confrontation with the United States. Their policy was mainly one of ambiguity: to talk about creating a counterbalance while working with the United States on important issues. Their promotion of multipolarity as a governing principle of international relations was merely a means to pursue concrete national interests, and to get the best bargains given the distribution of power. In doing this, they advocated foreign policies not limited to a single direction or area of concern but active in all areas. The multipolar world and the evolution of Russia’s security concepts On 21 April 2000, President Putin signed a decree approving a New Military Doctrine. The document, which replaces one approved by former President Yeltsin in 1993 is a revised version of the blueprint published in the official Defence Ministry newspaper Krasnaya Zvezda on 9 October 1999. In this document, the military security of the Russian Federation rests upon strategic, political and economic factors. Therein, the threats to the military security of the country are assessed as having clearly increased since 1993. Although there is no explicit mention of the threat posed by the United States or by NATO expansion, the document refers to the expansion of military blocs and alliances as detrimental to Russia’s military security. In addition, NATO’s actions are indirectly criticised when listing actions characterised as destabilising the political–military situation, 103

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such as the use of military measures as a means of humanitarian intervention without UNSC sanction in circumvention of generally accepted principles and norms of international law. According to Henrikki Heikka: If the unipolar ambitions of the US are seen as the main threat to the stability of the international system, then the attempts by Russia’s Baltic neighbours to gain formal security guarantees from NATO are not perceived by Moscow primarily as a regional security problem, but as an integral part of the most important threat to Russia’s national security.76 To sum up, the New Doctrine reflects a gloomier and more militarised worldview than the previous one. This more assertive doctrine can be regarded as a reaction to the continuing decline of Russia’s standing in international politics. This is particularly apparent in the paragraph addressing the lowering of the deployment threshold of nuclear weapons: The Russian Federation reserves the right to use nuclear weapons in response to an attack on itself or its allies by nuclear weapons or other weapons of mass destruction, and also in response to large scale attack by conventional weapons in situations critical to the national security of the Russian Federation.77 This new nuclear policy can also be found in the New National Security Concept78 approved by President Putin on 10 January 2000 in replacement of the National Security Concept79 signed by President Yeltsin in December 1997. While recognising that the threat of large-scale aggression against Russia in the foreseeable future is practically absent, the document underlines that Russia has to conduct its policy from a position of relative weakness. In other words, the weakening of the Russian Federation justifies the repositioning of nuclear arms as the only guarantee of security.80 In this context, nuclear deterrence becomes the most important task of the Russian armed forces. One of the major changes in Russia’s declared nuclear posture is probably the reconsideration of the long disregarded option of nuclear first strike.81 However, the new nuclear policy does not define the use of nuclear weapons clearly,82 nor does it specify whether nuclear weapons are to be considered instruments of war-prevention or war-fighting.83 Indeed, according to the New National Security Concept, ‘all forces and facilities available, including nuclear weapons, will be used if necessary to repel armed aggression, if all other means of resolving the crisis have been exhausted or have proved to be ineffective’. In the 1997 version of the National Security Concept, this article read differently: ‘Russia reserves the right to use all forces and means at its disposal, including nuclear weapons, in case an armed aggression creates a threat to the very existence of the Russian Federation as an independent sovereign state’. This means that nuclear weapons are no longer reserved solely for extreme situations 104

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as in the event of a threat to Russian national survival, but can also potentially be used in a small-scale war that does not necessarily threaten Russia’s existence. These formulations thus show that Russia is trying to compensate its conventional weakness by moving beyond a nuclear doctrine based exclusively on deterrence. In both documents, the motives of the West with respect to NATO enlargement, Kosovo, or missile defence are – at least implicitly – condemned, and military force is still presented as by far the most relevant instrument of power in international relations. As a consequence, the level and posture of the military potential of the state is to be enhanced to a sufficiently high level. Thus, while the 1993 Military Doctrine mainly consolidated the view of Russia as a regional hegemon, the New Military Doctrine and the New National Security Concept both reflect a consensus on the imperative to counterbalance Western power in order to promote a multipolar international system. CIS military integration and the Slavic Union On many occasions, Russia had warned that any NATO enlargement would not only entail stronger alliances with other countries in Eastern asia, but also with its existing partners within the CIS. Russia had a specific agenda with respect to the CIS, which represented Moscow’s traditional sphere of influence. Indeed, Moscow believed that it had more chances than anyone else to contain instabilities in that region. However, its efforts to promote integration with the former Soviet republics raised apprehension in those nations, where Russia was suspected of turning the CIS into its ‘velvet empire’. Such a suspicion existed even more so in the light of Russia’s obvious inclination to treat the CIS as its exclusive zone of influence to which other international actors should be denied or enjoy significantly limited access. This revived interest in the CIS area was not without risk for European security. On the one hand, this had the potential to destabilise the whole region, something that would have implications for European security. On the other hand, if successful, these efforts might resurrect the Cold War division of Europe. Moreover, Moscow’s insistence only further enticed the CIS countries to distance themselves from Russia. As Roland Danreuther underscored: It is however, in Russia’s relations with the CIS countries, and its failure to construct a countervailing CIS alliance against NATO, that the limitations of Moscow’s anti-NATO policies have been more apparent. As a general rule, the greater the pressure that Moscow applied on other CIS states to oppose NATO, the more these countries sought closer cooperation with NATO. Most CIS countries refused to adopt the requisite antiNATO stance.84 The only exception to this complete failure of Russia’s foreign policy was Belarus. Minsk had indeed adopted a suitably anti-Western posture and sought 105

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full integration with Russia. A joint statement issued by Yeltsin and Belarus President Lukashenko on 7 March 1997 showed that opposition to NATO’s expansion was an essential factor in negotiations about further rapprochement between the two countries.85 And yet, any integration with Belarus and further association with the authoritarian and vehemently anti-Western Belarussian President Alexander Lukashenko, could be more a hindrance than an advantage to Russia. Indeed, this would mean that the Russian leadership would have to turn a blind eye to the Belarus president’s dictatorial rule.86 In addition, considering Lukashenko’s machiavelism, it was quite likely that Belarus would in the end try to evade Russia’s overall dominance within the Slavic Union. In the end, the Russian attempt to build a countervailing anti-NATO alliance within the CIS has been primarily notable for its failure. Arms control: the CFE and START agreements Enlargement was also presented as a threat to the existing and prospective armscontrol agreements, such as START II and the Conventional Armed Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty. Since June 1993, Moscow had insisted on the review of the flanks limits of the CFE Treaty, which restricted the number of Russia’s conventional weapons in strategically important areas – the Leningrad and the North Caucasian military districts. The war in Chechnya made this problem even more urgent for Russia. In February 1997, NATO proposed the elimination of the anachronistic CFE framework in favour of a new structure replacing the old 1990 NATO–Warsaw Pact Treaty’s group limits in favour of national and territorial ceilings. Moreover, in order to ensure interoperability with the Alliance, aspirant countries were building smaller armies more in line with those of the west Europeans. The combination of these lower national force levels and NATO additional members was still below the authorised force level under the CFE mechanism.87 These proposals, however, fell short of Russian calls for a complete ban of permanent stationing of all ground and air CFE-regulated equipment outside the territory of present NATO members, as well as for binding guarantees against the deployment of nuclear weapons. At that time, Russia was also engaged with the United States in a process aimed at drastically reducing their respective strategic nuclear weapons. The START I, signed in July 1991 and in force since 1994, aimed at reducing deployed strategic weapons of both sides from well over 10,000 to 6,000. During the Washington Summit of June 1992, Yeltsin agreed with Bush to reduce strategic weapons well below START I ceilings and proposed the reduction of nuclear warheads of long-range missiles to between 3,000 and 3,500 and the signing of the START II Treaty for such a reduction.88 However, NATO’s expansion reinforced the value of nuclear deterrence in the Russian military mind, thereby reducing the odds of a ratification of the 106

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START II Treaty by the Duma.89 The military then pointed out that enlargement would not only increase the military potential of the Alliance and the existing imbalance of conventional forces in Europe, but also NATO’s ability to strike Russia’s strategic facilities with tactical aircraft. Although Moscow had reaffirmed the general reorientation of Russia’s threat perception over the past few years – from the West to the South – and recognised the impossibility of a conventional or nuclear war with NATO, this position was not definite and could be reconsidered in light of NATO’s enlargement and/or NATO’s use of force outside its area of responsibility. By the same token, all arms control agreements between Russia and NATO/USA could be at stake.90 The reality, however, proved to be different. On 14 April 2000, the Duma finally ratified START II.91 Shortly thereafter, the United States and Russia indicated that they were prepared to engage in START III negotiations to further reduce strategic weapons to 2,000–2,500. The evolution of the arms control negotiations between Russia and the West is a clear example of the limits of Russia’s margin of action against the West’s policy in general, and NATO’s enlargement in particular. Although at first resolute to use the arms control treaties as a leverage against NATO’s initiative, Russia finally found itself with no other alternative but to pursue, and even enhance, the arms reduction process. This tactical failure adds up to the other vain measures that Russia had resorted to in order to counter NATO’s expansion eastwards. Soon, cooperation appeared to be the only possible framework for NATO–Russia relationship.

Opting for cooperation In choosing cooperation despite the circumstances, the Russian leadership demonstrated that it had learnt the lessons from the past. Russia’s confrontational posture during the first round of enlargement proved to be vain and extremely damaging to Moscow. It only pushed Central and Eastern states further towards NATO and marginalised Russia from its near abroad. President Putin’s early statements thus asserted that Russia would no longer rely on extreme countermeasures – even in the case of accession of the Baltic states – since such a policy would be counterproductive and would jeopardise Russia’s crucial interests. The Kremlin had finally accepted – although reluctantly – that it had neither the power nor the influence to oppose NATO membership for aspirant countries. The experience of the past years had also progressively proven to many in Russia that they could live with an enlarged NATO. This was notably reflected in the recent improvement in Russia’s relations with the former Warsaw Pact and new NATO member states.92 In addition, there were now more pressing issues for the Russian foreign policy elite, including the reinforcement of control over regions; the protection of territorial sovereignty threatened by the Chechen conflict; and, of course, economic considerations depending inter alia on increased Western investment. We should also bear in mind that a successful relationship with NATO would only be praised if beneficial for the Russian Federation. A positive dialogue with the Alliance 107

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could also partly contribute to the building of a strategic partnership with the United States which is now viewed by the Russian leadership as predominant. Nevertheless, any faux pas or a persistent low-profile status could be easily used as a weapon in domestic politics. Russian power ministries and especially the military establishment are still very sceptical about any renewed partnership with NATO. As Dmitri Trenin observed: President Putin’s decision not to challenge the West on traditional geopolitical issues rests on high pragmatic calculations related to Russia’s economic needs and on the realization that defending the indefensible is a lost cause. However, much of the foreign and defence establishment and the public at large are less visionary. To them, the West remains devious and their own leadership is hopeless naïve not to oppose further Alliance enlargement, with the result that Russia is gradually being encircled by NATO. The critics need to be convinced that the country’s interests are still taken care of.93

Conclusion We started this case study with the aim of assessing to what extent potential conflict of interests between NATO and Russia may constitute a more plausible explanation of the difficulties encountered by the two parties when attempting to interact together. In this respect, the question of NATO’s enlargement eastwards appeared as a relevant matter for analysis. Beyond the sole anti-NATO feelings that persisted within the Russian population in the early 1990s, the perspective of NATO’s enlargement posed more serious problems in terms of Russian power over the former Soviet sphere of influence, and the consequent impact that this would have on its status on the international scene and on its foreign policy priorities and strategy. In the Russian view, NATO’s enlargement would be another step towards the establishment of a unipolar world, in which the Alliance would act as an instrument of American global hegemony. Such a perspective was in total contradiction with Moscow’s aspirations for a multipolar world, in which the United Nations and the OSCE would be the only institutions of reference. Furthermore, Russian strategists feared that NATO’s enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe might undermine their country’s influence over the former Warsaw Pact area. In their view, such a policy from NATO member states was mainly directed at further isolating Russia from the international arena. For their part, NATO Allies never doubted that enlargement would have a powerful impact on Russia and Russian politics. On the contrary, the decision to enlarge to Central and Eastern Europe was made in full knowledge of a strong reaction from Russia. At that time, all Russian political decisions were made in reaction to NATO’s enlargement. From the tentative strengthening of the CIS, the contingency partnerships with China, India and Iran, to the adoption of new security and military 108

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concepts, all these decisions aimed at counterbalancing NATO’s expansion. In addition, our analysis also revealed that the extent of Russian opposition to NATO’s enlargement was largely motivated by domestic reasons. In other words, if we cannot deny that NATO’s enlargement did run counter to some of Russian interests, the strength with which Russian opposition was expressed largely aimed at securing the internal political stability of the country, and assuring the Russian public opinion that its fears and expectations were still fully taken into account by the leadership. Changing policies and adopting new ones does not happen in one day; it requires a sufficient level of consensus between a government and its electorate: In the world of practical politics, however, even the most powerful imperatives are not recognized immediately or fully if they involve sharp departures from the past. Redirecting the thoughts and emotions of large numbers of people usually requires substantial time and often a crystallizing crisis. Fundamental changes in security policy can occur only if a new consensus is formed.94 If consensus between the leadership and its population is essential for a shift in policies to be successful, it is also imperative for two parties engaging in relations together to agree on some kind of common ground on which they will be able to base these relations. In the case of enlargement, it first seemed impossible that NATO and Russia would find such a common ground. Individual interests were then too conflicting for this to happen, and, inevitably, enlargement did affect NATO–Russia relations. However, individual interests are never fixed. A given interest can even vary in importance depending on circumstances and on other interests that may motivate a country at exactly the same time. In the context of NATO’s first enlargement eastwards, Russia was soon faced with a difficult choice between two different interests. On one hand, Russia intended to maintain influence over its near abroad; on the other, it attached the utmost importance to its rapprochement with the West and to its inclusion in the new international order. When the Kremlin finally realised its powerlessness vis-à-vis NATO’s expansion, it nevertheless decided to maintain its relations with the Alliance. This is simply the result of a change in Russia’s priority interests. Maintaining relations with NATO, and through it, with the West in general, appeared of greater importance than the fight for outdated policies or a lost cause. This point was more recently corroborated by President Putin’s reaction to the announcement of the second wave of NATO’s enlargement eastwards. While not denying his opposition to enlargement in principle, President Putin also made it clear that Russia’s interests rested primarily on the pursuit of good relations with the West, and in particular with NATO. Against this background, we can conclude that, if individual interests of NATO and Russia can sometimes be conflicting and can indeed hamper their relations, the ability of NATO and Russia to work on their common interests will prove to 109

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be beneficial to each of them and to their relations. Beyond enlargement, Russia did not want to be excluded from the international scene. Regardless of enlargement, NATO member states did not want to break off relations with Russia. It is this common ground that permitted the two to survive the enlargement trial and take their relationship forward. Robert Jervis aptly described this mechanism by which powers have to moderate their individual interests for their cooperative relations to be optimised: They did not seek to maximize their individual power positions, they did not always take advantage of others’ temporary weaknesses and vulnerabilities, they made more concessions than they needed to, and they did not prepare for war or quickly threaten to use force when others were recalcitrant. In short, they moderated their demands and behavior as they took each other’s interests into account in setting their own policies.95 For such a relationship to develop into true and equal cooperation, it remains to be seen what cooperative arrangements would best fit both Russia and NATO.

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We shall see how the counsels of prudence and restraint may become the prime agents of mortal danger; how a middle course adopted from desires for safety and a quiet life may be found to lead direct to the bull’s eye of disaster. We shall see how absolute is the need of a broad path of international action pursued by many states in common across the years, irrespective of the ebb and flow of national politics.1

Introduction Our analysis of this first decade of NATO–Russia relations has shown to what extent cooperation between these two parties was not to be taken for granted – to the contrary, it required a great deal of adjusting and concessions on both sides to become viable. And yet, this analysis further confirmed the assumption that cooperation between NATO and Russia is not only possible but can even meet the individual interests of both. At this stage, the question is thus no longer to prove the utility and the necessity of such cooperation, but to identify the model based on which it could best develop. NATO already offers one model of cooperation in the form of a collective defence and security alliance. However, as we will demonstrate in the forthcoming chapter, collective defence and security arrangements imply a number of conditions, including membership of the concerned institution, that cannot apply, at least at this stage, to Russia’s case. In this context, it is necessary to seek other cooperation models, and possibly find the one that would best apply to NATO and Russia. In this chapter, we will thus look at a number of theories of international relations addressing the question of multilateral cooperation. Special emphasis will be placed on the study of the realist strand and its variants.2 This personal choice is first motivated by the conviction that, as underlined by Robert Keohane, ‘any approach of international relations has to incorporate, or at least to come to grips with, key elements of Realist thinking. Since Realism builds on fundamental insights about world politics and state action, progress in the study of international relations requires that we seek to build on this core’.3 111

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Furthermore, it appears that NATO–Russia relations resemble in many respects the interstate relations depicted by the realist approach. Since the creation of NATO in 1949, both parties have been placed in a context of continuous power struggle, where the actions of one were always the object of the other’s suspicion, and where individual security could only be preserved if ensured against the other rather than with its cooperation. In this context, the prospect of cooperation between actors like NATO and Russia seems as unlikely as the perspective of cooperation between states in the realist approach. Closer analysis of specific realist strands will help us to identify in what circumstances cooperation can take place, and whether this can be applied to the case of NATO–Russia relations. The theories of simulated gaming obviously constitute the most direct and systematic approach to questions of strategic interaction. In looking at the Prisoner’s Dilemma and the Stag Hunt experiments, we will seek evidence that cooperation is preferable to free-riding. We will also look at the notion of Security Dilemma in those circumstances where cooperation remains improbable. The study of Structural Realists or Neorealists will permit us to move beyond classical Realism and to consider a systemic approach to cooperation, the idea being to assess the impact of the international system on relations between independent actors. Our aim there will be to prove that NATO–Russia relations are not definitely set on a competitive basis, but can embrace a cooperative dimension because the system in which they now evolve is conducive to it. The theory of international regimes will provide insights as to the conditions where mutual interests may emerge. With this study, we will try to confirm the assumption that cooperation is the optimal strategy whenever independent actors share common interests. In so doing, we will be in a position to underpin our previous conclusions that the emergence of terrorism as a common threat to both NATO and Russia and the acknowledgement that cooperation is the optimal strategy to counter that threat do provide solid grounds for NATO–Russia cooperation to be successful. This theoretical analysis cannot end without closer examination of the notions of collective defence, collective security and cooperative security. This study shall shed some light on the reasons why the first two are less suitable to the case of NATO–Russia cooperation, and why the last presents the greatest number of advantages.

Realism and cooperation In all times, kings, and persons of sovereign authority, because of their independency, are in continual jealousies, and in the state and posture of gladiators; having their weapons pointing, and their eyes fixed on one another; that is, their forts, garrisons, and guns upon the frontiers of their kingdoms, and continual spies upon their neighbors; which is a posture of war. (Thomas Hobbes)4

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Origins and fundamental assumptions The realist approach to world politics can be traced back as far as Thucydides, the chronicler of the Peloponnesian War who wrote that ‘right, as the world goes, is in question only between equals in power, while the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must’.5 Ever since then, Realists of any stripe have emphasised that ‘the use of war and diplomacy by states is as important to the international system today as they were to the Greek city–state world 2,500 years ago’.6 Contemporary realist assumptions thus represent the culmination of thinking about international relations over the centuries. For Realists, the nature of interstate politics has not changed significantly over the millennia, nor is it likely to do so any time soon. Modern Realism began as a reaction to the breakdown of the post-First World War international order in the 1930s. The utopian idealism of the interwar period and the collapse of great power cooperation after the Second World War helped establish it as the dominant approach to the theory and practice of international politics. As James Rosenau commented: Traditional Realism holds that we live in a world of opposing interests and of conflict among them, moral principles can never be fully realized, but must at best be approximated through the ever temporary balancing of interest and the very precarious settlement of disputes.7 For Realists, states are the principal actors, and the study of international affairs focuses on these units. Non-state actors such as transnational organisations and other multinational corporations are either downplayed or even excluded in the realist perspective.8 Few people would actually question the importance of the State in world politics. States are also conceived as rational: any of their decisions derives from calculations in which means and ends are linked in a logical fashion. States seek to maximise their expected utility and will not act in any way that might injure their own self-interests. As Kenneth Waltz9 stressed it, ‘force is a means of achieving the external ends of states because there exists no consistent, reliable process of reconciling the conflicts of interests that inevitably arise among similar units. A foreign policy based on this image of international relations is neither moral nor immoral, but embodies merely a reasoned response to the world about us’.10 To most Realists, the struggle for power among states is at the core of international relations. In the words of Morgenthau: ‘International politics, like all politics, is a struggle for power. Whatever the ultimate aims of international politics, power is always the immediate aim’. He further argued that political Realism understands politics through the concept of ‘interest defined as power’.11 Realists argue that the absence of a central and overriding authority helps to explain why states come to rely on power, seeking to maintain or increase their power positions vis-à-vis other states. Consistent with the world as described by Hobbes, 113

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there is really nothing to keep a supposed ally from betraying a security agreement or any other international pact. There is no world governmental authority to enforce covenants or agreements among states. The absence of a higher authority and of any hierarchy within the system leads to what is known as anarchy.12 In this sense, it does not mean chaos, violence, and destruction. For Realists, it implies that states have to protect and look out for themselves – that they must rely on themselves to ensure order and obtain the resources needed.13 Without a Leviathan (or a hegemonic power or world state), suspicion, distrust, conflict, and war are seemingly inevitable. In the absence of any social contract among – or authority over – them, there are no moral obligations to govern the relations of states.14 In this context, competition appears to be the one and only rule in relating with other states. And cooperation, although not impossible, will be confined to a second-rate priority.15 And yet, Realists, using game theory and its attendant assumptions of unified rational state actors, have tried to explain how cooperation in an anarchic international system can be achieved. Although common interests are stressed more than in some forms of Realism, the basic assumptions are consistent with the hard core of this school: attention is concentrated on the state as an actor and cooperation is presented as a means for states to further their own self-interests. The game theory The game theory, which originated in economics after Second World War,16 has indisputably a direct bearing on the study of foreign policy choice and the majority of scholarly work on cooperation.17 Theorists who deal with simulated gaming retain the rationality assumption under conditions of uncertainty: ‘each actor attempts to maximise expected value across a given set of consistently ordered objectives given the information actually available to the actor or which he could reasonably acquire in the time available for decision’.18 Applied to our subject, this means that states act according to a strategy aimed at optimising their own interests. In this context, a state’s behaviour will also partly depend on the anticipated behaviour of others, something that game theorists explain as follows: ‘Issues arise against distinctive backgrounds of past experience; they are linked to other issues being dealt with simultaneously by the same actors; and they are viewed by participants through prisms of their own expectations about the future’.19 Two particular games – The Prisoner’s Dilemma and Stag Hunt – offer striking realist paradigms. The Prisoner’s Dilemma and the game of Stag Hunt Political theorists draw on the concept of the Prisoner’s Dilemma to ‘explain the contractarian-coercion conjunction at the root of the modern state, arguing that the state of nature is a prisoner’s dilemma in which individuals have a dominant

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strategy of defecting from common action but in which the result of this mutual defection is deficient for all’.20 The Prisoner’s Dilemma21 was named after a story commonly used to illustrate the above logic. According to this story, two thieves under arrest are separately confronted with two antinomic options, one that is fundamentally cooperative (‘cooperate’), and one that is essentially competitive (‘defect’). In the event that both of them opt for ‘cooperation’, namely neither confesses the crime, they may be freed for lack of evidence. However, any confession of the crime by one of the thieves will result in a heavier sentence for the one who refused to confess.22 Under these conditions, and no matter what the other does, each player will immediately obtain an advantage by defecting. The dilemma is that if both defect, the reward resulting from that attitude remains smaller than if they had cooperated.23 For sovereign, self-interested states, assuming substantial aversion to risk, mutual defection seems to be the clear solution to the dilemma, the only strategically sensible outcome. But it leaves both players in a sub-optimal position.24 As Robert Jervis noted, ‘states often fail to cooperate, not because they cannot surmount the Prisoner’s Dilemma, because they are in Deadlock and prefer mutual defection to mutual cooperation’.25 The Prisoner’s Dilemma actually exemplifies international relations, marked by conflict, competition and insecurity even where there are strong incentives to cooperate. When initial gains are expected to create positive feedback, each state will have strong incentives to defect, irrespective of whether its ultimate intentions are aggressive; moving first may endanger the other, but it is necessary in order to protect the state. As a result, mutual restraint will be difficult to maintain even if both sides are satisfied with the status quo.26 As noted, the central question for the work on anarchy is how cooperation is possible when actors are in a Prisoner’s Dilemma – that is, when they have the following preference order: exploiting or taking advantage of the other, mutual cooperation, mutual defection and being exploited. If cooperation is to arise in the rigid setting27 of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, its sources often lie in the iterative conception of the game.28 In a world governed by anarchy, self-interested states faced with the Prisoner’s Dilemma will opt for cooperation only once the spiralling effect of defection has been recognised. As Keohane put it: It requires, that these egoists expect to continue to interact with each other for the indefinite future, and that these expectations of future interactions be given sufficient weight in their calculations. This argument reinforces the practical wisdom of diplomats and arms controllers, who assume that state strategies, and the degree of eventual cooperation, will depend significantly on expectations about the future.29 In the Prisoner’s Dilemma, concern about the future helps to promote cooperation. According to Robert Axelrod, ‘the more future payoffs are valued relative to

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current payoffs, the less incentive to defect today – since the other side is likely to retaliate tomorrow’.30 Axelrod went beyond this assumption and showed that a strategy of cooperation based on reciprocity (the so-called ‘tit for tat’) can foster the emergence of stable cooperation among egoists.31 Theorists following his lead and modelling politics as a Prisoner’s Dilemma, conceptualise cooperation as a single alternative, the only one that is better over the long run than mutual defection. Governments may have incentives to practice reciprocity in a variety of situations that are characterised by mixtures of conflicting and complementary interests – that is, in certain non-zero sum games. The key conditions for the successful operation of reciprocity are that mutual cooperation can yield better results than mutual defection, but that temptations for defection also exist. In such situations, reciprocity may permit extensive cooperation without making cooperative participants inordinately vulnerable to exploitation by others. Furthermore, such a strategy helps the whole community by punishing players who use uncooperative strategies.32 In other words, states agree to coerce one another in order to guarantee that no individual would take advantage of another’s cooperation by defecting from the pact and refusing to cooperate.33 The dilemma can thus be evaded, or made less severe, since players make a mutual cooperation pact and establish some mechanisms to enforce it, increasing the likelihood of cooperation by reducing the risk of being suckered. These findings obviously bear on a central issue in international relations theory: the role of institutions and rules. What is rational for states to do, and what states’ interests are, depend on the institutional context of action as well as on the underlying power realities and state position upon which realist thinking concentrates.34 By providing both insurance against undesirable behaviour and additional incentives to cooperate, international norms and institutions may thus ameliorate the dilemma or even transform the game, even where Prisoner’s Dilemma logic does operate.35 The role of institutions, however, is hampered by the very existence of states as key actors and the persistence of anarchy.36 Realists usually believe that institutions are primarily instruments of statecraft, reflecting mainly state interest.37 In pondering the state’s retreat, Susan Strange used the same argument and observed that an ‘international organization is above all a tool of national government, an instrument for the pursuit of national interest by other means’.38 In a system of self-help, states are likely to stress the objective of binding others to keep their commitments and will be quite reluctant to bind themselves. For Realists, ‘states can take themselves out of anarchy if they choose to cede much of their sovereignty to a central authority’.39 In this context, they may overcome their reluctance to binding themselves through international agreements. Nevertheless, even where enforcement is available, some mutually beneficial outcomes may be missed because of bargaining dynamics and miscalculations.40 This is due to the fact that states often do not perceive each other accurately and thus interpret the other’s behaviour in such a way that their respective strategies are found totally incorrect or misleading.41 116

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In political interactions, the major impediment to cooperation is psychological and lies in the tendency that decision-makers have to underestimate the extent to which their actions may harm others. In other words, what they would perceive as a cooperative action may be seen as defective by a disinterested observer. As Robert Jervis noted, ‘in several cases security regimes may have been ruled out not by the fact that a major power was an aggressor but by the fact that others incorrectly perceived it as an aggressor’.42 In the same vein, states tend to overestimate the others’ aggressiveness and will often consider their counterparts’ actions as defective. This misperception issue repeats itself in a number of situations. Indeed, states tend also to consider their concessions to be greater than the compensations that they obtain in return. In addition, when statesmen realise that the other side has cooperated, they often believe that it did not have much choice. In this respect, decision-makers underestimate the ability of others to defect, and therefore frequently falsely believe that they can get away with some exploitation. A statesman’s understanding of the other’s behaviour is thus heavily influenced by how he thinks his own state is behaving towards the other, and so they both take actions they might not have taken had they understood the consequences and also misinterpret others’ reactions as evidence of unprovoked hostility.43 The importance of cognition and beliefs in any perception-building is obvious enough. Perception defines interest and amplifies the statesman’s dilemma in deciding whether to cooperate or not. Therefore, it is crucial to understand the process by which interests are perceived and preferences determined.44 Each state faces uncertainty about the other’s motives, something that might lead it to favour undesirable competition.45 Uncertainty about the other’s true motives is dangerous insofar as it may fuel a feeling of insecurity, something that Realism identifies as the key source of international conflict. It may also propel countries into undesirable competition. Nevertheless, it is essential to note that this same competition may be an incentive for essentially rational actors to use cooperative or unthreatening policies when the risks of competition exceed the risks of cooperation. In other words, ‘cooperation is particularly valuable if it reduces the adversary’s uncertainty, convincing it that the first state is motivated more by insecurity than by greed; this would further reduce the probability of conflict caused by an opponent’s insecurity’.46 As Robert Jervis notes: Strategies that are robust in the face of misperception are extremely valuable, but it is far from certain that they exist. Stable cooperation is most likely to result when the decision-makers’ preconceptions provide an accurate fit with what the other side is like; that may be as much the product of luck, however, as of sensitivity and statesmanship. It is clearly important to determine the extent to which strategies that would work well when information is accurate can also serve in a world permeated by ambiguity and strong perceptual and decision-making biases. Neither scholars’ analyses nor statesmen’s policies can safely be based on the assumption that either side understands the other.47 117

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A variant of the Prisoner’s Dilemma, with special application to international relations, is what John Herz first called the ‘Security Dilemma’.48 Given the irreducible uncertainty about the intention of others, states often seek their own security through means which challenge the security of others. When a state unilaterally improves its own security, and another state responds in kind, this results in both states being less secure than before. As an example, two countries face the same choice: to arm or not to arm. If one side arms, and the other does not, the former gains a unilateral advantage. It is therefore, rational for both sides to arm. Put another way, the more one state arms to protect itself from other states, the more threatened all these states become and the more prone they are to resort to arming themselves to protect their own national security interests. The dilemma is that even if a state is sincerely arming only for defensive purposes, the means by which a state tries to increase its security decrease the security of others. Here again, the combination of anarchy, misperception and mutual suspicion can be detrimental to security, even though all parties involved may sincerely desire peace.49 The only way for the Security Dilemma to be resolved is for states to find legal and diplomatic means to keep an eye on each other. Arms control agreements are one approach,50 usually providing fruitful ground for cooperative security.51 The Security Dilemma, however, remains. Superpower strategies designed to deter war by developing counterforce capabilities exacerbate the Security Dilemma and make cooperation more difficult. Although no post-Cold War state is pursuing world domination, the Security Dilemma could lead states into competition, even though they might prefer cooperation. Cooperation may arise either from a commitment on the part of the individual to the welfare of the collectivity or as a result of perceived self-interests. The informing image for some Realists is also provided by the classic story of the Stag Hunt, taken from the writings of the French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau. This game presents a model in which the stag is most likely to be captured if all participants in the chase work together in pursuit of a collective goal: meeting the hunger needs of the group. If one or more of the hunters, for the sake of individual gain, defect – say to chase a rabbit – the stag is more likely to escape. Thus, with cooperative behaviour, the stag will be subdued, and all will benefit in the form of a good meal. Cooperation should occur if the countries believe they are playing stag hunt. In both the Prisoner’s Dilemma and the Stag Hunt, the key to cooperative behaviour rests on the ability to believe that the others will cooperate.52 Of central importance for a theory of cooperation is here again the extent to which the incentives for, or benefits from, cooperation can be seen to supplant the incentives to act unilaterally and compete.53 Rousseau’s allegory demonstrates that states, just like individuals, can quite rationally abandon collective duty for the sake of individual gain.54 In this context, the free rider’s behaviour is based on the assumption that others would act likewise in the moment of temptation. He will thus ask why he should assume the risk and bear the burden for the others to profit from his gullible commitment.55 118

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Classical Realism makes us aware of the difficulties for states trying to pursue cooperative policies. However, it provides us with only a part of the assistance needed to establish a theory of cooperation. To reach our goal, we need a multidimensional approach to world politics that incorporates other theoretical frameworks. One of these should be that of Neorealism or Structural Realism,56 which has the virtues of parsimony and clarity. Neorealism Neorealist Theory, predominantly embodied in the work of Kenneth Waltz, is more systematic and logically more coherent than that of its classical realist predecessors. While sharing much with traditional Realism, Neorealism has a stronger theoretical foundation and surpasses Realism in rigour and sophistication.57 Waltz actually maintains that Neorealism goes beyond Realism and develops a superior understanding of the primary determinants of the international system. For Waltz, understanding the structure of an international system allows us to explain patterns of state behaviour, since states evaluate their ability to achieve security on the basis of calculations about their own positions in the system. In his own words, structure is ‘the principal determinant of outcomes at the system level; structure encourages certain actions and discourages others’.58 The link between system structure and actor behaviour is forged by the rationality assumption, which enables the theorists to predict that leaders will respond to the incentives and constraints imposed by their environments. Based on these assumptions, the characteristics of the actor become constant rather than variable, and systemic theory becomes possible.59 Neorealism thus departed from a realist tradition that gave the statesman or policymaker greater freedom from constraint and thus greater ability to affect international events.60 It shows that the international system shapes behaviour as well as vice-versa. Similar to their classical realist counterparts, Neorealists believe that competition between the major powers in the international system is a normal state of affairs. The neorealist argument is also driven by the implications of international anarchy. It is the lack of central authority in the international system that forces states to behave the way they do: without an international authority capable of protecting them, states must look out for themselves.61 Charles Glaser was very explicit in this respect: Anarchy discourages cooperation because it requires states to worry about the relative gains of cooperation and the possibility that adversaries will cheat on agreements. In short, the standard neorealist argument predicts that cooperation between adversaries, while not impossible, will be difficult to achieve and, as a result, will be rare and contribute relatively little to states’ well-being.62 Neorealists are thus pessimistic about the prospects for international cooperation. And yet, they foresee that under certain conditions, states will best achieve their 119

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security objectives through cooperative rather than competitive policies.63 Since states do not seek to maximise their power in a relentless search for universal domination when they are not in danger, they are more likely to choose cooperation when specific conditions prevail. In short, Neorealism helps us to understand world politics as a systemic phenomenon and provides us with a logically coherent theory that establishes the context for state action. In the words of Robert Keohane, ‘systemic theory is important because we must understand the context of action before we can understand the action itself’.64 Neorealist approaches are essential in understanding long term forces that determine international politics independently of the actions of particular decision-makers. Nevertheless, if we are to promote a successful theory of cooperation, we also need to focus on variables such as rules, norms and institutions that to some extent can be shaped by political action. Theories of International Regimes have attempted to address this question and should further help us to understand how to create essential patterns of cooperation.

Theories of international regimes The basic analytical assumptions of this theory partly derived from neorealist thought. The regime concept accepts the fundamentals of Neorealism insofar as its focus is state-centric. As we have already mentioned, realist theories hold that international behaviour is based predominantly on interests defined in terms of power, and that the international system is anarchic. The conceptualisation of regimes developed here is fully consistent with the traditional characterisation of international politics as relations between sovereign self-reliant states, ultimately able to depend only on themselves, and prepared to resort to force when confronting dilemmas. In this view, states are autonomous entities that ‘develop their own strategies, chart their own courses, make their own decisions’.65 The regime approach actually does not reject these assumptions out of hand, it merely aims to refine them. While the realist theories did not dismiss the possibility of conciliation as a means of resolving conflicts, ‘the regime concept adds an explicit and extended analysis of national interest and politics in which competitive elements produce cooperative behavior’.66 International regimes should therefore be seen as complementary to, rather than in contradiction with, realist fundamentals. The analysis of regimes represents in itself also an effort to address the question of international norms and institutions. We have long understood that in certain contexts, self-interested states forgo independent actions and favour the joint decision-making that leads to regime formation. International Regimes encompass the idea that, as Robert Keohane suggested, ‘cooperation is explicable even on narrowly self-interested, egoistic assumptions about the actors in world politics’.67 The following argument constitutes an attempt to improve our understanding of international cooperation, through an interpretation of international regime-formation that refers mainly to the rational-choice principle. 120

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John Ruggie first introduced the concept in 1975 and defined a regime as ‘a set of mutual expectations, rules and regulations, plans, organizational energies and financial commitments, which have been accepted by a group of states’.68 Subsequently, international regimes have been defined as ‘sets of implicit or explicit principles, norms, rules, and decision-making procedures around which actors’ expectations converge in a given area of international relations’.69 This conceptualisation is consistent with other formulations. Robert Keohane and Joseph Nye, for example, defined regimes as ‘sets of governing arrangements’ that include ‘networks of rules, norms, and procedures that regularize behavior and control its effects’.70 Hedley Bull, using a somewhat different terminology, refers to the importance of rules and institutions in international society where rules refer to ‘general imperative principles which require or authorize prescribed classes of persons or groups to behave in prescribed ways’.71 In any case, regimes should not be seen as ‘quasi-governments – imperfect attempts to institutionalize centralized authority relationships in world politics. Regimes are more like contracts, when these involve actors with long term objectives who seek to structure their relationship in stable and mutually beneficial ways’.72 The condition for regimes to be formed is ‘that sufficient complementary or common interests exist so that agreements benefiting all essential regime members can be made’.73 As long as international behaviour results from independent decision-making, there is no international regime. There is a need for a regime when states cannot obtain their most preferred outcome by making unilateral decisions.74 The most powerful actors create regimes that serve their particular interests, and others are constrained to accept them because their options are limited.75 The theoretical analysis of the regime concept thus begins with what first appears as an anomaly from the realist point of view: the existence of institutionalised patterns of cooperation around which the actor’s expectations converge in a variety of areas of international relations. Obviously, unlimited competition can harm all actors. Confronted with a Prisoner’s Dilemma, in which the rational pursuit of self-interest leads to a solution that is not Pareto-optimal,76 states will benefit by setting up regimes to control competition among them. Governments will enter into international negotiations in order to reduce the conflicts that would otherwise break out. In this respect, the regime concept will contribute to enhance our ability both to describe and to account for patterns of cooperation and to understand the basis for discord. Robert Jervis argued that the concept of regimes implies not only norms and expectations that facilitate cooperation, but a form of cooperation that is more than the following of short-run self-interest.77 International regimes entail agreed rules to work together for certain goals and to refrain from certain actions when collaboration represents an optimal strategy for participants. In order to assure the Pareto-optimal outcome, such collaboration requires a certain degree of formalisation. The regime must determine specific cooperative patterns of behaviour and should also insure that no participant cheats. All regimes therefore rest on some 121

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form of sanctioning. As Keohane underscored, ‘strategies that involve threats and punishments as well as promises and rewards are more effective in attaining cooperative outcomes than those that rely entirely on persuasion and the force of good example’.78 But regime-governed behaviour must not be based solely on sanctioning. States must also accept some sense of general obligation and reciprocity.79 World politics lack authoritative governmental institutions and are determined by pervasive uncertainty. International regimes and the principles and norms that develop in conjunction with them, contribute to reduce uncertainty and risk by improving the quantity and the quality of information. Information in this context mainly refers to the knowledge of the other state’s intentions, preferences and willingness to enter into an international regime. As noted earlier, international policy coordination is not a function only of interests, power and negotiating skills, but also of perception and misperception. According to Keohane, ‘the information that is required in entering into an international regime is not merely information about other governments’ resources and formal negotiating positions, but rather knowledge of their internal evaluations of the situation, their intentions, the intensity of their preferences, and their willingness to adhere to agreement even in adverse future circumstances’.80 Within this setting, the most important functions of international regimes are to ‘establish stable mutual expectations about others’ patterns of behavior and to develop working relationships, that will allow the parties to adapt their practices to new situations’.81 Both the incentives for establishing international regimes and the obstacles to doing so are particularly great in the security arena because of the Security Dilemma. A state may forgo taking advantage of another not because it expects reciprocation, but because it fears that unless it exercises self-restraint others will see it as a menace, increase their arms, and coalesce against it.82 Robert Jervis argued that for regimes to develop in the security area, the great powers must believe that others share the value they place on mutual security and cooperation.83 Security regimes are very rare indeed. Reaching back to the early nineteenth century, some would even call the Concert of Europe a global security regime since it was based on common national security concerns among the major powers. But as another scholar pointed out, ‘the basic point still stands: generalized security regimes are exceptional’.84 Statesmen nearly always perceive themselves as constrained by principles, norms and rules that prescribe and proscribe varieties of behaviour.85 The concept of regime moves beyond a realist perspective, which is too limited to explain an increasingly complex and interdependent world.86 Finding a mechanism to promote international cooperation is a serious challenge in dealing with the political cleavages of the post-Cold War world. Multilateral initiatives seem more promising paths to checking competition in world politics and enhancing cooperative engagement. In the next section, we will explore the various collective approaches available and assess their potential contribution to the development of cooperative patterns of behaviour. But before 122

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we look at how to construct a realistic and effective approach to cooperative security, it might be helpful to briefly examine two of the other major security concepts that came into prominence in the twentieth century: collective security and collective defence.

Multilateral approaches to security Collective security and collective defence Though the concept of cooperation and alliances between states in peace and war has been a common feature in the history of mankind, the terms ‘Collective Security’ and ‘Collective Defence’ are inventions of the last century. Both concepts imply a long term, formal engagement between groups of states to protect their common security interests. The concept of collective security first came into use after the First World War, referring to the scheme developed during the war, championed by President Wilson, for keeping the peace by setting up legal commitments and organisational arrangements designed to guarantee that aggression by any state against any other would be effectively resisted by the combined action of the other members of the multistate system. Every potential aggressor should be intimidated by the threat of overwhelming collective resistance; every potential victim of aggression should be reassured by the promise of the community’s protection.87 Collective security looks inward to attempt to ensure security within a group of sovereign states. The first modern collective security organisation was the League of Nations88 founded in the aftermath of the First World War. Its members pledged to protect each other from attack by other nations within that organisation. The idea was simple: an act of aggression by one or more members against another would be opposed, if necessary by force, by the other member states of the League. For a variety of reasons, the League of Nations was ultimately not successful in achieving security and stability. This was almost certainly due in large part to the fundamental incompatibility of liberal democracy, Fascism and communism that co-existed within its membership. Its members did not share values and there was no agreement on how European countries should organise themselves politically. The League collective security system presumed a global security community – a group of states with a clear common identity. The League failed because it could not develop that identity. This historic example suggests that collective security is possible among states that are not liberal democracies, but that such security communities may be unstable. At the end of the Second World War the newly formed United Nations took up the mantle of collective security from the League of Nations. At best, however, this organisation has been only partially effective. The study of past collective security systems reveals that certain specific conditions improve their effectiveness. For many theorists, the supremacy of collective obligation above national interests is foremost among the conditions for the successful operation of collective security. As Morgenthau remarked, ‘nations 123

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must be willing to subordinate whatever conflicting political interests may still separate them to the common good defined in terms of the collective defence of all member states’.89 A second correlate of success is said to lie in the existence of a threat common to and recognised by all. Common threats contribute to hold collective security systems together. All systems require the presence of a threat to make them cohere. Nations need to cooperate against something as well as for something.90 Only if it is assumed that all nations are equally vulnerable to a breach of peace, can one deduce the validity of the famous axiom that peace is indivisible. These conditions contain lessons about the extent to which states can look to multilateral systems as an approach for dealing with future security problems. Collective security is a design for providing a more effective mechanism of institutionalised balancing against aggressors when they emerge, on the notion that ‘all against one’ ensures more stability than unregulated and self-reliant behaviour. Under collective security, states agree to abide by certain norms and rules to maintain stability and, when necessary, band together to stop aggression.91 By building confidence among states about each others’ intentions, collective security promotes a more cooperative environment and inter alia ameliorates the Security Dilemma, thereby enhancing stability and reducing the likelihood of unintended downward spirals to hostility. Many scholars have tended to consider collective security as a middle course between the terminal points of international anarchy and global governance.92 The case for collective security, as opposed to collective defence, is not a function of predetermined alliances or predetermined enemies. In such a system, ‘none would be designated as enemy, each would assume the role of peacekeeper, and all (minus one) would be ready to move against the aggressor in their midst when so authorized by the collective’.93 David Yost defended the same position: ‘In contrast to collective defence, operations in support of collective security entail actions on behalf of non-allies. The fundamental idea of collective security is that of universally shared responsibility for international security’.94 And yet, the distinction between collective security and collective defence is often quite vague. Collective defence organisations blossomed during the days of the Cold War. A system based on collective defence looks outward to defend its members from external aggression: it commits all nations, bound by treaty, to come to each other’s defence whenever any member is subjected to, or threatened by, a military attack by a state or states outside the treaty area. Collective defence is also another word for alliance, since this latter ‘implies a determinate structure for a determinate purpose, and requires, although not always named, a determinate foe’.95 The principle of alliance tends to inject into international relations a concept of the advanced identification of friends and enemies that is alien to the basic proposition of collective security. Membership in a collective security system involves alliance with nobody in particular but with everybody in general.96 A key weakness of collective security is that the principle of ‘one for all and all for one’ requires all members of the system to sacrifice their particular interests 124

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on the altar of universal justice. States, however, always follow their own interests. A standard criticism of collective security is that it has not produced an operating system where any wrongdoer will be subjected both to multilateral resistance and multilateral condemnation. Such unsuccessful developments would not necessarily invalidate the concept altogether. But it would mean that the collective security model we have discussed had failed to clear the obstacles of indecisive political leadership, insufficient military capabilities and the inevitable compromises inherent in many cooperative and consensual relationships between states. It has also sometimes been used so loosely that it appeared as a honorific designation for almost any multilateral activity conducive to peace or world order. In this usage, ‘it refers not to a method for producing a result, but to the presumed result itself, conflating means and ends’.97 Collective security also rests on the claim that states are amenable to moral appeals against the misuse of force and that a highly developed moral consensus exists among members of the system. In reality, ‘collective security might either operate on the basis of dubiously valid moral judgments, or be reduced to inactivity by the difficulty of making nice moral distinctions’.98 Even states that otherwise would wish to pursue moral objectives are compelled by anarchy to define their national interests in terms of power. Although Fukuyama’s end of history99 has not arrived, the collective consideration of virtually every problem in the intercourse of states has nevertheless become an established feature of world politics. Disputes are expected to occur, but they are expected to do so within the limits of established norms and procedures. While collective security arrangements were meant to deter aggression and defeat it if it occured, a cooperative security system ‘replaces preparations to counter threats with the prevention of such threats in the first place and replaces the deterring of aggression with actions to make preparation for it more difficult’.100 Cooperative security thus differs from the traditional idea of collective security as preventive medicine differs from acute care.101 However, the one strategy does not exclude the other and both are complementary to each other. Cooperative security Contrary to conventional wisdom, multinational cooperative efforts are not a purely modern phenomenon. The Western literary tradition began with Homer’s version of the just war waged collectively against Troy. Crusades and holy wars fought by forces from multiple states or principalities abound in historical records. Traces of the concept of cooperative security can be found in a number of early discussions to impose collective decisions. These were inescapably intertwined with general developments in East–West relations. The term ‘Cooperative Security’102 has become a popular catchphrase since the end of the Cold War. It has been generally used to describe a more peaceful, but rather idealistic, approach to security through increased international cooperation. Many strategic thinkers, in the early 1990s, caught up in a tide of optimism 125

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generally hailed as the New World Order, initially relied on this concept to eschew narrow Cold War ‘zero-sum’ strategies and replace them with a new approach to security. But cooperative security is not a recent invention. Indeed, Emmanuel Kant introduced the idea in the late eighteenth century in his ‘Second Definite Article of Perpetual Peace’, stating that the law of nations should be founded on a federation of free states. Today, at the start of the twenty-first century, scholars usually describe cooperative security as a strategic principle that seeks to accomplish its purposes through institutionalised consent rather than through military preparation. It can only take place when states truly develop mechanisms for the peaceful resolution of conflicting issues between states within the system. Cooperative security does not mean that participants are treaty-bound to offer assistance. If that were the case, we would speak about collective, not cooperative security. As mentioned earlier, the insecurity in interstate relations stems from uncertainty about the intentions of others. Based on this assumption, the idea behind cooperative security is to regulate attitudes that might generate misperception and erroneous interpretations. In this regard, the concept requires common norms and standards of conduct. Within the system, countries must be answerable for failing to observe these norms and standards and there must be instruments to allow actions to be taken to prevent violation and freeriding. The political intentions of states have to be as transparent and open as possible. In the same vein, the greater the readiness to exchange information, the easier it is to reassure others of one’s non-aggressive posture.103 Frequent and regular meetings between decisionmakers also contribute to mutual understanding about concerns and interests. Efficient cooperative security should link states in many ways. It presupposes initially the existence of compatible security objectives. Statesmen must also sometimes craft consensus for a cooperative intervention strategy outside their common space if their welfare and stability is threatened. Historically, the perception of a common threat was the most frequent, as well as the most effective, basis for establishing a security system. Just as the Concert of Europe long outlasted the danger of another French revolution, so NATO has adapted itself since the fall of Communism and the progressive integration of ancient Soviet satellites into the transatlantic society. NATO even appears for the time being as the world’s only working model of a cooperative security system.104 The argument of cooperative security inevitably generates scepticism about its achievability. Many exclusively rely on the assumption that ‘sovereign nations will always have an inherent propensity for armed conflict and that they cannot be expected to conform to cooperative standards that renounce the projection of power as a way of promoting state interest’.105 However, cooperative security does not aim at establishing global governance through the resolution of all 126

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conflicts. The attention is ‘on preventing the accumulation of the means for mass, deliberate, and organized aggression, such as seizure of territory by force or the destruction of vital assets by remote bombardments for unilateral gain’.106 Today the threats to Europe are increasingly transnational phenomena. They include corruption, organised crime, migration, epidemic diseases, environmental catastrophes and terrorism. For all these reasons, cooperative procedures for enhancing international accountability can be considered the most promising responses to the challenges facing states under the anarchic international system. Freeriding states would not gain any offsetting benefits and, even more significantly, would risk costly isolation within the international community. As Adam Rotfeld stressed: Cooperative security is the most desirable and adequate concept for the challenges ahead. Cooperative engagement is a strategic principle that seeks to accomplish its purposes through institutional consent rather than through threats of material or physical coercion. The important thing is that a new global system is being formed not as a result of war, in the wake of which victors impose on the vanquished a new order and rules of conduct, but through negotiations and agreement on common goals, norms, institutions and procedures.107

Conclusion The supreme task for statesmen in the final decades of the twentieth century is to build on the positive forces of our age in the creation of a new and more stable international order. (Robert Gilpin)108

At the beginning of this chapter, we knew that the Russian identity, though radically different from the Western one, did not constitute an obstacle to NATO–Russia cooperation. We had also realised that the cooperation between NATO–Russia that has been taking shape since the early nineties is still topical today despite a series of frustrations, pitfalls and failures. What remained to be identified was the model of cooperation that would best apply to NATO and Russia. The study of the theories of international relations, and more precisely the different strands of Realism that tackled the question of cooperation, proved enriching in many respects. We first acknowledged that the configuration of NATO–Russia relations was, at its inception in 1949, one that fit fully into the realist theory. At that time, both entities evolved in a situation of self-help, reciprocal mistrust, and vital need to survive within the existing international system. In these circumstances, cooperation was far from innate and would require a number of significant incentives to be envisageable. 127

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Some of these incentives became apparent in the study of the Prisoner’s Dilemma and the Stag Hunt Game theories. These theories demonstrate that, in certain circumstances, independent actors may prefer cooperation to competition, on the grounds that it best serves their individual interests. The history of NATO–Russia relations appears as a sound illustration of this argument. Throughout the Cold War, states in NATO and within the Soviet bloc found themselves in a situation of competition and reciprocal mistrust. The more the former were protecting themselves against the latter, the more threatened the latter felt and the more likely they were to protect their own national security interests. In these circumstances, the enemy’s actions were perceived as suspicious and aggressive, even though these may have been motivated by defensive intentions only. However, the Cold War showed the limits of the logic of competition, and NATO consequently embodied all the merits of cooperation. While Russia had to face the collapse of the Warsaw Pact and the dismantlement of the USSR, the Euro-Atlantic Allies can see in their cooperation within the North Atlantic Alliance over half a century of peace and security. In this regard, it is worth underlining that NATO never stopped expanding since its inception in 1949, with 12 members, to 2004, when it counted 26 states within its ranks. The merits of cooperation become even more apparent after the study of Neorealism. This theory notably emphasises the role of the international system in interstate relations, and supposes that a change in the configuration of the international system may alter the nature of these relations. Again, this finds quite a sound illustration in NATO–Russia relations. With the end of the Cold War, the international system ruling over NATO–Russia relations was radically altered. The post-Second World War balance of power and international order no longer existed. The new international system was characterised by the disappearance of the USSR as the main enemy. This change compelled both NATO and Russia to review their approach to one another, the former willing to avoid the re-emergence of the enemy, and the latter wishing not to be isolated from the new international order. As advocated by Neorealists, the rise of a new post-Cold War international system did impact on the course of NATO–Russia relations, this time in a positive manner. The study of International Regimes permitted approaching cooperation from a different angle. Indeed, this theory emphasises the need for certain mechanisms and/or arrangements to regulate cooperation between independent actors. One reason for this is the necessity of mitigating competition amongst these actors. Applied to NATO, this theory could explain why the principle of consensus is so vital to the success of the Alliance. This principle not only places member nations on equal footing, but it also compels them to integrate the notion of concession as an integral part of their cooperation, and to accept the rule that the interests of the collectivity should prevail over the interests of the individuals. This conclusion is the premise of the study of the collective security and collective defence concepts, which both characterise the very nature of the North Atlantic Alliance. We learnt that both concepts imply a long term formal 128

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commitment between groups of states to protect the security interests of individual members within a common sphere. Both also follow the principle that ‘all against one’ ensures more stability than unregulated and self-reliant behaviour, the only difference being that, unlike collective defence, collective security arrangements are not based on the concept of the pre-identification of friends and enemies. In the Cold War context, the inception of NATO as a collective defence and security alliance resulted from the idea that cooperation would act as the best impediment to war in Europe and would best protect the Euro-Atlantic countries against the Soviet-dominated communist bloc. With the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks against the United States, and the emergence of terrorism as a common threat to the NATO countries and Russia, cooperation again appears as the optimal solution. However, the degree of commitment implied by membership of NATO cannot meet the requirements of a country that, like Russia, remains tendentially imperialistic and autocratic. In other words, it is not the question of security or defence arrangements that poses problem to Russia, but rather the notion of collectiveness that lies with it. To the contrary, the concept of cooperative security does not require such a level of commitment by participating parties. A cooperative security system requires from its members a willingness to closely cooperate with each other and to potentially intervene in remote areas whenever international peace and security are threatened. However, it does not require high institutional mechanisms such as the definite membership of an organisation, or the acceptance of supranational policies.109 While cooperative security arrangements will need a framework in which they will be carried out, this framework will not need to follow the model of post-Second World War international organisations and could adopt looser forms such as the ‘coalition of the good will countries’ or even the specific partnership between NATO and Russia. Indeed, while this partnership responds to the regime requirement posed by Realism and is carried out within a specific framework based on commonly agreed rules, it does apply to only a number of activities and does not prevent one or the other party to act independently from the other. Not surprisingly, this is the kind of cooperative security relations that Russia long pleaded for. Analysing the Russian approach towards cooperative security is an integral part of our assessment of the odds for this concept to become a framework for security relations between Russia and the West.

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8 THE RUSSIAN APPROACH TO COOPERATIVE SECURITY

Clausewitz’s dictum that war is the continuation of policy by different means, which was classical in his time, has grown hopelessly out of date. It now belongs to libraries. For the first time in history, basing international politics on moral and ethical norms that are common to all humankind, as well as humanizing interstate relations, has become a vital requirement.1

Introduction In the current security environment, finding tailored cooperative solutions to mutual security concerns is a real strategic imperative.2 It is now clear to us that it is of a vital importance to both Russia and NATO not only to maintain good relations, but also to develop them into true and equal cooperation. As mentioned earlier, the key for these two parties is to find the cooperative arrangements that best suit them. Given that the purpose of our present study is to demonstrate that cooperative security is the most appropriate model for NATO–Russia cooperation, we will now concentrate on supporting this assumption with sound arguments. Before going any further, let us recall some of the fundamentals that define the notion of cooperative security, which we identified in our theoretical work. As opposed to collective security, cooperative security is not treaty-bound. It can be described as a federation of free states that seek to achieve security through consented cooperation. Furthermore, cooperative security is not fixed in time, but should rather be regarded as an ad hoc imperative for a number of nations, at a given time and under given circumstances, to ensure security by cooperative means. The objective of this chapter will be to verify to what extent cooperative security is not only a familiar concept for Russia, but also the one that best embodies Russia’s understanding of security relations with other states. In other words, is cooperative security only a fashionable concept of the post-Soviet times as introduced by Gorbachev’s Common European Home, or is it possible to prove that this approach to security relations enjoys some kind of continuity throughout 130

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Russian history? To that end, we will single out specific Russian experiences of cooperative security in each of the main periods of Russian history, namely: the tsarist, the communist, and the post-communist periods. Each time, we will try to understand what led Russia to opt for this model and what results each of the selected cases yielded. At this stage, it is important to stress that the chosen examples do not represent the totality of Russia’s experience of cooperative security. Other initiatives could have been used to illustrate our thinking. Our choice simply went for what we consider to be the most explicit examples. Gorbachev’s Common European Home will serve as our case study for this chapter. By looking at this most recent Russian initiative in terms of cooperative security, we will try to draw the lessons necessary for such a concept to be applied successfully to NATO–Russia relations. Special emphasis will then be placed on Western reactions to the Common European Home.

Russian cooperative security initiatives Alexander I: from the Holy Alliance to the Concert of Europe3 After the allies defeated Napoleon, Alexander I became known as the saviour not just of Russia, but of Europe too. He was ‘the soul of the European coalition against Napoleon and the chief manager of all military activities’.4 It was Alexander who insisted among his fellow monarchs not only to crush the French menace, but also to reject Napoleon’s model of Europe, and to establish a new European political system in its place.5 At the Congress of Vienna in 1815, the tsar inevitably played a prominent role and influenced the resettlement of European political boundaries to suit his own interests. In the same year, encouraged by his pre-eminence and fame, Alexander made a significant attempt to introduce new rules into international diplomacy and to create an ethical basis for European solidarity. Under the influence of messianism and religious mysticism, the tsar initiated the creation of the Holy Alliance6 signed on 26 September 1815, by the rulers of Russia, Austria and Prussia. In November, the king of France adhered to it, followed by most of the other Christian monarchs.7 With this loose agreement the great majority of European powers pledged to act according to Christian morality. George Vernadsky aptly described this peculiar and remarkable document: In its form and spirit the act was an unusual diplomatic document, religious rather than political. The undersigned solemnly declared their determination ‘to take as their sole guide . . . the precepts of religion, namely the rules of justice, Christian charity and peace . . . Considering each other as fellow countrymen, they will on all occasions and in all places lend each other aid and assistance . . .’ They will consider themselves as members of one and the same Christian nation.8 131

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Although this unbinding document was intended to preserve peace and stability in Europe, it could hardly provide the Christian monarchs with any help to solve any international question. The Pope and George IV of England even refused to follow suit and were very critical of the Alliance. According to Nicholas Riasanovsky, ‘Castlereagh9 could well describe it as a piece of sublime mysticism and nonsense, while the pope remarked dryly that from time immemorial the papacy had been in possession of Christian truth and needed no interpretation of it’.10 As for the Russian people, they were ‘encouraged to believe that the evangelical ideal of the Holy Alliance should be kept alive; that Russia should remain a new supra-political force dedicated to healing the spiritual wounds of Europe’.11 Actually, the Holy Alliance proved to be of little relevance in international affairs, as politics were at this time managed by the more pragmatic Quadruple Alliance (Austria, Great Britain, Prussia and Russia), also known as the Concert of Europe to which France was also admitted later on12 (the Quintuple Alliance). Signed on 20 November 1815, the Quadruple Alliance initially represented a continuation of the wartime association of the allies designed to prevent the resurgence of an expansionist France. In the aftermath, the Quintuple Alliance fostered regular consultations among Europe’s monarchs and established an international system based on cooperative security.13 The Concert of Europe actually represented the first prototype of international organisation. As merely a powerbalancing arrangement, it had no peace-enforcement power and could not guarantee united armed action, but the great powers cooperated to prevent wars, maintain the territorial status quo and impose their decisions on lesser powers.14 Its purpose was thus to maintain peace among the great powers, to prevent unavoidable conflicts of interest from degenerating into actual hostilities. The Concert was realistic in trying to manage rather than to eradicate international dissension.15 The tsar’s proposals were also aimed at preventing and crushing any incipient revolutionary movement.16 Obviously, a concerted action among the great powers had more chance to fight and ultimately defeat menaces of revolution and atheism. The most explicit example of these potential threats can be found in the later emergence of a Russian revolutionary group, which came to be known as the Decembrists17 after their unsuccessful uprising in December 1825. Following the destruction, with Russian help, of the centres of revolutionary ferment in Central and Eastern Europe, the West decided that it no longer needed Russia’s support. Brezhnev and the thaw in East–West relations18 We have no plans for autarky but instead seek growth of broad cooperation with the outside world. (Leonid Brezhnev)19

The confrontation between the United States and the USSR in October 1962 over the Soviet missiles in Cuba, which resulted in a stunning Soviet defeat, 132

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strengthened the argument for peaceful coexistence and enhanced caution and consultation in foreign policy.20 The theme of coexistence as a complex process of competition and cooperation appeared in Soviet official thinking, and détente with the West became an intermittently pursued goal. The gradual winding down of United States involvement in the war in Vietnam after 1968 paved the way for negotiations between the United States and the Soviet Union on the subject of nuclear arms.21 A period of détente, or relaxation of tensions, between the two superpowers emerged, with a further agreement concluded to establish ceilings on the number of offensive weapons on both sides in 1974. The crowning achievement of the era of détente was the signing in 1975 of the Helsinki Accords, which legitimised the post-war political status quo in Europe and bound the signatories to respect basic principles of human rights. However, because of the Soviet Union’s concerns with regard to the protection of its sphere of influence in Eastern Europe, the Helsinki provisions on human rights had only limited effects.22 The Helsinki Final Act23 was in the first place a compromis:24 the East sought international recognition of Europe’s post-war borders, while the West sought to open those same borders to the freer flow of individuals, information and ideas. In this international context, a number of political elements contributed to Brezhnev’s shift towards détente. The political division of Europe, which had precipitated the Cold War between the two victors in the struggle against Nazi Germany, was now acknowledged as a fait accompli. The Soviet Union had finally obtained formal recognition of its supremacy in the east European buffer zone. The sovereignty of East Germany conceded de facto by Bonn through its bilateral Basic Treaty was another significant political achievement of the Soviet leadership. Undoubtedly, this remarkable progress was largely due to the preparatory groundwork laid by bilateral agreements concluded between West Germany and the communist bloc.25 This deeper rethinking of Soviet official policy and the steady growth of antiisolationist and reformist thought was also favoured by another development: a sharp deterioration in relations with China. Brezhnev had decided to reinforce Soviet pre-eminence in the community of communist states by undermining the influence of China. Although Khrushchev’s successor initially approached China without hostility, Mao’s condemnation of Soviet policy as ‘revisionist’ and his competition for influence in the Third World soon led to a worsening of relations between the two countries. The Sino-Soviet relations reached an all time low in March 1969 when border clashes broke out along the disputed Amur-Ussuri rivers in the Far East. These events highlighted the increasingly bitter territorial disputes between those two erstwhile communist allies. Last but not least, the spectacular visit to China in July 1971 by Henry Kissinger, President Nixon’s national security adviser, suggested an improvement of Sino-American relations at Russia’s expense. Confronted by a hostile, independent China on its Asian frontier, the Soviet Union could not fail to recognise the advantages of détente and stability on its European flank.26 133

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In addition to these cherished political considerations, the acquisition of strategic parity between the Soviet Union and the United States also played a crucial role in the détente. The 1970s could be characterised as a period of overextension for the USSR. As another scholar noted, ‘the military-imperial appetite consumed more than a quarter of the country’s wealth – that neither international, power-centered analyses, nor domestic, interest-group models, offer adequate explanation’.27 The most pressing East–West problems were certainly arms control. According to Brezhnev, détente was the consequence of the nuclear stalemate and the acquisition of strategic parity between Washington and Moscow. The growing cooperative engagement between the United States and the USSR to establish control over their nuclear arsenals28 was probably the centrepiece of this new détente. These breakthroughs in arms control led to the development of Soviet–Western ties in the economic and trade sector. The military détente was indeed complemented by an ‘informal economic détente consisting of the unclogging of commercial and financial channels between East and West’.29 The Soviet leadership was now all for expanding economic relations with the West and this bifurcation in traditional Soviet thinking gave way to a significant increase in trade and investment between the two blocs. In this context, a changed relationship with Russia’s main adversary, the United States, was essential.30 Economic considerations were thus determinant factors in the Soviet Union’s bid for détente in Europe. So were industrial shortfalls. Once a huge industrial might, the USSR by the 1970s found it more and more difficult to maintain the high rates of growth in the industrial sector that it had enjoyed in earlier years. Targets and goals remained largely unmet and inputs were becoming more difficult to obtain. The industrial shortfalls were felt most sharply in the sphere of consumer goods, where the public steadily demanded improved quality and increased quantity. As William Keylor noted: Rumblings of discontent within the communist bloc reflected a growing awareness of the marked disparity between the prosperity of Western Europe and the economic stagnation of Eastern Europe. Brezhnev and his associates had come to believe that the only hope of satisfying the mounting consumer demands of the eastern European peoples, and indeed of the Russian population itself, was a massive influx of foreign industrial products, technology, and investment capital that only the advanced economic powers of the non-Communist world could provide.31 Brezhnev had finally admitted the fact that the autarkic course of the Soviet economy had excluded the USSR from Western rapid economic growth and conspicuous prosperity. Although Moscow and its satellites at first dismissed the European Community as an imperialist plot, the absence of ‘bloc’ terminology in the Treaty of Rome and Willy Brandt’s Ostpolitik helped the Soviet leader to find 134

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rationales for bringing a slight warming in East–West relations. In any case, the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance or COMECON,32 initially conceived as a counterweight to the Marshall Plan and the Organisation for European Economic Cooperation in the West, could hardly compete with the successful economic integration of Western Europe. The COMECON remained little more than ‘an instrument for perpetuating the Soviet Union’s stranglehold on the economic life of its Eastern European satellites’.33 All these steps were valuable in Soviet eyes not only for their innovations or because they went considerably farther than had the earlier epoch of Lenin’s ‘peaceful existence’, but also because of concrete benefits of rapprochement in terms of moderating political and military tensions and economic cooperation. The European Community enlargement and its successful economic integration, as well as the Helsinki Accords negotiations, also contributed to the Kremlin’s acknowledgement of the USSR’s need to change either its domestic or foreign policy, and to the gradual lifting of certain ideological and political barriers of the Cold War.34 The CSCE: Russia in search of Cooperative Security As the Cold War came to an end, the CSCE was the only European or transatlantic organisation in which Russia enjoyed an equal status with the other members.35 At that time, an active role in the CSCE was a way of demonstrating Russia’s good intention and natural belonging to the West in this initial pro-Western period.36 Not surprisingly, most of the Russian proposals concerning an undivided Europe were connected with the CSCE. In Russia’s vision, the Conference had to be placed at the very centre of the new European system, moving beyond the initial political process aimed at setting out common values and principles needed to build confidence between the two blocs. The next step towards a new European Security Architecture was the signature of the CSCE Paris Charter in November 1990,37 which marked the formal end of the Cold War. In the aftermath of the Summit, Moscow realised that the West was more interested in preserving NATO than in developing joint replacement structures for mutual or common security.38 The 1992 Helsinki follow-up meeting led to the establishment of rather bland but symbolically significant institutions, including the Forum for Security Cooperation (FSC), the High Commissioner on National Minorities, and the Economic Forum.39 In June 1994, Russia put forward the idea of institutionalising the Conference into an all-inclusive European security organisation.40 This was aimed at responding to NATO’s PfP. According to Moscow, such an organisation would be entitled to play a central role in Europe, responsible for coordinating actions of all member states and security organisations, including NATO, the CIS, the Council of Europe and the WEU. As a unique all-inclusive cooperative security arrangement, the CSCE would also acquire an organ akin to the UN Security Council in which Russia would have a permanent seat.41 Although the Conference was indeed 135

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transformed into an organisation after the Budapest Summit in December 1994,42 the idea of vesting the new OSCE with a superior character than NATO43 was rejected by the Allies as a Russian conspiracy to undermine the Atlantic Alliance.44 Russia nevertheless succeeded in inserting into the 1994 OSCE work plan a ‘Common and Comprehensive Security Model for Europe for the Twenty-First Century’. In Russia’s vision, this Security Model was meant to prevent Russia from being marginalised from European affairs. It would also allow Moscow to emphasise its opposition to NATO expansion and to have a voice in the Alliance’s development.45 This Russian proposal was however left vague: it was to be ‘a discussion’ – which US officials emphasise – not a proper negotiation. The Security Model was officially accepted at the Lisbon Summit in 1996 where the ‘OSCE Heads of State and Government reaffirmed that European security requires the widest cooperation and coordination among participating states’.46 In the meantime, Russia also brought forward extensive proposals for a ‘Charter on European Security’ to be the basis of the Common and Comprehensive Security Model for the twenty-first century. Although this Charter47 was finally adopted by the leaders of 54 states at the Istanbul Summit in November 1999,48 it soon fell into oblivion because of two conflicting issues: Kosovo and Chechnya. The OSCE’s failure to solve the crisis in Kosovo, be it due to its ineptitude, its lack of resources, or its lack of will, entailed that Russia’s purported aim of endowing OSCE with a primus inter pares role to coordinate other organisations on a legally and not only politically binding basis, became even further out of reach.49 NATO’s Operation Allied Force finally circumvented the OSCE and symbolised de facto a marginalisation of Russia’s role in European security. Russian representatives blamed NATO countries for ‘pushing the Balkan war, a real source of concern, to the back burner to concentrate on criticizing Russia’s actions in Chechnya’.50 The Russian Federation, which considered the final settlement of the Chechen crisis a domestic problem, perceived Western statements as interference with its anti-terrorist operation. Again, most Western observers argued that Russia had been willing to transform the OSCE into a pan-European security organisation with broad powers of intervention, but would not consider an OSCE activity as a desirable solution to its policy dilemmas in its own region. Over the decades since the Helsinki process, Russia used the CSCE/OSCE to influence the security arrangements and alliances among its European neighbours. Unfortunately, the OSCE’s institutional transformation never came close to empowering it with a leading role in promoting European stability, although the OSCE presents the advantage of including almost every country in Europe and North America and forms as such the widest forum for security concerns. However, this advantage is at the same time the Achilles’ heel of the OSCE. During the Cold War, neither of the two blocs ever envisaged risking important interests in the procedures of an organisation that included the other bloc. Furthermore, the fact that decision-making rested on unanimity rendered the 136

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institution powerless with regard to security issues. After the Cold War, unanimity was replaced by ‘unanimity minus one’ in cases of clear, gross and uncorrected violations of OSCE commitments relating to human rights and fundamental freedoms.51 This small concession was nevertheless of very limited value and did not constitute a sufficient guarantee for security in the eyes of most of the countries of Central and Eastern Europe.52 Beyond the problem of decision-making, the fact that the OSCE was composed of heterogeneous powers and national interests contributed to depriving it of real means to exercise pressure. The organisation does not have the military forces, except for those that NATO might put at its disposal. In the eyes of international public opinion, it is overshadowed by other organisations like NATO and the EU. Even as a forum for discussions between the countries of NATO and those of the former Warsaw Pact, the OSCE was in danger of being substituted by the NACC, which was of greater interest to East European countries because of the weight of NATO’s authority.53 Last but not least, the OSCE suffers from not being granted any legal status under international law and thus from being compelled to taking political decisions only with no legal binding.54 It is commonly recognised that all-inclusive cooperative security arrangements such as the OSCE have proved impotent faced with the local conflicts that have broken out already in the formerly communist parts of Europe,55 and are as unlikely to prevent major destabilisations as the League of Nations in the 1930s. For example, one can hardly expect the OSCE to prevent or reverse some hypothetical Russian invasion of Ukraine or the Baltic republics. While adapted to handle low-intensity, peace-keeping or human rights problems, such institutions prove rather incapable of providing cooperative security. The only institution in Europe that has a real capability to cover the power vacuum so as to prevent major destabilisation is the Atlantic Alliance. Finding little support for their project among the Europeans, the Russian government thus concluded that it had no choice but to develop formal relations with NATO.

Gorbachev and the ‘Common European Home’: case study We are not conducting a Metternichian ‘balance of power’ policy, setting one state against another, knocking together blocs and counter-blocs, . . . but a policy of global détente, strengthening world security and developing international cooperation everywhere. (Mikhail Gorbachev)56

Gorbachev’s new political thinking When Gorbachev rejected the Marxist–Leninist doctrine of class struggle,57 he redefined Soviet national priorities and completely revolutionised Soviet foreign policy.58 This so-called ‘New Political Thinking’ was a shift from hard-nosed 137

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communism to a way of thinking based on the idea of an international society of shared interests and values.59 Reformers embraced the fundamentals of European social democracy and soon referred to the concept of cooperative security. According to Gorbachev: The new political outlook calls for the recognition of one more simple axiom: security is indivisible. It is either equal security for all or none at all. The only solid foundation for security is the recognition of the interests of all peoples and countries and of their equality in international affairs. The security of each nation should be coupled with the security for all members of the world community. [. . .] So, adversaries must become partners and start looking jointly for a way to achieve universal security.60 Having adopted the concept of a ‘contradictory but interconnected, interdependent and, essentially, integral world’,61 Gorbachev seemed to build his policy on this foundation.62 For Robert Tucker: Gorbachev grounds his call for reform in the international sphere not on ideological texts but on the existence of historically unprecedented ‘real tasks’, namely, those of saving mankind from nuclear self-annihilation and from succumbing to global environmental, demographic and other problems that in our time are getting out of hand. And here lies the link between the internal perestroika of which Gorbachev has become the champion and the new thinking that faces the need to address global problems of a supra-class nature and recognizes that security in the nuclear age can only be mutual.63 Calling for a comprehensive system of international security, Gorbachev deemed it vital to ‘base international politics on moral and ethical norms that are common to all humankind, as well as humanizing interstate relations’.64 According to him, the backbone of the New Political Thinking was ‘the recognition of the priority of human values, or, to be more precise, of humankind’s survival’.65 The Soviet leadership was thus ready to ‘cast away the false considerations of “prestige”, and acknowledge that all of us in the present-day world are coming to depend more and more on one another and are becoming increasingly necessary to one another’.66 Through perestroika67 and the New Political Thinking, Gorbachev stood up as a leader for reform in his country and an eminent figure in world affairs. It should also be observed that his revolutionary policies were notably induced by urgent necessities. Gorbachev’s essential objectives aimed also at achieving a new quality of cooperation with the leading Western countries, especially the United States. Communist struggle against, and at the expense of, the West had been replaced by Soviet admission to the elaborate panel of institutions that constituted the Western political system and to which the Soviet Union had been denied 138

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admission in the aftermath of the Second World War. This recognition of the Soviet Union’s great status and legitimate interests was crucial for Gorbachev and his reform-minded allies in their fight against powerful conservatives. Membership in Western institutions would also help to dissipate the Soviet perception of encirclement. Just like Brezhnev before him, the disastrous economic consequences of over 40 years of isolation and autarky in the Soviet Union, urged Gorbachev to turn to the West and seek massive economic assistance. As Leon V. Sigal noted: Economically, Gorbachev and his allies wanted to integrate the Soviet Union into the global economy, putting an end to the autarky that had long sheltered its firms from competition at the price of prolonging its backwardness. They needed American aid to negotiate the perilous transition from a command to a market economy, especially to introduce monetary reforms and head off hyperinflation. They also needed trade with the West to satisfy pent-up popular demand for consumer goods while keeping Soviet-style monopolies from gouging customers. Above all, they needed the West to lift the cold war embargo in order to obtain the technology and investment that would permit factories to retool.68 The Soviet Union had never been admitted within the important international economic organisations. Moscow had simply disregarded the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), IMF, the World Bank and the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) as detestable symbols of Western capitalism with which the Kremlin did not want anything to do. However, the continuing slowdown of economic growth within the USSR did not give it any other option but cooperation. Only by joining Western-led international economic organisations could Russia rebuild its shattered economy and society. Trade and investment69 from the West were essential to Soviet economic reform. Neither would be forthcoming without a new détente in the bipolar antagonism. Neil Malcolm also shared this view: In the economic sphere, the scale of East-West European cooperation was defined more ambitious than before. Instead of emphasizing the benefits of national planning, he stressed the importance for East-West economic rapprochement of the Soviet Union’s transition to a more open economy, similarities in the functioning of economic mechanisms, strengthening ties and economic incentives and mutual adaptation.70 Other clear signs of closer economic links between the Soviet Union and the capitalist West could be found in the negotiations on arms controls and disarmament. Here again, these developments would provide the Soviet economy with some highly needed breathing space in the field of civilian production. In this respect, Gorbachev needed the United States to agree to arms reductions and not 139

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to take advantage of deep cuts in Soviet defence spending and the resulting disintegration of the Red Army.71 The USSR had no other choice but to integrate the world community through international recognition. Gorbachev’s New Political Thinking was thus also driven by the need to transform the Soviet Union politically, economically and militarily. However, Gorbachev’s New Political Thinking did not suffice to fully address the challenges that the Soviet Union was faced with. This new approach needed to be underpinned by a more concrete structure that would integrate the country in a broader European dimension. Gorbachev’s answer to this appeared in the form of the ‘Common European Home’. The ‘Common European Home’ A Russian-Soviet initiative72 The vision of the Common European Home implied that, while belonging to antagonist political blocs, countries from Western Europe and the Soviet Union shared common ‘problems and opportunities’. It is interesting to observe that Gorbachev’s idea was in many respects similar to the Holy Alliance initiated by Tsar Alexander I. Both shared the assumption that insecurity stemmed from uncertainty about the intentions of others. Furthermore, both advocated a cooperative system in order to regulate the military capabilities and practices at the origin of these uncertainties. Other meaningful similarities included restrained diplomacy and political flexibility, compatible long term national interests and idealistic moral principles. In this new architecture, the European Community, Eastern Europe, and the Soviet Union would all have a place, and would be able to cooperate on security, economic and human rights related issues as illustrated hereunder: Europe is indeed a common home where geography and history have closely interwoven the destinies of dozens of countries and nations. Of course, each of them has its own problems, and each wants to live its own life, to follow its own traditions. Therefore, developing the metaphor, one may say: the home is common, that is true, but each family has its own apartment, and there are different entrances, too. But it is only together, collectively, and by following the sensible norms of coexistence that the Europeans can save their home, protect it against a conflagration and other calamities, make it better and safer, and maintain it in proper order.73 Gorbachev found it not so hard to sell his idea of a Common European Home to the Soviet public.74 Indeed, the term ‘Europe’, as opposed to the ‘European Community’, had always remained a positive label in the Russian–Soviet mind: ‘the Soviet propaganda preferred to depict the European Communities as a sort 140

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of false Europe, a capitalist bloc acting against the true interests of Europe and its peoples’.75 Contrary to the Atlantic Alliance, which was perceived as the embodiment of US hegemony, Europe was presented as an entity to which tsarist Russia had once belonged, and to which the new Russia should once more return.76 According to Gorbachev: Russia’s trade, cultural and political links with other European nations and states have deep roots in history. We are Europeans. Old Russia was united with Europe by Christianity, and the millennium of its arrival in the land of our ancestors will be marked next year. The history of Russia is an organic part of the great European history.77 The orientation towards universal values and global concerns embodied in Gorbachev’s original idea received extraordinary attention in the West, both in the media and from policymakers and academics. But, his public disavowal of the Brezhnev Doctrine78 and his proposals for the creation of a comprehensive system of security were greeted with perplexity and scepticism by Western European and American leaders. As the Common European Home idea radically differed from traditional Soviet policy thinking, this was to be expected. Western reactions: between realism and suspicion I think the cold war is not over. (National Security Adviser Brent Scowcroft, 22 January 1989)

The Common European Home project left Western governments astounded and quite unsatisfied. In their view, the first unacceptable feature was that this new architecture would include the Soviet Union by right, but exclude the United States and Canada. As Neil Malcolm aptly described it, Gorbachev’s initiative was perceived as ‘an element in the well-worn Soviet tactic of playing up discord inside NATO at times of superpower tension in the hope of exerting a moderating influence on American policy’.79 Malcolm further explained that it was also considered as a ‘rhetorical device intended to appeal to anti-American sentiment in Western Europe, whether on the left (hence the accompanying denunciations of Pentagon belligerence and of its doctrine of limited nuclear war) or on the neo-Gaullist right (hence the accusations of American arrogance and cultural imperialism)’.80 Peter Van Ham also exemplified this perception: Gorbachev’s concept of a ‘European Home’ was just one more try to disengage western Europe from the United States by offering an ‘AllEuropean’, or ‘Pan-European’, alternative to the previous structure of East-West separation and confrontation. Although both the United States 141

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and Canada were participating within the context of the CSCE process, there was no obvious role for them to play within the ‘Common Home’, thereby also leaving unclarified what the future position and function of NATO would be and what kind of security arrangement would eventually replace the Atlantic Alliance.81 We cannot but recognise that many Russian experts had indeed underscored the danger of increased pressure from the United States on Western Europe: The countries of Western Europe are living through a complex and contradictory period. They increasingly feel the political, economic and financial pressure from the USA which is trying to bind West Europeans to its own policy and sometimes even acts from the positions of unconcealed domination. ‘Cultural expansion’ from across the ocean, or, in other words, the penetration of the American way of life with all its ills into Western Europe, has grown to large proportions, which is fraught with an irreparable loss of West European independence. And all this happens to countries with millennium-old cultures.82 However, Gorbachev’s response was that he had no intention to pull Western Europe and America apart: We are far from ignoring or belittling the historic ties that exist between Western Europe and the United States. It is preposterous to interpret the Soviet Union’s European line as some expression of anti-Americanism.83 In his famous speech to the Council of Europe in Strasbourg on 6 July 1989, he once more officially declared that the USSR and the USA were a natural part of the European international political structure. Obviously, Gorbachev’s ideas were also motivated by the need to influence the West European discussion on the future structure of the European Community. To calm the fear that Moscow would be left aside from the successful process of economic integration in Western Europe, the Soviet leader brought up the need for some form of mutually advantageous cooperation. Indeed, despite its repudiation of the idea of a free internal market, the Soviet Union was now constrained to cope with the European Community’s new economic dimension. As for European governments, most of them were politically unwilling to pay the price of cooperation. The Twelve thus favoured a rather passive Community policy towards the USSR, mainly based upon the assumption that the situation in the Soviet Union was still highly unpredictable and, most importantly, not yet irreversible. Moreover, although European leaders were willing to consider the situation in Soviet Russia less worrying in terms of global security, they refused 142

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to view this unexpected partner as a full member of the European society. Valéry Giscard d’Estaing’s comments exemplify this perception: Relations with the Soviet Union will continue to be characterized by the ambiguity attendant upon the actions of a superpower with a global (and notably Asian) outlook which seeks to recognize for itself a European dimension. The Soviet Union’s European dimension cannot be political, since it will wish to continue to conduct a global diplomacy directed towards other continents. It will not be economic, because the Soviet Union is neither disposed nor equipped to take on the conditions of the Community’s single market and the competition it will bring. The Soviet Union’s European dimension will therefore be limited to the European space – the fact that we inhabit the same continent. There is no such thing as a Common European home but there is a common European space – or, to put it another way, a ‘roof for Europe’. The problems that Eastern and Western Europe have to solve together are those which derive from our common space, from the fact that we inhabit the same continent.84 European countries also pointed out that, although Russian culture is an integral and significant part of a common European culture, Russia could not be automatically considered an heir to the same occidental tradition shared by the Germans, Poles, Hungarians, Czechs and Balts as well as the vast majority of Americans and Canadians. As Berndt von Staden underlined: Europe never was, or only to a very limited degree, a united whole. It is Russia to become aware of the enormous differences which have developed throughout European history and still exist today. Turkish rule in the Balkans, for example, cut off this region from the development in the rest of Europe for five hundred years and the effects are still felt today. At the beginning of the 18th century two major European wars, the Spanish war of Succession and the Great Nordic War, took place at the same time without there being any significant connection between the two. Most of all, against the background of the common Graeco–Judaic heritage there are two different historico–cultural traditions: a Latin–Catholic – and subsequently Protestant – tradition in the West and up until the eastern part of central Europe, and the Byzantine–Orthodox tradition, which encompassed Russia, but also includes Romania, Bulgaria, Serbia and Greece.85 The US administration remained equally reluctant to reciprocate and put political limits on cooperation. American officials had preconceptions about Soviet behaviour and international relations in general. These beliefs and assumptions were essentially based on Realism. To most of the conservatives who held power in Washington, Soviet proposals were designed to buy the Soviet Union time, 143

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a brief breathing space to revive itself for a new assault or to lull the West into lowering its guard.86 It appeared to them highly implausible that a system held together for 40 years principally by coercion could transform itself quickly into a spontaneously cooperating alliance. Nuclear abolition in particular sounded very suspicious. President George Bush, a Realist and a conservative, was also sceptical about Gorbachev’s intentions.87 Caution and scepticism in the US foreign policy establishment would still prevail after the transformation process in Eastern Europe. Gorbachev’s reactions to these events were interpreted in Washington as another sign of weakness, a temporary expediency designed to buy time for the Soviet Union to regain its strength. In a larger sense, the United States refused to adopt cooperative policies towards Russia. Only in the Persian Gulf did the United States cooperate, enabling it to assemble a winning coalition against Iraq that included the Soviet Union. Even the media preferred at the time to concentrate on the persisting differences between Russia and the United States rather than on their potential resolution. According to journalist practices, ‘tough talk makes headlines’. In other words, stories about conflict are more newsworthy than stories about cooperation, and stories about war, even cold war, are the best news-sellers.88 Western and US governments thus finally dismissed the very idea of a Common European Home. They argued that some parts of the programme were alarmingly radical, others were vague, and that there was little detail on the concrete steps that would have to be taken in the short term. Furthermore, its underlying connotation of exclusiveness,89 although officially denied by Gorbachev, only reinforced initial suspicions. They maintained that this proposal lacked conceptual clarity and that the Soviet plans for East–West cooperation were far too ambiguous: The ‘Common European Home’ is the wrong metaphor. This expression distorts the reality of the present and blurs, whether intentionally or otherwise, our vision of the future. The concept of the Common European Home undoubtedly serves to blur the two distinct historic developments currently unfolding on the continent of Europe: the union of a group of sovereign states bringing together their resources and their historical and cultural values and seeking a common approach to a federalism that can be adapted to their nature and to modern times; and the expansion of relations of all kinds between all the states situated wholly or partly on the European promontory of the continent of Asia.90

Conclusion The oracle of our times has proclaimed unity, Which can be forged only with iron and blood But we try to forge it with love, Then we shall see which is the more lasting. (Fedor Tyutchev, nineteenth century Russian poet)

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Our study of the Russian approach to cooperative security has provided us with a number of different examples, stretching from the early tsarist period to the most recent events of 1999. At first, all these examples of Russian experience of cooperative security seem too different from one another for common conclusions to be drawn. However, our study has proved otherwise. With regard to the very notion of cooperative security, these examples demonstrated that cooperative security is indeed to be meant as a non-legally binding arrangement. Even Alexander I’s Holy Alliance should not be seen under its contemporary and rather military interpretation. If a treaty was signed by the successive members of this Alliance, what mattered most was not the existence of that treaty, but more the religious dimension of that arrangement. Neither the treaty nor the Alliance were then perceived as a contractual arrangement by which participating powers would have to abide by rights and obligations. Only moral and ethic principles were to guide this endeavour. Likewise should the OSCE not be seen as a contradiction to our argument. If the OSCE is indeed an institution, it is nevertheless ruled by the principle of equal status for all its members. This notion of equal status or balance of power is also very characteristic of the Russian approach to cooperative security. This is very much in line with Russia’s inclination for multipolarity. Finally, these examples showed that Russia’s different cooperative security initiatives constitute a continuity throughout Russian history, something that comforts us in the idea that cooperative security is not pure fantasy, but is truly anchored in Russia’s approach to its relations with other states. In terms of results, however, one cannot say that any of Russia’s cooperative security initiatives ever proved to be completely successful. On the contrary, all these initiatives failed. From the Western point of view, the reasons usually put forward to justify such failures were either that these initiatives were too idealistic (the Holy Alliance), too vague (the Common European Home), or that they might conceal some kind of Russian conspiracy against the West (Brezhnev’s thaw). In fact, Western leaders could be blamed for these failures, in that they chose to abandon each of the Russian cooperative security initiatives in which they were involved. A priori, this observation bodes no good for our work. How can we decently consider that cooperative security is the best arrangement for NATO–Russia relations, if the former never seemed to be seriously receptive to this principle? Some may say that this is again due to a cultural clash between Russia and the Allied countries. Indeed, we cannot deny that the importance of the ‘given word’ is a typical Russian preference, and that Western/NATO countries traditionally conceive their relations in a contractual way. Others may advocate that the notion of equal status is unrealistic when considering interstate relations and that consequently cooperative security is nothing but utopian. They would most likely stress the incompatibility of that principle with our current unipolar order. To these comments, we can say that the loss of this equal status principle could indeed be a cause of failure, not because it distorts the power ratio between the participating nations, but rather because this loss of equal status generates a shift of 145

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these countries’ individual interests. For example, the Holy Alliance did not fail because of the decline of Russian power and the simultaneous rise of Prussian power, but because these facts changed the nature of the interests that had first brought them together. Conflicting interests were also responsible for the abortion of the other Russian cooperative security initiatives. With regard to the OSCE, it is clear that the Western nations have always been reluctant to giving it a role that would compete with that of NATO. As far as the Common European Home is concerned, it was obviously difficult for the same Western countries to envisage cooperation with a country that still stood as their main rival. At that time, the West’s interests were focused more on opposition with Russia/Soviet Union than cooperation with it. Turning to NATO–Russia relations, it is very unlikely that such a pattern may occur. Indeed, let us not forget that NATO–Russia cooperation only concerns fields of common interests. Members of the NRC will always address issues for which they have already acknowledged having shared interests. Should an issue of conflicting interests between Russia and NATO arise, each of them still retains the possibility of addressing it separately from the other. On that basis, the NRC does provide good grounds for the establishment of cooperative security arrangements between NATO and Russia. It will continue to be so as long as NATO and Russia are able to find common interests.

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Melians But it is for this very reason that we now trust to their respect for expediency to prevent them [the Lacedaemonians] from betraying the Melians, their colonists, and thereby losing the confidence of their friends in Hellas and helping their enemies. Athenians Then you do not adopt the view that expediency goes with security, while justice and honour cannot be followed without danger; and danger the Lacedaemonians generally court as little as possible. Melians But we believe that they would be more likely to face even danger for our sake, and with more confidence than for others, as our nearness to Peloponnese makes it easier for them to act, and our common blood insures our fidelity.1 (Thucydides’s Dialogue between the Melians and the Athenians)2

When starting our research, we found ourselves confronted with a number of preconceived ideas or unfounded views about Russia, its relations with NATO and the turn that these may take in the future. To many, Russia was still that ‘riddle wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma’, the heir of the Cold War main enemy, and an unreliable partner. As for NATO–Russia relations, these were often seen as ‘mission impossible’, a partnership with no future, where integration of Russia into NATO seemed at the same time the only solution and the most inconceivable one. Similarly, the notion of cooperative security was still perceived as utopian and vague, as a concept that could hardly be put into practice successfully, one that, if initiated by Russia, should be regarded as pure conspiracy. In other words, the challenge ahead of us was not easy, all the more as the Russian approach was the angle that we deliberately decided to adopt to conduct this research. Now that the research is complete, we are able to discard many of the preconceived ideas mentioned earlier and to provide well-argued reflections. In the first part of our work, our objective was to develop a better understanding of the Russian identity. Our analysis of the historical and geographical components of

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that identity showed that the Russians had to conciliate sometimes antagonistic parameters to forge their identity. The latter had to embrace the diversity of the Russian population and come to terms with the successive legacies of foreign invasions, occupations and influences. Of course, this led to an unusual mix that, if looked at from the outside, can well appear as totally contradictory. This contradiction, however, is the key to understanding the Russian identity. As George F. Kennan pointed out: Contradiction is . . . the essence of Russia. West and East, Pacific and Atlantic, Arctic and tropics, extreme cold and extreme heat, prolonged sloth, and sudden feats of energy, exaggerated cruelty and exaggerated kindness, ostentatious wealth and dismal squalor, violent xenophobia and uncontrollable yearning for contact with the foreign world, vast power and the most abject slavery, simultaneous love and hate for the same objects . . . The Russian does not reject these contradictions. He has learned to live with them, and in them. To him they are the spice of life.3 This also forced the Russians to have a rather inclusive approach of their national identity, in that any individual born on the Russian territory can define himself as Russian. This corresponds to the predominance of rossiskii over russkii. The controversy over the definition of the Russian identity was not the doing of the West alone. Our study of the different Russian theoretical approaches to that question underscored the difficulty that the Russian nationals themselves encountered while trying to associate themselves with other cultural trends. Again, this is only due to the fact that the Russian identity is unique and does not follow any exogenous standards. Orthodoxy was found to play a primary role in reinforcing that Russian uniqueness. Russian history showed that Orthodoxy often acted as the only identity benchmark, even for those who were not devout. As a unifying force against invaders, the only long-lasting cultural reference, and sometimes the only institution of reference, Orthodoxy and the Russian Orthodox Church soon went beyond their pure religious status. In this way, they also mark the Russian identity of some of their distinctive features, such as an attachment to the past and an extreme reluctance to modernity; an inclination for anti-Western feelings; and the conviction of being vested of a universal spiritual mission. With regard to the relations between the Russian Church and the Russian State, we came to the conclusion that these were not of a secular nature. Both are tightly intertwined in the conduct of Russian politics; they proved to be mutually reinforcing, driven by a similar approach to it. Indeed, if the Russian Orthodox Church can be qualified as a non-democratic institution, we later found out that the Russian State was more marked by autocratic than democratic principles. Consequently, nations engaging in relations with Russia must be prepared to deal with the ideas, values and positions of the Russian Orthodox Church. 148

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At present, there is no reason to believe that the role of the Church will decrease. As Michael Bourdeaux underlined: Events of the last decade prove that the systematic attempt to deprive human nature of its inclination of the divine failed abjectly. Religion is destined to be an important factor in the new societies that are emerging. [. . .] Religion, at this time, faces the challenge of either contributing to the process of destabilization or of fulfilling its potential as an agent of reconciliation. Meanwhile, the well-being of hundreds of millions of people hangs in the balance.4 For NATO, this means that the actions and views of the Russian Orthodox Church, as well as its influence on the Russian State, should be well taken into account when interacting with Russia. One way of doing this is to include Russian Orthodox representatives in the community of relations between NATO and Russia. The intimate relationship between the Russian Orthodox Church and the Russian State also highlights the influence that the Church has exerted on the formation of the Russian political culture. Our study of Russian political culture was initially based on the principle that long and complicated historical events by which a nation is formed are likely to have a significant impact on its subsequent political behaviour. The use of historical analysis permitted us not only to identify views consistently held over long periods, or in varying contexts, or both, but also to explain the occurrence of such attitudes from the circumstances in which they arose, and thus postulate the changed circumstances in which one might expect these attitudes also to change. Major features of Russian political culture include the compelling tradition of centralism and the lack of a sense of individual or group rights against the central power; fear of chaos and abhorrence of public dissent; caution or resignation in the face of questions that the central authority is expected to decide; and xenophobic sensitivity. Russian political culture is primarily rooted in centuries of autocracy. Even though the concept of autocracy in Russia embraces a rich historical experience, it did not go unchallenged. As a result, the Russian people tend to be submissive citizens, accustomed to a top–down governance, in which they are told what to do and what to think. While scholars debate the relative importance of sub-cultural variations, it is quite impossible to get away from the predominantly authoritarian nature of Soviet and Russian political patterns. The 1993 Russian constitution is very explicit in this regard. Though instituting the principle of free, democratic and pluralistic elections, it also places extraordinarily strong, virtually autocratic, central powers in the hands of the president, who is accountable for and subordinate to none. Therefore, it is wrong to take the Russian constitution as the embodiment of democracy. Contrary to the West, the constitution in Russia is a façade only; it does not work democratically in practice. In short, Russia can be qualified as an illiberal democracy. 149

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At this stage of our research, if any recommendation should be made, we can simply caution the West/NATO against any desire to transform the Russian identity into something that sounds more familiar. This is not only doomed to failure, but would also be harmful to the relations between the two parties. Indeed, the West’s tendency to remodel the entire world according to its own values has only further reinforced the Russians in their resistance against it. In this context, whatever the West may bring to Russia’s attention will be perceived as tentative Westernisation. This explains why the North Atlantic Alliance is still perceived by Russia as an instrument of this ‘totalizing Westernization’. Another lesson to be drawn from this is that NATO should abandon any paternalistic and professorial attitude towards Russia, for their relationship to continue on good grounds. In all its uniqueness, Russia has as much to teach the world as the world has to teach Russia. In other words, this uniqueness should be duly recognised as a quality, a privilege. More can be drawn from this study of Russian identity and be applicable to the West/NATO’s dealings with the country. In order to assess to what extent the uniqueness of Russian identity affects its relations with the West, we have looked at NATO–Russia relations from December 1991 to May 2002. In 1991, the point of departure for a new relationship between a transforming Russia and a modernising NATO was the mutual understanding that security was not a zero-sum game one could play at the expense of others, and that, in this changing world, cooperation was inevitable. This cooperation was difficult at first because states find themselves in a competitive environment in which survival is never assured. Russia’s delayed entry into the PfP programme in 1994, contradictory interpretations of the 1997 Founding Act, and Russia’s condemnation of NATO enlargement created an atmosphere of increasing mistrust. And yet, interactions between the two parties continued. Russia proved to be a real – albeit selflimiting – participant in PfP and a willing interlocutor within the PJC. Likewise, the involvement of Russian military contingents in NATO’s peace support operations in Bosnia–Herzegovina showed that military cooperation was possible, although many Russians were disappointed at NATO’s reluctance to initiate joint coordination and joint decision-making. NATO air strikes on Kosovo, despite Moscow’s opposition, gave a serious chill to bilateral relations and put a temporary end to partnership activities. However, once again, NATO–Russia relations survived these diverging political views. The changing security environment following the 11 September 2001 attacks on the United States presented an unprecedented opportunity for NATO and Russia, not only to review their partnership with each other, but also to recognise their interdependence concerning the safeguarding of vital security needs that neither can meet alone. Viewed in this light, the creation of the new NRC in May 2002 is the confirmation that NATO and Russia have entered a new era in their relationship. Of course, this should not give rise to premature optimism. Indeed, it will always remain difficult to predict the exact course of relations not only between NATO and Russia, but, to a larger extent, among states and between states and 150

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international organisations. Having stated this, it must be recognised that the basis of the new post-11 September NATO–Russia relations is far more solid than before. What changed is not really an increased understanding of each other’s culture, but the respect of certain principles that are key to Russia. Indeed, the true and equal partnership launched by the creation of a Council at 20, including practical cooperation in fields of core interest to Russia, constitutes a major difference compared with the unequal relationship of a Council at 19 ⫹ 1 deprived of any concrete possibility of any joint decision-making, and where cooperation only concretised in areas of lesser significance. For the first time, Russia’s requirements for cooperation are met. By finally taking them seriously and admitting that Russia could be right on a number of issues such as the threat of terrorism and proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, NATO allies found the key to a more positive and more reliable relationship with Russia. At this stage, it is important to point out that the NRC format meets in many respects the fundamentals of cooperative security. Such an observation is for us an indication that this principle may indeed be the most suitable one for successful NATO–Russia relations. The case study of NATO’s enlargement mainly proved that, contrary to what many experts advocated, it was not an obstacle to NATO–Russia relations. The fact that Russia voiced publicly against the first wave of enlargement eastwards, and even resorted to countermeasures against that process, should not be mystified or misinterpreted. These were the expression of national positions. As such they could not have any substantial impact on NATO’s policies. Enlargement did occur again in 2004. Throughout the process leading to the new wave of enlargement, the Putin administration made it clear that it did not support it, but would not oppose it either. In the same vein, NATO Allies should accept that Russia might not agree with all their decisions or policies, reassured by this case study that such circumstances would on no account put a final end to their cooperation with Russia. However, before coming to any hasty and assertive conclusion, we decided to underpin our work on a theoretical approach. In so doing, we looked at various strands of International Relations theory that offer insights concerning those conditions in which mutual interests can be utilised. By building confidence among states about each other’s intentions, cooperative security regulates attitudes that might lead to misperception. The closer the interaction among states, the more they will find ways to further their security cooperatively. Statesmen will still sometimes misperceive the consequences of their own actions or of others’ stances, and thus distance themselves from a policy motivated by the primacy of the international interest. But this only provides evidence of the fact that the conduct of international relations is an art rather than a science. Older traditional concepts of security have proved inadequate to deal with modern security challenges. Self-help and old-style balancing behaviour have given way to cooperative efforts to promote stability. There is one question frequently asked about cooperative security systems initiated by Russia: were they dictated by necessity or by a real and honest desire 151

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to embrace multilateral security arrangements? Actually, there is no prima facie reason why these two factors should be mutually exclusive. There is no need to recall that, as stated in the realist approach, the first objective of states is to ensure their survival in the international system. This, however, is not in contradiction with the desire to develop cooperative security arrangements. In this regard, we have seen that rational self-interested calculation sometimes leads actors to eschew individualistic decision-making in favour of a more cooperative stand because independent behaviour can potentially result in sub-optimal or undesirable outcomes. If we can recognise Russia’s sincerity about the establishment of cooperative security arrangements with the West, we may wonder whether the West shows equal readiness in following this direction. History actually shows that the West has repeatedly dismissed the idea of cooperation with Russia once its immediate and apparent usefulness ended. As highlighted in our analysis, the failure of the three Russian initiatives to build a cooperative security system with the West – namely the Holy Alliance, Brezhnev’s détente, and the CSCE/OSCE – was partly, if not mainly, due to the West’s lack of responsiveness. One of the reasons for the Western leaders not to reciprocate Russia’s proposals for cooperative security rests on the fear that Moscow may plan a trick to lull the West’s vigilance and then to overrun it. However, above all, it was a shift in the West’s interests that usually caused the failure of Russian cooperative security initiatives. History showed us that Russia’s inclination for cooperative security was not pure fantasy. The fact that diverging individual interests may be the explanation for the failures of all these initiatives does not mean that cooperative security is not a valid principle. What it does mean is that the parties involved – in the present case, NATO and Russia – must find common ground on which they can then establish cooperative security arrangements. Such common ground between NATO and Russia became more apparent following the 11 September 2001 events. As mentioned earlier, these events then served as the basis for the creation of the NRC, which we have already assessed as a good cooperative security framework. For this to become an effective and long term solution to NATO–Russia relations, two questions need to be addressed. First, one will have to make sure that Russia is truly willing to pursue relations with an organisation that it considers to be largely dominated by the United States, something that many perceive as the logical result of US supremacy in international affairs. Second, one will also have to assess NATO’s relevance to Russia in view of the recent and still ongoing transformation that is affecting the Alliance. Russia’s position vis-à-vis its relations with NATO, more particularly if the latter is considered to be dominated by the United States, will mainly depend on the nature of Russia’s relationship with the American superpower. In other words, NATO–Russia relations will act as a mirror of the level of cooperation between the United States and Russia. As long as Russia is considered to be a privileged interlocutor for the United States, including an active role in the administering of

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important issues, and the possibility of acting on an equal footing on these occasions, the extent of US predominance over NATO affairs will be of secondary importance. This became even more apparent on the wake of the 11 September 2001 attacks on the United States. The recognition of Russia’s key role in the fight against terrorism and in the successful conduct of the coalition operations in Afghanistan, and the subsequent emergence of a new and unique partnership between the United States and Russia, were definitely beneficial to Russia’s involvement within NATO. Not only did Russia prove to be a strong ally in the US-led campaign, but it also proved to be a strong supporter of NATO’s activities in the framework of the fight against terrorism. This pattern has every chance to continue in the future, and, in this context, no one should expect Russia to concretely oppose the United States’ status within NATO. Washington could even become a good ‘go-between’ between Russia and the other NATO Allies, notably to address Russia’s suggestions with the other NATO members. The possibility that Russia may, on specific occasions, rally with the European allies against the United States should not be looked at with extreme concern. If Russia may not see any interest in openly opposing the United States’ status within NATO, it will equally not be willing to openly side with it. Furthermore, one should not forget that, just like every nation, Russia will give priority to its national interests, and will naturally side with those other countries either sharing similar interests or the most able to support those of Russia. Along these lines, one can say that the implications of NATO’s transformation for NATO–Russia relations will vary depending on whether this transformation is beneficial to Russia’s own interests. The fact that NATO is taking on new functions such as peacekeeping and peace-support operations, or engages itself in the international fight against terrorism and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, may be seen as denaturing NATO’s initial raison d’être. Many can even fear that NATO’s gradual shift from a collective defence to a collective security organisation may be the first signs of the end of the Alliance. In Russia’s eyes, however, these changes are much of an added value, first because Russia has always advocated for NATO’s transformation into a security organisation; and second because issues like terrorism and weapons of mass destruction have always been of greatest interest to the country. In other words, what can be regarded as a loss of relevance from a general point of view, happens to be a gain of relevance of NATO for Russia. This favourable context for Russia’s greater involvement in NATO’s activities will, however, still depend on the degree of Russia’s conviction in the sincerity of the Alliance’s intentions to restore relations and in NATO’s readiness to take into account Moscow’s vision of European security. In the same way as the United States managed to establish good relationships with a country that is so different and, above all, was its number one enemy for over 50 years, there is no reason why all Euro-Atlantic Allies within NATO would not manage to do so.

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Their first task will thus be to regard Russia just like any other valuable partner and to initiate a relationship that is truly the one provided for by the Founding Act, one of equal and mutually reinforcing partnership. Concretely, this will mean devising policies that are simple, consistent, sustainable over the long run and mutually beneficial. Once this is achieved, the Allies will have to grapple with the other issues still hampering their relations with Russia. Why is it so difficult and time-consuming to reach agreements with the Russians? Why do they always seem to be delaying decisions instead of being reasonable and meeting us halfway? Why are they so mistrustful of others, and can they be trusted to honour agreements? Obviously, some of these difficulties will not be changed easily, if at all, as they are the result of the Russian nature per se. However, let us not overestimate these difficulties and bear in mind how easy it finally was for the United States to establish a good relationship with Russia. At the practical level, a few recommendations can be made to facilitate both the Allies’ and Russia’s work. First, it is essential to be more conscious of the differences existing between the Russian people and the Russian leadership’s approach to NATO. Obviously, very few Russians have a fair understanding of what NATO really is and how it works. On the other hand, many still view the Alliance as a military tool under the leadership and at the service of the United States. While these ideas are widespread among the Russian population, they may not coincide with the thinking of the Russian decision-makers. In reality, President Putin is well aware of what NATO is about, and of the need for Russia to maintain cooperation with it. Likewise, the fact that the Alliance may be a tool in the hands of the United States may not necessarily be to the disadvantage of Russia. It is thus most important to raise public awareness of NATO, changing the Alliance’s image in the Russian mind, and to ensure that these efforts are made in coordination with the Russian leadership. This idea is based on the principle that the Russian leadership, more than anyone else, knows what momentum to adopt in introducing any new thinking, and that any introduction of new ideas in an authoritarian system like the one in Russia will be successful if conveyed by the leadership itself. In practical terms, the success of this undertaking will depend on the professionalism demonstrated by the NATO and Allied representatives in Russia. This means that standard propaganda through the mass media should be avoided. This also means that maximum openness, transparency, sincerity and goodwill will have to be observed. On no account should Russian interlocutors be made to feel that ‘need to know’ or ‘need not to know’ policies are being resorted to. These are the fundamental principles for any relations with Russia in that they will act as the guarantee of mutual understanding and, above all, mutual trust. This will have to be an all-out approach, not only including personal contacts with the top level of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Defence and the members of Parliament, but also addressing the representatives of the academic community, business people, professors and students of universities and colleges, even high school students in the capital, as well as in the provinces. 154

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Lectures, conferences, seminars and discussions sponsored jointly by NATO representatives and Russian public and political organisations prove to be highly effective. A huge quantity of work has already been done with the establishment of a NATO Information Office and a NATO Military Liaison Mission. For its part, the NRC may be considered an embryo of a peaceful European order, and it is up to NATO and Russia to exploit this new instrument with its considerable possibilities. Above all, it is an opportunity for frequent and direct personal contact that will make a difference, as it is more than well-known among the Russophiles how important personal contacts are for the Russians. One can even say that the Russians will want to know their interlocutors before even envisaging any relations with them. This explains why this instructive groundwork is often seen as a long and exacting task. Time is indeed an important factor in dealing with Russia; it cannot be overlooked or underestimated. Second, it is impossible not to address the linguistic issue when it comes to improving mutual understanding between NATO and Russian officials. Mutual understanding is often hampered by the language problem. This problem, technical at first sight, strongly constrains cooperation between Russia’s and NATO’s representatives. The recourse to interpreters only raises an additional barrier, especially for the Russians, who praise direct contact. Promoting the grasp of the Russian language at NATO will thus permit eliminating these unnecessary barriers, and showing the Alliance’s goodwill to establish trustful relationships – in this respect, the NATO–Russia Glossary of Contemporary Political and Military Terms can be considered as an encouraging example. This will also allow the partners to identify their differences of understanding more easily. A very basic – and yet very explicit example – is the use of nyet in Russian discourse. Nyet is a simple Russian word that is often misunderstood. Nyet seems to be an almost automatic response by officials when asked if something can be done; what, in the West, is usually perceived as an obvious sign of unwillingness. One should know that an initial ‘no’ in Russia is never definite. This is rather a simple – but effective – tactic aimed at gradually coercing the interlocutor to alter his position until the latter finally meets the Russians’ satisfaction. This practice is very much stamped with the Russian culture. For the understanding to become mutual, language education should not only apply to NATO officials. The Russians too should be encouraged to learn English. Both sides should exchange their methods of teaching foreign languages, organise advanced training programmes, etc. Third, NATO officials who believe in their own superiority and mission should be sensitive to Russian concerns. Without great-power status, Russians fear that other countries will no longer give them the respect they are due and Russia will lose its influence in the world. Furthermore, Russia’s dire economic straits are a cause of embarrassment, and its need for foreign aid is perceived as publicly humiliating. Russians do need aid from the West, but they do not wish to appear as beggars seeking charity. Those who are able to provide such assistance should respect Russian officials as the representatives of a great culture and avoid 155

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appearing as condescending. Equality and mutual respect are watchwords that need to be kept in mind. Russians and Westerners negotiate as equals, and Russians are very sensitive to any intimations that they are not being treated with sufficient respect and dignity. Western advice has been proffered in plenty, but much of it has been in the form of nostrums, which are of limited value because they ignore the other side’s political, economic and psychological baggage. Last but not least, if we wish the NATO–Russia relationship to develop rapidly, agreements reached should provide for reciprocity – what is done in one country should be matched by similar action in the other, and under equal conditions. And most importantly, the benefits to each side should be comparable. For this reason, current and future areas of cooperation between NATO and Russia will have to meet the interests of both parties. In the same way, any decision to initiate cooperation in a specific field will have to be followed by action. Mutual trust between NATO and Russia will only consolidate if NATO can prove to Russia that it can go beyond political statements, and if Russia can prove to NATO that it can be a reliable partner. Provided that NATO representatives adopt the adequate attitude, its future relations with Russia could be much more stable, balanced and cooperative. In this context, discrepancies between Russia and NATO would be nothing more than routine differences between partners. Just like Rome was not built in one day, one cannot expect NATO–Russia relations to be ideal at once. Given that this relationship had to be built on antagonistic grounds, the progress that has been achieved in only 10 years is far from disappointing. Looking at the long term perspective, and provided that the earlier practical recommendations are implemented, the prospects of NATO–Russia relations appear in a rather favourable light. Indeed, at this point, we are able to assert the following: ●

●

●

●

The Russian identity is unique, but this uniqueness is not an obstacle to the pursuit of NATO–Russia relations; The evolution of NATO–Russia relations over the past 10 years should be considered with cautious optimism, but definitely with neither scepticism nor pessimism; past and future enlargement of NATO eastwards is not an obstacle to the pursuit of these relations; and NATO does provide a suitable framework for cooperative security arrangements with Russia; The general question of NATO’s role in the post-Cold War environment is not necessarily a matter of concern for Russia; on the contrary, many aspects of NATO’s transformation meet the expectations that the country has long nourished about the Alliance; The United States’ supremacy and its possible predominance over NATO affairs is not an impediment to Russia’s greater involvement in NATO activities, so long as relations between the United States and Russia will continue to follow the same positive pattern that they have since 11 September 2001;

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The concept of cooperative security is not just rhetoric in Russia’s eyes; this possibility, if taken seriously by the West, can well be the ideal framework for relations with Russia.

Against this background, one decisive factor in shaping the future of NATO–Russia relations are obviously the developments in Russian domestic politics. One cannot deny that a lot of what has been achieved since the freeze of NATO–Russia relations during the Kosovo conflict is due to President Putin, his politics, and his vision of Russia’s relations with the West in general. The extent to which these achievements will be anchored or even deepened in the future depends largely on the future of President Putin in Russia. In the absence of any serious political challenge, Putin won comfortably the last presidential elections in March 2004. In principle, this will give him four additional years to pursue the rehabilitation of Russia on the international scene and to further cooperation with NATO. Whoever his successor may be, it will then be even more difficult to backtrack. Another important element is of course the evolution of relations between Russia and the United States, and more precisely the evolution of US policy towards Russia. As mentioned earlier, so long as Russia will be regarded as a key partner by the United States, and be actively involved in the activities deriving from US foreign policy, it will be difficult to see Russia undermine this cooperation. As far as NATO is concerned, one will have to look carefully at the US policy in Euro-Atlantic affairs. Should the United States gradually decide to go it alone, leaving NATO at a second-class rank, and should Russia be given the opportunity to play in the same courtyard as the United States, it is possible that the state of NATO–Russia relations may suffer a new radical change. In any event, now that the Cold War is over and that NATO and Russia have engaged in cooperative relations, the key to the success of that endeavour will be the degree of interaction between the two parties. In this context, true interaction implies constant knowledge, respect and understanding of one another, one another’s expectations as well as one another’s possible disagreement, disapproval and opposition. As Friedrich Nietzsche rightly wrote: ‘Never ignore, never refuse to see, what may be thought against your thought’.

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1 INTRODUCTION 1 Research implied regular and frequent stays in Russia and interviews with eminent Russian experts and scholars including inter alia Dr Dmitri V. Trenin, Deputy Director of the Carnegie Moscow Centre; Professor Victor B. Kuvaldin, Member of the Executive Board of the Gorbachev Foundation; Dr Dmitri A. Danilov, Head of the Department for European Security Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences; Dr Nadia K. Arbatova, Director of Research Programs at the R.U.E (Russia in the United Europe); Dr Tatyana G. Parkhalina, Deputy Director of the INION (Institute of Scientific Information for Social Science) at the Russian Academy of Sciences and Head of the NATO Documentation Centre for European Security Issues; Dr Lilia F. Shevtsova, Senior Associate at the Carnegie Moscow Centre; Dr Irina Kobrinskaya, Former Head of the Moscow East-West Institute; Professor Dr Elena Nemirovskaya, Director of the Moscow School of Political Studies; and Professor Dr Youri A. Borko, Head of the Centre on European Integration Studies at the Institute of Europe. 2 RUSSIAN IDENTITY 1 A. Solzhenitsyn, Literaturnaia gazeta, no. 38, 18 September 1990, pp. 3–6. 2 In this study, ‘identity’ not only refers to the state of having unique intrinsic characteristics, but it also designates the nature of an actor in relation to others. The understanding of identity formation is also very useful for explaining a number of behaviours. See especially A. Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 227–35 and pp. 261–3. 3 See Z. Sikevich, Natsionalnoye soznaniye russkikh [Russians’ National Consciousness], Moscow: 1996. 4 See E. Chinyaeva, ‘The Search for the “Russian Idea” ’, Transitions, June 1997, p. 40. 5 This enumeration is not exhaustive and could well include other identity components. However, this study will limit itself to those elements that permit differentiating the Russian identity from others. 6 It is indeed of common logic to whoever looks into the identity of a given people to assume that this identity is a national one. One cannot afford to make such an assumption in the case of Russia, for the very reason that the notion of Russia is far too vague at this stage of our study to be defined as national. Only after a thorough analysis of all the components of the Russian identity will we be in a position to assess whether ‘national’ is a term that characterises it correctly. 7 G. Vernadsky, A History of Russia, New Haven, NJ: Yale University Press, 1961, p. 10. 8 Ibid.

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9 M. Bassin, ‘Asia’, in N. Rzhevsky (ed.) Modern Russian Culture, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 58. 10 See especially M. Heller, Histoire de la Russie et de son empire, Paris: Champs Flammarion, 2000. 11 As Nicholas Riasanovsky aptly explained: ‘The question of the origin of the Kievan state is very closely connected with a group, tribe, or people known as the Rus, and it is also from the Rus that we derive the later name of the Russians.’ See N. V. Riasanovsky, A History of Russia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 24. See also I. Ia. Froianov, Kievskaia Rus: ocherki sotsialno-politicheskoi istorii [Kievan Rus’: Essays on Sociopolitical History], Leningrad: Izdatelstvo Leningradskogo Universiteta, 1980. 12 N. V. Riasanovsky, ‘Asia through Russian Eyes’, in W. S. Vucinich (ed.), Russia and Asia: Essays on the Influence of Russia on the Asian Peoples, Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1972, p. 5. 13 A. Leroy-Beaulieu, The Empire of the Tsars and the Russians, New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1893, p. 249. 14 Cf. Infra. 15 N. Berdyaev, The Russian Idea, New York: Lindisfarne Press, 1992, pp. 22–3. 16 For this argument, see also C. Lemercier-Quelquejay, La paix mongole, Paris: Flammarion, 1970. 17 For a thorough analysis of the influence of the cultural impact and the historic implications of the Mongol conquest and rule of Russia from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century, see especially C. J. Halperin, Russia and the Golden Horde, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1985. 18 G. Nivat, Russie-Europe, la fin du schisme, Lausanne: L’Age d’Homme, 1993, p. 297. 19 See A. A. Zimin, Reformy Ivana Groznogo: ocherki sotsialno-ekonomicheskoi i politicheskoi istorii Rossii serediny XVI veka [Reforms of Ivan the Terrible: Essays on Socioeconomical and Political History of mid-XVI Century’s Russia], Moscow: Izdatelstvo Sotsialno-ekonomicheskoi literatury, 1960. 20 See Leroy-Beaulieu, op.cit., p. 282. 21 A. Gleason, ‘Ideological structures’, in Rzhevsky, op. cit., p. 103. 22 See especially E. Anisimov, Vremia petrovskikh reform [Time of Petrine Reforms], Leningrad: Lenizdat, 1989. See also W. C. Fuller, Strategy and Power in Russia 1600–1914, New York: The Free Press, 1992, p. 35. 23 See N. V. Riasanovsky, The Image of Peter the Great in Russian History and Thought, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985, p. 304. 24 For a useful analysis of the Petrine reforms, see V. O. Kliuchevskii, in E. V. Anisimov (ed.), ‘Petr I: Rozhdenie imperii’ [Peter I: Birth of Empire], Voprosy istorii, 1989, no. 7, 3–20. See also V. O. Kliuchevskii, Kurs Russkoi Istorii [Course on Russian History], Moscow: 1911. 25 See R. D. English, Russia and the Idea of the West, New York: Columbia University Press, 2000, pp. 19–20. 26 N. Berdyaev, The Origins of Russian Communism, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1972, pp. 110–35. 27 Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, book XIX, chapter 14, p. 315. Translated and edited by Anne M. Cohler, Basia Carolyn Miller and Harold Samuel Stone. 28 Marquis de Custine, Empire of the Tsar: A Journey Through Eternal Russia, New York: Anchor Books, Doubleday, 1989, p. 602. 29 See N. Berdyaev, The Russian Idea, New York: Lindisfarne Press, 1992, p. 32. 30 Nivat, op. cit., pp. 200–1.

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31 J. H. Billington, The Icon and the Axe: An Interpretive History of Russian Culture, New York: Vintage Books Edition, 1970, pp. 218–19. 32 See A. K. Dzhivelegov, Otechestvennaia voina i russkoe obshestvo [The Patriotic War and the Russian Society], Moscow: I. D. Sytin, 1912. 33 A. G. Mazour, Russia Past and Present, New York: D. Van Nostrand, 1955, p. 30. 34 See M. V. Nechkina, Dvizhenie dekabristov [The Decembrists’ Movement], Moscow: Izdatelstvo Akademii Nauk SSSR, 1955. 35 For an interesting description of Nicholas I, see Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 302. 36 Famous formula of Nicholas I’s Education Minister Uvarov (1833–45). Those principles were more intended to keep out Western (mainly liberal French) ideas than to promote a sense of a Russian nation. 37 See W. C. Fuller, Strategy and Power in Russia 1600–1914, New York: The Free Press, 1992, p. 224. 38 See M. Heller, Histoire de la Russie et de son empire, Paris: Champs Flammarion, 2000, p. 710. See also N. K. Shilder, Imperator Nikolai I: ego zhizn i tsarstvovanie [Emperor Nicholas I: His Life and Reign], vol. I, St Petersburg: 1903. 39 The defeat of Russia in the Crimean War (1853–5) also convinced the tsar of the necessity of major reforms since his regime was on the brink of political collapse. Other foreign woes of Russia’s included the revolt in Poland (1863) and the diplomatic defeat that followed military victory in the Balkans (1878). See also M. Heller, op. cit., p. 756; and S. S. Tatishchev, Imperator Aleksander II: ego zhizn i tsarstvovanie [Emperor Alexander II: His Life and Reign], vol. I, St Petersburg: 1903. 40 For a positive assessment of these reforms, see Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 303. 41 For thorough analysis of Alexander II’s reforms, see especially Riasanovsky, A History of Russia. 42 See G. Sokoloff, La puissance pauvre. Une histoire de la Russie de 1815 à nos jours, Paris: Editions Fayard, 1996, p. 134. 43 See J. M. Edie, Russian Philosophy, Chicago, IL: University of Tennessee Press, 1994, pp. 158–9. 44 T. Mc Daniel, The Agony of the Russian Idea, Princeton, IL: Princeton University Press, 1996, p. 15. 45 Riasanovsky, A History of Russia, p. 396. 46 S. Iu. Vitte, Vospominaniia [Memoirs], Moscow: Izadelstvo Sotsialno-ekonomicheskoi Literatury, 1960. 47 The Stolypin reforms, aimed at creating a stable and independent middle-class peasantry, suffered a defeat. See A. V. Zenkovskii, Pravda o Stolypine [The Truth About Stolypin], New York: Vseslavionskoe Izdatelstvo, 1956. 48 The revolution of 1905 really began Sunday 22 January when policemen opened fire on a huge workers’ mass demonstration. After this day known as the ‘bloody Sunday’ or ‘red Sunday’, the tsar definitely lost the support of the workers who up to then had remained loyal to him. The same year, other events would finally lead to the establishment of a constitutional monarchy in Russia. 49 It is also important to note that by the late nineteenth century, tsarist colonial policy consisted of systematic Russianisation of groups including the Baltic Germans, the Finns and other Western borderlands people, populations that had been spared previous policies of Russianisation. 50 M. Heller, Utopia in Power, New York: Summit Books, 1986, p. 224. 51 For a Soviet view of the capitalist society, see A. A. Galkin, Sotsialnaia struktura sovremennogo kapitalisticheskogo obshchestva i burzhuaznaia sotsiologiia [Social Structure of the Contemporary Capitalist Society and Sociology of the Bourgeoisie], Voprosy Filosofii, no. 8, 1972. 52 R. A. Bauer, A. Inkeles and C. Kluckhohn, How the Soviet System works, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959, pp. 124–5, 133.

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53 See Mc Daniel, op. cit., p. 50. 54 For this argument, see especially the analysis of Lenin’s leadership in Adam B. Ulam, The Bolsheviks, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998, pp. 414–48. 55 See M. Heller and A. Nekrich, Utopia i vlast: istoriia Sovetskogo Soiuza s 1917g do nashikh dnei [Utopia and Power: History of the Soviet Union from 1917 to today], New York, 1986. 56 N. N. Petro, The Rebirth of Russian Democracy, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997, p. 96. 57 Ibid. 58 These mainly included soldiers who fought to Berlin, and the occupying forces and support personnel who followed. 59 E. S. Seniavskaia, Frontovoe pokolonie. 1941–1945. Istoriko-psikhologicheskoe issledovanie [The War Generation. 1941–45. Historical and Psychological Research], Moscow: Institut Rossisskoi Istorii, 1995, p. 164. 60 See V. Zubok and C. Pleshakov, Inside the Kremlin’s Cold War, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996, pp. 36–7. 61 G. Arbatov, The System, New York: Times Books, 1992, p. 292. 62 The Brezhnev doctrine foresaw that a socialist state should intervene in the affairs of another should its socialism be threatened by internal or external attack or subversion. 63 Losing the Cold War had generated a feeling of national humiliation. Numerous examples include loss of lands as well as the fact of being relegated to the status of poor state with regard to the wealthy United States and Western Europe. 64 A. Besançon, ‘Nationalism and Bolshevism’, in R. Conquest (ed.), The Last Empire: Nationality and the Soviet Future, Stanford: Hoover Institution, 1986, p. 9. 65 It is especially the then foreign minister Andrei Kozyrev who has been criticised for his liberal pro-Western policies. He had been called ‘Mister Da’ for his willingness to make concessions to the United States. 66 This expression is commonly used to designate the Russian policy towards the near abroad, aimed at the protection of national interests. 67 See H. Adomeit, ‘Russia as a Great Power in World Affairs: Images and Reality’, International Affairs, vol. 71, no. 1, 1995. 68 M. Light, ‘Foreign Policy Thinking’, in N. Malcolm, A. Pravda, R. Allison and M. Light (eds), Internal Factors of Russian Foreign Policy, New York: Oxford University Press, Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1996, p. 36. 69 The ‘Russian Idea’ can be summarised as the messianic predestination of the Russian nation and its selection to fill an extraordinary role in world history. In contemporary Russian journalism and intellectual circles, the Russian Idea means the cultivation of the special interests and a special role for Russians, both within the Russian Federation and across the territory of the former Soviet Union. For a thoughtful discussion of the Russian Idea, see inter alia A. Gulyga, Russkaia ideia i ee tvortsy [The Russian Idea and its creators], Moscow: Soratnik, 1995; M. A. Maslin, Russkaia ideia [The Russian Idea], Moscow: Respublika, 1992. 70 Cf. infra for the translation and the explanation of those two Russian words. 71 Between 1552 and 1556, Ivan the Terrible captured the Tatar cities of Kazan and Astrakhan. But it was the incorporation of Ukraine following the Pereiaslav Accords (1654) that fused Russia’s national identity with an imperial identity where the entire legitimisation of the Russian State rested on the possession of the Western borderlands. 72 See K. Dawisha and B. Parrot, ‘Russia and the New States of Eurasia: The Politics of Upheaval’, in R. Szporluk (ed.), National Identity and Ethnicity in Russia and the New States of Eurasia, New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1994, p. 26. 73 Ibid. 74 The crown then introduced ‘State Nationalism’ (‘Kazennyi natsionalizm’). See S. G. Pushkarev, Rossiia v XIX veke, New York: Chekhov, 1956, p. 287.

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75 See D. Pospielovsky, ‘Ethnocentrism, Ethnic Tension, and Marxism-Leninism’, in E. Allworth (ed.), Ethnic Russia in the USSR: The Dilemma of Dominance, New York: Pergamon Press, 1980, p. 125. 76 It is important to note that this word is in some ways untranslatable, for as compared with the English word people it has strong normative overtones. 77 D. D. Laitin, ‘Russian Nationalism in Russia and the Near Abroad’, in Identity in Formation: The Russian Speaking Populations in the Near Abroad, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1998, p. 308. 78 See also V. A. Tishkov, ‘What is Rossia?’, Security Dialogue, vol. 26, no. 1, 1995, pp. 41–51. 79 Since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the consequent disappearance of sovietskii (Soviet), rossiskii has assumed many of that adjective’s functions. See L. Ryazanova-Clarke and T. Wade, The Russian Language Today, London: Routledge, 1997, p. 293. 80 Given this historic association of statehood with empire, it is not surprising that both democrats and nationalists found it difficult to accept that some areas of the USSR were no longer part of Russia. 81 The multinational character of Russia and this empire-consciousness help to explain the rather uncomplicated cover of a ‘Soviet’ mentality after the Bolshevik Revolution. 82 Dostoevsky shared this view, as did many Slavophiles (cf. infra). 83 A. Kartashev, ‘Pravoslavye i Rossiya’ [Orthodoxy and Russia], in S. Vershovskoy, Pravoslavye v jizny, New York: 1957, p. 192. 84 In this respect, Ivan IV’s rule is very representative. 85 See especially Berdyaev, op. cit. 86 See T. Spidlik, L’idée russe, Troyes: Editions Fates, 1994, p. 186. 87 Berdyaev, op. cit., p. 28. 88 F. C. Barghoorn, Soviet Russian Nationalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956, pp. 231–3. See also Nivat, op. cit., p. 230. 89 See Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 297. 90 Ibid., p. 298. 91 See M. Bassin, Imperial Visions, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, June 1999, p. 67. 92 Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 300. 93 See N. Trubetskoi quoted in Nivat, op. cit., p. 300. 94 N. V. Riasanovsky, Russia and the West in the Teaching of the Slavophiles, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965, p. 87. 95 Ibid., p. 31. See also Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 228. 96 Chaadayev had already spoken of ‘sobornoye-consciousness’, and the idea is implicit in the writings of Kireyevsky. 97 Edie, op. cit., p. 161. For Russian sources dealing with the importance of communal traditions, see N. Arsenev, Iz russkoi kulturnoi i tvorcheskoi traditsii [On Russian Cultural and Creative Traditions], Frankfurt/Main: 1959. 98 See also Riasanovsky, A History of Russia, p. 362. 99 This notion of village-commune actually refers to the Russian obshchina. 100 Edie, op. cit., p. 161. 101 Riasanovsky, A History of Russia, p. 363. 102 See A. Walicki, The Slavophile Controversy, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975. 103 The term ‘Nationalism’ is a rather imperfect translation of the Russian word samobytnost, which one could translate as ‘one’s own way of being’. See especially L. Schapiro, Rationalism and Nationalism in Russian Nineteenth-Century Political Thought, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1981, p. 5. 104 Abbott Gleason, ‘Ideological Structures’, in Rzhevsky, op. cit., p. 109.

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105 Konstantin Aksakov, quoted in Riasanovsky, Russia and the West in the Teaching of the Slavophiles, p. 76. 106 See Mazour, op. cit., p. 30. 107 Cf. supra. See also N. V. Riasanovsky, Nicholas I and Official Nationality in Russia, 1825–1855, Berkeley and Los Angeles: 1961. 108 See in particular Riasanovsky, Russia and the West in the Teaching of the Slavophiles, p. 11. 109 See Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 231. 110 See L. Schapiro, op. cit., p. 83. 111 The leading Westernisers included Piotr Y. Chaadayev, Aleksander I. Herzen and Vissarion G. Belinsky. 112 Zapadniki is the Russian word for ‘Westernisers’. 113 See Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., p. 227. 114 Ibid., pp. 236–7. 115 Approximately around 1845. 116 In this regard, the Hegelian influence was really predominant. 117 See Edie, op. cit., p. 277. 118 A. Walicki, A History of Russian Thought: From the Enlightenment to Marxism, Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press, 1979, p. 162–3. 119 F. Dostoevsky, Dnevnik pisatelia za 1877, 1880 I 1881 god [Diary of a Writer for the years 1877, 1880 and 1881], Moscow and Leningrad: Gosudarstvennoe Izdatelstvo, 1927, p. 454. 120 ‘Occidentalism’ can be defined as the quality or customs characteristic of Western culture. It often refers to an image of the West constructed by non-Western societies and designed to exemplify the contrast with ‘Orientalism’ or the vision of the Orient. For a useful conceptual discussion, see especially J. Carrier, Occidentalism: Images of the West, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. 121 At a conference given on 21 February 2001 at the Catholic University of Louvain, Professor Georges Nivat provided us with very useful comments on this question. See also G. Nivat, ‘Du panmongolisme au mouvement eurasien’, in Vers la fin du mythe russe, Lausanne: L’Age d’Homme, 1988, p. 127. 122 For the Asian influence on Russian culture, see notably N. S. Borisov, Otechestvennaia istoriografia o vliianii tataro-mongolskogo nashestviia na russkuiu kulturu [Russia’s Historiography about the Influence of the Tatar–Mongolian invasion on Russian Culture], Moscow: 1976 and A. N. Nasonov, Mongoly i Rus. Istoriia tatarskoi politiki na Rusi, Moscow-Leningrad: 1940. 123 See G. Nivat, ‘Du panmongolisme au mouvement eurasien’, in Vers la fin du mythe russe, pp. 135–6. 124 A. Blok, ‘Skify’, in Stikhotvoreniia i poemy, Moscow: Khudozhestvennaia Literatura, 1968, pp. 231–2. 125 For a thorough analysis of Eurasianism, see especially O. Böss, Die Lehre der Eurasier, ein Beitrag zur Russischen Ideengeschichte des 20. Jahrhundert, Wiesbaden: Universität München, Ost-Europa Institut, Band 15, 1961. 126 Nicholas II had undertaken an extremely adventurist course in the East, culminating in the disastrous confrontation with Japan in Manchuria in 1904 and 1905. See D. Schimmelpennik van der Oye, ‘Russia’s Asian Temptation’, International Journal, Autumn 2000. 127 Relevant Russian sources include inter alia M. G. Vandalovskaia, Istoricheskaia nauka rossiiskoi emigratsii: Evraziiskii soblazn [The Historiography of the Russian Emigration: The Eurasian Temptation], Moscow: Pamiatniki istoricheskii mysli, 1997; I. A. Isaev, Puti Evrazii: Russkaia intelligentsia i sudby Rossii [The Eurasian Paths: The Russian Intelligentsia and the Fate of Russia], Moscow: Russkaia Kniga,

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128 129 130 131

1992; I. N. Sizemskaia and L. N. Novikova (eds), Rossiia mezhdu Evropii i Aziei: Evraziiskii soblazn [Russia Between Europe and Asia: The Eurasian Temptation], Moscow: Nauka, 1993. Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., pp. 23–4. See especially N. S. Trubetskoi, ‘O Turanskom elemente v russkoi culture’ [On the Turanian element in Russian Culture], Evraziiskii vremennik, 1925, no. 4, pp. 351–77. See G. Nivat, ‘Les paradoxes de l’affirmation eurasienne’, in Russie-Europe, la fin du schisme, p. 293. The Russian ultra-nationalist and geopolitician Alexander Dugin founded on 21 April 2000 the ‘Eurasianist Movement’, which advocates an empire of all Eurasia, dominated by Russia. The goals of this Neo-Eurasian doctrine are to ensure Eurasian hegemony against the United States. This movement has undoubtedly exerted a certain influence on modern Russian political science, sociology and philosophy. 3 RUSSIAN ORTHODOXY

1 S. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991. 2 R. C. Tucker, Political Culture and Leadership in Soviet Russia, New York: W. W. Norton, 1987, pp. 116–17. 3 ‘Russian Orthodox Church’ designates here the official Russian Orthodox Church Moscow Patriarchate as recognised today by the government of the Russian Federation. 4 See L. Beauvisage, La Croix et la Faucille. La Religion à l’épreuve du Postsoviétisme, Paris: Editions Bayard, 1998. 5 A. Leroy-Beaulieu, The Empire of the Tsars and the Russians, London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1902, Part III: The Religion, pp. 46–7. 6 See the official web site of the Russian Orthodox Church, available at http://www.russian-orthodox-church.org.ru 7 See S. B. Filatov and D. E. Furma, Religiia i politika v massovom soznanii [Religion and Politics in Popular Consciousness], Sotsiologicheskie issledovaniia, vol. 7, pp. 3–15. 8 S. W. Baron, Modern Nationalism and Religion, New York: Harper and Bros., 1947, p. 167. 9 N. Petro, ‘Orthodoxy’s Symphonic Ideal: The Russian Church in Search of Tradition’, in The Rebirth of Russian Democracy, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997, p. 65. 10 See C. Kelly and D. Shepherd, Russian Cultural Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. 11 J. Ellis, The Russian Orthodox Church: Triumphalism and Defensiveness, London: Macmillan, 1996, p. 288. See also D. Lane, Politics and Society in the USSR, New York: New York University Press, 1978, p. 468. 12 See N. Davis, A Long Walk to Church: A Contemporary History of Russian Orthodoxy, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995. 13 See S. Carter, Russian Nationalism, Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow, London: Editions Pinter, 1990. 14 V. Solovyev, ‘Velikii spor i khristianskaia politika’ [Great Discussion and Christian Politics], in Sobranie sochinenii, St Petersburg: 1911–14, vol. IV, p. 164. 15 See J. Witte and M. Bordeaux, Proselytism and Orthodoxy in Russia, The New War for Souls, New York: Orbis Books, Maryknoll, 2000, p. 234. 16 The minutes taken at this Council were written in a hundred chapters and that is why their compilation and the conference itself took on the name ‘Sto glav’ or ‘Hundred Chapters’.

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17 From the ‘baptism of Russia’ when Prince Vladimir converted Rus’ to Christianity in the tenth century, Russia has considered itself a holy, Christian land. 18 P. Miliukov, Religion and Church in Russia, Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1960, p. 11. 19 Pholoteus was the Abbot of a Pskov monastery. 20 Quoted in Miliukov, op. cit., p. 15. 21 See V. S. Rusak, Istoriia russkoi tserkvy: so vremeni osnovaniia do nashikh dnei [History of the Russian Church: From the Foundation to Today], New York: Jordanville, 1993. 22 For the early period, see E. Golubinskii, Istoriia russkoi tserkvy, The Hague: 1969, vol. 2, chapter 1. First published in 1900 in Moscow. 23 This very particular partnership is known in Eastern Christian theology as symphonia. 24 See D. S. Likhachev, ‘Religion: Russian Orthodoxy’, in N. Rzhevsky, Modern Russian Culture, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 42. 25 Dyarchy basically relates to the simultaneous government by two independent authorities. Etymologically, it can be split into di- and Greek arkhia ‘rule’, on the pattern of ‘monarchy’. 26 See R. G. Skrynnikov, Gosudarstvo i tserkov na Rusi XIV–XVI vv. [State and Church in Russia. XIV – XVI Centuries], Novosibirsk: 1991. 27 N. N. Petro, The Rebirth of Russian Democracy, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997, p. 67. 28 See M. Bulgakov, Istoriia russkoi tserkvi [History of the Russian Church], Ann Arbor, MI: Ann Arbor Publishers, 1963. 29 See John Witte and Michael Bordeaux, Proselytism and Orthodoxy in Russia, The New War for Souls, New York: Orbis Books, Maryknoll, 2000. 30 Finally acting independently from the state, the Council elected a patriarch. 31 Davis, op. cit., p. 212. 32 See L. Regelson, Tragediia russkoi tserkvi 1917–1945 [Tragedy of the Russian Church. 1917–1945], Paris: YMCA Press, 1977, p. 188. 33 Quoted by Jane Ellis, ‘Religion and Orthodoxy’, in C. Kelly and D. Shepherd (eds), Russian Cultural Studies, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998, p. 275. 34 P. Ramet, Eastern Christianity and Politics in the Twentieth Century, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1988, p. 73. 35 See N. N. Petro, The Rebirth of Russian Democracy, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997, p. 71. 36 It is important to note that Gorbachev had merely done nothing during his first few years in power. 37 Petro, op. cit., p. 86. 38 Ibid., p. 87. 39 See S. P. Ramet, Nihil Obstat: Religion, Politics, and Social Change in East-Central Europe and Russia, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998, p. 236. 40 Documents from the Central KGB archives in Moscow – now held by one of the KGB’s successors, the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation (FSB) – reveal that the Patriarch and other senior bishops of the Russian Orthodox Church had collaborated with the KGB. All bishops were bound to communicate with the Council for Religious Affairs which forwarded all its materials to the KGB. These documents were seen by a number of researchers after these archives were briefly opened in the wake of the failed August 1991 coup, but access was closed again after the Russian Orthodox Church protested against the extent of the revelations. 41 See Miliukov, op. cit. 42 Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu, op. cit., pp. 48–9. 43 D. E. Furman, ‘Religion and Politics in the Contemporary Mass Consciousness’, Russian Social Science Review, September–October 1994.

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44 See J. Ellis, The Russian Orthodox Church: Triumphalism and Defensiveness, London: Macmillan, 1996. 45 See S. P. Ramet, op.cit. 46 M. Bourdeaux, The Politics of Religion in Russia and the New States of Eurasia, New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1995. 4 RUSSIAN POLITICAL CULTURE 1 A. de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, Delran, NJ: The Legal Classics Library, 1988, p. 414. 2 R. V. Daniels, ‘Russian Political Culture and the Post-Revolutionary Impasse’, The Russian Review, vol. 46, 1987, p. 168. 3 L. Pye and S. Verba, Political Culture and Political Development, Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1965, pp. 516–17. For an early use of the term, see also S. Beer and A. Ulam, Patterns of Government, New York: Random House, 1958. 4 Pye and Verba, op. cit., pp. 513–16. 5 See G. Almond, ‘Comparative Political Systems’, Journal of Politics, vol. 18, 1956, pp. 391–409. 6 See S. White, Political Culture and Soviet Politics, London: MacMillan Press, 1979. 7 White, op. cit. 8 See R. C. Tucker, Politics as Leadership, Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 1995. 9 See R. C. Tucker, Political Culture and Leadership in Soviet Russia, New York: W. W. Norton, 1987. 10 For an extensive work on ‘culture’, see especially that of the anthropologist, C. Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, London: Fontana Press, 1973. 11 See A. L. Kroeber and C. Kluckhohn, Culture: A Critical Review of Concepts and Definitions,Westport, CT: Greenwood Publishing Group, 1901. 12 See A. Brown and J. Gray, Political Culture and Political Change in Communist States, London: Macmillan Press, 1977. 13 See C. Kluckhohn, ‘The Concept of Culture’, in R. Kluckhohn (ed.), Culture and Behavior: Collected Essays of Clyde Kluckhohn, New York: The Free Press of Glencoe, 1962. 14 Pye and Verba, op. cit., p. 554. 15 G. Almond, A Discipline Divided: Schools and Sects in Political Science, London: Sage Publications, 1990, p. 150. 16 For a thorough analysis of the evolution of Russian political culture, see especially V. S. Gidkov and K. B. Sokolov, Deciat vekov rossiiskoi mentalnosti: kartina mira i vlast [Ten Centuries of Russian Mentality: Picture of Peace and Power], St Petersburg: Izdatelstvo Aleteiia, 2001. 17 As a Russian soldier is reported to have told Sir George Buchanan, the British ambassador to Russia in 1917. Quoted from Paul Avrich, Russian Rebels. 1600–1800, London: The Norton Library, 1973, p. 257. 18 White, op. cit., p. 40. 19 See T. Daniel, Autocracy, Modernization, and Revolution in Russia and Iran, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991, p. 16. 20 R. Bova, ‘Political Culture, Authority Patterns, and the Architecture of the New Russian Democracy’, in H. Eckstein, F. J. Fleron, E. P. Hoffmann and W. M. Reisinger (eds), Can Democracy take root in Post-Soviet Russia? United States: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 1998, p. 185. See also V. Lapkin and V. Pantin, Russkii poryadok [The Russian Order], Polis, no. 3, 1997. 21 For the structure of pre-Petrine governments, see V. Stroev, Ocherki gosudarstva moskovskogo pered reformami [Essays on the Moscovite State Before the Reforms], Rostov/Don: 1903.

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22 See R. Pipes, Russia under the Old Regime, New York: Charles Scribner’s, 1974. 23 See A. Leroy-Beaulieu, The Empire of the Tsars and The Russians, New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1893, p. 268. 24 See N. N. Petro, The Rebirth of Russian Democracy, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997, p. 34. 25 See P. A. Zaionchkovskii, Krizis samoderzhaviia na rubezhe 1870–1880-kh godov [Crisis of Autocracy at the dawn of 1870–80], Moscow: Izdatelstvo Moskovskogo Universiteta, 1964, pp. 451–60. 26 S. S. Oldenburg, Last Tsar: The Autocracy, 1894–1900, United States: Academic International Press, 1975. 27 V. Dal, Poslovitsy Russkogo Naroda [Russian Proverbs], Moscow: 1970, pp. 244–7. 28 A. Inkeles and R. A. Bauer, The Soviet Citizen: Daily Life in Totalitarian Society, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1961, pp. 246–7. 29 See R. Wortman, ‘Moscow and Petersburg: The Problem of Political Center in Tsarist Russia, 1881–1914’, in S. Wilentz (ed.), Rites of Power: Symbolism, Ritual, and Politics Since the Middle Ages, Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania, 1999. See also G. Freeze, Reforma ili revolutsiia? Rossiia, 1861–1917 gg [Reform or Revolution? Russia, 1861–1917], St Petersburg: Nauka, 1992, pp. 32–5. 30 See B. V. Ananich, Vlast i reformy: ot samoderzhavnoi k sovetskoi Rossii [Power and Reforms: From Autocracy until Soviet Russia], St Petersburg: Dmitrii Bulanin, 1996, pp. 158–9. 31 S. White, ‘The USSR: Patterns of Autocracy and Industrialism’, in A. Brown and J. Gray (eds), Political Culture and Political Change in Communist States, London: Macmillan Press, 1977, p. 34. 32 R. Pipes, ‘The USSR or Russia?: The Historical Perspective’, in U. Ra’anan and C. M. Perry (eds), The USSR Today and Tomorrow: Problems and Choices, Lexington, MA: D. C. Heath and Co., 1987, p. 30. 33 S. Pushkarev, Self-Government and Freedom in Russia, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1988, p. 19. Translated from the Russian ‘Glas bo naroda – glas Bozhiy’. 34 We had a very stimulating discussion on this subject with Dr Nadia Arbatova, a well known Russian scholar. During the interview, she even stated that after a period of transition/adaptation, Russia would be in a position to experience the same kind of democracy as in the West. 35 See V. I. Sergeevich, Veche i kniaz: russkoe gosudarstvennoe upravlenie vo vremena kniazei riurikovichei [Town-Assemby and Prince: State Power at the time of the Russian Princes], Moscow: 1867, pp. 50–80. 36 Mir in fact has three meanings in Russian – village commune, world and peace – and for its members it symbolised all three. 37 The Boyar Duma was merely an advisory, not a representative institution. 38 These councils, which met from the mid-sixteenth until the mid-seventeenth century, more closely resembled an institution of an embryonically parliamentary character. See L. V. Cherepnin, Zemskie sobory russkogo gosudarstva v XVI–XVII vv. [Popular Councils of the Russian State in the XVI–XVII Centuries], Moscow: Nauka, 1978. 39 A. R. Myers, Parliaments and Estates in Europe to 1789, London: Thames and Hudson, 1975, p. 41. 40 See O. A. Omelchenko, Zakonnaia monarkhiia. Ekateriny II: prosveshchennyi absoliutizm v Rossii [Legal Monarchy. Catherine II: Enlightened Absolutism in Russia], Moscow: Iurist, 1993, pp. 30–45. 41 See Petro, op. cit. 42 The October 1905 Manifesto was, in no small measure, the result of the preparatory work of the zemstvos. 43 N. Riasanovsky, A History of Russia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 408.

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44 A. Levin, The Second Duma. A Study of the Social-Democratic Party and the Russian Constitutional Experiment, Hamden: Hamden Press, 1966, pp. 63 and 234. 45 Successful democracy is underpinned by civil society, through the autonomous organisation of voluntary associations that have high participation levels and shared values. A vibrant civil society is widely seen as a fundamental check against the re-emergence of an authoritarian state power. 46 Ibid. 47 Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, p. 157. Translated and edited by A. M. Cohler, B. C. Miller and H. S. Stone. First published 1748. 48 As he explained in a speech on 9 September 1991, the August events had confirmed the ‘irrevocable character of the changes to which democratization and glasnost had led’. 49 See M. Wyman, in M. Bowker and C. Ross (eds), Russia and the Cold War, Harlow: Pearson Education Ltd., 2000. 50 H. Eckstein, ‘Russia and the Conditions of Democracy’, Can Democracy take root in Post-Soviet Russia? Explorations in State-Society Relations, United States: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 1998, p. 372. 51 Ibid. 52 M. Urban, The Rebirth of Politics in Russia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997, p. 291. 53 Since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the Russian Federation had continued to operate under the 1978 Soviet Constitution, which had been amended over 300 times. 54 Stephen White, Russia’s New Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, p. 277. See also ‘Russian Constitution’, available at http://www.departments. bucknell.edu/russian/constit.htm, article 13 55 The international practice recognises that governmental power should be separated among several different branches of government. This modus operandi prevents one branch of the government from exercising control over another. 56 See ‘Russian Constitution’, available at http://www.departments.bucknell.edu/ russian/constit.htm, articles 120 and 122. 57 Ibid., article 128. 58 C. M. McPherson, ‘Russia’s 1993 Constitution: Rule of Law for Russia or Merely a Return to Autocracy?’, Hastings Constitutional Law Quarterly, vol. 27, no. 1, p. 163. 59 Yeltsin sacked the government three times in 1998 and 1999. 60 In August 1998, Yeltsin and Duma leaders reached a tentative agreement by which the Duma agreed to refrain from attempts to impeach Yeltsin or pass votes of no confidence in Yeltsin’s government. In return, Yeltsin promised not to dismiss the Parliament. 61 McPherson, op. cit., p. 162. 62 See T. Barber, ‘Russia: Yeltsin Invites Vote Against Democracy’, Independent, London, 6 December 1993. 63 The new ‘Tsar’ Putin also introduced a key instrument to strengthen the vertical power axis by appointing seven Authorised Representatives with whom he can shape his regional policy and enforce federal laws. These Representatives implement exclusively the policy of the centre and coordinate the regional governments on the president’s behalf. 64 R. Rose, W. Mishler and C. Haerpfer, Democracy and Its Alternatives: Understanding Post-Communist Societies, Cambridge: Cambridge Polity Press, 1998, especially chapter 2. 65 This definition can be attributed to Professor Rob de Wijk in his recent work on the subject.

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66 See the data of the socio-political orientation survey held in 1992–3 by the RAS, the Russian Institute of Sociology. 67 M. Mead, Soviet Attitudes toward Authority, New York: William Morrow, 1955, p. 26. 5 THE EVOLUTION OF THE RUSSIAN ATTITUDE TO NATO 1 It was indeed absolutely indispensable to establish a coordinating body used as an instrument regulating areas of common interest and capable of ensuring ‘controlled disintegration’. See R. W. Piotrowicz, ‘The CIS: Acronym as Anachronism’, Coexistence, vol. 29, 1992, pp. 377–88. 2 See V. Matveyev, ‘The New Russian Diplomacy: The First Months’, International Relations, 1992, pp. 77–94. See also I. I. Lukasuk, ‘Russland als Rechtsnachfolger in Völkerrechtliche Verträge der UdSSR’, Recht, 39. Jahrgang, Heft 4, 1993. 3 A. Kozyrev, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 1, 15 January 1992, p. 12. 4 S. N. MacFarlane, ‘Russia, the West and European Security’, Survival, vol. 35, no. 3, Autumn 1993, p. 9. 5 This concept had a different meaning in Russia than it had in the West. For the West, the Common European Home first and foremost meant freedom for central European states and the disappearance of the Soviet threat. The Western elite did not seriously consider either dissolving NATO or accepting Russia into the Alliance. Cf. infra. 6 See also F. Carr and K. Infantis, NATO in the New European Order, London: Macmillan, 1996, chapter 1. 7 J. Surovell, ‘Post-Soviet Russia: In from the Cold in Europe – or Kept Out in the Cold’, European Security, vol. 6, no. 4, Winter 1997, p. 22. 8 N. A. Arbatova, ‘Russia and NATO: a Russian View’, in R. de Wijk, B. Boxhoorn and N. Hoekstra (eds), NATO After Kosovo, Tilburg: Tilburg University Press, 2000, p. 45. 9 S. N. MacFarlane, ‘Russia, the West and European Security’, Survival, vol. 35, no. 3, Autumn 1993, p. 20. 10 See V. Baranovsky, ‘Russia: Insider or Outsider?’, International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 46, no. 3, July 2000, pp. 443–5. 11 H. Adomeit, ‘Russia as a “Great Power” in World Affairs: Images and Reality’, International Affairs, vol. 71, no. 1, 1995, pp. 35–68. 12 See M. Khrustalev, ‘Evolutsiia SNG i vneshnepoliticheskaiia strategiia Rossii’ [Evolution of the CIS and Russia’s Foreign Politics’ Strategy], Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 21–2, 1992, pp. 39–40. 13 Although it formally recognises the full sovereignty of the CIS members, Russia still insists towards the newly independent states that those military bases are indispensable and must remain exclusively under Russian control. Russia is implicitly expecting that the CIS states give up part of their sovereignty and independence. This obviously proves that Russia does not consider its direct neighbours as having equal rights. See S. Karaganov, ‘Problemy zashchity interesov rossiisko-orientirovannogo naseleniia v blizhnem zarubezhye’ [Problems related to the Defence of the Interests of Russophile Populations in the Near Abroad], Diplomaticheskii vestnik, no. 21–2, 1992, pp. 44–5. 14 In July 1997, Russia and Ukraine signed a Friendship Treaty recognising Ukraine’s independence which settled the dispute over the Black Sea Fleet: Ukraine got a fifth, while Russia would pay a 20-year lease on the Crimean port of Sevastopol. 15 The Crimea was taken from the Turks by Russia in the 1780s and was only attached to Ukraine by Khrushchev in 1954. The transfer of Crimea to Ukraine was at the time contested by the Russian government. 16 These include the northern territories of Kazakhstan which are mainly populated by Russians, but also those living in Moldova and in the Baltic States.

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17 The victory of ultranationalists and communists in parliamentary elections in December 1993 reflected widespread dissatisfaction with both domestic reforms and one-sided pro-Western foreign policy. 18 See also S. N. MacFarlane, ‘NATO in Russia’s Relations with the West’, Security Dialogue, vol. 32, no. 3, September 2001, p. 284. 19 During the extraordinary meeting of the Political Consultative Committee of the Warsaw Pact in Budapest on 25 February 1991, it was decided to dissolve the military organisation of the alliance. It is interesting to note that some of the proponents for the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact began to declare their intention of integrating the Western Euro-Atlantic structures. 20 See ‘London Declaration on a Transformed North Atlantic Alliance’, NATO Office of Information and Press, 1990. 21 See North Atlantic Council, 1990. 22 See North Atlantic Council, 1991. 23 Ibid. 24 US forces stationed in Europe were for example cut by over 60 per cent. 25 See the Combined Joint Task Forces (CJTF) Concept as a ‘key means of responding quickly and effectively to a wide range of eventualities’. When the CJTF was formally endorsed at the Brussels Summit in 1994, NATO’s former Secretary General Manfred Wörner described it as ‘a logical step in adapting NATO’s force structures’. 26 The well-known Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty is based on ‘the right of individual or collective self-defence recognized by Article 51 of the UN Charter’ and states that ‘an armed attack against one or more of the Parties in Europe or North America shall be considered an attack against them all’. 27 North Atlantic Council, 1991. 28 On 30 May 1997, at their meeting in Sintra, NATO Allies and Partner Heads of State and Government launched the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) which replaced the NACC. This decision aimed at combining the positive experience of the NACC and the PfP by providing an overarching framework for political and securityrelated consultations and for enhanced cooperation under the PfP programme. 29 See B. Meyer, ‘Study on NATO’, Peace Research Institute Frankfurt, no. 38. 30 S. Kay, NATO and the Future of European Security, Boston, MA: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 1998, p. 66. See also Andrei Kozyrev’s speech at the extraordinary meeting of the NACC in March 1992, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 7, 1992. 31 See R. de Wijk, NATO on the Brink of the New Millenium. The Battle for Consensus, London: Brassey’s, Brassey’s Atlantic Commentaries, 1997, p. 64; D. S. Yost, NATO Transformed. The Alliance’s New Roles in International Security, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1998, p. 150. 32 Adomeit, op. cit., p. 36. 33 See the study made by the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service and published in Izvestia, 26 November 1993. 34 See my comments in ‘La Russie face à l’OTAN au-delà du syndrome du Kosovo’, in T. de Wilde and L. Spetchinsky (eds), Les relations entre l’Union européenne et la Fédération de Russie, Louvain-la-Neuve: Institut d’études européennes, 2000, pp. 192–3. 35 V. Baranovsky, ‘Russia: A Part of Europe or Apart From Europe’, International Affairs, vol. 76, no. 3, 2000, p. 453. 36 S. R. Sloan, ‘NATO’s Future in a New Europe: An American Perspective’, International Affairs, vol. 63, no. 3, 1990, pp. 495–511. 37 Indeed, the OSCE cannot take any measure against an offending state if this latter disagrees. The US and Malta have theoretically the same equal rights and the same influence. Moreover, traditional antagonisms like those between Greece and Turkey would frequently block consensus. See Jonathan Dean, ‘The Post-Cold War Security

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38 39 40

41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

50 51 52 53 54 55

56 57 58

System in Europe – An Evaluation’, Cornell International Journal, vol. 24, 1991, pp. 457–73. In 1990, the Paris Summit established in Vienna a Conflict Prevention Center coordinating all information on armed forces and confidence-building measures (CSBM). Russia formally accepted the IPP and the ‘areas on pursuance of broad, enhanced NATO–Russia dialogue and cooperation’ on 31 May 1995. The Visegrad Four is an unofficial name given to the four central European postcommunist countries: the Czech Republic, the Republic of Hungary, the Republic of Poland and the Slovak Republic. For more information, see http://www. visegradgroup.org Elections of the State Duma were due in the latter half of 1995 and NATO was an easy target for bitter diatribes from all sides. For arguments put forward by PfP opponents, see V. Chernov, ‘Moskva dolzhna khorosho podumat, prezhde chem otvechat na predlozheniye NATO’ [Moscow must think before answering to NATO’s Proposition], Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 23 February 1994; A. Migranyan, ‘Zachem vstupat, yesli luchshe ne vstupat?’ [Why should we integrate if it’s better not to?], Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 15 March 1994. See ‘Boris Yeltsin – za spetsialnoye soglasheniye s NATO’ [Boris Yeltsin – for a special agreement with NATO], Izvestiya, 7 April 1994. J. L. Black, Russia Faces NATO Expansion: Bearing Gifts or Bearing Arms? Boston, MA: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2000, p. 11. Kay, op. cit., p. 71. L. Cooper, Russia and NATO, London: Macmillan Press, 1999, p. 160. Kay, op. cit., p. 68. O. Antonenko, ‘Russia, NATO and European Security after Kosovo’, Survival, vol. 41, no. 4, Winter 1999–2000, p. 128. A. Arbatov, ‘NATO and Russia’, Security Dialogue, vol. 26, no. 2, June 1995, p. 140. See also N. A. Arbatova, op. cit., p. 52. It is worth noting that at its December 1992 Oslo Meeting, NATO – not least because it was looking around for new collective tasks – stated its readiness to ‘support peacekeeping operations under the authority of the UN Security Council which has the primary responsibility for international peace and security’. Moreover, ‘the UN is the sole international organization that provides the legal authority for peacekeeping operations’. A UN authorisation is therefore needed before a NATO operation can be internationally accepted. See NATO Handbook, NATO Information Office and Press, 1995. The NATO-led operation in Bosnia was called ‘Joint Endeavour’ and was also NATO’s first ‘out-of-area’ deployment. It was then renamed ‘Joint Guard’. These forces came under NATO command and control following a transfer of authority on 20 December 1995 and the termination of UNPROFOR’s mandate. UN Security Council Resolution 1031 foresees that the IFOR operates under Chapter VII of the UN Charter (i.e. Peace Enforcement). General Shevtsov, ‘Russian–NATO Military Cooperation in Bosnia’, NATO Review, March 1997. The Commander of the MDN was General William L. Nash. The MDN headquarters were established in Tuzla. SFOR had originally been established for a planned period of 18 months. It had to fulfil tasks similar to those of its predecessor, but with ‘more emphasis on the civilian component’ and half the number of soldiers (30,000). SFOR’s mandate was renewed in June 1998. Arbatova, op. cit., p. 52. Antonenko, op. cit., p. 128. A. Golts, ‘Rasshireniye NATO: taim-aut ili dlinnyi razbeg?’ [NATO Enlargement: Time Out or Long Run-Up?], Krasnaya Zvezda, 11 October 1995.

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59 Baranovsky, ‘Russia: A Part of Europe or Apart From Europe’, International Affairs, vol. 76, no. 3, 2000, p. 452. See also S. M. Rogov, ‘Rossiia i NATO’ [Russia and NATO], Ssha, no. 10, October 1996, pp. 3–8. 60 The first PJC meeting at the level of Ambassadors was held at NATO Headquarters on 18 July 1997. 61 Antonenko, op. cit., p. 130. 62 The decision to sign the NATO–Russia Founding Act was pushed through by Primakov against considerable domestic opposition. See also his interview on NATO’s expansion in Novoe vremya, no. 15, 20 April 1997, pp. 24–6. 63 Baranovsky, ‘Russia: A Part of Europe or Apart from Europe’, p. 452. 64 See L. Ivashov, ‘Russia–NATO: Matters of Cooperation’, International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 44, no. 6, 1998, p. 112. 65 See U. Brandenburg, ‘NATO and Russia: A Natural Partnership’, NATO Review, July–August 1997, pp. 20–1. 66 See ‘Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security Between NATO and the Russian Federation’, NATO Office of Information and Press, 27 May 1997. 67 Although the Founding Act stipulated that Moscow was to be consulted on all security issues affecting its interests, another part of the agreement indicated that such consultation confers no authority and would not enable Russia to veto NATO decisions. See ‘Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security Between NATO and the Russian Federation’ (NATO Office of Information and Press, 27 May 1997). See also M. Light, S. White and J. Löwenhardt, ‘A Wider Europe: the View from Moscow and Kyiv’, International Affairs, vol. 76, no. 1, 2000, p. 80. 68 See R. Ovinnikov, ‘Akt o kapitulyatsii Rossi’, Pravda, 23–30 May 1997. 69 I. Isakova, ‘Relations with Russia: Go Slow, Don’t Spoil the Illusion . . .’, RUSI Journal, February/March 1999, p. 30. 70 Surovell, op. cit., p. 32. 71 Quoted from the NATO Review, July–August 1997. 72 The Centre began its activities in February 1998, first as NATO Documentation Centre for European Security Issues, then as Centre for European Security Studies. During one interview, Dr Tatyana G. Parkhalina, the current Head of the Centre, provided us with useful information on the creation of the Centre. 73 ‘Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security Between NATO and the Russian Federation’, NATO Office of Information and Press, 27 May 1997. 74 ‘Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security Between NATO and the Russian Federation’, Section III, Areas of Consultation and Cooperation, NATO Office of Information and Press, 27 May 1997. 75 See N. Afanasevskii, ‘Osnovopolagaiushchii akt Rossiia–NATO’ [The Russia–NATO Founding Act], Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn, no. 6, 1997, pp. 8–12. 76 See NATO Handbook, NATO Office of Information and Press, 2001, pp. 84–5. 77 During several interviews, Dr Tatyana G. Parkhalina, Head of the NATO Documentation Centre for European Security Issues in Moscow, gave us a very clear picture of the impact of the Kosovo crisis on NATO–Russia relations from a Russian point of view. 78 Arbatova, op. cit., p. 43. 79 See Y. Morozov and I. Nekipelyi, ‘Mirotvorcheskaya agressiya NATO’ [NATO’s Pacific Aggression], Nezavisimoye voyennoye obozreniye, 6 November 1998. 80 D. Trenin, ‘Russia–NATO Relations: Time to Pick Up the Pieces’, NATO Review, Spring 2000, p. 19. 81 See I. Zevelev and S. Cross, ‘Moscow and the Yugoslav Secession Crisis’, in C. P. Danopoulos and K. G. Messas (eds), Crisis in the Balkans: Views from the Participants, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997.

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82 For an interesting discussion of this argument, see A. Arbatov, The Kosovo Crisis: The End of the Post-Cold War Era, The Atlantic Council of the United States, March 2000, pp. 3–4. For earlier work on the importance of traditional Russian–Serbian ties in Russia’s policy towards the Balkans, see C. Jelavich, Tsarist Russia and Balkan Nationalism, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1958. 83 In the end, the Russian government did not provide advanced anti-aircraft systems and other forms of military support to Belgrade. See V. Gobarev, ‘Russia–NATO Relations after the Kosovo Crisis: Strategic Implications’, The Journal of Slavic Military Studies, vol. 12, no. 3, September 1999, p. 4. 84 Although supported by Nationalists, radical Communists and the large part of public opinion, Russia’s direct intervention in favour of Yugoslavia was hampered by practical obstacles. Either ground or air communications could be easily blockaded by NATO forces. 85 Russia did not, however, suspend its deployment to Bosnia as an adjunct to the NATO-led peacekeeping force. A de facto boycott of Russia’s participation in the PfP was combined with practical cooperation in SFOR and occasional consultations on such issues as defence–industrial cooperation and peacekeeping doctrine. 86 See infra for an extensive analysis of NATO enlargement. 87 Antonenko, op. cit., p. 131. See also V. I. Dashichev, ‘Natsionalnaia bezopasnost Rossii i ekspansiia NATO’ [Russian National Security and the Expansion of NATO], Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn, no. 11/12, 1997, pp. 20–6. 88 See A. Arbatov, ‘The Transformation of Russian Military Doctrine: Lessons Learned From Kosovo and Chechnya’, The Marshall Center Papers, no. 2, George Marshall European Center for Security Studies, Garmisch-Partenkirchen, 2000, pp. 10–11. 89 ‘National Security Concept of the Russian Federation’, www.scrf.gov.ru 90 ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation’, www.mid.ru/mid/eng/ econcept.html 91 These changes will be examined in the case study on NATO enlargement. Cf. infra. 92 This interpretation persisted even after the press started to convey a more balanced view by mid-April 1999. 93 Yeltsin appointed Chernomyrdin as his Special Envoy in part to limit the power of Primakov and in part to regain control of foreign policy. Primakov was indeed suspected of playing games with the Communists in the Duma and becoming too popular in Russia as a possible successor to Yeltsin. While Primakov was an expert diplomat who officially opposed NATO’s action against Yugoslavia, the appointment of Chernomyrdin was a clear signal for Primakov that his time was running short. Indeed, a month and a half after the beginning of the war, Primakov was dismissed from his post. Yeltsin and the Russian Democrats were at the time strongly attacked inside the country for the failure of economic reform (August 1998 default) and for infinite unilateral concessions to the West on the international scene. 94 Nevertheless, when Chernomyrdin agreed to NATO’s terms of settling the conflict and managed to get Milosevic’s consent to them, hardliners in Moscow accused him of having betrayed Russian and Yugoslav interests. See G. Zyuganov, N. Ryzhkov, N. Kharitonov, ‘Mezhdunarodnaya bezopasnost pod ugrozoi. Zayavleniye fraktsii Gosdumy’ [International Security Threatened. Declaration of a Duma Fraction], Pravda, 10 June 1999. 95 A. Frye, ‘The New NATO and Relations with Russia’, in T. Galen Carpenter (ed.), NATO Enters the 21st Century, London: Frank Cass Publishers, 2001, p. 97. 96 Gobarev, op. cit., p. 6. 97 Antonenko, op. cit., p. 138. 98 Ibid. 99 See ‘NATO and Russia: Partners in Peacekeeping’, NATO Office of Information and Press, February 2001.

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100 Baranovsky, ‘Russia: A Part of Europe or Apart from Europe’, p. 446. 101 The KFOR experience contributed indeed to the development of military-to-military relations on the ground and to increases in Russia’s participation in operational planning. In addition, NATO and Russian troops alike soon recognised that their cooperation on the ground was effective and very useful. 102 The first PJC meeting dealing with KFOR issues took place two months after the end of NATO air strikes. 103 Professor Dr Elena Nemirovskaya, Director of the Moscow School of Political Studies, provided us with valuable information regarding NATO–Russia relations in the aftermath of the Kosovo conflict. 104 Several meetings with both Dr Rolf Welberts, Director of the NATO Information Office, and Major General Peter Williams, Head of the Military Liaison Mission, were extremely useful for improving our understanding of these NATO representations in Moscow. 105 See O. Antonenko, ‘Putin’s Gamble’, Survival, vol. 43, no. 4, Winter 2001–2, p. 49. 106 Moscow supported UNSC resolution 1373 which in effect endorsed the US military action against the Taliban. 107 It is important to note that Russia viewed Afghanistan under the Taliban rule as an acute source of destabilisation in the region and a key exporter of Islamic terrorism to Chechnya. From 1996, Russia was the main supplier of military support to the Northern Alliance, and provided it with large quantities of weapons and war equipment in the aftermath of 11 September. 108 A. Lieven, ‘The Secret Policemen’s Ball: The United States, Russia and the International Order after 11 September’, International Affairs, vol. 78, no. 2, 2002, p. 251. 109 This confrontational stance was mainly advocated by Vladimir Zhirinovsky, leader of the Liberal Democratic Party LDPR (nationalist extremist); and Gennady Zyuganov, leader of the communist party Communist Party of Russian Federation (KPRF). 110 Antonenko, ‘Putin’s Gamble’, Survival, vol. 43, no. 4, Winter 2001–2, p. 49. 111 From a Russian perspective, the building of more substantial defences on the US side would erode Russia’s deterrent and pose serious impediments to further reductions in missiles (cf. Strategic Arms Reduction Path (START) agreements). 112 See Anatol Lieven, op. cit., p. 253. 113 Dr Lilia F. Shevtsova, Senior Associate of the Carnegie Centre in Moscow, provided us with relevant information on Putin’s policies. 114 For example over his handling of the Kursk disaster. When in August 2000, the Russian nuclear submarine with all its 118 crewmen sank to the bottom of the Barents Sea, the Allies immediately offered assistance. This tragic event had a significant impact on the development of Russia–NATO cooperation in the field of ‘search and rescue at sea’. 115 Some of the ideas presented here are based on J. M. Godzimirski, 11 September 2001 and the Shift in Russia’s Policy Towards NATO, Oslo: The Norwegian Atlantic Committee, Security Policy Library, 7–2002. Comments made by Dr Irina Kobrinskaya, a well known Russian scholar, were also extremely helpful in trying to get a better understanding of Putin’s strategy. 116 B. Piadyshev, ‘After the Terrorist Attacks’, International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 47, no. 5, 2001, p. 6. 117 See Godzimirski, op. cit., p. 13. 118 Ibid., p. 14. 119 Since the central Asian governments had officially declared that they could decide to cooperate with the US-led coalition in the fight against terrorism, the only possible and effective strategy for Russia was to secure its interests by cooperating with the anti-terror coalition.

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120 We should bear in mind that Putin’s popularity and his political ascension were based on his uncompromising stance regarding the conflict in Chechnya. 121 See Nodari Simonia and Vladimir Baranovsky, ‘What is in Store for the World’, International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 48, no. 1, 2002, p. 15. 122 NATO Secretary General Lord Robertson, for instance, in his interview published in Russia on the day of the Rome Summit, described the Chechen rebels as a branch of the global terrorist network. 123 See Antonenko, ‘Putin’s Gamble’, p. 52. 124 See Arbatov, ‘NATO and Russia’, p. 138. 125 Article 5 refers to the right of collective self-defence as laid down by the UN Charter. It states that an armed attack on one or more members of NATO will be deemed an attack against them all. 126 See the NATO Web Site for the official PJC statements: www.nato.int 127 J. Dempsey and R. Wolffe, ‘In From the Cold’, Financial Times, 14 May 2002. 128 See ‘NATO-Russia Relations: A New Quality’, Declaration by Heads of State and Government of NATO Member States and the Russian Federation, Rome Summit, 28 May 2002. 129 Since the NATO Secretary General chairs the discussion, the Russian representative sits around the table between Portugal and Spain. This new formula aims at giving Russia an equal status with the NATO countries. It allows Russia to be part of the same compromising trade-offs so characteristic of the daily policy-making within NATO based on the idea of reaching a consensus on issues of importance to the alliance. This solution grants Russia a right of equality, but also a responsibility and an obligation that come from taking part in the consensus-building. 130 For this question, see V. Baranovsky, ‘11 septembre: une vision russe’, Politique étrangère, vol. 1, 2002, p. 18. 131 See ‘Russia must join NATO’, Izvestia, 6 September 1994. 132 See M. Stoyanov, Moskovskaya Pravda, 17 September 1994. 133 P. H. Gordon, ‘NATO After 11 September’, Survival, vol. 43, no. 4, Winter 2001–2, p. 97. 134 It is important to note also that Russia’s entry into NATO would require the Alliance to adopt special provisions such as geographically limited defence guarantee – because of Russia’s long border with China and central Asia – before full membership could even be considered. See V. Sobell, ‘Russia Turns West’, The World Today, vol. 57, no. 11, November 2001, p. 19. 135 Instead of collective security, the Allied countries have usually preferred the term ‘cooperative security’ as evidenced in the NATO 1991 Strategic Concept. See D. Yost, ‘Collective Defence and Collective Security after Kosovo’, in R. de Wijk, B. Boxhoorn and N. Hoekstra (eds), NATO after Kosovo, Tilburg: Tilburg University Press, 2000, p. 23. 136 R. Pipes, ‘Is Russia Still an Enemy?’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 76, no. 5, September– October 1997, p. 66. 6 RUSSIA’S PERCEPTION OF NATO ENLARGEMENT: A CASE STUDY 1 R. D. Blackwill, Engaging Russia: A Report of the Trilateral Commission, New York: The Trilateral Commission, 1995, p. 25. 2 At its Prague Summit in November 2002, NATO member states invited Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia and Slovenia to accession to NATO membership. The accession process was scheduled to be achieved in time for the next Summit in June 2004.

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3 Cf. infra. 4 Ibid. See also R. Danreuther, ‘Escaping the Enlargement Trap in NATO–Russian Relations’, Survival, vol. 41, no. 4, Winter 1999–2000, p. 151. 5 See inter alia Yeltsin’s statement at the CSCE Summit in Budapest in December 1994, in Diplomaticheskii vestnik, no. 1, 1995, p. 5. 6 Following a decision by Allied Foreign Ministers in December 1994, the ‘why and how’ of future admissions into the Alliance were examined by the Allies during 1995. The resulting ‘Study on NATO Enlargement’ was shared with interested partner countries in September 1995 and made public. See NATO Handbook, NATO Office of Information and Press, 2001, pp. 61–3. 7 J. L. Black, Russia Faces NATO Expansion: Bearing Gifts or Bearing Arms? Boston, MA: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2000, p. 14. See also A. A. Sergounin, ‘Russian Domestic Debate on NATO Enlargement: From Phobia to Damage Limitation’, European Security, vol. 6, no. 4, Winter 1997, p. 55. 8 On the founding of the anti-NATO group, see ‘Dumtsi formiruiut “antinato” ’ Duma’s Deputies form an ‘Anti-NATO’ Group], Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 31 January 1997. On 17 April an anti-NATO commission was established in the Duma. See ‘Anti-NATO nachinaet deistvovat’ [Anti-NATO Begins to Act], Rossiskaya Gazeta, 17 April 1997. The leading organisers of this anti-NATO movement were initially deputies from the opposition ‘Power to the People’ faction (Narodovlastie) in the Russian Federal Assembly’s State Duma. Members of the communist–nationalist opposition, particularly the KPRF, later also joined the association. In addition, there were also many representatives of Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin’s centrist ‘Our Home is Russia’ party (NDR), as well as independent deputies. This further exemplified the broad opposition to NATO’s expansion. 9 See C. L. Ball, ‘Nattering NATO Negativism? Reasons Why Expansion May Be a Good Thing’, Review of International Studies, vol. 24, 1998, p. 62. 10 S. Plekhanov, ‘NATO Enlargement as an Issue in Russian Politics’, in C. P. David and J. Lévesque (eds), The Future of NATO: Enlargement, Russia and European Security, London: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1999, p. 181. 11 Ibid., p. 179. 12 These included mainly democratic parties such as Yabloko led by Grigorii Yavlinksii and represented by its ally First Deputy Prime Boris Nemtsov and foreign policy experts such as Vladimir Lukin – former Russian Ambassador to Washington and then Chairman of the Duma Committee on Foreign Affairs – and Alexei Arbatov – member of the Duma’s Defence Committee; the ‘Democratic Choice’ party led by Yegor Gaidar and Anatolii Chubais; and ‘Forward Russia’ led by former Minister of Finance Boris Fedorov. 13 Cf. infra. 14 This opinion is clearly expressed by N. K. Arbatova, ‘Samyi tiagostnyi urok poslednego vremeni’ [The Most Difficult Lesson of the Last Times], Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 6 April 1999. 15 Plekhanov, op. cit., p. 169. See also R. D. Asmus, Opening NATO’s Door: How the Alliance Remade Itself for a New Era, New York: Columbia University Press, 2002, p. 188. 16 See P. Zelikow, ‘Beyond Boris Yeltsin: Following America’s Enduring Interests’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 73, No. 1, January–February 1994, pp. 44–55. 17 For one of the best accounts of the negotiations leading to German unification, see P. Zelikow and C. Rice, Germany Unified and Europe Transformed, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996. 18 This kind of integration would have been limited to political cooperation, without, however, precluding consultations and interfacing on specific military matters. 19 See J. L. Gaddis, We Now Know, Rethinking Cold War History, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997, pp. 150–1.

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20 M. Bowker, Russian Foreign Policy and the End of the Cold War, United Kingdom: Dartmouth, 1997, p. 216. 21 See V. K. Volkov, ‘Expanding NATO Eastward: A View From Moscow’, Problems of Post-Communism, May–June 1997, p. 63. 22 J. Eyal, ‘NATO’s Enlargement: Anatomy of a Decision’, International Affairs, vol. 73, no. 4, 1997, p. 699. 23 Black, op. cit., p. 42. See also R. Danreuther, op. cit., p. 151. 24 See also J. L. Nogee and R. Judson Mitchell, Russian Politics: The Struggle for a New Order, Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon, 1997, p. 163. 25 Ibid., p. 151. See also Volkov, op. cit., p. 63. 26 Sergounin, op. cit., p. 68. 27 Black, op. cit., p. 96. 28 See supra for my account of the Slavophile political thought. 29 Black, op. cit., p. 17. 30 See Plekhanov, op. cit., p. 171. 31 M. McGwire, ‘NATO Expansion: A Policy Error of Historic Importance’, Review of International Studies, vol. 24, 1998, p. 38. 32 Black, op. cit., p. 9. 33 Nicole Gnesotto, ‘Elargissement de l’OTAN: une responsabilité européenne’, Politique étrangère, Printemps 1997, p. 133. 34 See Ball, op. cit., pp. 45–6. 35 Danreuther, op. cit., p. 153. 36 See E. Bajarunas, ‘A View From Lithuania’, in J. Simon (ed.), NATO Enlargement: Opinions and Options, Auckland: University Press of the Pacific, 2002, pp. 101–2. 37 See S. Main, ‘Instability in the Baltic Region’, in C. Dick and A. Aldis (eds), Central and Eastern Europe: Problems and Prospects, United Kingdom: Strategic and Combat Studies Institute, December 1998, p. 186. 38 See F. Labarre, ‘NATO–Russia Relations and NATO Enlargement in the Baltic Region’, Baltic Defence Review, no. 7, Tartu: Baltic Defence College, 2002, pp. 48 and 65. 39 C. Dick and A. Aldis (eds), Central and Eastern Europe: Problems and Prospects, United Kingdom: Strategic and Combat Studies Institute, December 1998. 40 Lithuania is the only republic of the three that has signed the border treaty with Russia (concluded in October 1997) and, due to its relatively small ethnic Russian population, has no real problem with the Russians living on its territory. The same cannot be said, however, for either Estonia or Latvia which claim certain areas of Russia as belonging to them. 41 EU membership implies that these countries have to impose strict visa restrictions, which render it difficult for the transport of both goods and citizens from Kaliningrad to the rest of Russia. 42 See C. Dick and A. Aldis (eds), op. cit., p. 189. 43 D. Trenin, ‘Silence of the Bear’, NATO Review, Spring 2002. 44 See C. Dick and A. Aldis (eds), op. cit, p. 196. 45 For this argument, see especially P. J. D’Anieri, Economic Interdependence in Ukrainian-Russian Relations, New York: University of New York Press, 1999; and I. S. Koropeckyj, The Ukrainian Economy: Achievements, Problems, and Challenges, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992. 46 The GUUAM gathers Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova. The GUUAM group reverted to GUAM after Uzbekistan suspended membership in the organisation in July 2002. 47 J. Eyal, ‘NATO’s Enlargement: Anatomy of a Decision’, International Affairs, vol. 73, no. 4, 1997, pp. 715–16. 48 Y. Bilinky, Endgame in NATO’s Enlargement: The Baltic States and Ukraine, London: Praeger Publishers, 1999, p. 36.

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49 For analysis, see also A. Karatnycky, ‘The Ukrainian Factor’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 71, no. 3, Summer 1992. 50 Plekhanov, op. cit., p. 180. 51 R. D. Asmus, Opening NATO’s Door: How the Alliance Remade Itself for a New Era, New York: Columbia University Press, 2002, p. 192. 52 For a thorough analysis of these partnerships, see also G. Rozman, M. G. Nosov and K. Watanabe (eds), Russia and East Asia: The 21st Century Security Environment, London: M. E. Sharpe, East West Institute, 1999. See also G. Bogoliubov, ‘Rasshirenie NATO na vostok i rossisko-kitaiskie otnoshenia’ [NATO Expansion to the East and Russian–Chinese Relations], Problemy Dalnego Vostoka, no. 6, 1997, pp. 31–41. 53 Except for the Beijing Declaration of 1992 which formulated the fundamental principles for the conduct of relations between Russia and China. This document emphasised the friendly and cooperative basis of relations between the two states, and formalised the Russian and Chinese commitment to observe international standards and norms in their relations with one another. 54 The underlying assumption is that the post-Cold War world is moving objectively towards multipolarity, and that Russia is one of its poles. In this paradigm, the threat to the stability of the international system comes from unipolar ambitions. 55 Nevertheless, we should not forget that Iran’s attempt to export its ideology, its poor record on proliferation of weapons of mass destruction, and its modest pretensions to reconsider its military role in the Caspian Sea raised significant concerns in Russia. 56 See Jerome M. Conley, Indo-Russian Military and Nuclear Cooperation: Implications for U.S. Security Interests, USAF Institute for National Security Studies, 2000. 57 Very explicit is China’s recognition of Russia’s leading role in the CIS. China wishes that Russia exercises its leadership in the interests of stability along China’s border. Russia, for its part, has no interest in seeing separatism grow in either Tibet or Xinjiang. For this argument, see S. W. Garnett, Limited Partnership, Russia–China Relations in a Changing Asia, Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1998, p. 24. 58 In April 1996, in Shangai, leaders of Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgistan and Tadjikistan signed the first regional Agreement on Confidence-Building Measures in Border Areas, and in April 1997, in Moscow, leaders of the same countries signed a Treaty on Mutual Reduction of Military Forces in Border Areas. 59 On March 1996, the presidents of Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan and Kyrgistan signed in the Kremlin an agreement on deeper integration among their countries within the CIS. The quadripartite document envisages a Community of Integrated States with a common market of goods, services, capital and labour; unified transport, energy and information systems; coordinated price formation and industrial and agricultural policies; uniform social security policies; and support for a single cultural space (meaning certain privileges for the Russian language and special facilities for the Russian diaspora’s contacts with the metropolis). 60 The ASEAN (Association of South-East Asian Nations) Regional Forum is primarily intended to gain a secure and legitimate basis for defending Russia’s interests and perspectives regarding all major issues of Asian security and reducing United States’ ability to proclaim itself a unipolar force or to act in such and unconstrained fashion. 61 See V. S. Miasnikov, ‘Russia and China’, in R. D. Blackwill and S. A. Karaganov (eds), Damage Limitation or Crisis? Russia and the Outside World, London: Brassey’s, 1994, p. 232. 62 See I. Facon, ‘La Russie, l’OTAN et l’avenir de la sécurité en Europe’, Politique étrangère, no. 3, 1997, p. 304.

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63 See V. N. Pavliatenko, ‘Russian Security in the Pacific Asian Region. The Dangers of Isolation’, in G. Rozman, M. G. Nosov and K. Watanabe (eds), Russia and East Asia. The 21st Century Security Environment, New York: M. E. Sharpe, East West Institute, 1999, pp. 40–1. 64 See G. Rozman, M. G. Nosov and K. Watanabe, Russia and East Asia. The 21st Century Security Environment, New York: M. E. Sharpe, East West Institute, 1999, p. 63. 65 S. Blank, The Strategic Context of Russo-Chinese Relations, Sandhurst: Royal Military Academy, Conflict Studies Research Centre, September 1999, p. 2. 66 NATO’s bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade resulted in the killing of three Chinese civilians and the wounding of more than 20 others. The United States and Britain contended that the embassy bombing was the result of intelligence sources having used an old and unreliable map. However, other reports stated that the Chinese embassy was targeted after it was discovered that it was relaying Yugoslav military signals and that the conscious attack was covered up thereafter by US officials. 67 Ibid., p. 1. 68 Li Jingjie, ‘China and Russia’, in R. D. Blackwill and S. A. Karaganov (eds), Damage Limitation or Crisis. Russia and the Outside World, London: Brassey’s, 1994, p. 255. 69 Garnett, op. cit., p. 41. 70 Danreuther, op. cit., p. 148. 71 China’s trade with Russia was about one-tenth of its trade with the United States. 72 See Pavliatenko, op. cit., p. 30. 73 K. Waltz, Theory of International Politics, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1979, pp. 7–8. 74 For a remarkable analysis of balancing and bandwagoning behaviour, see S. M. Walt, The Origins of Alliances, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1987, pp. 17–49. 75 See W. C. Wohlforth, ‘The Stability of a Unipolar World’, International Security, vol. 24, no. 1, Summer 1999, pp. 29–30. 76 H. Heikka, Beyond the Cult of the Offensive. The Evolution of Soviet/Russian Strategic Culture and its Implications for the Nordic-Baltic Region, Helsinki: The Finnish Institute of International Affairs, 2000, p. 79. 77 See ‘Voyennaya doktrina Rossii’ [Russia’s Military Doctrine], Rossiyskie vesti, no. 224, 18 November 1993. For the New Military Doctrine, see ‘Voyennaya doktrina Rossiyskoy Federatsii’ [Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation], Rossiyskaya gazeta, 25 April 2000. For the Draft of the New Military Doctrine, see ‘Voyennaya doktrina Rossiyskoy Federatsii’ [Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation], Krasnaya Zvezda, 10 September 1999. See also V. Yermolin, ‘Military Signs a New Doctrine’, Izvestiya, 13 October 1999; A. Korbut, ‘Draft Military Doctrine’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 13 October 1999; and V. Chugunov, ‘We Discuss the Draft Military Doctrine. With Consideration for the Potential of the Country’, Krasnaya Zvezda, 19 October 1999. 78 The text may be found at the official site of Russia’s Security Council, http://www.scrf.gov.ru. See also Nezavisimoye voyennoye obozreniye, 14 January 2000. 79 See ‘National Security Concept of the Russian Federation’, http://www.acronym.org.uk/ 43nsc.htm. See also ‘New Look at National Security Concept’, Rossiyskaya Gazeta, 6 October 1999. 80 See Pavliatenko, op. cit., p. 20. 81 See A. V. Zagorski, ‘Traditional Russian Security Interests in the Caucasus and Central Asia. Perceptions and Realities’, in R. Menon, Y. E. Fedorov and G. Nodia (eds), Russia, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. The 21st Century Security Environment, New York: M. E. Sharpe, East West Institute, 1999, p. 62. 82 In this regard, we were told by Dr Dmitri A. Danilov, Head of the Department for European Security Studies at the Institute of Europe in Moscow, that the vagueness

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83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95

of the New National Security Concept, but also of the New Military Doctrine, is undoubtedly a matter of concern. See H. Heikka, op. cit., p. 82. Danreuther, op. cit., p. 149. See Black, op. cit., p. 33. Plekhanov, op. cit., p. 183. Asmus, op. cit., p. 195. See NATO Handbook, NATO Office of Information and Press, 2001. Although signed in January 1993, START II was only ratified by Russia in April 2000. See R. L. Kugler, Enlarging NATO: The Russian Factor, Santa Monica, CA: Rand, 1996, pp. 55–6. The ratification of START II demonstrated the political capacity of President Putin who was able to gather the necessary votes despite anti-Western sentiment in the Duma generated by strong Western criticism of the war in Chechnya. A. Karkoszka, ‘Following in the Footsteps’, NATO Review, Spring 2002. Trenin, op. cit. A. B. Carter, W. J. Perry and J. D. Steinbruner, A New Concept of Cooperative Security, Washington, DC: The Brookings Institution, 1992, p. 6. R. Jervis, ‘Security Regimes’, International Organization, vol. 36, no. 2, Spring 1982, pp. 178–9. The focus of Jervis’ analysis is the Concert of Europe. 7 THEORIES OF COOPERATION

1 W. Churchill, The Gathering Storm, Boston, MA: Houghton and Mifflin Co., 1947, p. 18. 2 It will appear that the scope of this theoretical chapter is restricted to work published in English, principally in the United States. This reflects almost exclusively American thinking and could, at first sight, be seen as an unfortunate limitation. However, this choice was made intentionally, insofar as our approach is based on Realism, for which theory Russian scholars have often followed the lead of their American counterparts whose work appears to be more penetrating and more mature. They only departed from the Western/American stance when it came to practical applications of theoretical assumptions. 3 R. O. Keohane, ‘Theory of World Politics: Structural Realism and Beyond’, in P. R. Viotti and M. V. Kauppi (eds), International Relations Theory: Realism, Pluralism, Globalism, and Beyond, Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon, 1999, p. 154. 4 T. Hobbes, Leviathan, New York and London: Collier Macmillan, 1974, edited by M. Oakeshott. Book 1, chapter 13, p. 101. 5 Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1982, p. 351. 6 J. N. Rosenau and M. Durfee, Thinking Theory Thoroughly: Coherent Approaches to an Incoherent World, Oxford: Westview Press, 1995, p. 11. 7 Ibid., p. 10. 8 See P. R. Viotti and M. V. Kauppi, International Relations Theory: Realism, Pluralism, Globalism, and Beyond, Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon, 1999, p. 55. 9 Although Waltz’s contribution to the study of world politics is called Neorealism or structural Realism, it shares much with classical Realism. 10 See K. Waltz, Man, The State, and War: A Theoretical Analysis, New York: Columbia University Press, 1959, p. 238. 11 See H. J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations, New York: Knopf, 1966, p. 5. 12 The term ‘anarchy’ comes to us from the Greek, meaning, literally, absence of government or rule (arche).

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13 See J. N. Rosenau and M. Durfee, Thinking Theory Thoroughly: Coherent Approaches to an Incoherent World, Oxford: Westview Press, 1995, p. 14. 14 See Viotti and Kauppi, op. cit., p. 61. 15 See J. M. Grieco, Cooperation Among Nations: Europe, America, and Non-Tariff Barriers to Trade, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990, p. 4. See also C. L. Glaser, ‘Realists as Optimists: Cooperation as Self-Help’, International Security, vol. 19, no. 3, Winter 1994–5, p. 71. 16 See J. Donnelly, Realism and International Relations, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000, p. 19. 17 See G. Gerasimov, ‘Teoriia igr i mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia’ [Game Theory and International Relations], Mirovaia Ekonomika i Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, no. 7, 1966. 18 G. H. Snyder and P. Diesing, Conflict Among Nations: Bargaining, Decision-Making and System Structure in International Crises, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977, p. 181. 19 R. Axelrod and R. O. Keohane, ‘Achieving Cooperation Under Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions’, in D. A. Baldwin (ed.), Neorealism and Neoliberalism: The Contemporary Debate, New York: Columbia University Press, 1993, pp. 86–7. 20 A. A. Stein, ‘Coordination and Collaboration: Regimes in an Anarchic World’, in S. D. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995, p. 122. 21 The Prisoner’s Dilemma was invented in about 1950 by Merrill Flood and Melvin Dresher, and formalised by A. W. Tucker shortly thereafter. For a thorough analysis of the concept, see R. Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation, New York: Basic Books, 1984, p. 7. 22 See J. E. Dougherty and R. L. Pfaltzgraff, Contending Theories of International Relations: A Comprehensive Survey, New York: Longman, 2001, p. 506. 23 Robert Jervis aptly described the preference ordering available in this particular game, highlighting both the potential gains from cooperation and the temptations to prevent it. See R. Jervis, ‘Realism, Game Theory, and Cooperation’, World Politics, vol. 40, April 1988, p. 318. 24 See Donnelly, op. cit., p. 20. 25 Jervis, op. cit., p. 324. 26 See Axelrod, op. cit., pp. 8–9. 27 Indeed, all its rules are completely specified and defined in advance. All players understand the rules, the number of variables is highly limited and the emphasis is on abstract structure rather than on institutional or environmental detail. 28 See C. Lipson, ‘International Cooperation in Economic and Security Affairs’, World Politics, vol. 37, no. 1, October 1984, p. 4. 29 Keohane, op. cit., p. 176. 30 Axelrod, op. cit. 31 These arguments are summarised in Axelrod, op. cit. 32 Axelrod and Keohane, op. cit., p. 104. 33 See Stein, op. cit., p. 122. 34 See Keohane, op. cit., p. 176. 35 It is useful to note for example that if NATO began as a balance against a common threat, a strong case can be made that the members of the alliance today prefer mutual cooperation to temptation, mainly due to their history of institutionalised cooperation. See Donnelly, op. cit., pp. 152–4. 36 See R. O. Keohane, ‘Institutionalist Theory and the Realist Challenge after the Cold War’, in D. A. Baldwin (ed.), Neorealism and Neoliberalism: The Contemporary Debate, New York: Columbia University Press, 1993, p. 277.

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37 See Keohane, ‘Theory of World Politics: Structural Realism and Beyond’, p. 165. 38 S. Strange, Retreat of the State, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996, pp. 192–3. 39 Jervis, op. cit., p. 56. 40 This assumption is aptly described in the remarkable work of R. Jervis, Perception and Misperception in International Politics, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976. See especially, pp. 69–72, 88–9, 95–6 and 352–5. 41 See Axelrod, op. cit., pp. 182–3. See also Jervis, ‘Realism, Game Theory, and Cooperation’, World Politics, vol. 40, April 1988, pp. 324–7. 42 R. Jervis, ‘Security Regimes’, in S. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995, p. 177. 43 See Jervis, ‘Realism, Game Theory, and Cooperation’, p. 338. 44 Ibid., p. 88. 45 See Glaser, op. cit., p. 86. 46 Ibid., p. 59. 47 Jervis, Perception and Misperception in International Politics, pp. 109–13. See also Jervis, ‘Realism, Game Theory, and Cooperation’, p. 340. 48 J. H. Herz, ‘Idealist Internationalism and the Security Dilemma’, World Politics, vol. 5, no. 2, January 1950, pp. 157–80. See also Stein, op. cit., pp. 136–7. 49 See Jervis, ‘Realism, Game Theory, and Cooperation’, p. 349. See also R. Jervis, ‘Cooperation Under the Security Dilemma’, World Politics, vol. 30, no. 2, January 1978, pp. 167–214. 50 See J. N. Rosenau and M. Durfee, Thinking Theory Thoroughly: Coherent Approaches to an Incoherent World, Oxford: Westview Press, 1995, p. 14. 51 See infra for an analysis of this concept. 52 Dougherty and Pfaltzgraff, op. cit., p. 506. 53 The game of Chicken provides another appropriate case in point. In Chicken, mutual cooperation is only the second best outcome for both players, but mutual defection is advantageous for both. For a comprehensive analysis of this game, see Axelrod and Keohane, op. cit., p. 114. See also J. Joffe, ‘Collective Security and the Future of Europe: Failed Dreams and Dead Ends’, Survival, Spring 1992, p. 42. 54 See J. E. Goodby, ‘Collective Security in Europe after the Cold War’, Journal of International Affairs, vol. 46, no. 2, 1993, p. 307. 55 See also Glaser, op. cit., p. 82. 56 Some scholars claim that Neorealism and Structural Realism are distinct enough to be treated as separate variants. In their view, Neorealism should primarily refer to the theory as articulated by Waltz, while Structural Realism should refer to a broader family of systemic theories. For a conceptual discussion on this topic, see B. Buzan, C. Jones and R. Little, The Logic of Anarchy: Neorealism to Structural Realism, New York: Columbia University Press, 1993, p. 9. Since this argument is not of particular relevance here, we will, for more convenience, globally use the term Neorealism. 57 See A. Linklater, ‘Neo-realism in Theory and Practice’, in K. Booth and S. Smith (eds), International Relations Theory Today, Cambridge: Cambridge Polity Press, 1995, p. 242. 58 K. Waltz, Theory of International Politics, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1979, pp. 104–11. 59 Keohane, ‘Theory of World Politics: Structural Realism and Beyond’, p. 159. 60 See P. R. Viotti and M. V. Kauppi, International Relations Theory: Realism, Pluralism, Globalism, and Beyond, Boston, MA: Allyn and Bacon, 1999, p. 73. 61 See Waltz, op. cit., p. 105. 62 Glaser, op. cit., p. 50. 63 Ibid., p. 51.

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64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91

Keohane, ‘Theory of World Politics: Structural Realism and Beyond’, p. 175. Waltz, op. cit., p. 96. Dougherty and Pfaltzgraff, op. cit., p. 140. R. O. Keohane, After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984, p. 109. J. G. Ruggie, ‘International Responses to Technology: Concepts and Trends’, International Organization, vol. 29, no. 3, Summer 1975, p. 570. S. Krasner, ‘Structural Causes and Regime Consequences: Regimes as Intervening Variables’, in International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983, p. 2. R. O. Keohane and J. S. Nye, Power and Interdependence, New York: Longman, 2001, p. 17. H. Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics, New York: Columbia University Press, 1977, p. 54. R. O. Keohane, ‘The Demand for International Regimes’, in S. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983, p. 146. Ibid., p. 146. See A. A. Stein, ‘Coordination and Collaboration: Regimes in an Anarchic World’, in S. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983, p. 127. Ibid., pp. 137–8. Pareto optimality is a concept used in game theory and refers to an allocation of resources in which no individual can be made better off without another being made worse off. See also supra for a detailed analysis of the Prisoner’s Dilemma. Jervis, ‘Security Regimes’, p. 173. Keohane, After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy, p. 53. See also S. Krasner, ‘Structural Causes and Regime Consequences: Regimes as Intervening Variables’, in S. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983, p. 3. Keohane, ‘The Demand for International Regimes’, p. 162. Ibid., p. 147. Jervis, ‘Security Regimes’, pp. 186 and 177. See Ibid., p. 177. C. Lipson, ‘International Cooperation in Economic and Security Affairs’, World Politics, vol. 37, no. 1, October 1984, p. 12. See D. J. Puchala and R. F. Hopkins, ‘International Regimes: Lessons from Inductive Analysis’, in S. Krasner (ed.), International Regimes, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1983, p. 86. For an extensive analysis of this argument, see Bull, op. cit., especially chapter 5. An excellent definition of collective security can be found in I. L. Claude, ‘The Collectivist Theme in International Relations’, International Journal, vol. 24, no. 4, Autumn 1969, p. 640. For a valuable discussion of the League of Nations, see R. E. Osgood, ‘Woodrow Wilson, Collective Security, and the Lessons of History’, in E. Latham (ed.), The Philosophy and Policies of Woodrow Wilson, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1958. Morgenthau, op. cit., p. 389. See also I. L. Claude, Swords into Plowshares: The Problems and Progress of International Organization, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1956, p. 251. See C. W. Kegley and G. A. Raymond, A Multipolar Peace? Great-Power Politics in the Twenty-First Century, New York: St Martin’s Press, 1994, p. 234. See Charles A. Kupchan and Clifford A. Kupchan, ‘The Promise of Collective Security’, International Security, vol. 20, no. 1, Summer 1995, p. 397.

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92 See Claude, op. cit., p. 246. 93 Joffe, op. cit., p. 37. 94 D. Yost, ‘Collective Defence and Collective Security After Kosovo’, in R. de Wijk, B. Boxhoorn and N. Hoekstra (eds), NATO After Kosovo, Tilburg: Tilburg University Press, 2000, p. 21. 95 Joffe, op. cit., p. 37. 96 See Claude, op. cit., p. 255. 97 I. L. Claude, S. Simon and D. Stuart, Collective Security in Europe and Asia, Washington, DC: U.S. Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, 1992, p. 2. 98 Claude, op. cit., p. 280. 99 See F. Fukuyama, The End of History and The Last Man, New York: The Free Press, 1992. 100 J. E. Nolan, Global Engagement: Cooperation and Security in the 21st Century, Washington, DC: The Brookings Institution, 1994, p. 4. 101 Ibid., p. 5. 102 For a useful discussion of ‘Cooperative Security’, see R. de Wijk, NATO on the Brink of the New Millenium: The Battle for Consensus, London and Washington, DC: Brassey’s, 1997, pp. 143–4. 103 See Kegley and Raymond, op. cit., p. 218. 104 See David Yost, ‘The New NATO and Collective Security’, Survival, vol. 40, no. 2, Summer 1998, p. 138. 105 Nolan, op. cit., p. 8. 106 Ibid., p. 8. 107 A. D. Rotfeld, ‘The Search for a Cooperative Security System’, International Affairs (Moscow), no. 12, 1994, p. 50. 108 R. Gilpin, War and Change in World Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981, p. 238. 109 See Jervis, ‘Realism, Game Theory, and Cooperation’, p. 352. 8 THE RUSSIAN APPROACH TO COOPERATIVE SECURITY 1 M. S. Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for our Country and the World, New York: Harper and Row, 1987, p. 127. 2 See A. B. Carter, W. J. Perry and J. D. Steinbruner, A New Concept of Cooperative Security, Washington DC: The Brookings Institution, 1992, p. 6. 3 As far as the tsarist period is concerned, we also could have examined the First Hague Peace Conference of 1899. This Conference was actually convened by the Tsar Nicholas II ‘with the object of seeking the most effective means of ensuring to all peoples the benefits of a real and lasting peace, and, above all, of limiting the progressive development of existing armaments’. See the Russian note of 30 December 1898/11 January 1899 in the Final Act of the International Peace Conference, The Hague, 29 July 1899. The Conference, at which 26 governments were represented, assembled on 18 May 1899 and adjourned on 29 July 1899. It failed to reach agreement on the primary object for which it was called, namely the limitation or reduction of armaments, but adopted the three Conventions and the other acts mentioned in the Final Protocol. See D. Schindler and J. Thoman, The Laws of Armed Conflicts, Boston, MA: Martinus Nihjoff Publisher, 1988, pp. 50–1; V. S. Ivanienko, Centenary of Russian Initiative: From the First Peace Conference of 1899 to the Third Peace Conference of 1899. Collection of Documents, St Petersburg: St Petersburg University, 1999. 4 G. Vernadsky, A History of Russia, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1961, p. 202.

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5 See G. Hosking, Russia and the Russians. A History, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001, p. 252. 6 The name of the Alliance was taken from a prophetic passage in the Book of Daniel: the dedication is to the Most Holy and Indivisible Trinity. See J. H. Billington, The Icon and the Axe. An Interpretive History of Russian Culture, New York: Vintage Books, 1970, pp. 283–4. 7 See M. Heller, Histoire de la Russie et de son empire, Paris: Champs Flammarion, 2000, pp. 673–5. 8 Vernadsky, op. cit., p. 203. 9 Lord Castlereagh, British Foreign Secretary from 1812 to 1822, was also the representative of Great Britain at the 1815 Congress of Vienna. 10 N. Riasanovsky, A History of Russia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000, pp. 314–15. 11 Billington, op. cit., pp. 283–4 and 317. 12 In November 1818, at the Conference in Aix-la-Chapelle, with the payment of the indemnity and the withdrawal of allied occupation troops, France shed its status as a defeated nation and joined the other four great European powers in the Quintuple Alliance. See Riasanovsky, op. cit., p. 315. 13 See J. B. Duroselle, L’Europe de 1815 à nos jours, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1996, p. 105. 14 T. G. Weiss and L. S. Hayes Holgate, ‘Opportunities and Obstacles for Collective Security after the Cold War’, in D. Dewitt, D. Haglund and J. Kirton (eds), Building a New Global Order. Emerging Trends in International Security, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993, p. 261. 15 See R. B. Elrod, ‘The Concert of Europe: A Fresh Look at an International System’, World Politics, vol. 28, January 1976, pp. 166–70. 16 Metternich, the famous Austrian diplomat, would strongly support these ideas. 17 Essentially, the Decembrists were Liberals in the tradition of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution; they wanted to establish constitutionalism and basic freedoms in Russia, and to abolish serfdom. See Riasanovsky, op. cit., pp. 319–22. 18 More particularly, with regard to the communist period, we could have explored some of Lenin’s views on international relations, particularly his policy of ‘peaceful coexistence’, which also fall into this category. See L. Schapiro and P. Reddaway, Lenin. The Man, the Theorist, the Leader. A Reappraisal, New York: Frederick A. Praeger, 1967, p. 251. Other relevant sources include J. E. Connor, Lenin. On Politics and Revolution, New York: Western Publishing Company, 1968, especially pp. 354–9; R. Palme Dutt, Life and Teachings of V. I. Lenin, New York: International Publishers, 1934, especially pp. 63–7. Although the word ‘coexistence’ (sosushchestvovanie) cannot be found in Lenin’s writings and speeches, we may note expressions such as ‘existence side by side’, ‘parallel existence’, or the like. Lenin’s concept of peaceful coexistence was actually concretised during Brezhnev’s détente. For Russian sources, see in particular V. I. Lenin, Polnoe sobranie sochinenii [Complete Works], Moscow: Gospolitizdat, 1962; and F. M. Burlatskii, Lenin. Gosudarstvo. Politika [Lenin. State. Politics], Moscow: Nauka, 1970. In 1934, Maksim Litvinov, the Soviet Commissar of Foreign Affairs, also advocated disarmament and cooperative security with the West. Litvinov’s purposes were primarily designed to oppose the threat of fascist militarism. But the West proved unwilling to counter German provocative behaviour, and after France and Britain acceded to Hitler’s demands to Czechoslovak territory at Munich in 1938, Stalin abandoned Litvinov’s idea to forge an alliance with the West. For a thoughtful analysis of this argument, see V. Mastny, ‘The Cassandra in the Foreign Commissariat. Maxim Litvinov and the Cold War’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 54, no. 2, January 1976, pp. 366–76. See also M. Jabara Carley, 1939. The Alliance that never

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19 20 21 22 23

24

25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32 33 34

35

was and the Coming of World War II, Chicago, IL: Ivan R. Dee Publisher, September 1999. These initiatives were nevertheless not explicit enough and deductive arguments could not easily be drawn. For this reason, we preferred to focus on Brezhnev’s thaw. Pravda, 22 May 1973. See C. Roosens, Les relations internationales de 1815 à nos jours, Louvain-la-Neuve: Academia Bruylant, 2001, vol. I, p. 210. Treaties like the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty (NPT), the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty (ABM Treaty) were signed respectively in 1968 and 1972 and the same year, the two countries began the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT). N. Malcolm, ‘The Common European Home and Soviet European Policy’, International Affairs, vol. 65, no. 4, Autumn 1989, p. 661. The Helsinki Final Act encompassed three main sets of recommendations. The first set was related to politico-military aspects of security: principles guiding relations between and among participating States and military confidence-building measures. The second set concerned cooperation in a number of fields including economics, science and technology and the environment. The third dealt with cooperation in humanitarian fields such as human rights issues, culture and education. See the ‘Helsinki Final Act’, Helsinki: CSCE, 1975. In exchange for the Western nations’ endorsement of the Soviet proposal for a European Security Conference (CSCE), Brezhnev had agreed in principle to participate in a Conference on Mutual and Balanced Force Reductions (MBFR). After a year of preparatory discussions these two parallel conferences began, the CSCE in Helsinki on 15 January 1973, and the MBFR in Vienna on 30 October. See also N. Werth, Histoire de l’Union soviétique, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2001, p. 524. For a thorough analysis of Chancellor Brandt’s Ostpolitik, see P. Bender, Neue Ostpolitik: Vom Mauerbau bis zum Moskauer Vertrag, München: Deutsher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1989. See W. R. Keylor, The Twentieth Century World. An International History, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996, p. 338. R. D. English, Russia and the Idea of the West, New York: Columbia University Press, 2000, p. 123. The most important agreements essentially froze the two countries’ existing stockpiles of strategic defensive and offensive weapons. Keylor, op. cit., p. 340. Above all, the USSR needed a relationship with the United States that would ensure the regular flow of American grain to a Russia whose agricultural economy was chronically ailing because of the regime’s refusal to relinquish those hopelessly failed institutions, the State and the collective farm. See R. C. Tucker, Political Culture and Leadership in Soviet Russia, New York: W. W. Norton, 1987, p. 128. Keylor, op. cit., p. 339. The COMECON was established in January 1949. See Keylor, op. cit., p. 339. This part dedicated to the Brezhnev’s thaw might be perceived as too much one-sided or too idealistic. Western scholars often believe that détente was also a tactic used by the Soviets to expand their influence and that this initiative concealed some kind of Soviet conspiracy against the West (cf. conclusion in infra). The Soviet leadership gathered indeed committed Communists with strong belief in their ideology, but the Western leaders might also be held responsible for abandoning this Russian cooperative security initiative. For a Russian analysis of the CSCE/OSCE, see K. S. Benediktov, ‘Rossiia i OVSE’ [Russia and the OSCE], in D. Trenin (ed.), Rossiia i osnovnie instituty bezopasnosti v

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36 37

38 39 40 41 42

43 44

45 46 47

48 49 50 51

Evrope: vstypaia v XXI vek [Russia and European Security Institutions: Entering the twenty-first Century], Moscow: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2000. See H. Hurlburt, ‘Russia, the OSCE and European Security Architecture’, Helsinki Monitor, vol. 6, no. 2, 1995, p. 7. See ‘Charter of Paris for a New Europe’, Paris, CSCE, 1990. The Paris Summit (19–21 November 1990) also welcomed the signature of the Treaty on Conventional Armed Forces in Europe (CFE) and representative democracy was recognised as the only acceptable political system by all 35 signatory states. See Heather Hurlburt, ‘Russia, the OSCE and European Security Architecture’, Helsinki Monitor, vol. 6, no. 2, 1995, p. 7. The Helsinki Summit, 9–10 July 1992 ended with the CSCE Helsinki Document 1992, entitled ‘The Challenges for Change’. See Adam Daniel Rotfeld, ‘The Future of the CSCE. An Emerging Agenda’, Studia Diplomatica, vol. XLVII, no. 4, 1994, pp. 95–6. See Hurlburt, op. cit., p. 10. The Budapest Summit (5–6 December 1994) adopted the CSCE Budapest Document 1994, entitled ‘Towards a Genuine Partnership in a New Era’ and changed the name of the CSCE into the OSCE, effective 1 January 1995, reflecting the fact that the CSCE was no longer simply a Conference. See A. D. Rotfeld, ‘The Future of the CSCE. An Emerging Agenda’, Studia Diplomatica, vol. XLVII, no. 4, 1994, pp. 102–3; Y. V. Ushakov, ‘Perspectives for the CSCE. A View from Russia’, Studia Diplomatica, vol. XLVII, no. 4, 1994. These proposals were also difficult to accept not the least for central European states where clearly negative assessments of CSCE activity appeared from time to time. They stem from the fact that the CSCE was often seen as a security structure competing with NATO. See also R. Zaagman, ‘A Limited Partnership. The Relation between NATO and the OSCE’, in R. de Wijk, B. Boxhoorn and N. Hoekstra (eds), NATO after Kosovo, Tilburg University Press, 2000, p. 111. See E. Niemtzow, ‘The OSCE’s Security Model: Conceptual Confusion and Competing Visions’, Helsinki Monitor, vol. 7, no. 3, 1996, pp. 41–4. See ‘Lisbon Declaration on a Common and Comprehensive Security Model for Europe for the Twenty-First Century’, Lisbon, OSCE, 1996. See also N. Afanasievsky, ‘The OSCE Summit in Lisbon’, International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 43, no. 1, May 1997. See ‘Charter for European Security’, Istanbul, OSCE, 1999. The Charter reviews the new risks and challenges to security on the European continent in the post-Cold War strategic environment, reaffirms some basic general principles and provides for the strengthening of the OSCE’s operational capacities in conflict prevention, crisis management and post-conflict rehabilitation. In addition, in its appended Platform for Cooperative Security, the Charter offers a kind of partnership contract to mutually reinforcing security-related institutions based on mutual comparative advantages, complementarity, pragmatic synergy and transparency. This Platform also aims at further strengthening and developing reciprocal cooperation with complement organisations. Indeed, at Istanbul, Heads of State and Government expressed readiness in principle to deploy the resources of international organisations and institutions of which they are members in support of the OSCE’s work. See ‘OSCE Istanbul Summit Declaration’, Istanbul, OSCE, 1999. See B. George, A Better Peace: The Cooperative and Collective Security Fusion of OSCE and NATO in the New Europe, NATO Parliamentary Assembly, November 1999, pp. 3–4. V. Chizhov, ‘The Istanbul Summit’, International Affairs (Minneapolis), vol. 46, no. 1, 2000, p. 69. It was invoked in July 1992 to suspend Yugoslavia from the CSCE.

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52 If, for example, the OSCE was in effect in 1939, Hitler could have blocked a decision negative to himself with the vote of Mussolini. 53 Although the NACC was not created to rival the CSCE, its expanding functions and composition constitute an additional obstacle to the CSCE. See V. Y. Ghebali, ‘CSCE Basic Needs Before the 1994 Budapest Review Meeting’, Studia Diplomatica, vol. XLVII, no. 4, 1994, p. 79. 54 However, having been signed at the highest political level, OSCE summit documents have an authority that is arguably as strong as a legal statute under international law. 55 It must be granted, though, that the CSCE/OSCE did contribute by its human rights efforts to discredit the communist regimes in central and eastern Europe. 56 M. Gorbachev, Pravda, 4 October 1985. 57 This doctrine holds that international politics are inherently antagonistic, opposing two irreconcilable social systems, Capitalism and Socialism, against one another. 58 For useful Russian sources, see inter alia G. Shakhnazarov, Tsena svobody. Reformatsiia Gorbacheva glazami ego pomoshchnika [The Price of Freedom. Gorbachev’s Reforms from the Point of View of his Associate], Moscow: RossiskaZevs, 1993; A. S. Cherniaev, Shest let s Gorbachevym i po dnevnikovym zapisiam [Six Years with Gorbachev and his Diary’s Notes], Moscow: Kultura, 1993. 59 See Vadim Zagladine, ‘Notre Maison Commune’, Politique internationale, no. 44, été 1989, pp. 30–2. See also Fedor Burlatskii, Novoe myshlenie [New Thinking], Moscow: Politizdat, 1989. 60 M. S. Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for our Country and the World, New York: Harper and Row, 1987, p. 128. 61 Ibid., p. 125. 62 See M. S. Gorbachev, Izbrannye rechi i stati [Selected Speeches and Articles], Moscow: Politizdat, 1987–90. 63 Tucker, op. cit., p. 206. 64 Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for our Country and the World, p. 127. 65 Ibid., p. 132. 66 Ibid., p. 123. 67 See V. E. Vuchetich, Demokratisatsiya – sut perestroika, sut sotsialisma [Democratisation – Essence of Perestroika, Essence of Socialism], Moscow: Politizdat, 1988; V. A. Kozlov, Perestroika i istoricheskii opyt [Perestroika and Historical Experience], Moscow: Mysl, 1989. 68 L. V. Sigal, Hang Separately. Cooperative Security between the U.S. and Russia, 1985–1994, New York: The Century Foundation, 2000, p. 7. 69 See also V. Zagladine, ‘Notre Maison Commune’, Politique internationale, no. 44, été 1989, p. 28. 70 N. Malcolm, ‘The Common European Home and Soviet European Policy’, International Affairs, vol. 65, no. 4, Autumn 1989, p. 668. 71 See P. Van Ham, The EC, Eastern Europe and European Unity: Discord, Collaboration and Integration since 1947, London and New York: Pinter Publishers, June 1995, p. 150. 72 Comments made to us by Professor Viktor B. Kuvaldin from the Gorbachev Foundation were very helpful for the understanding of this initiative. 73 Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for our Country and the World, p. 181. 74 See Borko, ‘Obshchii evropeiskii dom: chto my o nem dumaem?’ [The Common European Home: What Do We Think About it?], Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, Moscow, 1991. 75 V. Morozov, ‘Evolving Russian Attitude to NATO and EU Enlargement: Westernization, Europe, and the War against Terrorism’, Militaert Tidsskrift, vol. 131,

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76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85

86 87 88 89 90

no. 3, July 2002, p. 281. See also I. Neumann, Russia and the Idea of Europe. A Study of Identity and International Relations, London: Routledge, 1996. See inter alia Zagladine, op. cit., p. 25. Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for our Country and the World, p. 183. The Brezhnev Doctrine foresees that a socialist state should intervene in the affairs of another should its Socialism be threatened by internal or external attack or subversion. Malcolm, op. cit., p. 662. Ibid., p. 669. Van Ham, op. cit., p. 156. Y. Karelov, ‘USSR–Western Europe: Guidelines of Cooperation’, International Affairs, Moscow, no. 11, November 1995, p. 24. Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for our Country and the World, p. 195. See also Zagladine, op. cit., p. 30. V. Giscard d’Estaing, ‘The Two Europes, East and West’, International Affairs, vol. 65, no. 4, Autumn 1989, p. 657. B. von Staden, ‘Nothing less than the whole of Europe will do . . . ,’ Aussenpolitik, vol. 41, no. 1, 1990, p. 189. See also supra the part on Russian National Identity. See also F. de Rose, ‘Maison commune ou maisons mitoyennes?’, Politique internationale, no. 46, Winter 1989–90, pp. 125–6. See G. P. Shultz, Turmoil and Triumph: My Years as Secretary of State, New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1993, p. 1003. See L. V. Sigal, Hang separately. Cooperative Security between the United States and Russia, 1985–1994, New York: The Century Foundation Press, 2000, pp. 11–12. Ibid., p. 307. While the Soviet Union would be inside the Common European Home by right, the United States would be merely invited on special occasions. V. Giscard d’Estaing, op. cit., p. 654. 9 CONCLUSION

1 The Melians were a colony of the Lacedaemonians. Besieged by Athens, they were convinced that the Lacedaemonians would ‘come to the aid of their kindred’. But in the end, strong and profound civilisational ties did not play any role. The Melians were abandoned by their allies and their island was devastated by the Athenians. See also F. Ajami, ‘The Summoning’, in The Clash of Civilizations? The Debate, New York: Foreign Affairs, 1996. 2 Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, New York: McGraw-Hill, The Modern Library, 1982, p. 354. 3 G. F. Kennan, Memoirs, quoted in Yale Richmond, From Nyet to Da – Understanding the Russians, Boston, MA: Intercultural Press, 1996, p. 43. 4 M. Bourdeaux, The Politics of Religion in Russia and the New States of Eurasia, New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1995.

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207

INDEX

ABM Treaty 78 absolutism 25, 38, 52–3 Afghanistan 8, 16, 62, 77, 79, 80, 153 Albright, Madeleine 89 Alexander I, Tsar 22, 131–2, 140, 145 Alexander II, Tsar 13, 19, 22, 49, 53 Alexander III, Tsar 13, 19, 22 Alexis II, Patriarch 36, 41 anarchy 115, 116, 119, 125 Andropov, Yuri 40 anti-western feelings 15, 36, 43, 58, 64, 148 Armenia 100 arms control 134, 139–40; agreements 106–7 ASEAN (Association of South-East Asian Nations) Regional Forum 100 Asianism (vostochniki) 28, 31 Aspin, Les 66 assemblies (veche) 52 atheism 27, 36, 40, 132 Austria 131, 132 autocracy, Russian 13, 14, 39, 41–2, 47–51, 53, 55, 58, 59, 149 Azerbaijan 17, 63, 98 Baker, James 92 Bakunin, Mikhail 27 Balkans 72, 76, 100, 143 Baltic States 71, 91, 95, 96–7, 99, 107, 137 Batyushka Tsar (‘little father Tsar’) 50 Belarus 105–6 Belinsky, Vissarion 27 Berdyaev, Nikolai 6, 9, 21 Black Sea Fleet 63, 98 Blair, Tony 82 Blok, Alexander 6, 29

Bolsheviks/Bolshevism 14, 17, 51; attitude towards Orthodox Church 39–40; nihilistic attitude towards country’s past 23 Bosnia–Herzegovina 68–9, 89, 150 Boyar Duma 52 Brandt, Willy 134 Brezhnev, Leonid 40 Brezhnev doctrine 4, 16, 133–5, 141, 145, 152 Bulgaria 76, 143 Bush, George, H. W. 92, 106, 144 Bush, George, W. 78 Byzantine 30, 35, 39, 143 Canada 141–2 Catacombal Church 40 Catherine II 11–12, 19, 27, 52–3 Central and Eastern European countries 3, 65, 66, 67, 84, 87, 94–5 Central Asia 77, 78, 79, 80, 100, 102 Chechnya 79, 106, 136 Chernenko, Konstantine 40 Chernomyrdin, Viktor 75 China 73, 77, 99; see also Sino . . . CIS Collective Security Treaty 98 civilisation, Russian 8, 18–19, 20 civil society 49, 52, 53–4, 59 coexistence 2, 132–3, 140 Cold War 2, 4, 60, 61, 62, 76–7, 100, 103, 105, 124, 128, 129, 133, 135, 147 collective defence 4, 81, 85, 87, 111, 123, 124, 128–9, 153 collective security 4, 85, 111, 123–5, 128–9, 130, 153 COMECON (Council for Mutual Economic Assistance) 135

208

INDEX

Common European Home 4, 62, 130, 131, 140–4, 146 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) 17, 61, 63, 65, 67, 99, 108, 135; military integration 105–6 communism 14–15, 18, 19, 41, 42, 43, 44, 54, 123; threat 1 Communist Party of Soviet Union (CPSU) 12, 18, 51, 55, 94 Concert of Europe 122, 126, 132 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) see Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) confidence building measures 124, 135, 151 Congress of Vienna 131 conservatism 19, 35–6, 52, 58 constitution: 1978 Soviet 56; 1993 Russian 4, 45, 56–8, 59, 149 Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty 16, 65, 106 cooperation 3, 4, 61, 107–8, 109–10, 112, 127, 130, 146 cooperative security 3, 125–7, 129, 130, 147, 151; Russian experiences 130–7, 145; Russian initiatives 4, 145; Russian initiatives, failure 145–6, 152; Russian initiatives, reasons for 151–2 cordon sanitaire 96 Council of Europe 135, 142 Crimea 63, 98 culture, Russian 3, 7, 43, 97, 143 Czechoslovakia 15 Czech Republic 87, 90, 95 Dayton Accords 68, 69, 89 Decembrists 12–13, 15, 132 Declaration on Multipolar World (1997) 101 democracy 55; Russia’s historical experience 52–4, 58–9; Russia’s transition to 55–6 détente 4, 16, 133–5, 139, 152 diplomacy, Russian 70, 101 Dmitry, Prince 9 Dostoevsky, Fyodor 6, 7, 15, 21, 25, 29 Drang nach Osten (German Drive to the East) 94 Duma 14, 35, 41, 52, 53–4, 57, 97; ratification of START 106–7 dyarchy 38

East 8, 20, 28, 30, 34, 37, 91, 102 East Germany 133 Economic Forum 135 energy resources 80 Estonia 96, 97 ethnic Russians 17, 20, 63–4, 93 Eurasianism (Evraziistvo) 9–10, 29–31 Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) 170 n.28 Europe 9, 12, 15, 26, 140–1, 143; current threats 127; Russia’s place in 3, 18, 93 European Community 134, 135, 140; policy towards Soviet Union 142–3 Europeanisation 10–12, 32; resentment generated by 22; Slavophiles views 25–6 European security 61, 62, 64–5, 66, 67, 71, 93, 105, 135–6, 153 European Union (EU) 64, 65, 67, 78, 94, 97, 98, 137 Forum for Security Cooperation (FSC) 135 Founding Act see NATO–Russia Founding Act (1998) France 7, 12, 28, 92, 131, 132 Freedom of Conscience and Religious Belief (1990) 36 game theory 112, 114–19, 128 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) 139 George IV 132 Georgia 17, 63, 64 German unification 16, 62, 91–3 Germany 10, 12, 28, 84 Ghermogen, Patriarch 35 Godunov, Boris, Tsar 38 Gorbachev, Mikhail 16, 40, 54, 62, 64, 78, 92, 130, 137–40, 140–2, 144 Great reforms 13, 49 Greece 143 Group of Seven (G7) 71 GUAM (Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Moldova) alliance 177 n.46 Gulf crisis 16, 62, 144 GUUAM (Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova) alliance 98 Helsinki Final Act of 1975 73, 133 Herzen, I. 6, 27

209

INDEX

Holy Alliance 4, 131–2, 140, 145 Holy Russia 21, 35, 37 Hungary 15, 76, 87, 90, 95 illiberal democracy 57, 59, 60, 149 imperialism, Russian 21, 63–4, 91 imperial mentality 20 Implementation Force (IFOR) 68–9 India 77, 99–100, 101, 102, 108 Individual Partnership Programme (IPP) 67 Institute of Scientific Information for Social Sciences (INION) 71 intelligentsia, Russian 10, 24–5, 28, 49 internationalism 15 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 16, 71, 139 international regimes 4, 112, 120–3, 128 international relations theories 4, 111–12, 127, 151 Iran 77, 78, 79, 100, 108 Iraq 16, 62, 78, 144 Ivan III, Tsar 9, 37, 48 Ivan IV, Tsar (Ivan the Terrible) 10, 19, 36, 38, 48–9, 52 Japan 63, 101 Japan–US Security Treaty (1996) 101 Joulwan, General 68 Kaliningrad 88, 97 Kazakhstan 79, 100 KGB (State Security Committee) 40, 41 Khomiakov, Aleksei 24 Khrushchev, Nikita 15, 40 Kievan Rus’ 8–9, 97 Kireevsky, Ivan 24 Kirill, Metropolitan 41 Kissinger, Henry 133 Kohl, Helmut 92 Kosovo crisis 4, 61, 72–7, 85, 136, 150 Kosovo Force (KFOR) 75–7 Kosovo Liberation Agency (KLA) 76 Kozyrev, Andrei 61, 62, 69 Kravchuk, Makarovich 98 Kyrgizstan 79 Latvia 96, 97 leadership 17, 51, 57, 62, 63, 64, 66, 67, 73, 80, 91, 95, 97, 106, 107, 108, 109, 134, 138, 154 League of Nations 66, 123, 137; see also United Nations

Lenin, Vladimir 14, 21, 39, 56, 135 Leningrad 14, 106; see also St Petersburg Lermontov, Mikhail 15 liberal democracy 17, 60, 63, 123 liberalisation 19, 42 Liberalism 16, 18 Lithuania 96, 97 Lukashenko, Alexander 106 Manchuria 28 Mao Tse Tung 133 Marshall Plan 135 Marx, Karl 13 messianism: Russian 7, 20, 21, 32, 62; Slavophiles 17, 25 military balance 94–5 military cooperation 68–9, 150 military doctrine, Russian 74, 103, 105 military security 103–4 Milosevic, Slobodan 73, 74, 75 mir (peasant community) 52 Moldova 64, 95 Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact 96 monarchy: constitutional 53; Slavophiles’ attitude 25; Westernisers’ attitude 27; zemstvo advocacy 53 Mongol yoke 8–10, 34, 48 Monroe Doctrine 17, 63 Montesquieu 11, 44 Moscow 11, 14; Third Rome 21, 37 Moscow–Beijing–Delhi strategic triangle 99–100, 101 multipolar world 99–101, 103, 108, 145 Napoleonic wars 12, 49 National Security Concept 74, 95–6, 104–5 NATO 126; admission of reunified Germany 92; air strikes 72, 89, 100, 150; raison d’être 1, 60, 85, 153; recommendations for Russia’s greater involvement in 154–6; Russians perception 154–5; transformation 66, 80, 84, 87, 90, 96, 152–3, 156; transition 64–5, 80–1, 153 NATO enlargement 4, 67, 87, 151; China’s reaction 101; Russian countermeasures 99–107; Russian opposition 88–91, 108–9, 150; Russian opposition, reasons 91–9, 109; study 69, 89; and US hegemony 103

210

INDEX

NATO European Security Documentation Centre 71 NATO Information Office (NIO) Moscow 77, 155 NATO Military Liaison Mission (MLM) 77, 155 NATO Permanent Joint Council (PJC) 70, 81–2, 150; NRC’s parallelism 82–3 NATO–Russia Council (NRC) 2, 61, 77, 82–3, 146, 150, 152, 155 NATO–Russia Founding Act (1998) 70–2, 73, 90, 154 NATO–Russia Glossary of Contemporary Political and Military Terms 155 NATO–Russia relations 1–3, 85–6, 147; decisive factors in shaping future of 157; first decade 111, 150–1; identity gap 60–1, 87; impact of US-Russia relations 152–3; implications of NATO’s transformation for 153; linguistic issue 155; phases 4; post-11 September 151 NATO-Russia relations: A New Quality 82 NATO Strategic Concept 64–5, 73 Neorealism 112, 119, 128 New Military Doctrine (2000) 103–4, 105 New National Security 74, 104–5 New Political Thinking 4, 16–18, 137–40 Nicholas I, Tsar 12, 13, 26, 49 Nicholas II, Tsar 13–14, 19, 22, 49–50 nihilism 22–3 North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) 2, 65, 137; see also EuroAtlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) nuclear weapons 65, 74, 88, 104–5, 106 obshchina (village/peasant-commune) 25 Occidentalism 28 Operation Enduring Freedom 77 Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) 139 Organisation for European Economic Cooperation 135 Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) 4, 64, 66, 71, 94, 108, 135–7, 142, 145, 146, 152; Istanbul Summit 136 Orthodoxy 13, 30, 32, 35–6, 42–3, 58; component of Russian identity 3–4, 33–5, 148; Slavophiles idealisation 24–5 Ostpolitik 134

Pakistan 79, 101 Pareto-optimal solution 121 parliament, Russian 14, 41, 57, 59, 61 Partnership Coordination Cell (PCC) 68 Partnership for Peace (PfP) 66–70, 85, 135, 150 patriarchate 35, 37, 38 peacekeeping operations 71; Bosnia 68–9; Kosovo 75–7; Russian 17–18, 64 perestroika (reconstruction) 16, 19, 35, 40, 54, 56, 138 Peter the Great (Peter I) 7, 19, 26, 38, 52, 56, 62; reforms 8, 10–12, 22, 27, 32; rejection of Orthodox Church 49 Poland 87, 88, 89, 90, 95 political culture 44–5; definition and concept 45–7 political culture, Russian 4, 45, 47, 54, 58–9, 149 political institutions 116 Primakov, Yevgeny 69–70, 99, 100 Prisoner’s Dilemma 112, 114–17, 121, 128 pro-Western orientation 16, 23, 78, 90, 135 Prussia 131, 132, 146 pseudo democracy 57 public opinion 154–5 Pushkin, Alexander 15, 21 Putin, Vladimir 78–9, 80, 81, 82, 84, 103, 104, 109, 154, 157 Al-Qaida 77 Quadruple Alliance see Concert of Europe Quintuple Alliance see Concert of Europe Rambouillet peace talks 72 Realism 111–12, 116, 119, 127, 152; origins and fundamental assumptions 113–14 religion 3–4, 33, 36; nationalisation 37; relaxation of restrictions on 40, 42; shamanistic-pagan 8; see also Orthodoxy Robertson, Lord 77, 81 Romania 76, 95, 143 rossiskii (of the Land of Rus’) 7, 20–1, 31, 32, 148 Russia 1, 17–18, 36, 98; common security concerns with West 78–9; domestic

211

INDEX

Russia (Continued) politics 67, 74–5, 84, 88, 108, 109, 136, 157; economy 80, 108, 134, 139–40, 155; geography 7–8, 31, 48; great-power status 18, 23, 63, 65, 75, 93, 155; history 7, 8–10, 19, 24, 45, 97, 130–1, 141; isolation 30, 59, 66; loss of superpower status 62–3, 93–4; postcommunist 22–3, 55, 86; post-Soviet 12, 130; strategic interests in United States 102; see also Soviet Union Russian Church Council (Sto glav Council) 36 Russian Federation see Russia Russian foreign policy 16, 17; evolution 61–4; impact of NATO enlargement 99 Russian Foreign Policy Concept 74 Russian idea 9, 18–19, 24, 94 Russian identity 3, 31–2; definition 6–7; geographic and historical components 7–8, 31; Mongol yoke and 8–10; Orthodoxy’s place in 33–4, 42–3; role of religion 3–4, 33; schools of thought 23–31; Soviet period 14–16; Tsarist Russia 10–14; understanding 147–8 Russian language 155 Russian national identity 3, 7, 18–19, 31, 32, 148; messianic conception 21; Orthodox components 34–6, 42–3 Russian nationalism 12, 13, 19, 26 Russianness 19, 34; Orthodoxy as an element of 34–5, 42–3 Russian Orthodox Church 3, 30–1, 34, 36–7; Bolshevik government and 35, 39–40; post-Soviet Union 40–1; and Russian State 38, 43, 148–9; state actor 36–7, 38–9, 49; as symbol of national unity 34–5; totalitarian attitude 41–2 Russian Soviet Federative Republic (RSFR) 61 Russian State: gosudarstvo (dominion/patrimony) 50; Orthodox Church and 34, 35, 36–41, 43, 49, 148–9 Russian thought 13, 27; schools 23–31 russkii (ethnic Russian) 7, 20–1, 31, 32, 148 SACEUR (Supreme Allied Commander in Europe) 76 St Petersburg 11, 12, 14, 28 Saint-Simon, Henri de 13

Samarin, Iurii 24 Schelling, F. W. J. 13, 24 Schopenhauer, Arthur 13 Scythianism 28–9, 31 security: multilateral approaches 123–7; regimes 117, 122–3 Security Dilemma 112, 118, 122, 124 self-help systems 116, 151 September 2001 terrorist attacks 129, 150, 153; impact on NATO–Russian relations 61, 77–85, 86, 152 Serbia 72, 74–5, 76, 143 Sergii, Patriarch 39 Shalikashvili, John 68 Shangai Five 100 Shevtsov, Leontiy Pavlovich 68, 69 Siberia 20 Sino-American relations 102, 133 Sino-Russian relations: 1890s 28; deterioration 133; partnership 100–3, 108 Slavic Union 74, 99, 106 Slavophiles 7, 13, 24–6, 27, 28, 31, 49, 94; –Westernisers debate 24, 94 sobornost (conciliarism/communalism) 24–5 Solzhenitsyn, Alexander 7 Soviet Union 1, 14–16, 88, 91–2; alienation of Orthodox Church 35, 39–40; demise 61, 103; foreign policy 63; isolation 15, 139; nihilism 22–3; and Orthodoxy 35; political culture 51, 53–4; thaw in East–West relations 132–5; see also Russia Stabilisation Force (SFOR) 68, 74, 75, 85 Stag Hunt game theory 112, 118, 128 Stalin, Josef 15, 39, 40, 51, 56 START (Strategic Arms Reduction Talks) agreements 106–7 ‘Star Wars’ programme 63 Stolypin, Peter 14 Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI) 63 strategic isolation 93 strategic partnership 64, 78, 88, 99–103, 107–8 Structural Realism see Neorealism Supreme Allied Command in Europe (SHAPE) 68, 69, 74, 76, 77 Tajikistan 64, 79 Taliban 77, 79

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Vietnam 63, 133 Vladimir, Prince 34 Voltaire 46

Tatars 29, 38 terrorism 112, 127, 129, 151; fight against 77, 153; see also September 2001 terrorist attacks Theatre Missile Defence (TMD) 72 Third Rome see Moscow, Third Rome Time of Troubles 34, 38, 51 Tolstoy, Leo 15, 21 Treaty of Rome 134 Treaty of the Four 100 Trubetskoi, Nicholas 9, 30 tsar 20, 22, 37, 38–9, 41–2, 48–50, 52; Batyushka Tsar 50; see also names of specific Tsars Tsarist Russia 10–14, 19, 20, 41 Turgenev, Ivan 6, 15 Turkey 17, 63, 95 Turkmenistan 79 Two Plus Four Treaty (1990) 92 Ukraine 63, 97–9 United Nations (UN) 123 United Nations Charter 72, 73, 75 United Nations Security Council (UNSC) 16, 61, 72, 73, 100, 135; Resolution 1199 72; Resolution 1244 75 United States 132–3, 139, 156; dismissal of Common European Home proposal 143–4; lack of role in Common European home 141–2; and NATO enlargement 103; policy towards Russia 152–3, 157 USSR see Soviet Union Uvarov, Count 39 Uzbekistan 79

Waltz, Kenneth 119–20 Warsaw Pact 1, 64, 91, 94, 106, 128 Washington Treaty 81 weapons of mass destruction (WMD) 71, 80, 82, 83, 104, 151, 153 West 8, 13, 15–16, 62, 73, 91; lack of responsiveness to Russian cooperative initiatives 145–6, 152; Peter the Great’s rapprochement with 10; thaw in East–West relations 132–5 Western Europe 10, 63, 96, 103, 134, 135, 140–1 Western European Union (WEU) 64 Westernisers 13, 23, 24, 26–8, 31, 49, 94 Wilson, Woodrow 123 Witte, Count 14 World Bank 139 World Trade Organisation (WTO) 71 xenophobia 10, 12, 13, 30, 36, 94, 148 Yeltsin, Boris 6, 16, 17, 41, 56, 57, 62, 63, 65, 67, 73–4, 78, 88, 89–90, 95, 96, 103, 104, 106 Yugoslavia 68, 71, 89, 100; see also Kosovo crisis Zapad 99 74 Zeming, Jiang 100 zemskii sobor (Council of All the Land) 52 zemstvo movement 53 Zyuganov, Gennady 57

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