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With the possibility of a second Trump presidency looming, it is high time to Europeanise NATO’s defence plans Lest anyone had missed the point, Donald Trump has now provided helpful clarification of his attitude towards America’s NATO allies – and specifically those that fail to spend the benchmark 2 per cent of their GDP on defence. If elected he would, he declared at a campaign rally, “encourage” Russia “to do whatever the hell they want” to underspending NATO allies. Reacting to a storm of protest from European leaders, he was happy to repeat himself: “Look, if they’re not going to pay, we’re not going to protect. OK?”. Nowadays, it is less easy for complacent Europeans to shrug off such observations as typical Trumpisms. They have evidence that Trump redux would be likely to apply his malevolent instincts much more efficiently than he did in his chaotic first term as president. And the chances of him having the opportunity to do so are increasingly likely: he has now steamrollered the opposition in the early Republican primaries, and is ahead of Joe Biden in the polls. No one can any longer ignore the real possibility that in less than a year’s time the occupant of the White House could toss the whole responsibility for keeping Ukraine in the fight against Russia into European laps, whilst insisting that from here on in they see to their own defence. It would therefore hardly be premature if Europeans began to explore how each other views the situation; to make contingency plans; and even to take some precautionary steps. The two key challenges are obvious. The first is how to get more weapons, and especially ammunition and air-defence missiles, to Ukraine. Since Russia’s invasion, Europeans have done better at this than might have been expected – but they have not done as well as the need now demands, and not nearly enough to support Ukraine if the United States withdraws its aid. The EU, and especially the European Commission, have played a prominent role here, providing financial incentives for member states to donate from their own stocks and to expand production facilities. But talk of moving European defence industries onto a war footing has yet to be realised; and although the commission will shortly unveil proposals for an ambitious European defence industrial strategy, this can only succeed if member states evince more enthusiasm for collective action than they have so far shown. Only three months ago France, Germany, Italy, and Spain jointly warned the commission to stay off their turf and respect national “prerogatives” on defence. The second key challenge that Europeans should be facing up to is how they would defend themselves without US backing against a Russia that had – the possibility can no longer be discounted – imposed a humiliating ‘peace’ on Ukraine. The “dormant NATO” plans being proposed by right-wing US think-tanks foresee a wholesale withdrawal of US ground forces from Europe. But Europeans have huge psychological difficulties in bringing themselves to discuss the US as they would any other foreign power, even in situations where their own strategic interests are manifestly different from those of the superpower. NATO’s disastrous involvement in Afghanistan, for instance, would never have dragged on for so many fruitless years had not its European members studiously avoided any collective discussion of a campaign which each saw exclusively through the prism of its own bilateral relations with the US. Compounding these challenges is the fact that there is no institutional setting in which Europeans could confer. Their task is, in effect, to Europeanise NATO’s defence plans, but this can hardly be discussed in NATO. That organisation, after all, is where European militaries gather to be told what to do by Americans, but the current US administration can scarcely be expected to lead a discussion premised on its own defeat in the November presidential election. The EU has neither locus nor credibility in military operational matters. The reality is that, if a strategy for defending Europe without the Americans is to emerge, this can only be on an ‘intergovernmental’ basis – through bilateral and minilateral discussion amongst Europe’s main defence players. At the alliance’s 2022 Madrid summit, NATO doubled down on its strategy of forward defence. Russia’s war on Ukraine has demonstrated that we are in a technological era in which defensive systems have the advantage over the traditional means of attack. Destroying massed Russian armour turned out to be relatively easy; getting Russians out now that they have dug themselves in is the devil’s own job. So in Madrid allies resolved to reinforce NATO’s “enhanced forward presence” – boosting in-place forces in eastern and central Europe. But predictably, Europeans have been happy to leave this largely to the Americans, who reinforced their presence in Europe with an additional 20,000 troops. The challenge for European chiefs of staff and defence planners now is to work out how, if the need arises, to substitute for US in-place forces in the frontline states; what capabilities and defensive infrastructure will be needed to halt any assault at the borders; and how to organise the communications and data networks necessary to form an effective system that ties together disparate sensors and missile, drone, and artillery assets. Such planning is now an urgent requirement, not just as a matter of military preparedness, but for psychological reasons. Europe’s frontline states have long felt their western European allies lack not only US military credibility, but also a serious understanding of the scale of Putin’s threat. Europeans will only hang together under a second Trump presidency if they are ready to trust each other, and specifically if the most vulnerable states see a real prospect of western European states putting many more of their bodies on the line as in-place forces. The last couple of years, in which predominantly eastern European states have agreed to purchase an astonishing $120 billion of weapons from American contractors, suggests a fatal tendency to believe that maybe Trump can be propitiated by such largesse. Fortunately, the return of Donald Tusk as Poland’s prime minister has substantially increased the odds of Europeans hanging together even in a Trump 2.0 scenario. The foreign ministers of France, Germany, and Poland (the Weimar Triangle) have just met to discuss strengthening Europe’s efforts. If, as expected, the British Labour party returns to government later this year, then the United Kingdom would be an obvious addition to this group. Indeed, a necessary one: it is hard to envisage a credible European defence of the continent that did not clutch in Europe’s second nuclear power. Keir Starmer has made clear his ambition to restore defence ties severed by Brexit. There is no time to waste: the prime minister-in-waiting could usefully make an early trip to Paris to initiate conversations with the UK’s closest continental ally.

Twenty-five years ago, Russian president Boris Yeltsin chose his fifth and final prime minister, Vladimir Putin. In a decade marked by financial crisis, disastrous war, corruption, and Yeltsin’s lengthy illness, the term of the prime minister was always limited. They were the target when anything went wrong in the Russian Federation, as it often did. The latest choice was not expected to last long either. A former head of the Federal Security Services, he had served earlier in a desk job in Dresden for its predecessor, the KGB, a position that ended abruptly with the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the collapse of the East German Communist state. Putin may have remained obscure, but prior to his appointment as Prime Minister he managed to attach his career to the popular mayor of St. Petersburg, Anatoly Sobchak. Putin was appointed deputy mayor, but Sobchak lost his campaign for re-election in 1997 and was later accused of corruption. He died suddenly of a heart attack in 2000. Putin’s sudden rise culminated with the unexpected resignation of Yeltsin at the end of 1999. He became acting president until the elections of March 2000, and then won easily with only one serious opponent, Communist Party leader Gennady Zyuganov. Putin restarted the war in Chechnya, which had ended with a treaty in 1997 that left the status quo in place. The new war was conducted ruthlessly. The Chechen capital Grozny was erased and several other towns were completely destroyed. The Chechens mounted an effective terrorist campaign outside of their territory. In October 2002, about forty Chechen terrorists attacked a Moscow theatre, holding some 700 people hostage. Russian special forces, on Putin’s orders, stormed the theatre after gas was pumped into the auditorium. All the terrorists died, but so did over 100 attendees. Putin’s ruthlessness was evident. There would be no compromise with terrorists. In 2004, the Chechen president Akhmad Kadyrov was assassinated. Putin wanted Kadyrov’s son, Ramzan, who had switched sides in the war and offered his services to Putin, to succeed him but he had to wait three more years for him to reach the minimum age of 30. Domestically, Putin was fortunate. After a disastrous decline in the late 1990s, oil and gas prices began to rise. The Russian economy recovered. Putin accepted the credit. He removed those oligarchs of the Yeltsin era who refused to stay out of politics; the others became part of his regime. He also gradually began to reassert Russian regional dominance. In several former Soviet republics this was the era of “color revolutions” with popular leaders replacing corrupt figures, often holdovers from the Soviet era. In Ukraine’s Orange revolution protests, Viktor Yushchenko, a pro-European leader defeated pro-Kremlin Viktor Yanukovych after a rerun of the third round of the election. To the south, Mikeil Saakashvili came to power in Georgia with similar goals. Putin’s response was to work more closely with Belarus, a reliably ally under Aliaksandr Lukashenka, and to promote the Collective Security Treaty Organization as a counter to expanding NATO. Aside from Belarus, most of the Central Asian states were included. Alongside this, relations with the West began to decline. Though Putin had some common ground with US president George W. Bush – both were faced with terrorism linked to militant Islamic groups – he resented having to kowtow to the United States as the sole world policeman. He believed the West had fomented the color uprisings. In 2008, after NATO forces colluded with the formation of Kosovo, Putin claimed that the territorial agreements that ended the Second World War had been violated. Russia openly backed two breakaway regions of Georgia – Abkhazia and South Ossetia – and invaded the small Caucasian state in the same year, occupying Gori and other towns. In that same year, Putin completed his second term as president, the maximum under the Russian Constitution, and switched positions with his Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev, thirteen years his junior, a diminutive figure whom the West bizarrely regarded as a reformer and a liberal who would moderate Russian policies. The period 2008–12, with Putin in the background, saw one major success. After an insipid presidency marked by foreign travel and symbolic concessions to Ukrainian nationalism, Yushchenko fell from power in 2010 receiving just 1.5% of the popular vote. Yanukovych, the former governor of Donetsk, was finally president. Still, there was strong opposition to Putin’s return to power in 2012 (having amended the constitution to allow himself to do so), led by former deputy prime minister and governor of Nizhny Novgorod Boris Nemtsov. Mass protests took place in Moscow and several other cities. Putin was again triumphant, well ahead of Zyuganov and maverick nationalist Vladimir Zhirinovsky. Russia faced another crisis in Ukraine in 2014. After Yanukovych decided not to sign the Association Membership with the EU in Vilnius, mass protests began in Kyiv’s Maidan. Yanukovych tried to break them up by force on November 30, which catalyzed a mass movement. By February, Yanukovych had fled and over 100 protesters were dead. In March 2014, Putin began his invasion of Ukraine by occupying Crimea. Russia also backed a separatist revolt in the Donbas, Yanukovych’s home area, with two small breakaway republics announcing their metamorphosis into “people’s republics.” They were largely unrecognized, even by Russia but they remained in place for the next eight years, after Ukraine’s ramshackle army failed to recapture them. Putin’s third term also saw the assassination of Boris Nemtsov, who was walking outside the Moscow Kremlin with his Ukrainian girlfriend. A Chechen gang was the main suspect, possibly on the orders of Kadyrov. Russian agents had already assassinated several other troublesome figures: the courageous journalist Anna Politkovskaya, who monitored the Chechen war in diary form; and Russian defector Aleksandr Litvinenko, poisoned with polonium-210 in London by a former member of the FSB. After 2014, Putin appeared to cast off any illusions that he was approachable, moral, or confined by the usual protocols of a world leader. He began to regard the West as degenerate and in decline, and democracy as a failed experiment. He became extremely rich through his links with oligarchs, and powerful through his siloviki (those authorized to use force against civilians), a holdover from his days as head of the secret police. A hierarchical structure emerged, Putin, his Security Council (including his powerful Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov), his United Russia party that controlled the Duma, and the masses. Using social media, the Russian leadership disseminated a world perspective that anathematized the Americans, NATO, “Gay Europe,” the West, which sought to control the world and reduce Russia to a second-rate power. There were some followers in unexpected places: admirers in the West, some of whom met regularly in discussions of the Valdai Club, some in academia who refused to shed their earlier admiration for Putin’s strong leadership, Viktor Orban in Hungary, and eventually President Donald J. Trump in the United States. By now Putin had developed a vision for his country and the future: a restoration of empire, the ‘Russkiy Mir’, that would include most of Ukraine, Belarus, and later other lands of the Baltic States, Georgia, and Moldova. But it must start with Ukraine, the sacred heartland of the Russian state and Crimea, where it all began in 988 with Prince Vladimr of Kiev (formerly known as Volodymyr of Kyiv). To ensure a righteous foundation and a renewed sense of identity, Putin turned to the ‘Great Patriotic War’, the time when the Soviet Unon had thrown back the Nazi hordes and liberated democratic Europe. The collaborators of that era were linked to his contemporary enemies: Ukrainian and Baltic nationalists. Russian historians began to revise a narrative of the war centred on the Holocaust of the Jews. In the new version, Russians were the main victims of Nazi Genocide. This delusional and twisted interpretation of the past pushed Putin into an expanded war in February 2022, one calculated to destroy the Ukrainian state founded in 1991. That attempt failed because the Ukrainian army was much stronger and backed by the population. But it is still in progress and has costs tens of thousands of lives. The emperor is now crowned again for another six years. Legally he can remain in office until 2036, when he will turn 84. By then Russia may be even larger, but with fewer people as population decline continues, advanced by wars and with resources depleted as oil and gas supplies dwindle. In such a scenario, Russia will continue to be ruled by a physically declining tyrant, still feared by his timid associates. They have seen what happens to those who cross his path. But Vladimir Putin is not immortal and, in that sense, his time in history is little more than the tick of a clock.

There is very little drama in Russia’s upcoming presidential election this weekend. We all know Vladimir Putin will win. The only real question is whether he will receive more than 75% of the vote. It could be tempting to see these results as a sign of the strength of the Russian system. Recent gains by the Russian army in Ukraine seem to further support this. But my own research – soon to be published in a forthcoming book – shows the election results and Russia’s military gains in Ukraine hide a much more problematic reality for the country. Russia’s system of government is not only undemocratic, rights abusing and unpredictable. It is also increasingly dysfunctional, trapped in a cycle of poor quality and weak governance that cannot be solved by one man, no matter how much power he has. The constitutional dark arts The weakness stems from the hyper-centralisation of power in Russia around the president. This centralisation is the product of an increasingly common logic that I call the “constitutional dark arts”. This logic generally holds that democracy and rights protection are best guaranteed in a constitutional system that centralises authority in one elected leader. This line of thinking is present in many populist, authoritarian countries, such as Hungary and Turkey. The foundation of this kind of system in Russia is the 1993 Constitution. It was drafted by then-President Boris Yeltsin and his supporters (many in the West) as an expedient for dismantling communism and implementing radical economic reforms. As such, it contains a number of rights provisions and democratic guarantees, alongside provisions that centralise vast power in an elected Russian president. Yeltsin (and his Western supporters) described this system as democratic because it made the president answerable to the people. They also argued that rights provisions would allow courts to limit any abuses by the centralised state. These reformers hoped Yeltsin could use this concentrated power to build democracy in Russia. Thirty years later, however, we can see how this use of the “constitutional dark arts” backfired spectacularly. Since 2000, Putin has ruthlessly deployed this centralised authority to eliminate any checks on power. He has also transformed elections, the media and the courts from sources of accountability into mechanisms to project the image of strong presidential power. The upcoming presidential election is just the most recent example. Poor quality governance in Russia Although this centralised system has allowed Putin to dominate politics, it fosters weak and poor governance, particularly outside Moscow. At least two factors are at play. First, centralised decision-making in Russia is often made using incomplete or false information. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 is an example. It was based on intelligence that the operation would be over quickly and Ukrainians would likely welcome Russian forces. Second, centralised directives are delegated to under-resourced, incompetent and weak institutions. Russia’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic was disastrous, in large part due to the poorly resourced regional authorities who were overwhelmed by a crisis of this scale. This dysfunction has been a central message of the political movement led by the opposition leader Alexei Navalny. Before his death last month, Navalny and his team harshly criticised the corruption and weakness of the Russian regime and its inability to fix roads, provide health care and adequately pay teachers or doctors. This message was potent, making Navalny the first opposition politician to build a broad coalition that spanned Russia’s 11 time zones. This broad coalition frightened the Kremlin to such an extent that it led to Navalny’s poisoning in August 2020. Although it remains to be seen how his political movement responds to his death, this central criticism of the government remains one of its most potent messages. Although it’s impossible to get independent polling on domestic issues during the Ukraine war, it does appear Putin and his administration are concerned about this weakness. In his February 29 address to parliament, Putin tacitly acknowledged these problems, promising new national projects to improve infrastructure, support families and enhance the quality of life. These kind of promises, however, are unlikely to be implemented. Putin has traditionally promised these kinds of changes around presidential elections. But, when it comes to implementing them, Russia’s regional sub-units are often given no resources to do so. With so much money now going to the war, it is unlikely the latest set of promises will be any different. An increasingly dysfunctional Russia With Putin soon to start his fifth presidential term, this centralisation and personalisation of power is only going to increase. Externally, this centralisation is likely to produce an increasingly unpredictable Russia, led by a man making decisions on the basis of an increasingly paranoid world view and incorrect or manipulated information. As former German Chancellor Angela Merkel once described Putin, he is really “living in another world”. This is likely to lead to more foreign policy adventurism and aggression. It will likely foster harsher repression of any dissenting voices inside Russia, as well. We are also likely to see an increasingly dysfunctional Russia, one in which roads, housing, schools, health care and other infrastructure will continue to deteriorate, particularly outside of Moscow. This extends to the military, which remains weak despite its recent battlefield gains. For instance, Russia’s overly centralised command structure has decimated the officer class and led to stunning losses of equipment. Although Russia has managed to muddle through by relying on its vast human and industrial resources, these systemic problems are taking a serious toll on its fighting capacity. Despite escalating repression, these problems pose an opportunity for a democratic challenger, particularly when Putin is inevitably replaced by another leader. Russia’s dysfunctional government is also an important reminder for Western media, policymakers and commentators. While it should not serve as a reason for complacency, highlighting Russia’s poor governance is an important tool in combating the Kremlin’s carefully curated image of power and control.

As its constituent states emerged from the ruins of the Soviet Union, Central Asia has often struggled to balance both its inter-state hostilities and surrounding international geopolitical competition. While all five states have adopted remarkably different means to navigate this challenging context, largely the region has proven victim to the excesses of authoritarian and despotic regimes. The inheritance of a distorted Soviet-era centralisation and the prevalence of lucrative natural resource deposits has facilitated this unfortunate state of affairs across the region. Uzbekistan is no exception in this regard, with an increasingly hardline hyper-presidential system. Covering much of the land between the Caspian sea and the Pamir Mountains, the region’s most populous country is emerging into a critical regional player. Under both leaders since independence, the country has attempted to balance its geopolitical profile to ensure state and regime security. It has attempted to ensure this whilst perpetuating an economic system and domestic political establishment that ensures the perpetual poverty of the population. Faced with both an increasingly challenging regional environment and greater interest from external parties, the future Tashkent carves out for itself has critical implications for that of the region. Politics and Poverty in Uzbekistan – Uzbekistan’s domestic politics are defined fundamentally by hyper-centralisation. The geographical unitary power structure, with minimal rates of devolution are indicative of this approach. The tendencies for hyper-centralisation are clearly inherited from the Soviet era. State power is highly concentrated in the executive branch. Ostensibly Uzbekistan is a democratic country, constitutionally allowing for a proliferation of distinct political parties. However, requirements of state-registration severely curtail the development of regional parties, with every new party requiring a minimum number of signatures throughout the whole country. This highly bureaucratic system for party registration ensures there is no effective opposition within the Olij Majlis (Uzbek Parliament). The shadows of Soviet history also appear within the economic construction of the state. Nearly all major strategic industries remain under the control of state-owned companies. This has ensured skewed economic development, producing a significant bias for the more urbanised and industrialised eastern regions of the country, whilst leaving peripheral regions perpetually poverty-stricken. Police barriers along inter-urban roads and mandatory population registration restrict internal economic migration. The environmental destruction of the Aral Sea has left Karakalpakstan the most deprived and destitute of all these peripheral regions. As the singular grantee of an autonomous status from Tashkent, the area holds a unique position within the domestic Uzbek political establishment. This is in spite of the consistent efforts by the government to complete the centralisation of the state. In 2022, attempts to revoke the region of its autonomous status resulted in protests that saw 18 people killed, and hundreds more wounded or detained. Despite Mirziyoyev decision to pull back on this, the violent reaction towards the protests indicates the great degrees of subjugation and desperation the region remains under. Despite the better attempts by propaganda to ensure the image of the State as the singular guarantor of peace and security, frustration is felt everyday through the lack of substantial opportunities and persistent security sweeps . Foreign Policy of Karimov – Islam Karimov quickly rose to power from the collapse of Soviet rule. Prior to independence, Uzbekistan was characterised by very few nationalist popular movements, with independence really occurring as a sudden moment. Indeed, the initial reluctance was shown to break from the Soviet Union. From Moscow, Karimov inherited a highly centralised political establishment. This provided the blueprint for the hyper-presidential system he doggedly maintained throughout his presidency. The most important foreign policy directive for Karimov was to ensure a strategic balance of larger powers. Despite ostensibly securing the maintenance of the country’s sovereignty, the most important motive for Karimov was the preservation of his personal regime. This focus on strategic balancing primarily emerged from a structural paranoia. Perceived regime threats became especially pertinent with the rise of the ‘Colour Revolutions’. Tashkent’s relation with the US declined dramatically following American support for these movements in analogous states (Georgia, Ukraine, Kyrgyzstan). The direct US criticism of the state’s role in the Andijan massacre, ensured Karimov saw deepening relations with DC as a threat to regime survival. The Andijan massacre saw 700 civilians killed by security forces over fears of rising Islamist movements. Re-engagement with Russia escalated during its aftermath as Moscow promised to reject all calls for independent investigation. Foreign Policy of Mirziyoyev – Following the death of Karimov in 2016, Mirziyoyev quickly positioned himself as the state’s successor. The initial months of Mirziyoyev’s presidency were treated with a great deal of excitement from those wishing for reform. He publicly vowed to address the states dismal human rights record, beginning with reforms for the rule of law and transparency in courts. Most importantly he abolished the practice of forced labour for large swathes of the population in the country’s vast cotton fields, a practice representing one of the greatest instances of slave labour in the modern world. This potential era of reform was quickly brought to an unfortunate end. Following an 87.1% majority in a snap election last year, Mirziyoyev initiated a series of reforms that extended the presidential term limit from five to seven years and removed term limits. Since coming to office, Mirziyoyev has pursued a distinctly expansive and open approach to foreign relations, especially compared to his predecessor. Whereas both can be defined by pragmatic use of strategic balancing, the methods both presidents have used to achieve this have been remarkably differently. Indeed, Mirziyoyev considered his predecessor’s foreign policy as a major economic and security constraint for the state. Whilst Karimov focusses on utilising a singular larger power at one time, Mirziyoyev sees greater utility in a simultaneous multilateral approach. This has had a notable regional effect, as Uzbekistan has engaged with neighbours previously ignored in the state’s foreign policy. For example, a visa program has been initiated for short term stays for Kyrgyz people living in the cross-border communities in the Fergana Valley. As with other Central Asian states, many ethnic Uzbek communities remain separated from Tashkent due to the complications of drawing post-Soviet border demarcations. Where this has caused significant regional hostilities, most notably with the consistent violence across porous Kyrgyz-Tajik border, Uzbekistan has chosen to not claim any of these communities. The new president has also initiated new strategic engagement with Tajikistan, with which relations remained frozen for two decades due to water security issues. Uzbekistan has further expanded its close allies, with a Turkish-Iranian-Pakistani summit held in Tashkent last year. In this regard, the new foreign policy initiated under the presidency of Mirziyoyev represents an expansion of multilateral relations without focussing too much on the pursuit of one singular relationship. The Future of Uzbek Strategic Balancing – The future of Uzbekistan’s foreign policy is dependent on how it manages its strategic partnerships moving forward. Mirziyoyev has made important moves to increase regional outreach. However, the most important relations still pertain to the larger powers. A Sino-Russian rivalry over Uzbekistan has long been predicted by analysts. In the immediate picture, China appears to be the more lucrative option for the President. Offering financial aid and infrastructure investment bereft of the implied threats to regime survival that initially undermined Tashkent’s relation with Washington. Russia continues to suffer financial restrictions from the ongoing Ukrainian invasion. Remittances from migrant workers, an agreement that previously held significant mutual benefit, have declined rapidly. Indeed, the most important human factor in relations now appears to be the mass emigration of Russians leaving to avoid the Moscow draft. Last year, US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken also completed a large diplomatic effort to draw Central Asian leaders closer to the US and to ensure these states aren’t used by Russia to evade Western sanctions. It is unlikely that Uzbekistan will take a hardline stance against Russian aggression, but the declining utility of Moscow as a strategic partner does indicate a shift of relations. In this regard, Uzbekistan will continue to retain its relations with Russia, but will enlarge and diversify its portfolio of engaged actors. Following the Mirziyoyev foreign policy pursued so far, beneficial relations with regional neighbours will remain an important development but the manner in which Tashkent manages its larger partnerships will be critical to the country’s future.  More about this: Bibliography – • Anceschi, Luca. "Integrating Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy Making: The Cases of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010): 143-158 • Dadabaev, Timur. "Uzbekistan as Central Asian Game Changer? Uzbekistan’s Foreign Policy Construction in the Post-Karimov Era." Asian Journal of Comparative Politics 4, no. 2 (2019): 162-175 • Gulyamova, Lola. The Geography of Uzbekistan: At the Crossroads of the Silk Road. Cham, Switzerland: Springer, 2022 • Laruelle, Marlene. Constructing the Uzbek State: Narratives of Post-Soviet Years. Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2017 • Spechler, Dina Rome and Martin C. Spechler. "The Foreign Policy of Uzbekistan: Sources, Objectives and Outcomes: 1991-2009." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010): 159-170 • Yilamu, Wumaier and SpringerLink (Online service). Neoliberalism and Post-Soviet Transition: Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2018 References- 1 Yilamu, Wumaier and SpringerLink (Online service). Neoliberalism and Post-Soviet Transition: Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 59 2 Yilamu, Wumaier and SpringerLink (Online service). Neoliberalism and Post-Soviet Transition: Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 59 3 Gulyamova, Lola. The Geography of Uzbekistan: At the Crossroads of the Silk Road. Cham, Switzerland: Springer, 2022, 152 4 Spechler, Dina Rome and Martin C. Spechler. "The Foreign Policy of Uzbekistan: Sources, Objectives and Outcomes: 1991-2009." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010), 165 5 https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/jul/04/uzbekistan-regional-state-of-emergency-deadly-unrest-karakalpakstan-autonomy 6 Laruelle, Marlene. Constructing the Uzbek State: Narratives of Post-Soviet Years. Lanham, Maryland: Lexington Books, 2017, 72 7 Yilamu, Wumaier and SpringerLink (Online service). Neoliberalism and Post-Soviet Transition: Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan. Cham: Springer International Publishing, 48 8 Spechler, Dina Rome and Martin C. Spechler. "The Foreign Policy of Uzbekistan: Sources, Objectives and Outcomes: 1991-2009." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010), 164 9 Anceschi, Luca. "Integrating Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy Making: The Cases of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010), 145 10 https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2015/5/12/uzbekistan-10-years-after-the-andijan-massacre 11 Anceschi, Luca. "Integrating Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy Making: The Cases of Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010), 152 12 https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2018/10/14/on-the-reform-path-uzbekistan-opens-up-after-years-of-isolation 13 https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/7/10/uzbek-president-re-elected-for-seven-year-term-in-snap-election 14 Dadabaev, Timur. "Uzbekistan as Central Asian Game Changer? Uzbekistan’s Foreign Policy Construction in the Post-Karimov Era." Asian Journal of Comparative Politics 4, no. 2 (2019): 165 15 Spechler, Dina Rome and Martin C. Spechler. "The Foreign Policy of Uzbekistan: Sources, Objectives and Outcomes: 1991-2009." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010), 160 16 Spechler, Dina Rome and Martin C. Spechler. "The Foreign Policy of Uzbekistan: Sources, Objectives and Outcomes: 1991-2009." Central Asian Survey 29, no. 2 (2010), 160 17 Dadabaev, Timur. "Uzbekistan as Central Asian Game Changer? Uzbekistan’s Foreign Policy Construction in the Post-Karimov Era." Asian Journal of Comparative Politics 4, no. 2 (2019): 167 18 https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/11/9/pakistan-turkey-iran-leaders-visit-central-asia-in-diplomatic-push 19 Dadabaev, Timur. "Uzbekistan as Central Asian Game Changer? Uzbekistan’s Foreign Policy Construction in the Post-Karimov Era." Asian Journal of Comparative Politics 4, no. 2 (2019): 170 20 https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/27/world/asia/blinken-china-russia-ukraine-war.html?searchResultPosition=9 News Sources – https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2018/10/14/on-the-reform-path-uzbekistan-opens-up-after-years-of-isolation On the Reform Path: Uzbekistan opens up after years of isolation (2018). https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/11/9/pakistan-turkey-iran-leaders-visit-central-asia-in-diplomatic-push Pakistan/Turkey/Iran Leaders visit Central Asia in Diplomatic Push (2023) https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/7/10/uzbek-president-re-elected-for-seven-year-term-in-snap-election Uzbek President re-elected for Seven Year Term in Snap Election (July 2023) https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2023/5/12/uzbekistans-president-seeking-to-extend-grip-on-power-analysts Uzbekistan’s President Seeking to Extend Grip on Power: Analysts https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2015/5/12/uzbekistan-10-years-after-the-andijan-massacre Uzbekistan 10 Years After the Andijan Massacre https://www.nytimes.com/2023/02/27/world/asia/blinken-china-russia-ukraine-war.html?searchResultPosition=9 In Central Asia, Blinken Will Urge Distance from Russia, and Ukraine War (2023) https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/jul/04/uzbekistan-regional-state-of-emergency-deadly-unrest-karakalpakstan-autonomy Uzbekistan Imposes Regional State of Emergency after Deadly Unrest –  

Azerbaijan was expelled from the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly over its handling of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict and its many democratic shortcomings. Geopolitical concerns and the urgency of natural gas cooperation are likely to prompt reengagement and repair strained relations. In a significant turn of events on 24 January, the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly (PACE) voted by 76 to 10 to expel the Azerbaijani delegation from the organisation. Anticipating the results of the vote, the Azerbaijani delegation preemptively withdrew from PACE in an attempt to save face. While the PACE report in the aftermath of the vote highlighted longstanding concerns regarding democratic processes, including issues with conducting free and fair elections, ensuring freedom of speech, and addressing human rights abuses, central to the expulsion were developments in the Nagorno-Karabakh region that angered some PACE members. Particularly, the PACE report criticized Azerbaijan’s lightning offensive in September 2023 that saw the country gain control of Khankendi (known as Stepanakert in Armenian), the capital of the region, leading to the mass exodus of all 100,000 Armenian residents to Armenia. Azerbaijan characterised this move as an “anti-terror operation,” a designation that has stirred controversy. In the lead-up to 7 February presidential elections, President Ilham Heydar oghlu Aliyev further escalated tensions with the Council of Europe by issuing threats to withdraw Azerbaijan from various European institutions, including the Council of Europe and the European Court of Human Rights. The elections, which resulted in Aliyev’s landslide victory, deepened the rift between Azerbaijan and Europe. Observers from the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) claimed that the elections “lacked genuine pluralism and critical voices were continuously stifled.” Garnering a staggering 92.4 percent of the votes, Aliyev’s victory was seemingly uncontested, with his opponents widely perceived as token candidates rather than serious contenders. The main opposition parties opted to boycott the elections altogether, citing an unfair political climate. Prior to the election, the Azerbaijani government intensified its crackdown on independent media outlets, exemplified by the detention of top editors from Abzasmedia, an independent news outlet, on trumped up charges. While recent events may suggest a significant downturn in Azerbaijan’s relations with Europe, they do not necessarily signify a permanent rupture in bilateral ties. For the past two decades, Azerbaijan’s relations with the EU have been characterised by tough bilateral negotiations rather than a one-sided affair dominated by EU’s agenda. Azerbaijan seeks close cooperation with the EU but on its own terms, aiming for a more balanced relationship that respects its sovereignty and interests. This stance has been facilitated by Azerbaijan’s increasing leverage on energy and geopolitical affairs, which has enabled it to push back against the EU’s unilateral policymaking. Thanks to Europe’s reliance on Azerbaijani natural gas and Azerbaijan’s secular and stable leadership, European policymakers have historically viewed it as a strategic ally in the volatile South Caucasus region. Throughout the 2000s, despite its authoritarian governance, Azerbaijan’s secular regime was considered an asset in Western geopolitical strategies, particularly in the US-led global war on terror and in managing tensions with Iran. In recent years, the relationship between the EU and Azerbaijan has taken on a somewhat conflicting character. On the one hand, there has been a noticeable trend of smooth and deepening cooperation in matters relating to energy. Azerbaijan’s strategic position as a significant energy supplier has fostered closer ties with the EU in the realm of energy security and resource diplomacy, a dynamic that has been propelled by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022. However, this cooperation stands in stark contrast to the simmering tensions and periodic conflicts over issues pertaining to democracy and human rights. Indeed, the EU’s efforts to promote democratic values and human rights have often clashed with Azerbaijan’s domestic policies, leading to friction and discord. As one scholar noted, “Azerbaijan has been a forerunner in resisting the EU’s agenda,” demonstrating a resilience that has tested the EU’s transformative power to its limits. In the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine which has seen Russian exports to Europe cease entirely, and European gas prices surge to astronomical levels, the EU signed an MOU with Azerbaijan in July 2022 to double Azerbaijan’s gas exports over the next 5 years. During her visit to Azerbaijan for the occasion, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen called Azerbaijan “a key partner in our efforts to move away from Russian fossil fuels,” elevating the strategic leverage of Azerbaijan vis-à-vis Europe. However, the EU’s gas situation began to stabilise by 2023 as liquefied natural gas (LNG) imports from the United States and Qatar surged, complemented by the expansion of renewable energy sources and nuclear power. This diversification strategy, coupled with efforts to enhance energy efficiency, contributed to a notable drop in gas prices to pre-war levels by February 2024. Last December, the Azerbaijani government announced that it was on track to double its gas exports to Europe by 2027. However, significant challenges persist, particularly regarding the actual commitment from European buyers to purchase the additional gas promised by Azerbaijan. As of now, the consortium overseeing gas exports from Azerbaijan has secured commitments for only 1.2 billion cubic meters per year, a far cry from the 10 billion cubic meters needed to achieve the stated goal of doubling exports. Azerbaijan’s reliance on leveraging gas exports as a means to gain influence over Europe is not a sustainable long-term strategy. In a region where Russia and Iran assert aggressive expansionist policies, Azerbaijan requires Western partners to effectively counterbalance them. With the impending conclusion of the Russian peacekeeping mission in 2025, and Azerbaijan’s desire to see them depart, aligning with Russia at the expense of Europe would not serve Azerbaijan’s best interests. Thus, there are indications that President Aliyev’s harsh anti-European rhetoric may have been more of a temporary populist manoeuvre rather than a fundamental shift in Azerbaijan’s approach to the EU. Azerbaijan not only relies on energy cooperation with the EU but also seeks to avoid being associated with Russia and Belarus within the European community of nations. Furthermore, Azerbaijan’s comparison of itself with its smaller neighbours, Georgia and Armenia, both of which have made significant strides towards European integration, underscores the reputational risks of distancing itself from European institutions. Recognising the need for damage control, the Azerbaijani government will be inclined towards reengaging with the EU and the European Commission. President Aliyev’s statements indicate a desire for Azerbaijan to re-join the PACE. Significant democratic progress is unlikely in Aliyev’s Azerbaijan. However, the regime might entertain releasing some of the recently jailed journalists as a cosmetic change in a bid to return to PACE.

In retrospect, there was perhaps nothing surprising about Russia’s decision to invade Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022. Vladimir Putin’s intentions were, after all, hiding in plain sight and signaled in the months running up to the incursion. What could not be foreseen, however, is where the conflict finds itself now. Heading into its third year, the war has become bogged down: Neither is it a stalemate, nor does it look like either side could make dramatic advances any time soon. Russia appears to be on the ascendancy, having secured the latest major battlefield victory, but Ukrainian fighters have exceeded military expectations with their doggedness in the past, and may do so again. But as a foreign policy expert and former journalist who spent many years covering Russia, I share the view of those who argue that the conflict is potentially at a pivotal point: If Washington does not continue to fully support President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and his military, then Ukraine’s very survival could be at risk. I believe it would also jeopardize America’s leadership in the world and global security. How the conflict develops during the rest of 2024 will depend on many factors, but three may be key: supplies, information and political will. The supplies race Russia and Ukraine are locked in a race to resupply its war resources – not just in terms of soldiers, but also ammunition and missiles. Both sides are desperately trying to shore up the number of soldiers it can deploy. In December 2023, Putin ordered his generals to increase troop numbers by nearly 170,000, taking the total number of soldiers to 1.32 million. Meanwhile, Ukraine is said to be looking at plans to increase its military by 500,000 troops. Of course, here, Russia has the advantage of being able to draw on a population more than three times that of Ukraine. Also, whereas Putin can simply order up more troops, Zelenskyy must get measures approved through parliament. Aside from personnel, there is also the need for a steady supply of weapons and ammunition – and there have been reports that both sides are struggling to maintain sufficient levels. Russia appears particularly eager to boost its number of ballistic missiles, as they are better equipped for countering Ukraine air defense systems despite being slower than cruise missiles. Increasingly, Moscow appears to be looking to North Korea and Iran as suppliers. After Kim Jong Un, the North Korean leader, visited Russia in 2023, the U.S. accused Pyongyang of supplying Russia with ballistic missiles. Iran, meanwhile, has delivered to Russia a large number of powerful surface-to-surface ballistic missiles and drones. Ukraine, meanwhile, is dependent on foreign military equipment. Supplies were stronger at the beginning of the war, but since then, Ukraine’s military has suffered from the slow, bureaucratic nature of NATO and U.S. deliveries. It wasn’t, for example, until the summer of 2023 that the U.S. approved Europe’s request to provide F-16s to Ukraine. Ukraine needs more of everything, including air defense munitions, artillery shells, tanks and missile systems. It is also running short of medical supplies and has seen hospital shortages of drugs at a time when rampant infections are proving resistant to antibiotics. Perhaps the biggest factor that remains in Russia’s favor when it comes to supplies is the onerous restrictions placed on Ukraine from the West, limiting its ability to attack Russian territory with U.S. or NATO equipment to avoid a wider war. For example, the Ukrainian military had a High Mobility Artillery Rocket System with a 50-mile range that could hit targets inside Russia, but it modified the range to keep the U.S. military satisfied that it would not cross a Russian red line. If this policy could be relaxed, that might be a game changer for Ukraine, although it would raise the stakes for the U.S. The information war The Ukraine conflict is also a war of messaging. To this end, Putin uses propaganda to bolster support for the campaign at home, while undermining support for Ukraine elsewhere – for example, by planting stories in Europe that cause disenchantment with the war. One outrageous claim in the early weeks of the war was that Zelenskyy had taken his own life. The rumor came from pro-Russia online operatives as part of an aggressive effort to harm Ukrainian morale, according to cybersecurity firm Mandiant. More recently, in France, stories appeared that questioned the value of assistance to Ukraine and reminded the public of the negative impact of Russian sanctions on the French. Stirring dissent in this way is a classic Putin play to raise doubts. And investigative reporting points toward a disinformation network being run out of the Kremlin, which includes social media bots deployed on Ukrainian sites spreading stories of Zelenskyy’s team being corrupt and warning that the war would go badly. Given that Putin controls the Russian media and is quick to crack down on dissent, it is hard to really know what Russians think. But one reputable polling agency recently reported strong support in Russia for both Putin and the war in Ukraine. Ukrainians, too, still support the fight against Russia, polling shows. But some war fatigue has no doubt lowered morale. There are other signs of domestic strain in Ukraine. At the end of 2023, tensions grew between Zelenskyy and his top military commander, General Valery Zaluzhny who had complained about weaponry. Zelenskyy ended up firing the military chief, risking political backlash and underscoring that not all is well in the top chain of command. Should disunity and war fatigue continue into the war’s third year, it could serious impair Ukraine’s ability to fight back against a resurgent Russian offensive. The politics of conflict But it isn’t just domestic politics in Ukraine and Russia that will decide the outcome of the war. U.S. politics and European unity could be a factor in 2024 in determining the future of this conflict. In the U.S., Ukraine aid has become politicized – with aid to Ukraine becoming an increasingly partisan issue. In early February, the Senate finally passed an emergency aid bill for Ukraine and Israel that would see US$60.1 billion go to Kyiv. But the bill’s fate in the House is unknown. And the looming 2024 presidential elections could complicate matters further. Former president Donald Trump has made no secret of his aversion to aid packages over loans, calling them “stupid,” and has long argued that Americans shouldn’t be footing the bill for the conflict. Recently, he has made bombastic statements about NATO and threatened not to adhere to the alliance’s commitment to protect members if they were attacked by Russia. And uncertainty about American assistance could leave Europe carrying more of the financial load. European Union members have had to absorb the majority of the 6.3 million Ukrainians who have fled the country since the beginning of the conflict. And that puts a strain on resources. European oil needs also suffer from the sanctions against Russian companies. Whether these potential war determinants – supplies, information and politics – mean that the Ukraine war will not be entering a fourth year in 12 months time, however, is far from certain. In fact, one thing that does appear clear is that the war that some predicted would be over in weeks looks set to continue for some time still.

Rapid geopolitical change is curtailing Russian power in the South Caucasus, boosting the influence of Middle Eastern countries and bookending the region’s “post-Soviet” history. The South Caucasus is undergoing a geopolitical transformation. The war in Ukraine and the effective resolution of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan mean that the region is entering a new age. Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia have gradually become more confident on the world stage, with each trying to limit its dependence on Russia by diversifying its foreign policy. Georgia has boosted relations with the European Union, China, and—to some extent—the United States, while Azerbaijan has sought closer ties with Turkey, Israel, Central Asia, and a number of European countries. Having gone through the traumatic loss of Nagorno-Karabakh, Armenia has pushed for closer engagement with the EU, rapprochement with Turkey, and even military links with India and some European states. Instead of an arena for competition between Russia and the West, the South Caucasus has turned into a highly congested geopolitical space, with up to six major powers vying for influence. We are not, however, just witnessing the end of the post-Soviet period. We are witnessing the end of exclusive Russian influence in the South Caucasus, which has been the status quo for almost two hundred years. The decline of Russian power has led to the reemergence of close links between the South Caucasus and the broader Middle East. Indeed, geography favors such a connection. Russia lies across the formidable Caucasus mountains, and Middle Eastern states have long regarded the South Caucasus as a natural continuation of their own territories. The deepening ties are visible in growing trade, investment, energy infrastructure, and railways that link the South Caucasus to two large neighboring powers: Turkey and Iran. Turkey is a key ally of Azerbaijan, and also enjoys close links with Georgia, while Armenia has Iran’s backing. In particular, Turkey has been pushing for the development of east-west connectivity that cuts through the traditional Russia-sponsored north-south infrastructure. The successful completion of the Baku-Tbilisi-Kars railway is one example; another is the push by Baku and Ankara to open a new route via Armenia’s southernmost province of Syunik. Iran, too, has scored significant victories. In October, it inked a deal with Baku on a new transit corridor linking Azerbaijan to its exclave of Nakhchivan via Iranian territory. Tehran has also advanced work on the International North-South Transport Corridor, which runs from southern Iran to Russia via Azerbaijan and the Caspian Sea. Other initiatives involve the development of roads through Armenia, which could provide solid links between Iran and Georgia’s Black Sea ports of Poti and Batumi. Energy infrastructure in the South Caucasus, too, is increasingly tied to the Middle East. Azerbaijan has become one of Turkey’s major gas suppliers, covering about 16 percent of the country’s needs in 2022, while Iran and Armenia have agreed to extend their gas trade agreement through 2030. The civil war in Syria showed how political and military developments in the Middle East impact the South Caucasus. For instance, residents of the Pankisi Gorge in Georgia volunteered to fight with radical Islamist groups in Syria and Iraq, sparking fears of terrorism spreading. Syria is also one of few countries that has recognized the independence of Georgia’s separatist regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia. And the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War of 2020 allegedly saw Syrian soldiers fighting for Azerbaijan. Even beyond security, Armenia and Georgia have built robust relations with other prominent Middle Eastern countries. Saudi Arabia recently agreed to establish diplomatic relations with Armenia, which has also expanded its ties with other Gulf states. Similar trends are visible in Georgia’s relations with nations like Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Jordan. Other actors like Israel are also playing an increasingly active role. Israel’s relations with Azerbaijan are especially noteworthy, with the two states enjoying close military ties. Azerbaijan used high-tech Israeli weaponry to devastating effect in the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War, and, more recently, in September 2023, when it reclaimed full control over the disputed region. Azerbaijan is also a major supplier of oil to Israel, meeting as much as 40 percent of the country’s demand. Azerbaijan’s links with the Middle East mean that flare-ups between Israel and Iran could have local consequences. Iran has expressed concern about Israel allegedly using Azerbaijan for espionage activities, and Azerbaijan was one of just a few Muslim countries not to condemn Israel’s military operation in Gaza, sparking anger in Tehran. With an end to Russian dominance in the South Caucasus, it’s clear that the region is growing closer to the Middle East. Historically speaking, this is actually a return to normal practice, with Middle Eastern powers traditionally the most influential in the region. For Iran and Turkey, Russian hegemony was always an aberration. The process could yield benefits for the West. After all, shifting tectonic plates create opportunities for multiple actors to project power. But the EU and United States are limited by geographical distance, and the absence of significant economic levers. Turkey and Iran are both nearby, and eager to accrue more influence in the South Caucasus.

The news of the death of Alexei Navalny, a symbol of the political opposition to Vladimir Putin's regime, in a prison 60 kilometers from the Arctic Circle, has shocked Western public opinion, but comes as no surprise. Since coming to power in 2000, Putin has resorted to the physical elimination of his political opponents as a tool to stay in power and terrorize the opposition. First he used it against the oligarchs who enriched themselves during Boris Yeltsin's two presidential terms. Then journalists, such as Anna Politovskaya, who criticized him and reported on the Chechen war, were murdered. Then Boris Nemtsov on the Kremlin bridge in 2015, while numerous other opposition politicians were imprisoned. Since the beginning of the war in Ukraine, several people who opposed the invasion have "committed suicide". Navalny, who had already in 2020 been poisoned with novichok, a chemical nerve agent to whose use only high-ranking government or military officials can have access, had defined Putin's United Russia party as that "of criminals and thieves". He was also the driving force behind the massive anti-regime demonstrations during the winter of 2011-2012 (the largest so far), over alleged electoral fraud in regional elections. The most defiant figure to Putin's regime, Navalny has paid with his life for the one message he insisted on sending to Russians: that they should fight for freedom. Navalny's death is yet another symptom of what is really happening in Putin's Russia. The next presidential elections will be held March 15-17. Putin is certain to win them. The disappearance of the political opposition to the Russian regime has not translated into a mass protest of the population nor - more importantly - into a vote against the government. Boris Nadezdin, baptized by Western journalists as "the candidate for peace" will not be able to run in the elections because the Russian Supreme Court has upheld the decision, taken by the Central Electoral Commission, to invalidate 100,000 signatures endorsing his candidacy, under the generic pretext of "irregularities". Nadezdin advocates an immediate truce and a transition to peace negotiations in trilateral format involving Russia, Ukraine and the West. According to him, the decision on the fate of the territories annexed by Russia should be based on the will of the people who lived there before the conflict. The war in Ukraine, now entering its third year, is the cause of the breakdown of relations between Russia and the West and Russia's growing dependence on the "axis of the sanctioned" (North Korea, Iran and China). Ukraine is losing on the battlefield due to lack of ammunition and war fatigue affecting both its own population and its allies. The prospect of Donald Trump's victory in November this year further darkens its future, as NATO countries will not be able to overcome an eventual suspension of U.S. military aid to Ukraine, as the alliance's secretary general has warned. The war is turning into a competition between the Western and Russian military industries. If Europe does not wake up, Ukraine and its allies will lose everything that Kiev has so far gained, thus fulfilling Russia's goal of turning its neighboring country into a failed state. The Western allies had managed to provide Ukraine with significant political, military and economic support during the two years of war. However, it is not so clear that they are prepared for a long war nor for the containment and deterrence of Russia, although it is well known that investing in deterrence is always cheaper than investing in open warfare. Navalny's death, Putin's electoral victory and the long duration of the war in Ukraine are the fateful triangle that the Kremlin now opposes to the West, a triangle strengthened by the shameful silence of the majority of the Russian population, a silence that is a consequence of the tyranny and information manipulation carried out by the regime, but also of its political apathy.

President Vladimir Putin's promise to restore order in Russia following the Wagner mercenaries mutiny has been fulfilled. In just a few months, Yevgeny Prigozhin had been sidelined. The Kremlin regained control of the private security market to ensure that previous experiences – "clumsy", in Putin's words[1] – will not be repeated. The official line is now well-established. It claims that the issue of private military companies (PMCs) has never existed in Russia because these activities have never been legally regulated. And it implies that transparency is back and that Russian diplomacy's foreign operations on the African continent and in the Arab world are unconcealed. Since the 2010s, Russian private military companies have worked with regimes that came to power through armed insurrection (Central Republic of Africa, Niger, Mali) and have intervened in the Middle East, particularly in Syria. Mercenaryism has been an unresolved issue in Russia for almost a decade. The option of following the American model was rejected: it would not have been in keeping with Moscow's tradition to expose state security to the laws of the free market. Since the time of the Tsars, it has been accepted that any question of national security should be dealt with at the highest level in the Kremlin and nowhere else. When the Wagner company was established in 2014, the authorities did not interfere because of the relationship of trust that existed between President Putin and Prigozhin. The approach may have been illegal, but it had the merit of being realistic. The Russian army needs men. The days of Soviet-era overstaffing are over, and the security apparatus needs to be strengthened with manpower. The country also needs courage. Wagner has shown that far from bureaucratic red tape, a simple company of mercenaries can accompany Russian diplomacy in the Middle East and Africa, helping to increase its strategic depth. President Putin followed the Wagnerian dynamic by signing a decree [N°370-17.07.15] authorizing the creation of a mobilization reserve for his armed forces a year later. The BARS (Special Army Combat Reserve)[2] are nothing more than the reserve units that exist throughout the world. This would have been the end of the story, were it not for the fact that there is a grey area in this project, at least one that is specific to Russia. The BARS are not just battalions. Some have the financial backing of major Russian companies. Transneft, a wealthy oil pipeline construction and management company,[3] is the financial backer of the BARS-20 battalion, commanded by Sergei Dedov. Employees of the company, particularly security guards, were offered the chance to join the battalion as "volunteers" rather than "mercenaries" in return for a pay rise. Some were sent to fight in Ukraine. The exact number of deaths is unknown, but memorial videos are available on social networks.[4] The confusion was compounded when it emerged that the list of reserve units included private military companies (PMCs) such as Olkhone and Troie, which are legally banned but still listed for military intervention if necessary. A plan to legalize security companies was mooted in 2018 to address this discrepancy but was quickly rejected. Although the Kremlin made no official statement, it can be assumed that it wanted to retain control over these unregulated and highly lucrative activities – the Russian security market is worth billions of dollars[5] – while taking advantage of the operational ease of ambiguity. Legalization would have led to restrictions that would have hindered the operational flexibility needed in "grey" operations. Russia officially has 27 private military companies.[6] After the disappearance of Wagner's boss in a plane crash in June 2023, Moscow decided that all players in the security market, without exception or privilege, must register with the Ministry of Defense. As of 1 July, they must keep detailed records of their activities, as well as an inventory of their personnel and equipment.[7] Mercenaryism remains formally banned, unless the "volunteers" are part of a Russian army operation (Ukraine, Syria) or the men operate in close coordination with Kremlin’s diplomacy. In the event of a breach, security companies are liable to a fine and risk being dissolved. To show the public that nothing will be the same after the Wagner affair, Moscow launched a communications operation with the Chechen militia Akhmat, which has gone to the Defense Ministry to declare its activities. The Kremlin wants to send the message of a return to normality. Official semantics now speak of "volunteer units" rather than "mercenaries."[8] It trivializes the phenomenon by providing aid and support to "volunteers" deployed in foreign theaters. The Defenders of the Fatherland Foundation, headed by Anna Tsivileva and apparently set up under the aegis of the Russian Ministry of Defense, provides administrative and human support to soldiers returning from the front. Their injuries are considered and they are now receiving appropriate follow-up care. The Russian PMCs still exist, but they have fallen into line. State of Play The new map of Russian military companies is organized around an entity called Redut-Antiterror, also known as "R Centre" or "Redut." Its name is no coincidence. It refers to the Patriotic War of 1812, when the Russians halted the advance of Napoleon's armies using fortifications known as “redoubts.” These redoubts contributed to the defense of Moscow. At the outset, Redut was to be a security company like any other, no more and no less than a competitor to Wagner, which dominated the security market at the time. Redut was founded by billionaire Gennady Timchenko in 2006 or 2008, depending on the source,[9] a time when the fate of mercenary companies was being played out in Moscow's chic restaurants, at the tables of retired military officers, businessmen with links to the oligarchs and influential personalities who were able to obtain tacit approval from the Kremlin to carry out such activities. At first sight, Redut is nothing special. It's a simple PMC (private military companies). Its first employees were former soldiers from the 106th Airborne Division, the 56th Airborne Battalion, the 2nd Special Forces Brigade of the GRU (military intelligence) and the 173rd Special Forces. These are classic, experienced profiles often used to screen recruits. Redut recruits Russian citizens aged between 21 and 50, and the jobs on offer are varied: reconnaissance officers, Vasilek mortar gunners, snipers, medical instructors, logisticians, drivers, etc. Salaries vary between $1,300 and $1,900 per month when the mercenary works in Russia and can reach $5,000 in foreign operations.[10] Although this is slightly higher than what Wagner charges, it can be considered normal for this type of work. Redut is based in Kubinka, near Moscow, next to the 45th Brigade of the Russian Armed Forces. This is where the mercenaries train. But on closer examination, Redut is not a PMC like the others. It defines itself as a "military-professional union." This may seem like an odd name, as it brings together two antinomic words, "military" and "union." But that's exactly what it is. At the very beginning, when Redut was founded, the idea was to create a collaborative organization that would unite Russia's PMCs in the same way that a trade union is a point of convergence for different companies. It was understood that each PMC would retain its autonomy, staff, hierarchy, and funding. By joining Redut, they agreed to work together on an ad hoc basis, pooling their human and material resources to carry out specific tasks. When the mission is over, everyone goes back to their own barracks. In the 2010s, this idea met with mixed success. At the time, Wagner dominated the security market thanks to generous subsidies. Prigozhin was in such a position of superiority that he didn't see the point of such an initiative. The fall of the Wagner empire brought the concept back into the limelight. The Kremlin has seen fit to promote the organizational model. It has three advantages: a) PMCs become allies in winning contracts rather than competitors; b) the risk of one company establishing a dominant position is virtually eliminated; c) the authorities simplify their chain of command. Should the Kremlin issue a request, for example, to recruit X new volunteers for the operation in Ukraine, it asks Redut, and they will come from the various Russian PMCs that have applied for the operation. A team of investigative journalists has uncovered this highly unusual organization, reminiscent of the "operations rooms" of armed groups in the Middle East. At the heart of the organization is Redut. Around Redut, the PMCs come and go. [11] They are classified by geographical origin, name, or company affiliation. This is a hodgepodge of disparate groups such as the Siberian Brigade, groups from the Don (Aksai Battalion), formations from the Union of Donbass Volunteers, Gazprom PMCs, and other small, virtually unknown groups such as the Borz Squad or the Imperial Legion. In the Field When a mercenary leaves his original PMC to join Redut, the "Military-Professional Union," he joins new units, which have common names: Ilimovtsy, Hooligans, Wolves, Marines, Axes.[12] The system is deliberately flexible and malleable, and therefore very opaque. It's hard to know who is who, who is fighting for what, who is operating under what identity. The administrative procedures are not clear either. Sometimes a mercenary who signs up to fight in Redut signs a contract on a sheet of paper bearing the abbreviation "RLSPI," the initials of the Laboratoire Régional de Recherches Sociales et Psychologiques. According to the investigative website Idel.Realities, the name is a cover for the secret activities of Unit 35555, which is linked to Russian military intelligence.[13] This labyrinth of truth and untruth, approximation, and mystery are parts of the Redut system. Some of the PMCs involved in the system are easily identifiable. This is the case of the Russian fossil fuel giant Gazprom, a strategic company that, in February 2023, created a private military company called Gazprom PMC, officially to protect its industrial infrastructure in Russia and abroad.[14] The details of the financial package are interesting. The main shareholders are PJSC Gazprom Neft (70% of the capital) and the private security company STAF-CENTER (30%), a company co-founded by former KGB officers Andrey Kuratov, Andrey Timofeev, and Andrey Gavrilov. Other PMCs are little known because they have only recently been created, such as the "Russian Volunteer Corps," which was created in Mariupol in February 2023.[15] This unit brings together fighters who support Russia's attack on Ukraine. There is also Convoy, founded in Crimea by Sergei Aksenov, which also fights to defend Russian interests. In the past, the life of a mercenary was a jealously guarded secret. Today, thanks to social networks, it is possible to find out about the daily life of these men, who belong to the most modest and certainly the most confidential of all private military companies. The Convoy Telegram channel describes the daily life of these men on the front line in Ukraine. Here are a few examples: 13.10.2022 A mercenary shoots a video presenting his kit bag. VIDEO. 14.10.2023 "Our fighters inflicted fire damage on the personnel and equipment of the 126th Armed Forces Defense Brigade in the Berislav region." 22.10.2023 An anonymous mercenary's birthday is celebrated with a photo. 25.10.2023 "Our fighters also struck exposed concentrations of enemy personnel in the areas of Aleshkinsky Island and the small railway bridge over the Dnieper. Enemy drones were shot down by Russian air defenses in the Peschanovka area. Over the past 24 hours, more than 110 shells have been fired by Ukrainian forces along the left bank of the Kherson region." To get a better idea of the profile of this type of mercenary, to "humanize" the fate of those men who decide one day to take up arms, it is worth taking a look at the case of "Shaman," alias David Honda, born in Khakassia, one of many mercenaries. His story reflects this new generation of Russian mercenaries.[16] When he applied to join Redut, he lied. David Honda claimed to have graduated from the Krasnoyarsk branch of the Higher Police School in 2004, but there was no such school that year. He explained that his non-Russian-sounding surname was given to him by the French Foreign Legion, where he claimed to have served. There is no indication that this information has been verified. Honda went to fight in Syria. He was sent to the outpost of the 23944 military unit in Khmeimim. This base is the nerve center of the Russian operation, commanded at the time by Colonel-General Alexander Zhuravlev. In 2019, the end of the Islamic State group's territorialization was accompanied by a reorganization of its spheres of influence, and there was much fighting. David Honda was killed in unknown circumstances on 15 June 2019, aged 42. A few weeks later, his body was returned to his family in a zinc coffin, accompanied by a certificate stating, "cerebral hemorrhage due to a fragmentation explosion." The document was signed by Syrian forensic doctors, Brigadier General Ghassan Ali Darwish and Brigadier General Shafik Abas, head of the Zaghi Azraq rehabilitation hospital. A Mysterious Commander While it is very clear that Redut operates under the authority of the Russian presidency and the Ministry of Defense, there are still doubts about the company's direction. Since August 2023, Russian sources have claimed that Andrey Troshev, a retired colonel and former executive director of Wagner PMC, has joined Redut's management team.[17] This choice, which has not been denied by Moscow, seems credible. The officer is no stranger. A veteran of the wars in Afghanistan and Chechnya, Troshev is a graduate of the military artillery school in Leningrad. He left the army in 2012 to join Prigozhin's team. He was decorated with the “Hero of Russia,” the country's highest award. If confirmed, the appointment would be a shrewd move. It would weaken the current management of Wagner, who no longer has the scent of Putin's sanctity about it, and would strengthen the management skills of Redut, who is now the Kremlin's point man on "volunteer" or "mercenary" issues, depending on your point of view. What is certain is that Vladimir Putin and Andrey Troshev know each other, as newsreels and photographs taken in the Kremlin during an official ceremony confirm. Wagner's setbacks did not interrupt the meetings. On 29 September 2023, Troshev was officially hosted at the presidential palace. Putin gave him a mission: "You will be responsible for training volunteer battalions capable of carrying out various combat missions, especially in the area of the 'special military operation' [in Ukraine]." According to Dmitri Polyansky, Russia's permanent representative to the UN, Redut receives no state support.[18] The statement is very clear about there being no direct or indirect link. However, several sources indicate the opposite. In July 2022, a recruiter with the call sign "Kibarda" working at the Trigulyai (Tambov) training center stated that "Redut is a company of the Main Intelligence Directorate."[19] The usually well-informed Russian researcher Anton Mardasov has obtained information that tends to confirm the existence of organic links between Russian military intelligence and Redut. An investigative article by the Warbook journalism platform agrees. It argues that Redut is "fully controlled by the Main Directorate of the General Staff of the Russian Armed Forces."[20] There is every reason to believe that the Kremlin has reorganized the private military sector based on cold analysis: Wagner was not all doom and gloom. The break came not from mercenary activities but from a leadership position that the iconoclast Prigozhin was intoxicated by. Like any intelligence officer, President Putin had his "return from experience." Ultimately, the Wagner case had the merit of being a caricature that showed the Kremlin what it had to give up and what it had to keep being in a position to make the best possible contribution to Russian influence. The man responsible for transferring the contracts between Wagner and Redut is the Deputy Defense Minister, Yunusbek Yevkurov.[21] This summer he travelled to Libya and sub-Saharan Africa (Mali, Niger, Burkina Faso) to persuade the regimes to cancel their original security contracts and turn to Redut. The aim is to achieve a gradual and smooth transition. The regimes visited are fragile, either in a situation of latent civil war or victims of recurrent armed uprisings. Russian diplomacy must be tactful; otherwise, China's PMCs, which are as discreet as they are ambitious, will take advantage of Russia's retreat to gain new market share. Above all, Moscow does not want to give up Wagner's business network in Africa, where security has become more lucrative as the UN and Western forces have reduced their military footprint. When the Wagner empire was at its height, it had 5,000 men in Africa. Business was booming. Estimates put revenues from its mining empire at US$250 million between 2018 and 2020.[22] The company has developed a sprawling presence in every lucrative sector of the economy. In addition to mining and security, Wagner has used its address book to open unexpected markets. In 2021, for example, a company linked to Prigozhin's interests was awarded a lucrative logging concession in the Central African Republic (CAR). The company, Bois Rouge, was granted the right to exploit 186,000 hectares of forest that is home to protected species.[23] Since then, Central African timber exports to the EU have increased by 62 percent, to 11 million euro.[24] The most important country for Russia in the Middle East is Syria, where Wagner's men have long been present. According to Russian sources, Moscow offered Bashar al-Assad's regime to write off its debt to Wagner if it agreed to trust Redut and use its security services. In the absence of an authentic source, it is impossible for now to know whether Damascus responded positively or negatively. But Redut has real arguments for making its voice heard in Damascus and winning back contracts. It knows the Syrian theater, where it was identified in 2019. Its mercenaries have secured the Stroytransgaz gas installations.[25] Since the regime owes its survival to the Russian intervention in 2015, it would have no interest in persisting in working with a now disgraced PMC. The pressure is on the shoulders of Wagner's new directors as they try to preserve all or part of the company's heritage. Yevgeny Prigozhin's son Pavel is working with security chief Mikhail Vatanin to keep the group going, but it's not easy. There is a real possibility that the group will disintegrate. In addition to the loss of valuable officers such as Andrey Troshev, who was recruited by Redut to lead the group, mercenaries are leaving the PMC. Men from the 1st Assault Battalion have reportedly already signed so-called resubordinating contracts to join the Federal Service of National Guards of the Russian Federation (Rosgvardiya).[26] The problem of the viability of Wagner's mercenary activities may eventually be resolved. His overall business volume has already taken a hit. In 2022, his revenues fell from US$25 million to US$6.7 million.[27] Although its laws prohibit mercenaryism, Moscow hopes that the Redut "volunteers" will eventually establish themselves as trusted interlocutors of the Kremlin, without fear of mutiny, including in African and Arab countries where Russia has influence. The idea is to trivialize the phenomenon of auxiliary forces, mercenaries or not, so that they become part of the norm. The Russian press has finally gotten used to this new focus. The very official – and once feared – Pravda reports on it daily. The information is presented not as scoops but as banal events: "Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu's private military company (PMC) Patriot, in competition with Yevgeny Prigozhin's PMC Wagner, has been spotted near Vuhledar in the Donetsk region."[28] For its part, the tabloid press is supporting the movement by announcing the creation of the Borz battalion by Redut, for example. Its only distinguishing feature is that it recruits women for combat roles such as snipers, drone operators and so on.[29] Conclusion The reorganization of the security sector seems to have been inspired by an old Russian proverb: "In a united herd, there is no need to fear the wolf." Vladimir Putin has closed the ranks of the PMCs to maintain full use of the famous "grey zone" that states are so fond of using for parallel diplomacy. Thus, when the Deputy Defense Minister, Yunusbek Yevkurov, visited Libya this summer, he added to the Redut dossier the fate of the ports of Benghazi and Tobruk, where the Russian navy intends to make technical stops with the aim to prevent the Turks from taking eastern Libya's maritime infrastructure. The idea is to play down the "shadow soldiers" issue, to strip it of its fictional substance, to give it a simple transactional value, so that Redut is no more and no less than an additional package line that Moscow is offering its partner countries.   REFERENCES [1] “Putin said that there are no PMCs in Russia,” RIA (ru.), October 5, 2023. [2] "Why is former Wagner PMC chief of staff Troshev known and why did Putin meet him?” Crimea.Realii (Ukr), September 30, 2023, https://rb.gy/gidk8r [4] Video on the Russian social network VK, https://rb.gy/knlnlw [6] “Catalog of Russian PMCs: 37 private military companies of the Russian Federation,” Molfar, 2023, https://cutt.ly/EwYV99sc [8] “Private military companies required to sign contracts with the defense ministry,” Asia Plus, June 12, 2023, https://cutt.ly/uwYBoVEM [10] “'La Redoute' to replace 'Wagner': what do we know about this PMC and its leader?,” The Ftimes (Ru), September 5, 2023, https://bit.ly/4aHELf2. [13] “Who's Who Among Russia's Mercenary Companies,” RFE/RL's Idel.Realities, May 23, 2023. [14] “Russian Gazprom creates its own PMC - intelligence,” Pravda (Ru), February 7, 2023, https://t.me/wargonzo [16] “Without “Shield” - Service and death in another private military company, which does not officially exist in Russia,” Novaya Gazeta (Ru), July 29, 2019, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqaDZUdAN4c [18] Svetlana Kazimirova, “Which company will replace the Wagnerians in the Northern Military Region: what is Redut PMC, what does it do, when did it appear and who runs it?,” Vesiskitim (Ru), September 5, 2023, https://www.currenttime.tv/a/redut-zk-systema/32632359.html [21] “Haftar discusses situation in Libya with Russian defence command. Discussions focused on the future of 'Wagner',” CNN (Ar) September 27, 2023, https://foreignpolicy.com/2023/06/28/will-wagner-stay-in-africa/ [23] “Prigozhin structures received 200,000 hectares of forest in Africa,” Activatica (Ru), July 22, 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NC-8-xDtKoU. [27] “Wagner fractures in Syria, Libya amid conflict with Russia's Defense Ministry,” Al Monitor, October 1, 2023, https://www.pravda.com.ua/rus/news/2022/12/28/7382706/. [29] Anastasia Korotkova, "Created for much more than soups and children." Russian women began to be recruited into combat specialities to take part in the war,” Storage Googleapis, October 23, 2023,

Alexei Navalny was a giant figure in Russian politics. No other individual rivalled the threat he posed to the Putin regime. His death in an Arctic labour camp is a blow to all those who dreamed he might emerge as the leader of a future democratic Russia. What made Navalny so important was his decision to become an anti-corruption crusader in 2008. Using shareholder activism and his popular blog, he shone a spotlight on the corruption schemes that enabled officials to steal billions from state-run corporations. His breakthrough came in 2011, when he proposed the strategy of voting for any party but President Vladimir Putin’s “party of crooks and thieves” in the Duma (parliament) elections. Faced with a collapse of support, the regime resorted to widespread election fraud. The result was months of pro-democracy protests. Putin regained control through a mix of concessions and repression, but the crisis signalled Navalny’s emergence as the dominant figure in Russia’s democratic movement. Despite being convicted on trumped-up embezzlement charges, he was allowed to run in Moscow’s mayoral elections in 2013. In a clearly unfair contest, which included police harassment and hostile media coverage, he won 27% of the vote. Perseverance in the face of worsening attacks The authorities learned from this mistake. Never again would Navalny be allowed to compete in elections. What the Kremlin failed to stop was his creation of a national movement around the Foundation for the Struggle Against Corruption (FBK), which he had founded in 2011 with a team of brilliant young activists. During the ensuing decade, FBK transformed our understanding of the nature of Putin’s kleptocracy. Its open-source investigations shattered the reputations of numerous regime officials, security functionaries and regime propagandists. One of the most important was a 2017 exposé of the network of charities that funded the palaces and yachts of then-premier Dmitry Medvedev. Viewed 46 million times on YouTube, it triggered protests across Russia. No less significant was Navalny’s contribution to the methods of pro-democracy activism. To exploit the regime’s dependence on heavily manipulated elections, he developed a strategy called “intelligent voting”. The basic idea was to encourage people to vote for the candidates who had the best chance of defeating Putin’s United Russia party. The result was a series of setbacks for United Russia in 2019 regional elections. One measure of Navalny’s impact was the intensifying repression directed against him. As prosecutors tried to paralyse him with a series of implausible criminal cases, they also pursued his family. His younger brother Oleg served three and a half years in a labour camp on bogus charges. This judicial persecution was compounded by the violence of the regime’s proxies. Two months after exposing Medvedev’s corruption, Navalny was nearly blinded by a Kremlin-backed gang of vigilantes, who sprayed his face with a noxious blend of chemicals. More serious was the deployment of a death squad from Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB), which had kept Navalny under surveillance since 2017. The use of the nerve agent Novichok to poison Navalny during a trip to the Siberian city of Tomsk in August 2020 was clearly intended to end his challenge to Putin’s rule. Instead it precipitated the “Navalny crisis”, a succession of events that shook the regime’s foundations. The story of Navalny’s survival – and confirmation that he had been poisoned with Novichok – focused international attention on the Putin regime’s criminality. Any lingering doubts about state involvement in his poisoning were dispelled by Navalny’s collaboration with Bellingcat, an investigative journalism organisation, to identify the suspects and deceive one of them into revealing how they poisoned him. The damage was magnified by Navalny’s decision to confront Putin’s personal corruption. In a powerful two-hour documentary film, A Palace for Putin, Navalny chronicled the obsessive greed that had transformed an obscure KGB officer into one of the world’s most notorious kleptocrats. With over 129 million views on YouTube alone, the film shattered the dictator’s carefully constructed image as the incarnation of traditional virtues. ‘We will fill up the jails and police vans’ It is difficult to exaggerate the impact of the “Navalny crisis” on Putin, a dictator terrified of the prospect of popular revolution. No longer was he courted by Western leaders. US President Joe Biden began his term in office in 2021 by endorsing an interviewer’s description of Putin as a “killer”. To contain the domestic fallout, Putin unleashed a crackdown that began with Navalny’s 2021 arrest on his return to Moscow from Germany, where had been recovering from the Novichok poisoning. On the international stage, Putin secured a summit with Biden by staging a massive deployment of military force on the Ukrainian border, a rehearsal for the following year’s invasion. The Kremlin’s trolling factories also tried to destroy Navalny’s reputation with a smear campaign. Within weeks of Navalny’s imprisonment, Amnesty International rescinded his status as a “prisoner of conscience” on the basis of allegations about hate speech. The evidence was some ugly statements made by Navalny as an inexperienced politician in the mid-2000s, when he was trying to build an anti-Putin alliance of democrats and nationalists. What his detractors ignored was Navalny’s own evolution into a critic of ethnonationalist prejudices. In a speech to a nationalist rally in 2011, he had challenged his listeners to empathise with people in the Muslim-majority republics of Russia’s northern Caucasus region. This divergence from the nationalist mainstream was accentuated by Putin’s conflict with Ukraine. After the invasion of Crimea in March 2014, Navalny denounced the “imperialist annexation” as a cynical effort to distract the masses from corruption. Eight years later, while languishing in prison, he condemned Putin’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, exhorting his compatriots to take to the streets, saying: If, to prevent war, we need to fill up the jails and police vans, we will fill up the jails and police vans. Later that year, he argued a post-Putin Russia needed an end to the concentration of power in the Kremlin and the creation of a parliamentary republic as “the only way to stop the endless cycle of imperial authoritarianism”. Navalny’s tragedy is that he never had a chance to convert the moral authority he amassed during years as a dissident into political power. Like Charles de Gaulle in France and Nelson Mandela in South Africa, he might have become a redemptive leader, leading his people from war and tyranny to the promised land of a freer society. Instead, he has left his compatriots the example of a brave, principled and thoughtful man, who sacrificed his life for the cause of democracy and peace. That is his enduring legacy.