Russia Between East and West: Russian Foreign Policy on the Threshhold of the Twenty-First Century (Cummings Center)

RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

The Cummings Center for Russian and East European Studies The Cummings Center Series RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST Russian Foreign Policy on the Threshold of the Twenty-first Century Editor: Gabriel Gorodetsky

THE CUMMINGS CENTER FOR RUSSIAN AND EAST EUROPEAN STUDIES TEL AVIV UNIVERSITY The Cummings Center is Tel Aviv University’s main framework for research, study, documentation and publication relating to the history and current affairs of Russia, the former Soviet republics and Eastern Europe. The Center is committed to pursuing projects which make use of fresh archival sources and to promoting a dialogue with Russian academic circles through joint research, seminars and publications. THE CUMMINGS CENTER SERIES The titles published in this series are the product of original research by the Center’s faculty, research staff and associated fellows. The Cummings Center Series also serves as a forum for publishing declassified Russian archival material of interest to scholars in the fields of history and political science. EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Gabriel Gorodetsky EDITORIAL BOARD Michael Confino Igal Halfin Shimon Naveh Yaacov Ro’i Nurit Schleifman MANAGING EDITOR Deena Leventer

RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

EDITOR:

GABRIEL GORODETSKY

FRANK CASS LONDON • PORTLAND, OR

First published in 2003 in Great Britain by FRANK CASS PUBLISHERS Crown House, 47 Chase Side London, N14 5BP This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” and in the United States of America by FRANK CASS PUBLISHERS c/o ISBS, 5824 N.E.Hassalo Street Portland, Oregon, 97213–3644 Website: www.frankcass.com Copyright in collection © 2003 Frank Cass & Co. Ltd Copyright in chapters © 2003 individual contributors British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Russia between East and West: Russian foreign policy on the threshold of the twenty-first century—(The Cummings Center series) 1. Russia (Federation)—Foreign relations I. Gorodetsky, Gabriel, 1945—II. Cummings Center for Russian and East European Studies 327.4′7′04′009049 ISBN 0-203-49927-1 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-58389-2 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-7146-5329-2 (Print Edition) (cloth) ISBN 0-7146-8393-0 (paper) ISSN 1365-3733 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Russia between East and West: Russian foreign policy on the threshold of the twenty-first century/edited by G.Gorodetsky. p. cm.—(Cummings Center series) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-7146-5329-2 (cloth) 1. Russian (Federation)—Foreign relations. I. Gorodetsky, Gabriel, 1945. II. Series. DK510.764 R853 2003 327.47′009′049–dc21 2002041576 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher of this book.

Contents

List of Abbreviations Introduction Gabriel Gorodetsky

viii x

Part I: A Great Power in Transition Faces Globalization 1.

The New Russia and the New World Order L.N.Klepatskii

2

2.

The Securitization of Russian Foreign Policy under Putin Bobo Lo

11

3.

The Transformation of Russia’s Military Doctrine in the Aftermath of Kosovo and Chechnya Alexei Arbatov

27

4.

After the Empire: Russia’s Emerging International Identity Dmitri Trenin

32

5.

Putin’s Foreign Policy after 11 September. Radical or Revolutionary? Alex Pravda

37

Part II: Russia’s Road into Europe 6.

Russia and the Dual Expansion of Europe Margot Light, John Löwenhardt and Stephen White

56

7.

Russia’s Place in European Defence Alyson J.K.Bailes

70

8.

Russian Strategic Uncertainty in an Era of US Tactical Intrusiveness Alvin Z.Rubinstein

81

vii

Part III: A Northern Passage 9.

10.

Opportunities and Challenges for Russia in the —Baltic Region Pavel K.Baev Northern Europe: A New Web of Relations Ingmar Oldberg

92

104

Part IV: The Southern Tier and the Middle East 11.

Russian Policy in the CIS under Putin S.Neil MacFarlane

117

12.

The Security Dimension of Russia’s Policy in South Central Asia Lena Jonson

124

13.

The Role of Islam in Russia’s Relations with Central Asia Yaacov Ro’i

141

14.

Russia in the Middle East: The Yeltsin Era and Beyond Oded Eran

152

Part V: Rethinking the Far East 15.

Russia between Europe and Asia: Some Aspects of Russia’s Asian Policy Mikhail G.Nosov

163

16.

Putin’s Foreign Policy: Transforming ‘the East’ Richard Sakwa

166

Notes on Contributors

187

Index

190

List of Abbreviations

ABM APEC ASEAN BEAC BMD CBSS CESDP CFE CFSP CIS CMEA (COMECON) CPRF CPSU EAPC EMU EU FIS FSB FSU GNP GUAM GUUAM KGB KRO NACC NATO

anti-ballistic missile Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation Association of South East Asian Nations Barents Euro-Arctic Council ballistic missile defence Council of Baltic Sea States Common European Security and Defence Policy Conventional Forces in Europe Common Foreign and Security Policy Commonwealth of Independent States Council for Mutual Economic Assistance Communist Party of the Russian Federation Communist Party of the Soviet Union Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council European Monetary Union European Union Foreign Intelligence Service Federal Security Service former Soviet Union gross national product Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan, Moldova Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan, Moldova Committee of State Security Congress of Russian Communities North Atlantic Cooperation Council North Atlantic Treaty Organization

ix

NMD OPEC ORT OSCE PCA PfP R&D RRF SEV START TACIS TMD UN WEAG WEU WMD WTO

National Missile Defence Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries state Russian television station Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe Partnership and Cooperation Agreement Partnership for Peace research and development Rapid Reaction Force Council of Economic Assistance Strategic Arms Reduction Talks/Treaty Technical Assistance to the CIS Theater Missile Defence United Nations Western European Armaments Group West European Union weapons of mass destruction World Trade Organization

Introduction

The challenge facing Russia in establishing its new identity bears directly on its foreign policy. The forging of Russian foreign policy reflects the search for identity and an attempt to reconcile traditional national interests with the newly emerging social and political entity. This process is impeded by constraints, imposed by the exigencies of a diffuse New World Order, where contradictory forces such as globalization, regionalism and US unilateralism seem to reign. The prevalent tendency prior to 11 September 2001 had been to dismiss Russia as a Third World nation and to write it off as a major player on the international scene. Scepticism about Russia’s capabilities emanated from inherent systemic failings, exposed during the demise of the Soviet Union and the subsequent arduous transition from communism. Yet, the country is blessed with tremendous human talent and virtually unparalleled natural resources. From the geopolitical point of view, even in its reduced state, Russia still covers vast spaces bearing directly on Europe, the Near East and the Far East. Finally, it is no secret that Russia stockpiles over 20,000 nuclear warheads and maintains probably the largest arsenals of chemical and biological weapons in the world. Hence, the conclusion that Russia lacks the means of maintaining great-power status is highly premature. Paying heed to Russia’s own perception of its international status is therefore as vital as exploring its immediate capabilities. This collection of essays attempts to track the mechanism of Russian foreign policy in the transition period, through a comparative study of continuity and change in the policies executed by Russia in diverse conflictridden regions. Such a study unveils modes of behaviour and fixed patterns in the conduct of foreign policy, which enable the reader to extrapolate lessons applicable from one arena to the other. The spatial aspect is a striking element in the conduct of Russian foreign policy and warrants a comparative study. The vast and varied cultural and physical spaces which constitute Russia’s spheres of interest dictate that different frames of mind be applied in devising a policy. Little has been done in that direction, as attention is usually drawn to a conflict region when it is already in the eye of the storm. The analysis in this volume of the Japanese, north-west

INTRODUCTION xi

European, Middle Eastern and central Asian examples is therefore vital for a better understanding of the multidimensional features of Russian foreign policy. The authors of the chapters, all leading academics or prominent practitioners, conduct a comparative study of Russia’s relations with the West and the East in an attempt to establish whether the traces of the Cold War are fading from Russian military and political thinking. They seek to establish the extent to which Russian foreign policy has undergone a genuine metamorphosis. The book further attempts to detect those forces and values which have been filling the vacuum. Most contributors to the present volume share the assumption that, despite the semblance of chaos and sporadic whims, Russian foreign policy, covering a vast geographical entity, is well coordinated. The emerging consensus is that the legacy of the past—be it ‘Imperial’ or ‘Communist’—weighs heavily on the execution of contemporary Russian foreign policy. This legacy pertains both to the Russian perception of its own position in world affairs and to the way the rest of the world views Russia. In both cases, relations continue to be coloured by lingering preconceived ideas. The cornerstone of Russia’s foreign policy remains the relations with its former adversary, the USA, though those relations may well be reflected in Moscow’s attitude towards third parties. The process of redefining and reestablishing Russia’s statehood mitigates first and foremost the regulation of relations with the new independent states of the former Soviet Union. Russia’s immediate spheres of influence (now termed ‘the near abroad’) have always been the focal point of its national interests. The intriguing issues addressed by the present volume question the extent to which the new Russian entity is prepared willingly to abandon its historical irredentist ambitions. What are the chances for the CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) to turn into an effective strategic alignment? Will Russia forsake vital economic and strategic interests (mostly oil), in the Caucasus, or in the Black Sea region, and condone the gradual Western encroachment into the region? The various contributors illustrate how domestic and international issues intertwine in relations with the CIS. They emphasize how vital it is for Russia to prevent ethnic, economic and social unrest in this area from spilling over into the mainland. Confronting the unchallenged pivotal global power of the USA, Russia may well be tempted, even after 11 September, to forge new alliances, mostly in the Eurasian subcontinent, to counterbalance the Atlantic alliance in an attempt to restore its status as a major power. The Balkans and the Caucasus are indeed the arenas where Russia has already chosen to flex its muscles. Its policies in Iraq and Iran, often at variance with those of the USA, strongly suggest the perseverance of power politics dictated by an age-old legacy of Russian national interests. Various chapters in the book lay bare the same tendency by

xii RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

focusing on Russia’s stratagem in the rarely discussed spheres of northern Europe and the Far East. The universally declining power of the nation-state and the increasingly defused open borders, marking the so-called age of globalization, hardly seem to touch Russia. Russia’s spatial immensity, further accentuated by the intricate fabric of a markedly multi-ethnic society, continue to determine the principles governing Russian foreign policy. These are solidly rooted in geopolitical and geocultural premises. The apparent contradictions in the execution of Russian foreign policy and the tension entailed relate to its spatial vastness: the need to control this enormous space, which has a low and uneven population density. Those conditions, fixed and unyielding, are further complicated by the boundless extent of its peripheries. Thus the legacy of the past is anchored in fixed geopolitical conditions. The historical legacy denotes a dynamic reciprocal dialogue between the power of the state and the territory. The reintroduction of imperial as well as Soviet symbols and language, coupled with the restoration of enduring national interests and great-power status, are all part and parcel of the attempt to refurbish a national identity, and they bear directly on the conduct of foreign policy. If there is any persistent characteristic in Russian foreign policy it seems to be historical consciousness. The recourse to symbols of statehood, for instance, lies at the heart of the war in Chechnya, the aim of which is to reinstate the indivisible Russian Federation. The legitimization for the war is typically presented within the historical context of Russian national interests. The second war in Chechnya in 1999 is linked by Arbatov, for instance, to the events in Kosovo earlier that year. That war is seen in Moscow as an expression of hidden Western agendas rather than a fulfilment of a sublime universal mission. The war in Kosovo best illustrates both the aspirations and the constraints of Russian foreign policy. It highlights the continued significance attached by Moscow to traditional interests, and particularly the predominance of the concept of spheres of influence. At the same time it also validates the limits of Russia’s capability for executing a more dynamic, resolute and independent policy. The war was a painful awakening for the Kremlin. The remaining illusions about a benign New World Order dissipated. Various moments during the war were dangerously reminiscent of the Cold War. Yeltsin even accused the West of wishing to turn Yugoslavia into a ‘protectorate’. Grave from Moscow’s standpoint was the realization that the war might set a dangerous precedent in international affairs, which would permit US intervention in the domestic affairs of sovereign states while bypassing the United Nations, where Russia still enjoys its postwar status as a major power. Various Russian initiatives during the war—especially the dispatch of the Black Sea fleet to the Adriatic Sea and stealing a march on NATO through a bold dash of Soviet special forces to the airport of Kosovo’s capital, Prishcina—

INTRODUCTION xiii

were ecstatically welcomed in Moscow. There were also open expressions of satisfaction at the controversy which the bombing campaign had aroused in Europe. Another case in point is the Nordic—Baltic region discussed by Baev and Oldberg. The most promising prospects in the Nordic—Baltic area appear to be in the economic, communications/information, social/ecological spheres and other non-state-levels of interaction—often described as the ‘soft security’ field—reflecting the spirit of globalization. But these two scholars suggest that Putin emerges as a hardliner, a security-oriented leader, with clear preferences for various ‘instruments of power’ ranging from the secret services to nuclear submarines. It goes without saying that, on the economic level, the natural resources of the southern tier of central Asia and the Caucasus are extremely attractive to the Russians, notably in the Caspian Basin. MacFarlane, however, argues that security considerations predominate in the Russian approach. He points out that the strategic environment surrounding the Russian Federation is widely perceived to be hostile and potentially threatening. Russia therefore has important security concerns at stake in neighbouring states. MacFarlane defines these as ‘spillover’ of local conflicts, such as refugees, waves of immigration, terrorism and the possible impact of local trends, such as Islamic revival, which might destabilize particular regions of Russia. The situation is further exacerbated by the fact that the neighbouring countries are far too weak to handle those issues on their own. Thus, the southern countries serve as a buffer zone with respect to Islamic radicalism, while the western ones act as an obstacle to Europe’s extension of NATO. Although the term derzhavnost’—an aspiration for a strong state and great-power status—is neither fashionable nor ‘politically correct’, and does not conform to the spirit of ‘globalization’, the Moscow elite does, for the most part, perceive itself to be the heir to a great power. Seen through Russian rather than Western eyes, the romantic liberal vision of foreign policy, subjugating Russian interests for the sake of a moral global scheme —the ‘great experience’ of Gorbachev—is seen as a reckless one. Bobo Lo, a keen observer in Moscow of Russian foreign policy in the making, unequivocally recognizes ‘the primacy of political-military over economic priorities’. He warns, however, that fluidity of policy in the absence of a long-term strategic view causes experts to attribute significance to events which might have only passing import, but which conform to preconceived notions of Russian foreign policy. Trenin and liberals akin to his thinking in Moscow are haunted by the legend of the phoenix rising from the ashes. Although they would wish to see Moscow’s foreign policy ambitions scaled down, they witness their leaders championing an anti-universalistic agenda.

xiv RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

The Russian damage control policy, dictated by American hegemonic power and the geopolitical assets lost at the end of the Cold War, drive her closer to Europe. Even that is not a rigid principle but rather a pragmatic reactive procedure. Indeed, when advantageous circumstances arise, such as 11 September, priority is assigned to cooperation with the hegemonic power. Europe is in no way the haven sought by the Russians. Their exclusion from key institutions on the continent only brings out the geocultural differences between Europe, the near abroad and Russia. The stark contrasts between neighbouring states and accession states are likely to increase as the transformation and integration process into Western organizations accelerates. Asymmetry is bound to be accentuated as a source of conflict which could spill over into the heart of Europe. Many of the writers here point out the fallacies of Western policies, which not only fail to address Russian sensitivities but also perpetuate enduring preconceived ideas and prevent the Cold War from being brought to a genuine end. Most analysts in the present volume concur that the evolution of Russian foreign policy has been proceeding from idealistically unqualified Westernism to realistic pragmatic nationalism. The fanciful, brief, innovative attempt to obliterate the Soviet legacy has slipped into a far more modest ambition of reconciling with the burden of the past. Seen from the Russian vantage point, this is perfectly understandable, particularly in the wake of 11 September. Consequently, the notion that high politics and military security have been replaced by the benign lower politics of wealth and welfare is seriously challenged. Faced by the chronic dilemma of whether to toss away the legacies of the past and move forward towards a somewhat utopian ‘brave new world’, the geopolitical view of politics, with its pressing constraints but also vast potential rewards, seems to prevail. The systemic in-built tension between the vision and the legacy, between persisting geopolitical and geo-cultural features and changing universal values, mirrors the uncertainty related to the process of forging a Russian national identity. The paradox of the state striving ceaselessly to regain and retain great-power status while resting on fragile foundations and seeking to accommodate ‘Western values’ remains unresolved. This dilemma explains perhaps what Alex Pravda rightly detects as the absence of a long-term strategy in Putin’s foreign policy. In the interim period of coping with the tremendous task of restoring the nation-state, the Russians have been shying away from the bipolar confrontation while advocating multipolarity—as clearly emerges from Klepatskii’s chapter. Multipolarity envisages an international system which is essentially not antagonistic and is dominated by a limited number of poles, without any one pole possessing absolute power. Multipolarity further appeals to the Russians because it allows them to avoid a Eurasian solution or the centuries’ old debate on Russia’s position between East and

INTRODUCTION xv

West. Multipolarity, though, is far from being a sacred principle. In fact, after 11 September, when prospects of acting on a par with the Americans seemed viable, it almost vanished from the lexicon of the Kremlin. What seems to be more durable is the pursuit of national interests in the traditional sense while, verbally at least, reaching an accommodation with globalization, which is anyway regarded as a euphemism for unilateralism. Seen from the Kremlin, globalization is an extraterritorial factor which transcends the state and may indeed be at times conducive to economic growth and an instrument of democratization. The Russians fully recognize the fact that globalization exerts influence on national interests, and even transforms their contents, particularly in the economic and financial spheres. But their fear is that globalization is often manipulated by the USA in order to further American national interests and mobilize international support for that purpose. While open to the economic benefits which globalization might entail, they are determined to prevent it from eliminating or replacing national interests. The great challenge for Moscow is therefore to resolve the intrinsic tension between Russia’s continued search for a dominant position in world affairs and a recognition of the power of globalization—which seems to eat away at state sovereignty—in the economic sphere. One solution which seems to emerge, at least for the intermediate period, is an attempt to function within the framework of globalization while solidifying relations on an inter-regional basis. The war against terror indeed created favourable conditions which allow the Russian to seek the construction of such regional blocs according to their own vision. President Bush’s acceptance of Russia as a full ally into the unipolar structure after 11 September 2001 is perhaps the outcome of the paradigm outlined by Margot Light et al., according to which ‘there can be no European security without Russia, nor is European security feasible without the USA’. The proper mechanism for the inclusion of Russia within the workings of NATO must therefore be found. What remains to be seen in the long run is to what extent either the ideas of multipolarity or the full incorporation of Russia in the unilateral system will be genuinely and fully absorbed in Moscow and to what extent Putin’s acquiescence is no more than tactical, and a guise for the reinstatement of the old order based on spheres of influence and balance-of-power politics. The process of forging a new Russian national identity is a sine qua non for a definition of Russia’s role in the New World Order. Paradoxically, the process of nation building is aggravated by the newly achieved liberties in Russia, which inflame a vociferous debate and elude consensus. The public is living in a bleak present: split over the interpretation of past aspirations as well as over a definition of future expectations. The obvious change in policy, since Putin’s assumption of power, however, is a response to the popular notion that some sort of stability and conformity is

xvi RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

necessary for the population to rally behind a national leadership, and that only then will the world be able to relate to Russia again as a major power. Nation building in Russia is thus affected by external and domestic factors. In the West, the end of the Cold War, the dismembering of the Soviet empire, and the subsequent slow and painful execution of economic reforms instilled a belief that Russia had been stripped of its potential role as a major power in international politics for the coming decades. Financial and economic aid is therefore geared towards imposing on Russia ‘Western’ ideas and bolstering social reconstruction which would continue to render it less imperialist, less militarized and less threatening to its neighbours and the world. Even the proponents of cooperation with Russia, such as Professor Sacks, Former Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott, Samuel R.Berger and Managing Director of the International Monetary Fund Michel Camdessus, assumed that outfitting Russia with the mantle of a ‘civic society’, through the introduction of market economy, would cause it to reconcile with the unipolar New World Order. In other words, help it to come to terms with its bankrupt position on the international arena. It has hardly escaped Moscow’s attention, of course, that the aid is not simple charity. It is rightly interpreted as a desire to exercise effective supervision over Russia’s nuclear arsenal and to ensure that communism is not restored. Gerhard Schroeder’s new Germany, the major creditor of Russia, increasingly finds itself the arbitrator of European affairs. During his first visit to Moscow, early in 1999, the Chancellor, like his American colleagues, conditioned any future assistance on the progress made in the process of democratization. When ‘democratization’ is applied to Russia, it often denotes successful implementation of a free-market economy. This controversy is the keystone; a recurrent theme of the present volume. Some writers argue that the economic factors inspire Russian foreign policy. ‘Business’ has surely become a catchword in the execution of Russian foreign policy. Such an approach, however, seems to be confined to a small ‘oligarchy’ running the major privatized companies such as Gazprom, the newly formed oil giants Lukoil and Yuksi (which exceed some of the USA’s larger petroleum corporations in reserves), and Moscow-based banks such as SBS-Agro, MOST, Menatep and Oneximbank. Lukoil, for instance, has been a major factor in Russia’s accommodating policy towards Iraq. The policy pursued of late by the IMF, Germany and, extremely vigorously, by Japan, of dangling a financial carrot in front of the Russians in anticipation of political dividends, is indeed very transparent. The ‘bait’ affects directly only the tip of the iceberg, the so-called oligarchy. But the oligarchy itself is constrained in pursuing its economic agenda by what is conceived to be Russia’s national interests. One of the erring tendencies has been the assumption that the chaos, characterizing the evolution of the democratization process, reflects a lack

INTRODUCTION xvii

of purpose. The majority of representatives in the Duma, with almost the sole exception of Yavlinsky’s liberals, are increasingly supporting nationalist agendas. Public opinion, as the Kosovo war and the second war in Chechnya demonstrate, follows a similar pattern. Rather paradoxically, almost a decade after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the nationalist mood seems to have been inflamed by the emergence of the so-called New World Order, more specifically by US incursion into regions which Russia regards as its own backyard. Turning to the East, Sakwa suggests that the terms ‘East’ and ‘West’ may be somewhat anachronistic. Japanese industrialization and market economy is identified as the epithet of Western economic progress. On the other hand, European countries, as Nosov points out, must increasingly contend with a blend of Asian, African and east European emigrations and cultural influences. Does the East—West division and the introduction of the term Eurasia connote a messianic role for Russia, reflecting a deeprooted philosophy? Or is it a convenient pragmatist standpoint? Sakwa proposes that the East should not be defined within the context of the traditional schism between the Slavophiles and the Westerners. As the West seems to be dominated by the USA or Europe, the East offers Russia more possibilities of maintaining its status as a major power. Rather than hanging on to the ideological tenets of the nineteenth-century debate, the East can be constructed on the basis of a rational consensus, antiuniversalism and multilateralism. And yet, as becomes clear from this volume, Russia predominantly continues to seek association with the West. Even from the economic point of view, its trade with Asian countries, as Nosov reveals, is less than 10 per cent of its overall turnover, while Russia’s share of Asian trade does not exceed 1 per cent. In fact, any attempt to divert Russia to the East immediately sounds an alarm in Moscow. The centuries’ old fear of isolation continues to haunt the mind of the rulers in the Kremlin. The collapse of the Soviet Union was by no means, as Gorbachev would like us to assume today, an orderly and inevitable affair. His retrospective rationale is laden with idealistic and moralist notions, aimed at replacing the clearly obsolete ideology while discarding the enduring and sound traditional premises of ‘national interests’. It is indeed most doubtful whether, within the framework of Perestroika, the unification of Germany, and the withdrawal from the Baltic and the Black Sea littoral were envisaged, not to mention the secession of the southern republics. The hasty, and in many ways irresponsible, dismantling of the empire created vast anomalies. The virtual abandoning of the highly strategic hold over the Baltic littoral created a real conundrum. Throughout Stalin’s reign the Soviet Union secured the integration of the region into the Union through a massive influx of Russian citizens. The deliberate colonization actually

xviii RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

reduced Latvia’s indigenous population to 52 per cent by 1991, with similar percentages in Estonia. Russia’s attitude to the Baltic region, Ukraine, Black Sea and the Balkans, on the one hand, and to the Kurile Islands in Far East, on the other hand, will remain the ‘litmus test’ for the course negotiated by Russian foreign policy. Russia’s successful return to great-power status will be determined by the pace and effectiveness of economic reforms, the political regroupings, the establishment of functioning constitutional balances, and the ability to cope with regional conflicts (mostly in the Caucasus). The methods the Russians use to regain their status in the vital geographical triangle, formed by the Pacific Ocean, the Black Sea and the Baltic Sea, will be decided by domestic and foreign policy factors: at home by the nature of the political and economic reconstruction to emerge out of the transition period; in the international arena, through the ability to redefine its relations with the ‘near abroad’, Europe, the USA, Japan and China, hopefully by peaceful means based on mutual trust. The success of such a policy depends to a large extent on the will and ability of the USA to recognize and accommodate Russia’s long-term interests, based essentially on its geopolitical disposition. The Kremlin for its part would need to decide whether to resort to force and bellicose alliances or to achieve its aims through diplomatic and economic means. On top of querying the objectives of Russia’s foreign policy, attention is therefore drawn in the book to the modus operandi which it chooses to employ. And yet, overlooking the ponderous weight of the past, and the ease with which it could be recruited to sustain a nationalist line, could be calamitous. The off-handed fashion in which the Americans have imposed their new global dominance will surely produce a backlash in the long run. Signs of that were clearly discerned in various European capitals during the war in Kosovo. A quick glimpse at both Western and Russian newspapers will show that mutual suspicion lingers. The legacy of the past is never too far from the surface. It hardly comes as a surprise to find that the Russians perceive the US bombing of Iraq as a violation of the agreement of the antiballistic missile defence treaty signed by Moscow and Washington in 1972. The war in Kosovo, accentuated by political instability at home, further rekindled that suspicion. Likewise, the inclusion of Poland and Czechoslovakia in NATO generated much resentment in Moscow. The key for understanding Russia’s aims, either in the Middle East, the southern tier or the Far East, is by relating them to Russia’s broader view of international affairs. Their foreign policy may appear chaotic and senseless at times if examined in isolation, but the Russian encroachment into these regions often diverges from the main axis of Russian-American relations. At times it may be a reaction to the extension of NATO, regarded as a flagrant challenge to Russia’s security assets. Indeed, the extension of NATO and the failure to activate the NATO—Russia Council preoccupies

INTRODUCTION xix

Russian policy makers and is constantly in the headlines. NATO’s expansion to the East is perceived as a blatant American attempt to divide Europe by lowering a new ‘iron curtain’. Even politicians like Yavlinsky were quick to spring to the defence of the government’s decision to use an iron fist in dealing with the uprisings in Dagestan. The marriage of convenience celebrated by the Americans and the Russians once the war against terror was launched could hardly blur this antagonism. The American resort to ad hoc alliances, using NATO as its main policing force, often on Russia’s borders, was perceived in Moscow as proof that ‘the world was descending into dictatorship and arbitrary rule’. But threats on other borders may well promote similar reactions. Rubinstein argues unequivocally that the extension of NATO is not only disastrous for the conciliation of Russia in the future but actually is a detriment to the USA’s own interests. Light et al. agree that the extension clearly marks the creation of a divide. But even in that case it remains to be seen whether NATO, currently undergoing a metamorphosis, will emerge as a US-dominated contrivance or, as the Russians hope, as a secondary force in a more traditional coalition structure. The impotence of NATO in the recent war against terrorism in Afghanistan seems to encourage the Russians. As Trenin correctly points out, there is a prevalent tendency in Russia to contrast ‘the good West of Europe/EU’ with the ‘bad West of America/NATO’. NATO is considered to be an instrument of US foreign policy, and one of the chief means by which the USA intends to achieve unipolarity. Eran underscores the continuity in Russian Middle Eastern politics which is manifested in an increasing involvement with its southern ‘near abroad’ and the southern tier of Turkey and Iran rather than the Israeli— Palestinian conflict. Whether this is an indication of the priorities set now on economics, as the author suggests, or whether political and security considerations remain predominant, is indeed debatable. At an early stage, during the Gulf War in winter 1991, Russia assumed the role of a mediator (alas unsuccessfully). Since then, Russia has been a champion of attempts to pass a resolution in the Security Council which would lead to lifting the sanctions imposed on Iraq. In summer 2002, while Bush was in the midst of contemplating a second campaign against Iraq and seeking international support within the scope of the war against terrorism, the Russians hastened to conclude an extensive economic agreement with Iraq. A no less significant arena, from the Russian point of view, is Iran. Russian politicians never tire of justifying their efforts to forge special relations with Iran, regardless of the nature of the regime there, even if it places them on a collision course with the Americans. The need to pacify Russia’s southern tier and prevent any turmoil from spilling over into the southern republics, heavily populated by Muslims, is an overwhelming Russian interest. Likewise it is vital for them, as the recent events in

xx RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Chechnya and Dagestan have proven, to contain fundamentalist Iranian influence on the southern CIS through conciliation. Some sort of alignment with Iran is also sought in an effort to check the growing Turkish influence in that region. Moreover, many of Russia’s future energy resources are tied to the Near East and the Caucasus. Russia has been investing massively in Iran, not only in the transfer of ballistic missile technology (which has introduced a sour note into their relations with Israel); similar effort has also been directed to the construction of nuclear power stations and joint projects executed through Gazprom and local companies, aimed at developing the natural gas region near Isfahan. Similarly ambitious is the construction of pipelines transporting oil from Turkmenistan through Iranian territory. Other economic projects, though not on a comparable scale, have been developed with Iraq and Syria. Amicable relations with Iran are not only vital for economic and domestic reasons but are motivated by considerations of a traditional balance of power. The return of Russia to the Middle East, shortly after Evgenii Primakov’s appointment as Foreign Minister in 1995, did not mark a regression but rather stability and the re-emergence of geopolitics and nationalism as the compass of Russian foreign policy. The Middle East and the Israeli-Arab conflict lie, therefore, just outside the realm of more vital Near Eastern interests. The participants in the conflict served for decades as pawns in a Cold War ‘battlefield’, which vanished almost overnight. Nonetheless, as long as Russia feels that the new global order is dictated in an arbitrary fashion by the USA, encroaching on Russian interests, its presence is likely to persevere. Paradoxically, Russia, in a permanent state of turmoil and on the verge of bankruptcy succeeds, nonetheless, in punching its weight in the international arena. The traditional Russian practice of dressing intrinsic national interests in an ideological cloak has contributed much to diffusing the rational and fixed elements in Soviet and Russian foreign policy. It has deprived Western politicians and historians alike from recognizing the unmistakable continuity characterizing Russia’s policies. The end of the Cold War—a war which in retrospect seems to have been merely a passing episode in twentieth-century history—has proved the relativism of ideology and demonstrates the need to come to terms with history. Notions of space and geopolitics, applied to conflicts concerning overlapping interests or regional ethnic issues and manipulated through the instruments of balanceof-power politics, seem to remain the modus operandi for the execution of Russian foreign policy. Gabriel Gorodetsky Tel Aviv, 2003

Part I: A Great Power in Transition Faces Globalization

1 The New Russia and the New World Order L.N.KLEPATSKII

In the aftermath of the Cold War the structure of international relations is in a state of transformation, and the nature of the New World Order remains an open question. The international community can and must determine the path it intends to take. One can only hope that its choice will correspond to the changes taking place in international relations. Russian policy envisages a multipolar path for the evolution of international relations. This idea is reflected in a range of documents, such as the new version of the National Security Doctrine (approved by the President of the Russian Federation on 10 January 2000). The principle of multipolarity has, consequently, been adopted as the official doctrine of Russian foreign policy. This particular orientation took shape gradually. Although the idea of ‘polycentrism in international policy’ was expressed as early as 1993, in the foreign policy doctrine developed under Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev, practical conclusions were never drawn. It should be noted that Russian political scientists do not share a uniform view of multipolarity. Arguments can be heard that multipolarity is not only incorrect but even harmful to Russia’s national interests; that it corresponds to the realities of world development even less than the idea of US leadership; that it does not provide a complete picture of the contemporary world; that it establishes false guidelines, and so forth. These divergent opinions and assessments can be explained mostly by the fact that the problems of the evolution of international relations since the end of the Cold War have been insufficiently studied. But, on the whole, analysis of the various points of view on this topic shows that the opponents of multipolarity are unable to raise serious objections to a multipolar world system. By and large the matter comes down to disagreements over Russia’s foreign policy orientation: some propose a tilt towards the West, others towards Asia, and yet others, towards the USA. Meanwhile, a multipolar world system is already a reality. In fact, it also existed during the period of bipolarity, but at that time the entire diversity of world development was reduced to the formula of ‘class’ relations between the two military-political blocs and their leaders. As soon as

THE NEW RUSSIA AND THE NEW WORLD ORDER 3

bipolarity vanished from the stage of world politics, the role of national interests acquired a remarkable new significance. Many states belonging to structures whose existence had been dictated by the logic of confrontation between the two blocs found themselves in an awkward position. The shadows of the past gradually disappeared leading to an erosion of the former single-bloc orientation. It is no longer possible to realize national interests within the framework of one bloc alone. This is especially true for large states, of which Russia is one. Multipolarity is created, first and foremost, by economic, military and political factors rather than by global cultural diversity, which is linked more with civilizational than with ‘polar’ traits. Secondly, it takes into account, de facto, both the established centres of gravity and influence that have formed in international relations and the newly emerging ‘poles’ at the regional and sub-regional levels. Thirdly, multipolarity not only ‘continues’ history but also responds to globalization and its consequences for international relations. Fourthly, it opens up prospects for democratization and the humanization of international relations. Multipolarity can therefore be seen not just as another ideological scheme but also as an objective condition of international relations, which gradually ripened even at the height of the Cold War but which became clearly manifested only after its end. Therefore, multipolarity represents an entirely realistic perspective for the further evolution of the contemporary world. Contemporary international relations in the epoch of globalization could develop along a variety of potential paths. This is also true of the possible configurations of multipolarity. One determining factor is globalization, which is changing the economic, social, cultural and informational environment of human life. On the one hand, it leads to increasing interdependency among countries with regard to practically all aspects of their national interests. On the other hand, the vulnerability of countries to external factors in their quest to ensure stable and progressive development is becoming ever more apparent. Therefore, the state of the international arena has become, as never before, a major challenge to nation-states. It should be noted that the collapse of the bipolar structure of international relations and the concurrent process of globalization has created a qualitatively new situation in international relations and generated numerous problems that require either new analysis or modification of previous interpretations. In particular, the question of the subjects of international relations requires a new analysis. There seem to exist other players in world affairs besides the state. Non-governmental organizations and multinational corporations are playing an increasingly prominent role. Their very existence serves to democratize international life. The number of regional organizations of various types is growing, as is their influence on events on the regional level and beyond. Therefore there

4 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

is a need for non-traditional approaches to the formation of political doctrines for a modern world system that address the conditions of the twenty-first century. Moreover, we should bear in mind that globalization and the further evolution of international relations are mutually intertwined, but nonetheless independent, processes. Each has its own roots and its own internal driving forces of development. At the root of international relations lie the national interests of states. Globalization exerts an influence on national interests, transforms their content, particularly in the economic and financial spheres, but in no way eliminates or replaces them. It does not eliminate the disparity between national interests, but rather seeks their compatibility and consolidation in pursuit of security and stability. It would be a serious mistake to ignore the autonomy of these two processes. This remark is necessary, since there are attempts to dissolve international relations in the wake of globalization, on the assumption that the latter is the totally dominant trend. One of the positive consequences of globalization is the growing range of possibilities that states have for pursuing their national interests as members of the world community. Previous limitations on choice are disappearing and there is an increasing diversification of political and economic ties. This is apparent even among members of military-political alliances. The emerging multipolarity provides broad opportunities for national-political autonomy beyond the determining force of economic factors. Hence, when speaking of multipolarity, it should be remembered that states have new possibilities for realizing their national interests. And yet, it should be borne in mind that globalization can also lead to the manipulation and distortion of the transformation that is taking place in the world community. The process of globalization is developing unevenly, and this is most apparent in the formation of integrated economic ‘poles’ characterized by a fairly high level of density of economic connections and complex interdependency. It is precisely these poles that occupy the leading position in the world economy today. Their existence and interaction provide the basis for economic multipolarity in international relations. Therefore, when the USA is characterized as the sole superpower in the world, it should not be forgotten that, for all its significance, its share of gross world production is just over 20 per cent. At the present time, several dozen integrated economic coalitions exist, with varying degrees of maturity. The most advanced is the framework of the European Union (EU), which has set itself the goal of forming a fully fledged political entity and pole of international relations with a single currency and economic, foreign and military policy. This will represent the consolidated interests and functions of the member states of the EU. To a

THE NEW RUSSIA AND THE NEW WORLD ORDER 5

certain extent, we are witnesses to a unique historical experiment—the birth in Europe of something like a new species of cooperative superpower. The tendency towards integration on the regional and sub-regional levels is a general feature of the development of international relations, particularly since the 1970s. Such integration qualitatively changes the structure and orientation of international collaboration. Moreover, it is compounded by the development of connections on the inter-coalition and inter-regional levels, as evidenced by the collaboration now gaining momentum between the EU and Latin American integrated groups, between the regional organizations of Europe and Asia, Asia-Pacific and Latin America. World economic expansion will gradually take shape as a result of the interaction among integrated unions. The advantages of globalization are realized precisely on the level of regions and integrated unions. At the same time, the integration of state economies makes it possible to mitigate the negative aspects of globalization, since it is on this level that opportunities appear to create cooperative mechanisms for managing these processes and reducing the costs of globalization for nation-states. Consequently, integrated unions fulfil a clearly defensive function. On a global level, mechanisms have not yet emerged for the management of these processes, as demonstrated by the scale of the recent Asian economic crisis which dealt such a painful blow to Russia’s weak market economy. In other words, it is easier to implement management strategies successfully on the level of integrated unions than on either the national or the global level. Inter-regional ties can also be viewed in relation to the establishment of methods to regulate globalization processes. It is clear that economic integration demands increasingly intensive coordination between the actions of states in the political sphere as well. In summing up this brief analysis of these phenomena, I would like to emphasize above all the regional scale of multipolarity, the integrated alliances that form its framework and their growing influence on the behaviour of states. Their integrative and defensive functions should be examined when considering the further evolution of contemporary international relations. Of course, not all existing economic groups can become world-class poles, but their significance on the regional and sub-regional levels cannot be ignored. Multipolarity in contemporary international relations means today a limited number of poles, without any one pole possessing absolute power. Let us look into the economic sphere of international relations which has changed fundamentally since the 1970s. Today in the economic sphere, the USA and the EU account for approximately 21 per cent each of gross world production, while the share of Japan, China and ASEAN (Asssociation of South East Asian Nations) amounts to more than 20 per cent. Prognoses suggest that, by 2015, the share of both the USA and the

6 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

EU will have diminished relatively, while the share of China and Japan will increase along with that of the entire Asian group, whose share will amount to practically one-quarter of the gross world product. In this arena, Russia is an insignificant force with slightly over 1.5 per cent of gross world production. But this is a country with enormous, though as yet unrealized, potential, possessing 15–20 per cent of the world’s estimated oil reserves, 42 per cent of its natural gas and 43 per cent of its coal. In terms of its GNP, Russia falls between the tenth and twentieth place among the most developed nations. However, the country’s intellectual property is assessed at US$400 billion and it has significant potential in the area of high technology. To economic can be added monetary multipolarity, which is already a salient tendency. Until recently, the world monetary system has been tied to the American currency—more than half of world trading accounts are settled in dollars, which has placed the USA in a significantly advantageous position. However, the introduction by the EU of a single currency has removed this asymmetry, undermining the strategic position of the USA and narrowing the dollar’s ‘living space’. The consolidation of Asian countries in the financial sphere could have farreaching consequences for the American dollar. This is precisely what was demonstrated by the initiative of the finance ministers of the ASEAN countries, the Republic of Korea, Japan and China, at their meeting in Chiang Mai (Thailand), which has resulted in the establishment of an Asian monetary fund. As we see, even in this sphere of international financial and economic relations, monetary unipolarity is being eroded. The USA has unequivocal hegemony in the military sphere and in the field of high technology. At the same time, the EU’s determination to establish its autonomous military potential is clearly aimed at overcoming just this situation. The EU has also announced its intention to ‘catch up’ with the USA in the sphere of high technology. Naturally, there are other states apart from the USA that can be counted as relatively independent ‘poles’. States such as China, India, Russia and a number of Latin American countries possess sufficient resources to ensure their own development (putting aside, for now, an assessment of the quality of this development, which is a separate topic), but even they do not shun various forms of integration with other states. Of course, multipolarity in international relations does not mean the quest for some kind of ideal recipe or panacea for all the abundant threats and misfortunes afflicting the human race. Nonetheless, only a multipolar world system in all its diversity can provide a genuine framework for ensuring the balance of interests among the participants in global processes. The main point is not the number of poles but the very nature of international relations, which cannot but reflect multipolarity. Specifically, multipolarity is incompatible with hegemony in international relations. It is

THE NEW RUSSIA AND THE NEW WORLD ORDER 7

increasingly evident that the urge of a single state or group of countries to dominate global politics and economics contradicts the fundamental principles of contemporary international relations. In this sense, multipolarity is the obvious alternative in so far as it is based on consideration of the national interests and sovereignty of states. Therefore, when the Russian delegation proposed to the countries of the G8 its doctrine for peace in the twenty-first century, it proceeded from the assumption that the democratization of international relations should be an inextricable element of peace in the coming century. The affirmation and observation of democratic norms and principles in internal state policy, the establishment of a civil society, will undoubtedly have a beneficial influence on international relations, but only on condition that democratic states apply to international affairs the values that prevail in their own domestic affairs. The use of military force and interference in the internal affairs of sovereign states can hardly be included among these democratic values. A theoretical analysis of multipolarity in international relations is significant in and of itself, but it also has practical value: it should enable the Russian government to determine the most appropriate parameters and guidelines for its foreign policy, ones that correspond to the country’s national interests and to all aspects of its security. Russia, and perhaps the other newly independent states of the former Soviet Union, enjoy a certain advantage in this respect since they have turned out to be, as it were, strays. They are not part of the well-known political, economic and regional military and political structures and have preserved freedom of manoeuvre in their choice of foreign, political and economic inclinations. Indeed, the existing global political poles are engaged in fierce competition for the foreign policy orientation of Russia. A country’s role cannot be reduced solely to economic factors. Russia, which in the 1990s has been in a state of political instability and economic crisis, has somehow managed not to dissipate its weight in foreign policy. It has taken a stand as a firm advocate of preserving the principles of contemporary international law, maintaining the role of the United Nations in supporting peace and security, and strengthening strategic stability. Russia was supported in these aims by an overwhelming majority of members of the international community. In the context of globalization the concept of the ‘West’ should be examined more closely. Are Japan, India, Malaysia and other growing economies also the West or do they remain nonetheless Eastern, Asiatic counties? Previously, the geographical indicator dominated in determining whether a given country was East or West, but now globalization is erasing the traditional boundaries between the two. We may recall the quite eloquent recognition by US President Bill Clinton of India as the ‘world’s largest democracy’. The interweaving of traditional concepts into an analysis

8 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

of contemporary trends reflects the transitional state of international relations. It is obvious that a confrontational posture does not correspond in any way to Russia’s national interests and security. But to ‘merge’ with a broadly conceived West guarantees absolutely nothing—there are enough faceless states there even without Russia. In the context of globalization and a multipolar world, Russia cannot permit itself a one-sided orientation towards only one pole. To choose the West or the East, Europe or Asia, is a false dilemma. Russia’s choice of a multipolar world system absolves it from the need for confrontation in a union with someone against someone else. Since such a necessity does not seem likely, at least in the next 15 to 20 years, Russia can concentrate its efforts on resolving its domestic problems, and foreign policy should provide the optimal conditions for this. Russia’s national interests are best served by willingness to collaborate with all powers regardless of the continent on which they may be located. Naturally, however, priority should be given to those powers that are located in the European or Asian spheres and also to the USA—with regard to the first two, because of their geographical proximity and the intensity of the integrative processes taking place among them, which have a direct influence on the degree of Russia’s integration into the world economy. The same is applicable to collaboration with the USA, to which can be added the massive and multifaceted complex of military issues, whose management depends on supporting and strengthening strategic stability. The Russian conception of multipolarity is sometimes described as antiAmericanism, but it would be just as logical to speak of the antiAmericanism of the EU, which considers itself a pole, not to mention any number of other ‘antis’. The experience of Russo-American relations over the 1990s indicates that there is a wide variety of platforms for collaboration. Russia’s negative reaction to a number of US actions in the area of strategic stability—the use of military force to resolve international conflicts, ignoring the UN Charter along with the norms and principles of international law—is shared by other countries. It should be kept in mind that in the context of multipolarity and the transitional state of international affairs, relations are shaped by a combination of balance of power and balance of interests, with the weight shifting towards the latter half of the equation. The element of force, while still significant, is nonetheless inadequate to deal with contemporary threats. Kosovo is an example of this. For Russia’s national interests and security, the optimal choice is balanced openness which allows freedom for manoeuvre in foreign policy. This is especially important as Russia is a country much in demand, a country that each of the poles wants to have on its own side. For example, in the framework of transatlantic relations two poles have taken shape: the

THE NEW RUSSIA AND THE NEW WORLD ORDER 9

USA and the EU. It would be rash to opt for only one of the two; relations with them should be balanced. This does not mean keeping an equal distance or equal proximity. It means precisely a balance. Collaboration with Asian countries and their regional organizations should be more intensive than at present. This does not mean playing down relations with the EU and other European states. Currently, 35–40 per cent of Russia’s foreign trade is already with the EU, and if the east European countries are included, the figure rises to over 50 per cent. This does not mean that the volume of foreign trade with the EU should be reduced. The imbalance that has developed can be corrected through more intensive cultivation of trade and economic relations with Asian countries. As one Russian political scientist has noted, Russia can raise its standing as one of the world powers, albeit not at the top rank, by broadening collaboration with the former Soviet republics, relations which naturally have a preferential character. In the 1990s, the Russian side lost the opportunity to become the ‘locomotive’ of economic integration. In practice, Russia has repeated the model of collaboration with the former Soviet republics that was characteristic of the former Council of Economic Assistance (SEV), when the USSR supplied fuel and raw materials at lower than world prices and received, in return, at inflated prices, industrial products of mediocre or even poor technical quality. This experience cannot be ignored—its historical consequences are well known. The Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), which can be defined as a Eurasian formation, has enormous potential to become a centre of gravity. Paradoxically, it has already become that, but only for the purpose of its own disintegration. Multipolarity is the salient democratic alternative in the development of contemporary international relations. A different path might be the expansionist model of globalization, at the root of which is the acceptance of the political, economic and technical leadership of the industrially developed countries. However, the striving for hegemony in world politics and economics on the part of a single country or group of countries can only provoke resistance—open or concealed—on the part of other centres of influence. Hence there is a need for civilized rules of the game and behaviour in international affairs. This is certainly possible. First, the world community, during its many years of evolution, has worked out a whole compendium of principles and norms of international law to regulate relations among states and their behaviour in world affairs. Secondly, there has existed for half a century an organization that is the bearer and embodiment of these principles: the United Nations (UN). For all its shortcomings and all the doubts about its effectiveness, it remains unique. In many respects there is no alternative to the UN as a mechanism for managing the system of international relations today and in the long term.

10 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Regional organizations play an ever greater role in the development of collaboration among states within their regions. In Europe there is the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), as well as a number of sub-regional organizations both in the north and in the south of the continent. In Asia the potential of ASEAN and its regional security forum (ARF) is growing. There are equivalent organizations in Africa and Latin America. In the conditions of globalization, cooperation between the UN and these regional organizations is becoming ever more necessary in order to coordinate resistance to threats in the field of security and to establish joint rules of conduct. In this way it will be possible to create a political superstructure of multipolarity in international relations. It is precisely multipolarity in its various dimensions that presents a real platform for ensuring the balance of interests among the participants in global processes. And for the new Russia and its Eurasian position, it is the multipolarity of international relations that can best serve its national interests and promote its international security.

2 The Securitization of Russian Foreign Policy under Putin

BOBO LO

INTRODUCTION: THE CONTEXT OF FOREIGN POLICY MAKING When Vladimir Putin moved into the White House in January 2000, Russian foreign policy was in a state of rout. An anarchic institutional climate, several very high-profile setbacks—NATO enlargement, Iraq, Kosovo—and a severe deterioration in relations with the USA and major west European powers in the latter years of the Yeltsin administration had generated an atmosphere marked by acute pessimism and a maximum of resentment towards the West. In these unpromising circumstances, the new President faced multiple challenges: reestablishing Russia as a more or less credible international actor; restoring confidence in government decision making; adopting more effective positions in defence of various national interests; and placing Moscow’s relations with the West on a more constructive footing while ensuring that Russia retained its trumps elsewhere (developing ties with China, India and Iran). This chapter seeks to take preliminary stock of Putin’s conduct of Russian foreign policy. It seeks to examine the extent to which Moscow’s approach to international relations differs from that under Yeltsin. Can one speak about a distinct Putin style, or does the old French adage, plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose (the more things change, the more they stay the same), hold true? What themes and concepts, if any, bind Russian foreign policy in the post-Yeltsin era? It must be acknowledged at the outset that the task of answering these questions is hardly straightforward. In particular, two critical problems of analysis come to mind. The first is the paradox that Putin’s activism— reflected in numerous high-level two-way visits—confuses rather than clarifies the direction in which Russian foreign policy is heading. Putin has yet to commit himself to a particular external philosophy or world view, and his comprehensively global approach has been designed, it seems, with the express purpose of keeping open as many options as possible. Therefore, Putin’s years in office have been marked mostly by

12 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

familiarization and image projection, in which he has specifically tailored messages to different audiences and purposes. Thus, in meetings with European leaders the emphasis has been on participation in pan-European processes; relations with China and India have been dominated by themes of multipolarity, Eurasianism and ‘strategic partnership’; in the former Soviet Union, a more activist Russian approach has derived impetus from the heightened profile of international terrorism and Islamic ‘extremism’; while the relationship with the USA continues to reflect traditional preoccupations such as ‘strategic stability’ and closer consultation in international conflict resolution. In such a fluid policymaking environment, there is a danger in over-interpreting signals, of seeing each visit, communiqué or policy development as indicative of a larger shift in foreign policy when it often simply reflects the concerns of the moment. Consequently, it is vital to adopt long-range views and to recognize the influence of political, geographical and institutional context on both the presentation and substance of policy. The necessity of standing above the fray, of seeing beyond the detail, is all the more critical given the second of our two problems: the unreliability of much of the so-called ‘evidence’. Not only is this frequently contradictory, but it also reflects a long tradition of official myth-making— what might be called the Potemkinization of foreign policy—dating back to the time of Catherine the Great.1 Although the Soviet demise brought with it greater transparency in some areas of political activity, foreign policy has remained an elite preserve, with correspondingly opaque decision-making processes. In the post-Soviet era, policy documents such as the Foreign Policy and National Security Concepts have been important less as a meaningful guide to action or as a conceptual framework than as an indicator of political fashion and a mechanism designed to reconcile—at least in public—sharp contradictions among competing sectoral interests. By their very nature, such documents have been intended to present a picture of harmony and strategic vision. In examining Putin’s foreign policy, therefore, one needs to beware of interpreting declared policy as necessarily reflecting actual intentions and commitments. It is one thing for the government to describe a particular issue as a top priority, quite another for such rhetoric to translate into substance; indeed, the vehemence of official utterances and a surface ‘activism’ have frequently acted in the past as surrogates for genuine action. Given these circumstances, it is especially important to focus on practical policy outcomes. While not foolproof, they remain by far the most reliable guide to administration thinking. FOUR DIMENSIONS OF SECURITIZATION Unlike Yeltsin’s reign, Putin’s approach to international affairs has been ascribed various traits, ranging from more Eurocentric,2 more ‘Eastern’

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 13

(i.e. more globalist and less Westerncentric),3 more confrontational,4 more focused on internal priorities,5 more ‘economic’,6 and so forth. The contention in this chapter is somewhat different, although it borrows elements from other attempts at conceptualization. It argues that the most significant strategic feature of Russian foreign policy since Putin’s coming to power has been its ‘securitization’. It implies, first and most obviously, the primacy of political—military over economic priorities. Notwithstanding talk about the latter’s increasing importance, old-style or ‘hard’ security interests remain at the top of Moscow’s external agenda. Moreover, key constructs of geopolitics—zero-sum, balance of power, spheres of influence—have retained their relevance in the calculus of the Putin administration. Secondly, securitization is an ongoing process. It is not just about reworking themes and priorities from the Soviet and Yeltsin eras. Although security conceptions are changing slowly, there are radical differences in their presentation—differences which, at times, have had important policy implications. Thirdly, securitization is not a discrete phenomenon, divorced from other trends in Russian foreign policy. On the contrary, Putin’s first year has been distinguished by the interplay between securitization on the one hand and what might be called the ‘economization’ of Russia’s external relations on the other. Although these tendencies might appear mutually contradictory, with an emphasis on one assuming a minimization of the other, in many cases the effect has been just the opposite, promoting instead a more holistic approach to international relations that is at once cooperative and competitive. Fourthly, securitization is as much a matter of personalities and process as it is of substance. In the same way that we might speak of the ‘militarization’ of a particular society, or the ‘civilianizing’ of the military, so it is appropriate to understand ‘securitization’ in Putin’s Russia as reflecting the greatly increased role and influence of the security apparatus in foreign policy—both at the individual level and institutionally. The primacy of security priorities and concepts One of the more specious arguments, particularly in the West, is that Putin has redirected Russia’s focus away from traditional geopolitical emphasis towards a more economically driven set of priorities.7 In support of this thesis, some observers point to the prominence of economic objectives in major policy statements such as that of the National Security Concept and Foreign Policy Concept of 2000, as well as the President’s numerous references to the critical importance of such goals. Thus, the National Security Concept lists the ‘condition of the national economy’ first among ‘threats to the national security of the Russian Federation’,8 while the Foreign Policy Concept considers a ‘fundamental task’ of foreign policy to be the ‘creation of favourable external conditions for the progressive

14 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

development of Russia’.9 Putin’s speech to the Federal Assembly on 3 April 2001 clearly gave more prominence to Russia’s integration into the global economy than to the CIS integration and relations with NATO.10 On the face of it, then, Russian foreign policy seems indeed to be undergoing a process of ‘economization’. And yet the situation remains unclear. First, as suggested earlier, the pervasive influence of official mythmaking demands that a sceptical attitude be adopted towards policy statements of broad intent. Suffice it to recall Moscow’s approach towards CIS-related issues during the 1990s, when an ambitious agenda was largely nullified by passivity of action, to highlight the truism that saying and doing are often two entirely different things. One can hardly overlook the fact that it took three years for the 1994 Russia—EU Partnership and Cooperation Agreement to enter into force—this despite ties with the EU being consistently described as strategic.11 It is also worth remembering that the 1997 version of the National Security Concept focused almost exclusively on domestic socio-economic challenges to Russian security12— an emphasis directly at odds with the Yeltsin administration’s ongoing obsession with geopolitical themes such as NATO enlargement, CFE (Conventional Forces in Europe) ‘modernization’, relations with China, Iraq, and so on. We cannot assume, then, that Putin’s foreign policy agenda is more ‘economic’ merely on the basis of official say-so. What matters are the hard realities. Where, since Putin took office, has Moscow concentrated the bulk of its attention and resources? The answer is security in the hard sense of the term—to such an extent that one can speak of Russian foreign policy becoming more rather than less, ‘securitized’. The dominating issues have not been Russian accession to the World Trade Organization, Paris Club debt, development of Caspian energy resources, gas exports to western and central Europe or involvement in a new ‘Silk Road’ stretching from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Although these matters are assuming greater importance, their policy prominence cannot be compared to that of the two flagship issues of the Putin administration: (1) terrorism, domestic and international, and its relationship with questions of territorial integrity and national sovereignty; and (2) American plans to develop a strategic missile defence system and the implications for strategic stability. If one conceives of policy significance as the totality of high-level government interest, domestic political resonance, and wider international profile, then these two issue-areas have ranked consistently above all others in Moscow’s horizon.13 Furthermore, contrary to the case under Yeltsin, the Putin administration has been active in supplementing rhetoric with concrete policy action: a vigorous, coordinated, if brutal approach towards Chechnya; and the so-called European Missile Defence Initiative to counter American moves to dismantle the 1972 ABM treaty.14 Whatever we might think about the merits of these responses, they highlight at least an

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 15

enhanced commitment to the task as well as the enduring primacy of security interests more generally. Moreover, this primacy finds expression not only in individual policy positions, but also in an underlying security-based philosophy. There may be fewer references these days to concepts, popular under Yeltsin, such as the ‘global multipolar order’15 as well as a less overt emphasis on notions of zero-sum, balance of power and spheres of influence, but it would be mistaken to conclude from this that Moscow is moving towards a more benign, positive-sum view of the world, one driven principally by economic considerations. Here, it is especially important to distinguish between strategic purposes on the one hand, and the tactics used to prosecute them on the other. For example, in the case of the CIS, it is Putin’s activist approach which is most pertinent, not his protestations that Moscow does not view the former Soviet republics as a ‘sphere of influence’.16 In an important sense, what we are witnessing is a kind of reverse Potemkinization: whereas the Yeltsin administration was apt to describe the former Soviet Union as Russia’s major foreign policy priority while in practice assigning it second-class status, Putin has adopted a less declamatory approach, but one which in reality is far more serious about exercising Russian influence in the periphery, treating the latter as a de facto sphere of influence. Similarly, much of the motivation in Putin’s courting of western European countries such as the UK, France, Germany, Italy and others is motivated principally by geopolitical concerns. While he is interested in expanding economic ties with western Europe, the long-term prize is loosening the transatlantic security consensus. The methods are less crude than in the past, particularly after the chastening experience of NATO solidarity during the Kosovo crisis, but the strategic objective remains the same. As with the CIS qua ‘sphere of influence’, the Putin administration prefers not to adopt the lexicon of geopolitics and, indeed, denies any agenda to undermine Western solidarity. But much of the purpose behind the European Missile Defence initiative, and Moscow’s encouragement of developments such as the EU Rapid Reaction Force (RRF) and the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), is to assist devolutionary tendencies in Western security. The Russian President can have few expectations of early success in such an endeavour, but appreciation of this reality does not negate an underlying premise that is firmly grounded in zero-sum and balance-of-power ideas. For Putin, and many in the Russian political class, the objective is not a stronger Europe per se, but one which is able to dilute or counterbalance perceived unilateral tendencies in Washington’s decision making.17 Implicit in this thinking is the zero-sum assumption that an increased role for Russia in Europe is predicated on a corresponding dilution of American preeminence within the same. For only

16 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

in this way can Moscow maximize its opportunities for substantive engagement and influence in continental affairs. The changing face of securitization Ultimately, then, the most important difference in the approach of the Yeltsin and Putin administrations lies in modalities rather than concepts. Particularly after Kosovo, Moscow understands that more subtle methods are required to advance long-standing security objectives. Most notably, there has been a sea-change in the way it responds to actions it considers damaging to Russian interests. Whereas the Kremlin was once apt to express outrage and wounded pride or threaten unspecified ‘countermeasures’, Putin rarely wastes his breath or his time on the unrealizable. It is significant, for example, that he has largely eschewed the rhetoric of multipolarity while taking far more active steps towards a more globalist foreign policy. At the same time, his practical style is reflected in a general absence of ‘paper’ agreements or compromising entanglements. In contrast to his predecessor’s penchant for idle promises and ‘bold initiatives’, Putin has offered up the very image of level-headed reasonableness, committing to little, but leaving open as many options as possible. This pragmatic yet geopolitically driven approach to international affairs is especially well illustrated by the Kremlin’s management of relations with European institutions like the OSCE, NATO and EU. On the one hand, Putin has moved away from the idea of the OSCE as Europe’s umbrella security organization to which all other groupings are subordinate. There has been no formal rejection of this article of faith so popular during the Yeltsin period, but in practice the OSCE has been relegated to the margins of security thinking. It is seen as unwieldy and cumbersome, intrusive (notably vis-à-vis Chechnya), and incapable of serving as an effective instrument for promoting Russian strategic goals—a view confirmed by Moscow’s belief that no useful purpose would be served by an OSCE summit in 2001.18 Conversely, under Putin, Russia has in some measure resumed ties with NATO after the hiatus following the alliance’s intervention over Kosovo. It was his invitation to Lord Robertson in March 2000—when still only Acting President—that provided the initial impetus for moves in this direction. It has been followed since by a stream of reciprocal high-level visits and even some concrete, if minor, achievements such as the opening of a NATO information office in Moscow. Putin understands that the alliance is by far the dominant security reality in Europe, and that Russia has no choice but to adapt accordingly. Continuing Russian objections to alliance enlargement and policies, however, make it clear that Putin does not see NATO in benevolent positive-sum terms, whose widening activities serve only to promote

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 17

stability and security in Europe.19 The alliance may be an inescapable fact, and one without alternatives, but that does not oblige Russia to ‘learn to love’ it. So while it cooperates with Brussels, the extent of this engagement is limited and calibrated; there is no meeting of minds in the broader sense, but case-by-case cooperation in specific areas like joint peacekeeping operations in Kosovo. Significantly, Moscow continues to view NATO ‘expansion’ as a greater threat than EU enlargement, even though it is the latter that poses potentially far more of a threat to Russian interests, particularly in relation to Kaliningrad. Consistent with this mindset, the Putin administration has tended in the case of the EU to focus on security developments—the CFSP, West European Union (WEU), RRF—rather more than trends in economic and social integration.20 Although there is increased awareness of the implications for Russia of, say, the Schengen visa regime, such relatively mundane issues are not likely in the foreseeable future to displace more emblematic subjects like NATO enlargement. In short, the securitization of Russian foreign policy under Putin is at once flexible and pragmatic in presentation and unreconstructed in its fundamentals. Putin understands the importance of accommodation and deal making, but he proceeds from an intellectual and philosophical base that is firmly grounded in geopolitical assumptions. He may not yet be in a position to follow through on the second part of Theodore Roosevelt’s maxim to ‘speak softly, and carry a big stick’, but this remains the eventual ambition. His is not a classical realist, confrontational view of the world, since he accepts interdependency and globalization as part of today’s realities. Nevertheless, his view is informed as much by notions of competition as by cooperation, a consideration that naturally predisposes him towards the familiar—that is, geopolitical and traditional security trumps—rather than towards more liberal, modern, yet alien interpretations of security that assign prime importance to democratization, an open market economy and a civil society. Notwithstanding his claim that Russia is ‘a part of western European culture’,21 the key consideration for Putin is that it should be a ‘great power’ in the global as well as regional sense. Securitization and economization under Putin One of the curiosities of Putin’s foreign policy is that the continuing primacy of geopolitical and security priorities has been matched by an increased emphasis on economic interests. Even if we take a properly sceptical view of official statements, there is no doubt that the new administration has adopted a more energetic approach towards both macroeconomic reform in Russia and economic ties with the outside world. Important changes in tax laws and practice have been introduced; national budgets are acquiring credibility; the foreign investment environment, although hardly felicitous, is better than at any time in nearly

18 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

a century; Moscow is assiduous in chasing down debts from the former Soviet republics; and its approach to Caspian Sea development issues is more focused, united and determined than ever before. The existence of these parallel tendencies—the geopolitical and the economic—might seem to signal certain ‘normalization’ in Russian foreign policy. Instead of propounding its inherent ‘right’ to be treated as a great power,22 Russia is slowly evolving into a ‘normal’, postimperial nationstate, with a balanced slate of external priorities covering the full gamut of national interests. The irony is that this parallelism has actually intensified the securitization of Russian foreign policy. Rather than speaking about a process of ‘economization’, it is more appropriate instead to talk about the ‘geopoliticization’ or ‘securitization’ of economic priorities. Two aspects of this paradoxical state of affairs stand out: (1) the nexus between a strong economy and an assertive foreign policy; and (2) the role of economic factors in power projection. In the first case, Putin, like many members of the governing elite, is conscious of the crippling effect that the post-Soviet economic crisis had on Russian foreign policy and military capabilities. Not only have other countries paid diminishing heed to Moscow’s interests and sensitivities, but the government itself has only occasionally felt able to allocate the resources necessary to sustain an assertive line in, say, the former Soviet Union. It is therefore not a choice between either following a more economically oriented foreign policy or maintaining a geopolitical approach to the world, but of doing both. The great lesson of the Cold War (and after) is that the more prosperous a country’s economy, the greater its international clout in all, not just economic, spheres. Where Putin differs from the West is that he sees a strong economy not only as an intrinsic good—improving the welfare of the people, etc.—but also in instrumental terms, as the springboard from which to restore Russia’s international fortunes. He does not want Russia to become a ‘normal’ nation-state if this would limit its status to being that of a major regional power at best. The objective, albeit one he realizes cannot be achieved for many years, is Russia’s return to something like its former global eminence, without, of course, the tensions and conflicts of the Cold War. More tangibly, the pursuit of external economic priorities is about power projection. At the crudest level, a capacity to exert economic pressure on others is seen as a prerequisite for ensuring that they follow policies acceptable to Russia. Thus, an activist approach to Caspian Sea energy development pays off in a more solid strategic presence in central Asia and the Caucasus; a tougher line on gas payment arrears translates into a more pliable Ukraine, less disposed and/or able to engage with the West; while Georgia’s dependence on Russian energy requires that it pay particular attention to Moscow’s security interests across the whole Caucasus region. Under Yeltsin, Russia had the option of exploiting the

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 19

linkages between economic interests and power projection, but did not do so to anything like the extent possible. By contrast, the Putin administration has shed these inhibitions to follow a much harder line in the CIS, using economical rationalist methods to achieve geopolitical and security goals.23 The result, in keeping with the overall style of the President himself, has been a far more ‘securitized’ approach in practice. Even in a more overtly cooperative context, economic complementarities have contributed to a renewed assertiveness and capacity to project influence. Arms sales to China and India, in the 1990s essentially a means of earning export income and sustaining the Russian military-industrial complex, are now a practical expression of multipolarity, giving substance to the ‘strategic partnerships’ with these countries. Nuclear cooperation with Iran is not only financially lucrative, but underlines Moscow’s role in the Near East and reminds the West that Russia remains an important player in key aspects of global security, in particular, the non-proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD). In the particular case of western Europe, the region’s reliance on Russian gas exports24 constitutes as compelling a reason as any for continuing engagement with Moscow on a range of matters extending far beyond the purely economic. Again, these linkages were present in some form or other during the Yeltsin years, but they were rarely exploited to the degree that is evident today. At a time when Russian military capacity (conventional and nuclear) remains feeble, economic instruments have become by far the most effective means of pursuing long-standing geostrategic interests. The securitization of foreign policy management If many of the underlying geopolitical assumptions of the Kremlin have proved remarkably resilient, then the institutional context of foreign policy making has, on the other hand, undergone significant transformation. Changes in administrative practice have become a critical component in the ongoing securitization of foreign policy, affecting matters of substance as well as ‘style’. At the most literal level, the involvement of the security apparatus in policy formulation and implementation has increased significantly. Although its role was by no means negligible under Yeltsin— after all, Primakov headed the Foreign Intelligence Service (FIS) before he became Foreign Minister—it was difficult to discern a distinct security and intelligence influence as such. It was more the case that the so-called power (silovye) institutions—the Federal Security Service (FSB), FIS, Interior Ministry, Ministry of Defence—sometimes constituted a strong (but by no means always united) constituency for conservative nationalism, one that heightened the profile of security issues and, more generally, served to check the liberalization (or ‘normalization’) of Russian foreign policy. Under Putin, the security apparatus has emerged from its previous near-

20 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

anonymity in policy making to assume a much more public profile. Not only is a former head of the FSB now President of Russia, but his closest confidant and former KGB/FSB colleague Sergei Ivanov is the nearest the country has to a vice-president. Although the full policy implications of this securitization of the institutional environment have yet to emerge, it is indubitable that the increased weight of the security apparatus relative to the other ‘power’ ministries was one of the principal outcomes of Putin’s rise to power. If nothing else, it means that security priorities will remain at the top of Moscow’s agenda for some time to come while ensuring that a relatively pragmatic outlook continues to prevail in the Kremlin.25 This literal securitization of the institutional context has had a crucial impact on foreign policy conduct. While personalities and not institutions remain the key to decision making, Putin’s substantial popular mandate and his more even personality compared with Yeltsin have been conducive to greater bureaucratic certainty than at any time since the Soviet collapse. Although he has surrounded himself with trusted faces from his past, their introduction in government has been achieved smoothly. The new President has been careful to balance new appointments with the retention of many familiar figures from the Yeltsin era. Thus, Igor Ivanov remains as Foreign Minister; Igor Sergeev survived more than a year with the defence portfolio (before being moved to an honoured position as the President’s adviser on strategic stability); and in May 2001 former Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin was appointed Ambassador to Kiev—a pivotal position in Russia—Ukraine relations. As under Yeltsin, no one is in any doubt about the pre-eminence of the President in Russian political life. But the difference now is that Putin’s more understated approach to power and the institutional stability it has encouraged has generated a far more centralized, coordinated and disciplined approach to foreign policy management. In place of the earlier Byzantine factionalism and sectionalization, the management of Russia’s external relations may be said to have become securitized in the sense of absorbing the kind of implicit discipline commonly associated with the security agencies whence Putin came. Although the policy implications arising from this more ordered institutional context remain to be played out, one can already identify a greater degree of self-confidence and predictability in Moscow’s behaviour towards other countries. This is evident, for example, in its management of the external aspects of the Chechen conflict, where the Kremlin has maintained a resolutely unapologetic stance, backed up by action on the ground, in the face of sustained Western criticism. More generally, while talk of a new consensus in foreign policy is still premature—particularly given the contradictions within its external agenda—Russia these days presents a broadly consistent face to its various audiences, unlike in the 1990s when policy in many areas, notably the CIS (e.g. the Russia—Belarus Union),

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 21

fluctuated wildly according to whichever sectional interest was in the ascendancy at the Kremlin court. In today’s much calmer operating environment, Putin exercises greater control over policy presentation and content, at once avoiding damaging turnarounds and leaving himself plenty of room for manoeuvre. With the policy swings of his predecessor consigned to the past, this has resulted in a much greater degree of professionalism and confidence in foreign policy management, including a determination to invest real content into declared objectives. RUSSIA AND EUROPE IN THE ERA OF SECURITIZATION One of the more fashionable claims since Putin’s advent to power has been the notion that Russian foreign policy has become more ‘European’ in contrast to the Atlanticist bias of the Yeltsin administration.26 There is much to be said for this theory. For one thing, Putin is Eurocentric by experience and conviction. His working background—senior KGB officer in former East Germany, and later Deputy Mayor of St Petersburg with responsibility for the city’s relations with the outside world—meant that such foreign policy expertise he acquired prior to becoming President was largely in relation to Europe. Such formative experiences have clearly contributed to the conviction, expressed in his book Ot pervogo litsa, that Russians are Europeans, wherever they live.27 It is also relevant that he has invested considerable time and effort in substantiating this claim, whether by visiting the major western European capitals, highlighting the importance of closer economic relations with the EU and its member states, or enlisting European support for Russian positions on international issues such as strategic missile defence. In addition to issues of personal preference, there are also objective factors advocating a more Europeanized approach towards foreign policy. More than one-third of Russia’s trade is with the EU, a share that some analysts expect to rise to around 60 per cent after the next wave of the Union’s enlargement.28 Then there are the obvious implications of geographic proximity: a whole raft of issues—security, political, economic, ecological—where Russia and Europe face common problems and where, in many cases, joint solutions are required. Relatedly, Europe’s rise and Russia’s decline have resulted in a rough equivalence in geostrategic terms. Moscow finds in western European capitals a more receptive audience to many of its security concerns, such as strategic stability, than in Washington.29 And although this relative goodwill or sympathy is often not readily convertible into hard political capital, it represents potentially fertile soil for the evolution of closer ties between Russia and western Europe. Finally, there is the matter of American indifference towards Russia. The fact that the latter had slipped well down the list of

22 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Washington’s priorities prior to 11 September 2001 has reinforced the case for a geographic reorientation of Moscow’s foreign policy. In short, inclination and logic would seem to dictate a more Eurocentric outlook. And yet there are compelling reasons to suggest that this may prove elusive. The first is the continuing geopolitical strain in the worldview of much of the political class. While many concede intellectually that Russia needs to become more ‘European’, their instincts remain moulded by the calculus of international power politics—and this presupposes a fundamentally Americacentric approach. For the administration to move away from this mindset requires that it absorb more ‘European’ or positivesum views of continental security in which Russia joins, as a mere equal, with others on issues such as peacekeeping and reconstruction in the Balkans, combating international terrorism and transnational crime, the promotion of a stable European security space, developing multifaceted economic relations, and so on. However, while there are some signs of an increased willingness to enter into such activities as a ‘normal’ player, these are more often than not counterbalanced by what Vladimir Baranovsky has called a ‘not-like-the-others’ mentality.30 There is still a deeprooted reluctance to accept a diminished, regional role for Russia as just another important European power; the globalist vision, including the idea of the USA as Russia’s primary point of strategic reference, remains consuming.31 The second major constraint is that, notwithstanding the impressive performance of the major western European powers in recent years, American strategic, economic, technological and cultural dominance is for many Russians the all-encompassing reality of today’s world. This trend has been reinforced by the events of 11 September 2001. Putin may ‘feel’ European, but he understands also that Russia, like everyone else, cannot help but be primarily influenced by Washington’s actions, whether in strategic disarmament, economic globalization, or elsewhere. Although Russian foreign policy subscribes to notions of multipolarity, primacy of the UN, the pivotal role of Europe, and so forth, in practice Putin pursues a cold-blooded pragmatism. Irrespective of how much it might resent American ‘hegemonism’ and ‘diktat’, it knows it must deal with Washington on the issues that really matter.32 This is why it is likely, in time, to agree to an accommodation over American missile defence plans and the strategic disarmament agenda, even while it works hard to improve the modalities of an eventual deal. In the European context, it will continue to assume that, when it comes down to the difficult decisions, western Europe will follow Washington’s lead—even those countries such as France and Germany which have often criticized American policies. Thirdly, the Europeanization of Russian foreign policy will depend less on Moscow’s inclinations than on the actions and policies of others—the USA, western Europe, even China. For example, continuation of a

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 23

disengaged approach by the USA in international affairs would provide a breathing space for the longer-term development of Russia’s ties with western Europe, and facilitate the process of Europeanization in its external outlook. We have already had a taste of this when a period of transition in American politics—the ‘dead’ months of Clinton’s second term, the extended election hiatus, and the settling-in period of the new Republican administration—coincided with a noticeable reduction in Washington’s international commitments, leaving Russia with little alternative but to focus on relations with western Europe. On the other hand, an assertive attitude by Washington in areas such as strategic missile defence, NATO enlargement and international conflict resolution would feed deep-rooted preconceptions and prejudices—just as it did during the first wave of alliance enlargement and at the time of the Kosovo crisis. In this event, the USA would return as the prime focus of Moscow’s attention, with western Europe relegated to the largely auxiliary role of helping to soften Washington’s positions. So it is an open question whether the current Eurocentric approach of the Putin administration signifies a strategic shift towards a more ‘normal’ foreign policy, or whether it is just a passing phase, the product of a particular concatenation of circumstances. In this context, one should note recent signs of a more activist approach to foreign policy on the part of the Bush administration,33 while European attitudes towards Russia continue to be highly ambivalent. For the time being, the major continental powers are disposed to a qualitative improvement in relations with Moscow, following the stagnation of the later Yeltsin years. But the widening gulf in political and civil values between Russia and western Europe—highlighted especially in differences over Moscow’s conduct of the Chechen war— could become serious.34 Here, the very securitization of Russian foreign policy under Putin could turn out to be the single greatest barrier to a proper rapprochement. While Moscow continues to adopt a narrowly pragmatic, instrumental and morally arid approach to external relations, one based on exploiting the sometimes fortuitous confluence of security and economic interests rather than on shared values—a commitment to media freedoms and diversity, transparent political processes, individual human rights—it is unlikely that Russia will be accepted as a fully fledged member of a wider European community of nations. In the end, then, the extent to which Russian foreign policy can become ‘Europeanized’ and Russia a part of Europe, comes down to a strategic choice between two diametrically opposed tendencies: a securitization characterized principally by a repackaging of essentially old ideas and concepts, and a normalization that changes the paradigm and moves decisively beyond the parameters of current Russian foreign policy thinking.

24 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

NOTES 1. One of Catherine the Great’s particular favourites, Prince Potemkin, was in the habit of putting up facades of prosperous villages (complete with freshly dressed peasants) along the Empress’s carriage route in order to hide from her the reality of extreme rural degradation and poverty. Since that time, the term pokazukha (fake show) has come to signify government attempts, especially during the Soviet period, to promote the fiction of wealth and happiness where little of either existed. In the foreign policy context, Vladimir Lukin, former Ambassador to the USA, was the first to highlight the Russian ‘passion for mere show, the Potemkin village syndrome’. He was referring to Moscow’s approach towards Iraq, specifically the contrast between initial triumphalism and subsequent disappointments in mediating between Saddam Hussein and the Western powers—‘Bengalskii ogon v araviiskikh peskahk’, Moskovskie novosti, no. 50, 23–30 October, p. 13. 2. See Viktor Kremenyuk, ‘Vneshnyaya politika Moskvy v poiskakh suti’, Mezhdunarodnaya zhizn, no. 4, 2001, pp. 16–17. See also ‘Vneshnepoliticheskii kurs stal bolee sootvetstvovat natsionalnym interesam strany’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 7 June 2001, p. 11, an elite survey completed in April 2001 by the Russian Independent Institute for Social and National Questions and the Moscow office of the Friedrich Ebert Foundation. The survey focused on the views of 210 members of the Russian foreign policy establishment, including Duma deputies and staffers, members of the Federation Council, officials, academics and think-tankers. 3. At the Brunei APEC summit in November 2000, Putin began his address with the assertion that Russia ‘has always felt itself to be a Eurasian country,’ going on to describe it as the ‘distinctive integrating centre linking Asia, Europe and America’; see ‘Rossiya: novye vostochnye perspektivy’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 14 November 2000, p. 1. 4. This view, favoured by some Western correspondents in Moscow, was also strongly implicit in such headlines as ‘Vladimir Putin, Russia’s Post-ColdWarrior’ (The Economist, 8 January 2000, p. 45). 5. See comments by former Russian Ambassador to the United Kingdom, Anatolii Adamishin, in “‘Kazhetsya za god osobykh oshibok vo vneshnei politike my ne nadelali”’, round-table discussion in Nezavisimaya gazeta, 28 December 2000, p. 11. 6. See ‘Vneshnepoliticheskii kurs stal bolee sootvetstvovat…’, p. 11. See also Margaretha Mommsen, ‘Sfinks v Kremle’, Internationale Politik, no. 5, 2000, p. 31. 7. See Strategic Survey: 2000/2001 (Institute of International Strategic Studies and Oxford University Press), pp. 121–2. 8. ‘Kontseptsiya natsionalnoi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 1, 14–20 January 2000, p. 6. 9. ‘Kontseptsiya vneshnei politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 11 July 2000, p. 1. 10. Vladimir Putin: ‘Ne budet ni revolyutsii, ni kontrrevolyutsii’, address to the Federal Assembly, Rossiiskaya gazeta, 4 April 2001, pp. 3–4.

THE SECURITIZATION OF RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY 25

11. In an address to the collegium of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) on 26 January 2001, Putin tacitly acknowledged these problems by calling for a major improvement in the quality and effectiveness of Russia—EU cooperation. See ‘O zadachakh Rossiiskoi diplomatii’, Mezhdunarodnaya zhizn, no. 2, 2001, p. 6. 12. As an Australian diplomat in Moscow, I was fortunate enough to receive a copy of the 1997 Concept of National Security. In most respects it was very similar to the 2000 version, with one notable difference—the absence of any preamble about alleged American/Western attempts to impose unipolarity and diktat. 13. Putin gave primary emphasis to these priorities in his address to the MFA collegium; see ‘O zadachakh…’, p. 4. 14. While short on detail, the Russian proposals for cooperation in ‘non-strategic’ missile defence envisaged joint threat assessments, technical cooperation and technology sharing. Although no less an authority than Alexei Arbatov has criticized the proposals as impractical (at a round-table discussion at the Moscow Carnegie Centre on 2 April 2001), they at least represented an advance on the policy paralysis of Yeltsin’s last year. 15. Notwithstanding Yeltsin’s immodest (and false) reference to ‘my concept of a multipolar world’ in his Midnight Diaries (London, 2001, p. 163), it was former Foreign Minister Primakov who assiduously promoted ideas of multipolarity and the development of a ‘diversified’ and ‘multi-vectored’ Russian foreign policy. 16. See Putin’s comments reported by Arkady Dubnov in Vremya MN, 16 December 1999, p. 6 (in Current Digest of the Post-Soviet Press, vol. 51, no. 50, 1999, p. 16). 17. This point has been made by Russian commentators, e.g. Dmitrii Danilov, in ‘Stroitelstvo vtoroi opory Evropeiskogo soyuza: Ispolzovanie novykh tekhnologii’, in Tatyana Parkhalina (ed.), Evropeiskii soyuz na rubezhe vekov (Moscow, 2000), pp. 51–2. 18. ‘Moskva protiv provedeniya sammita OBSE v etom godu’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 31 March 2001, p. 1. Significantly, also, there was no mention of the OSCE in Putin’s address to the Federal Assembly a few days later. 19. Putin, ‘O zadachakh…’, p. 6; see also his 2001 comments to the Federal Assembly, ‘Ne budet ni revolyutsii…’p. 4. 20. See, for example, Igor Ivanov, ‘Rossiya i Evropa na rubezhe stoletii’, Mezhdunarodnaya zhizn, no. 2, 2000, p. 26. 21. Vladimir Putin: Ot pervogo litsa (Moscow, 2000), p. 156. 22. Russia’s ‘right’ to great power status was a constant refrain throughout the 1990s. Yeltsin was especially fixated on this idea, as typified by his claim that Russia’s participation in the post-Kosovo settlement at the 1999 Cologne G8 Summit had ‘reaffirmed its status as an equal political partner, without whom it is unthinkable to resolve world conflicts and decide important issues…’ (Midnight Diaries, p. 346). However, even so-called liberals such as former Foreign Minister Kozyrev claimed that Russia was ‘doomed’ to remain a great power (‘Rossiya i SShA: Partnerstvo ne prezhdevremenno, a zapazdyvaet’, Izvestiya, 11 March 1994, p. 3).

26 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

23. In his MFA address in January 2001, Putin stated that CIS integration was not ‘an aim in itself but must bring concrete rather than rhetorical benefits to Russia and its citizens see ‘O zadachakh…’, p. 5. In the specific context of relations with Ukraine and Belarus, Arkadii Moshes has described the new rationalist phase under Putin as a’moderate-pragmatic period,’ characterized principally by reduced Russian subsidies to those countries: ‘Ukraina i Belorussiya v Rossiiskoi vneshnei politike 90-kh godov’ (theses of a roundtable presentation at the Moscow Carnegie Center on 2 April 2001). 24. See Marina Volkova, ‘Energeticheskii krizis sblizil Moskvu s Evrosoyuzom’, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 31 October 2000, pp. 1, 3. 25. Compared with other power institutions, the KGB—in particular its external departments—was considered by many observers to be more informed and therefore more pragmatic about the extent of the Soviet system’s weaknesses. It perhaps explains why former Communist Party General Secretary Yurii Andropov, an illiberal figure principally associated with the brutal suppression of the 1956 Hungarian Uprising and later persecution of Soviet dissidents during the Brezhnev era, should also be the one to introduce liberalizing reforms into the Soviet economy in the early 1980s. 26. Strategic Survey: 2000/2001, p. 122. See also ‘Vneshnepoliticheskii kurs stal bolee sootvetstvovat…’, p. 11. 27. Putin, Ot pervogo litsa, p. 156. 28. See figures in Tamozhennaya statistika vneshnei torgovlya Rossiiskoi Federatsii (Moscow, 2000), p. 7. The Institute of International Strategic Studies puts the EU’s share of Russian foreign trade even higher at over 40 per cent (Strategic Survey: 2000/2001, p. 122). 29. Although European attitudes on this question are not uniform, Paris, Berlin and Rome have exhibited a consistently lukewarm attitude towards the American proposals. Even London, Washington’s closest ally, has been far from unqualified in its support. 30. Vladimir Baranovsky, ‘Russia: A Part of Europe or Apart from Europe?’, International Affairs, vol. 76, no. 3, 2000, p. 451. 31. One radical expression of this argument is Alexei Pushkov’s view that Russia cannot be politically integrated anywhere, let alone in the West: ‘Rossiya v novom miroporyadke: ryadom s zapadom ili sama po sebe?’, Mezhdunarodnaya zhizn, no. 10, 2000, p. 39. Consistent with this logic, it also cannot allow itself the luxury of becoming a ‘classical regional power’ like Germany or Japan (ibid., p. 42). 32. Even vocal critics of Kozyrevian Atlanticism, such as Pushkov, have warned against ‘excessive’ expectations regarding the Europeanization of Russian foreign policy. According to him, a ‘decisive’ rapprochement with Europe is contingent first on the development of ‘stable and solid’ relations with the United States: see ‘Rossiya v novom miroporyadke…’, pp. 40–1. 33. The fragility of Eurocentrism in foreign policy thinking was amply illustrated by the disproportionate Russian media reaction to the fact and outcomes of the Putin-Bush summit at Brdo in Slovenia—see, for example, comments by Vyacheslav Nikonov, in Trud, 23 June 2001, p. 2. 34. See Strategic Survey: 2000/2001, p. 116.

3 The Transformation of Russia’s Military Doctrine in the Aftermath of Kosovo and Chechnya ALEXEI ARBATOV Strictly speaking, Russia has never existed between Europe and Asia, even geographically. It has always been an east European nation which from the sixteenth century acquired huge territories in northern Asia—at about the same time as the west European empires were gaining their vast colonies in South and North America, Asia and Africa. The Russian Empire and the Soviet Union evolved as authoritarian, militarized powers owing to the dialectics of external confrontation and internal oppression. Many European states had experienced similar regimes at various periods of their history, but this model came to be mostly associated with ‘Asian’ development (which is scarcely justified when considering India, Japan, South Korea and Taiwan for instance). For various complex historical reasons, the system survived in Russia until the mid-1980s when it underwent a drastic transformation, with farreaching and controversial consequences for Russia’s domestic and foreign policies. When it came to strategic issues, empty slogans and ceremonious US and European summits could hardly conceal the profound deterioration of relations between Russia and the West throughout the second half of the 1990s. The US-led NATO military action against the sovereign state of Yugoslavia severely undermined the post-Cold-War framework of security, which allegedly was to be based on an enhanced role for the UN and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), strict compliance with the UN Charter, international law and agreements between Russia and the West (foremost the NATO-Russia Founding Act of 1997), partnership between Russia and NATO, joint peacekeeping operations, and comprehensive arms control and disarmament measures. It was against this background that the 1999 war in the Balkans triggered a major revision of the Russian National Security Concept, defence doctrine and military policy. The new official concept was adopted by the National Security Council in January 2000 and the new Military Doctrine a month later.1 The document was officially approved by President Putin shortly after his inauguration in May 2000.

28 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

NEW LOOK AT DEFENCE REQUIREMENTS Russian military requirements continue to be a subject of domestic debate. Notwithstanding the alterations introduced into the Military Doctrine, it is derived, to a certain extent, from the Principle Guidance on the Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation, approved by the Security Council on 2 November 1993 and legalized by Yeltsin in an official decree (No. 1833). This Military Doctrine postulated two main tasks of defence policy: preservation of nuclear deterrence and anticipating and preparing for local conflicts (including peace-enforcement and peacekeeping operations), which, it was assumed, could occur in several places simultaneously. President Yeltsin elaborated these principal doctrinal points openly for the first time when appointing the new Minister of Defence, Igor Sergeev, in May 1997. Thus, despite the increasing tension with NATO over its enlargement programme, the western military districts of Russia (Moscow, Leningrad and Ural-Volga) were largely considered rear areas; they were to provide supply and training infrastructure for the forces assigned missions in the south and south-east where Russia had security commitments, engagement in local conflicts or peacekeeping operations mainly in the north Caucasus military district, Transcaucasus and central Asia. The defence budgets of 1997–99 were structured accordingly, with their predominant portion (up to 70 per cent) allocated to the maintenance of the armed forces, with greatly reduced numbers (altogether by 30 per cent), while the bulk of R&D and procurement appropriations went to the modernization of strategic forces. NATO’s military action against Yugoslavia in March 1999 marked a watershed in Russian assessment of military requirements and defence priorities. This was perceived as a slap in the face for Russia, which demonstrated more then ever before the West’s arrogance in its power and intention to overlook Russian interests whenever they diverged from its own. It was a particularly painful humiliation for Moscow, since President Yeltsin had committed himself personally many times to preventing such action and had guaranteed Yugoslavia’s security. NATO’s offensive against Yugoslavia appeared to be a clear demonstration of a genuine transformation of that alliance. Its new strategic concept, adopted at the April 1999 summit, claimed a much greater mission in the post-Cold-War world: to be on at least an equal footing with, and possibly to have much higher status and power than, the UN and OSCE. This implied the selfproclaimed right to act independently, without UN or OSCE authorization, which was regarded as desirable but not necessary for the initiation of military action by NATO. Moreover, the new NATO strategy now allowed for military action of an offensive nature and beyond the territories of NATO member states. The new versions of the Russian

TRANSFORMATION OF RUSSIA’S MILITARY DOCTRINE 29

National Security Concept and Military Doctrine clearly reflected, therefore, Moscow’s reaction to the Balkan war. THE NEW PRIORITIES IN DEFENCE POLICY The principal point of the new National Security Concept (compared with its 1997 version) was the supposition that the military threats to Russia were growing and that the main dangers emanated from the West: ‘Elevated to the level of strategic doctrine the shift of NATO to the practice of using force outside its area of responsibility and without UN Security Council sanction threatens to destabilize the entire strategic situation in the world.’2 An obvious way to respond to this threat was to enhance Russian nuclear forces to deter not just nuclear, but also large-scale conventional attacks of the type manifested in the Balkans. The new Military Doctrine indeed reserved for Russia ‘the right to use nuclear weapons in response to the use of nuclear and other mass destruction weapons against Russia and its allies, as well as in response to a large-scale conventional aggression in critical situations for Russia and its allies’.3 The Russian military reform became subject to serious reassessment. It was realized that conventional forces might once again be oriented to hightechnology warfare against NATO in the west, in addition to involvement in local conflicts in the south and in the east. Nonetheless, the development and deployment of sophisticated capabilities analogous to NATO’s massive precision-guided conventional air and naval potential will clearly be beyond Russia’s financial capacity for a long time. Hence, the most probable response, which is already taking shape, is an even greater emphasis on robust nuclear deterrence, relying on enhanced strategic and tactical nuclear forces and their C3I systems.4 Accordingly, in 1999 a new law ‘On Financing the Defence Contract for Strategic Nuclear Forces’, was adopted by the Duma and approved by the President. This law envisioned stable long-term funding for strategic forces R&D and procurement at a level of about 40 per cent of the investment portion of the defence budget. Nonetheless, some Russian critics claim that the threat of nuclear first use would not be a credible deterrent against NATO, which will acquire nuclear strategic and tactical superiority over Russia by 2010 because of the shortage of funding for maintenance and modernization suffered by the Russian nuclear forces. This explains the new emphasis on the buildup and modernization of Russia’s conventional air defence, air force and naval assets. THE NEW WAR IN CHECHNYA Another crucial provision of the new National Security Concept and Military Doctrine, which is clearly spelled out, is the possibility of

30 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

employing armed forces in domestic conflicts. It should be recognized that Russia’s war in Chechnya, initiated in the autumn of 1999, and its effects on relations between Russia and the West, were closely related to the events in Kosovo earlier in the year. The war in Yugoslavia greatly affected the Russian leadership and public opinion. The main lessons drawn from it were that the end justifies the means; that crisis is best resolved by force if applied decisively and massively; and that negotiations are of dubious value used merely as a cover for military action. The Chechen campaign was officially justified on the basis of the law ‘On the Fight against Terrorism’, which formally sanctions the use of armed forces for such purposes. However, it should be pointed out that this law implies specific operations against specific cases of terrorism which are well defined. It certainly does not cater for a lengthy, large-scale military campaign deploying aircraft, armour and artillery, the devastation of whole cities and villages, leading to huge losses among federal troops and still greater ones among the local population. The dubious justification and weak legal foundation of this war is one of the serious reasons for the strong condemnation of this action by the West. Hence, one of the crucial dilemmas of Russian domestic and military policy is whether the domestic employment of armed forces is to be legalized (through amendments to the law ‘On the State of Emergency’), with all the political dangers and devastating implications of such actions, or whether Russia should risk losing control over armed secessionist movements, armed revolts, violent civil, ethnic and religious conflicts, with which internal troops and police are unable to deal effectively. The growing rift between Russia and the West is reflected in the new official documents on the highest level: the National Security Concept and the Military Doctrine. Their emphasis on nuclear deterrence and nuclear first use as principal pillars of Russian security, on robust conventional defence against the NATO threat, as well as on the regular employment of armed forces to deal with domestic conflicts, all reflect Moscow’s great security concerns and have huge economic, foreign and domestic political implications. Despite the circumstantial coincidence of interests between Russia and the West since 11 September 2001, it is important to forestall the danger of escalating US-Russian and Russian-Western confrontation. The security cooperation must be patiently and consistently rebuilt step by step, on a pragmatic basis and without excessive expectations, gradually expanding the zone of cooperation and providing it with solid public support. Reviving the NATO-Russian Partnership for Peace would be encouraged by a thorough reorganization of the peacekeeping operation in Kosovo and other conflict-ridden regions and a revision of the START-III/ABM package agreements. Other steps should be a tacit understanding on no further NATO expansion over the next several years.

TRANSFORMATION OF RUSSIA’S MILITARY DOCTRINE 31

NOTES 1. ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 1, 14–20 January 2000, pp. 1–6; ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Krasnaia zvezda, 9 October 1999, pp. 3–4. 2. ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti’. 3. ‘Voennaia doktrina’. 4. ‘Strategicheskaia kontseptsiia NATO’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 16, 30 April–6 May 1999; Sergei Sokut, ‘Prioretnyi gosinteres Rossii’, ibid., no. 17, 7–13 May 1999, p. 1.

4 After the Empire: Russia’s Emerging International Identity DMITRI TRENIN

There is an old story told in Russia and believed elsewhere. Once upon a time there was a vast country, but it lost its unity and was overrun by nomads who kept it captive for a quarter of a millennium. Slowly, however, its people gathered their strength, defeated the oppressors and shook off their yoke. Once free again, the country grew even bigger and more powerful. However, it later stumbled into a severe domestic crisis, lasting three decades and leading to a turmoil which in its turn invited its neighbours to invade and occupy it. The crisis was so severe, the internal divisions so deep and the foreigners so rapacious that the great country almost ceased to exist. Yet, its people organized themselves, raised an army, chased out the invaders and finally brought their house in order. For the following three centuries, the country expanded in all directions to become the biggest and one of the most powerful empires on earth. It, too, fell victim to internal divisions that its rulers were unable to manage, and again broke up amid the flames of a civil war and external military intervention. Miraculously but predictably, it was rescued again, restored to its former splendour and glory. Moreover, it rose to a position and standing it had never enjoyed before—that of one of only two poles in the international system. It is hardly surprising, then, that when that superpower collapsed under its own weight a little more than a decade ago, many Russians said, we will be back. And some foreigners feared, Russia will always be the same. I call this tale a phoenix legend. It is certainly very attractive. It does offer a crude interpretation of the past. Still, it is very misleading when it comes to analysing the present and forecasting the future. The reason for this is the discontinuities in Russia’s structure and behaviour that militate against the repetition of the familiar cycle, i.e. passing from imperial breakup to imperial restoration. First, there can be no isolation or semi-isolation of Russia from the international environment, something that in the past was either natural or could be effectively imposed. Russia has entered the world, and the world has entered Russia: neither can be undone. Borders as barriers are being replaced by borders as frontiers, interfaces, lines of communication. Likewise, there is no longer a fundamental value gap between Russia and

RUSSIA’S EMERGING INTERNATIONAL IDENTITY 33

much of the rest of the world. Both the Third Rome and the Third International are relics of the past, not pointers to the future. Secondly, Russia as a monolith is over. The country is still not a democracy, but it is genuinely pluralistic, economically, politically and spiritually. Concentration of all national resources in one pair of hands is highly unlikely. Authoritarian rule, even if imposed, will have to take into account the many existing interests at national, sectorial and regional levels. Thirdly, now or in the foreseeable future Russia will lack resources (material, financial and psychological) to attempt even a modest project aimed at imperial restoration. Russia’s gross domestic product (about 1.5 per cent of the world’s total) is less than 5 per cent of the USA’s; its federal budget is between US$20 and US$25 billion; and the sovereign debt stands at US$158 billion, making its repayment an extremely heavy burden. The Russian armed forces are still vast, numbering over 1 million people, but they have to survive on a budget of a mere US$4 billion. Fourthly, Russia is more than ever before dependent on the outside world for domestic development, in terms of the required finances, technology and investment. Fifthly, the international system is clearly emphasizing geo-economics over traditional geopolitics. However, the long-term geopolitical trends have reversed themselves. The Russia—dominated Eurasian heartland has shrunk, giving way to pressure from the rimland. The West, China, Japan and the Islamic world have all been on the rise. That these points are valid and can be proven by the empirical experience does not yet guarantee their acceptance by the majority of the Russian elites and the public. Many leaders and ordinary citizens who espoused traditional geopolitical thinking once they abandoned MarxistLeninist dogma clearly believe that Russia is destined, or even ‘doomed’ to be a great power, a major international pole of attraction, and so on. In other words, the phoenix legend still holds a promise to them. Yet, when they must act, they usually respect the current realities. The result is a peculiar schizophrenia. Evgenii Primakov, who tirelessly promoted the idea of multipolarity, had to manage the consequences of Russia’s double devaluation, first of the ruble (coupled with de facto sovereign default, in August 1998), and of Moscow’s international diplomatic and military weight (in spring 1999, over Kosovo). In a spectacular gesture of protest over the NATO air attack against Yugoslavia, Primakov turned his plane back over the Atlantic. He, however, had not been flying to the USA to discuss conflict settlement in the Balkans, but rather to try to persuade the International Monetary Fund to allocate funds to Russia. It was Primakov again who early on stressed CIS integration as a way of restoring Moscow’s influence in the former USSR, but had to concede that,

34 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

in reality, former Soviet republics were moving ever further apart, both politically and economically. By the end of his brief tenure as Prime Minister, he saw a loose Western-oriented coalition of GUUAM (Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova) becoming more consolidated. Primakov also dropped the hint of a ‘Eurasian triangle’ linking Moscow, Beijing and New Delhi, only to hear that there was no interest among the other would-be partners in forming a common front, much less one to be led by Russia. A year later, and a few weeks before his own resignation, President Yeltsin thundered from Beijing about Russia’s nuclear might. His message was both trivial and out of place, and it created a mild embarrassment, including for Prime Minister Vladimir Putin, who had to tone down Yeltsin’s bombast. The various conceptual documents approved by Putin even before he formally took office as President in May 2000 are a good illustration of the Russian identity crisis. The National Security Concept has inherited both the unipolarity/multipolarity dichotomy and the notion of the primacy of internal security threats. The Military Doctrine continues to see the Western alliance as the principal potential adversary, but increasingly has to take account of the real and likely contingencies along Russia’s southern periphery. The recurrent theme of the Russian foreign and security policy debate is the absence of allies and the confusion about the adversaries. Typically, top Russian officials in the spring of 1999 branded the NATO countries as aggressors while at the same time reaching out to the EU members as partners in conflict management, simply ignoring the largely overlapping membership of the two organizations. What are the available options for exiting from the crisis and adopting a clearer view of the outside world and Russia’s place in it? One is marginalization, as a result of Russia’s continued economic and social decline. Beyond a certain line, the decline will place Russia in the category of a failed state. Two exits are possible from that low point. Either a new brutally nationalistic regime will emerge, externalizing the nation’s frustrations and casting Russia into the role of a rogue state, or the country will disintegrate, creating a gigantic vortex in the middle of Eurasia, placing many neighbouring states on the verge of a precipice. The opposite scenario is integration. Instead of integrating other lands and nations into an ever greater Russia, this scenario calls on the Russians to make a conscious choice in favour of one of the principal poles of attraction, and attempt to fit Russia in. In theory, the EU/Europe offers the only credible option. Economically, Russia gravitates towards western Europe. Politically, integrated Europe is the most powerful constellation of countries on Russia’s periphery. In civilizational terms, Russia is closest to its western neighbours. In practice, for the foreseeable future, Russia—inthe-EU is either a fantasy or a nightmare. The distance separating it not

RUSSIA’S EMERGING INTERNATIONAL IDENTITY 35

only from long-standing members of the Union, but its aspirants in central and eastern Europe, is growing. Unlike NATO’s enlargement, the eastern expansion of the EU can eventually draw a dividing line between Russia and the rest of Europe. Russia’s structural problem is that it has become too small to stand separately but continues to be too big and too difficult to be absorbed by international, i.e. Western, institutions. In any event, before it can seriously contemplate integration, Russia needs to fulfil a formidable domestic agenda. Now and for the foreseeable future, Russia’s principal business is Russia itself. Thus, there is a need to practise self-concentration. Russia’s elites will have to recognize that unless they display responsibility and lead the reform process, not only will the country go under but chaos and confusion will probably set in, endangering the elites’ position, possession, and their very existence. Those who care about the country’s status in the world agree that a strong Russia is the one with a sound economic foundation, healthier social relations and practising a genuine form of democracy and federalism. A policy of self-concentration is not one of self-isolation. Rather than see itself as fundamentally different from the rest of the world, such a policy will seek to find ways to make Russia compatible with the more advanced parts of the world, in order to integrate with them on more favourable terms. According to this approach, foreign policy is a resource, and not a drain on resources. Moscow’s foreign policy ambitions need to be scaled down even more, leaving only a handful of key interests that can be protected or promoted. Russian diplomacy’s main mission will be to create the best external conditions for domestic transformation. Russia will not be able to develop its economy without massive foreign investment and a flow of advanced technology and know-how. Even before this becomes possible, Russia will need to agree with its foreign creditors about the debt issue, which can substantially advance or retard the economic recovery. One major prerequisite for Russian growth and integration, in the broadest sense of the word, is endowing the country with thousands of modern managers, civil servants and other highly trained professionals. This, too, cannot be done without international cooperation and some form of foreign aid. Russia’s international identity will be informed by the emerging national identity. ‘Joining Europe’, from this point of view, is above all a domestic project, whose success or failure will be decided in the classrooms around Russia, and not in some intricate negotiations with or in Brussels. How probable is each of the three outcomes? A decade after the end of communism and the collapse of the empire, marginalization, with all its potentially dangerous overtones, is still a serious threat. Russian elites remain greedy and short-sighted. For them, personal interests dominate and

36 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

common good is non-existent. The public is disappointed, disillusioned and disoriented. If anything, they would support the traditional Russian remedy of authoritarianism to bring the house in order. Humiliation suffered by Russia in the world arena in the 1990s provides a breeding ground for revisionism, nationalism and chauvinism. A return to isolation and confrontation, a product of domestic development, can be facilitated by a number of international attitudes and developments, some of which are considered below. Should ‘temptation of containment’ of Russia or even the ‘Russia fatigue’ prevail over the effort of engagement, this will be echoed by Russian xenophobes and isolationists. Should the USA choose to neglect Russia’s opposition to the National Missile Defence plans, and fail to reach an acceptable compromise with Moscow over the issue, a showdown will be difficult to avoid. In the worst scenario, arms control can become severely crippled, Moscow will attempt a nuclear build-up, and the domestic reform agenda can be twisted or scuttled altogether. Other developments that can push Russia back to the Soviet-style pattern of behaviour include NATO’s invitation to the Baltic States to join the alliance, and demonstration of US/NATO involvement in the newly independent states, especially Ukraine and the Caspian region. The probability of this option will be enhanced if external processes reach their peak against the background of yet another severe economic crisis in Russia itself, which cannot be ruled out in the medium term. Integration, on the other hand, is not a realistic option over the medium term. Russia’s chances of making an economic turnaround are minimal. A ‘Russian miracle’ is definitely not in the offing. Indeed, the gap between the advanced countries in Europe and Asia, on the one hand, and Russia on the other is likely to grow wider, pushing Russia further towards the periphery of international economics and politics. Under these conditions, the main purpose of the integrationist project is to serve as both an anchor and a beacon. The demonstration effect upon Russia of its former satellites (Poland, Hungary) and provinces (the Baltics) making swift economic progress will not be entirely lost on the Russian publics. Self-concentration is not only the rational, but also the optimal choice. It appeals to the pragmatists and does not provoke the ideologues. It allows the rulers to buy time until the population is ready to embrace a positive national goal. It would avoid unnecessary conflicts with more powerful states. However, the odds against drafting and implementing this policy are enormous. History is not bunk. Russia will never be able to become a Sweden or a Poland. However, when and if it finally rises from the ashes, it will not resemble the old phoenix. It will be a very different bird.

5 Putin’s Foreign Policy after 11 September: Radical or Revolutionary? ALEX PRAVDA

Politicians and analysts hailed President Putin’s international moves following 11 September 2001 as a remarkable departure in Russia’s foreign policy. Western politicians were quick to greet active Russian support for the war against terrorism as marking the real end of the Cold War. The British Prime Minister Tony Blair was particularly enthusiastic in welcoming Moscow’s ready cooperation as drawing the decisive line under all remnants of hostility between Russia and the West and ushering in the post-Cold-War era.1 President George W. Bush echoed Blair in praising Putin as a true friend and an enlightened leader with an internationalist vision strong enough to overcome the doubts of many in Moscow and to ally with the USA against the terrorist threat. In siding rapidly and actively with the West after 11 September, Putin was seen to have resolved the ambiguities of the Yeltsin era, and as having made Russia a strategic ally and an integral part of the civilized world. One may discount some of this instant assessment as part of the political hyperbole that usually accompanies dramatic international events, especially when they are on the scale of 11 September. More telling for our purposes is the fact that serious analysts of Russia interpreted Putin’s moves as a revolutionary departure in Russia’s foreign policy. One of the most respected observers of the Russian political scene, Lilia Shevtsova, described the steps taken by Putin as a revolutionary and fundamental break, a paradigm leap in Russian foreign policy.2 This chapter raises three sets of questions about Putin’s post-September policies and advances three general arguments. First, how great a departure did Russian foreign policy following 11 September actually represent? Is there a complete break, a caesura, between Putin’s moves before and after September? I argue that post-September steps reflect a remarkable radicalization of features discernible in Putin’s earlier policies. Let us be clear: viewing the reaction to 11 September as a radical rather than revolutionary turn in Putin’s foreign policy is not to deny its importance as a shift of strategic significance. It simply avoids falling into the trap of

38 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

exaggerating pendulum swings in Russian policy and misinterpreting the shift as a complete departure from previous approaches and practices. Closely related is a second set of questions about the factors shaping the moves after 11 September. Does post-September policy reflect thinking that is sufficiently innovative to warrant talking about revolutionary policy and paradigm leap? More precisely, what kind of foreign policy thinking should we associate with Putin? Let us distinguish, very crudely, between, on the one hand, a realist perspective, proceeding from concerns with material capabilities and relative state advantage, and on the other a liberal perspective, based on institutional cooperation which increases absolute gains. Putin can best be understood as a pragmatic modern realist who thinks in power categories and sees the world as intensely competitive. As far as Russia’s place in the world is concerned, Putin continues to think in ‘great power’ terms. Those more liberal-minded members of Moscow’s policy class who acknowledge the decisive importance of economic factors in international affairs, insist that Russia will long be a power of the second rank. For Putin, the prominence of economic factors does not mean Russia must reconcile itself to modest international status. Moscow has to use all available resources to become more economically competitive, precisely in order to be able to play its inherent great power role. At the same time, Putin realizes that a weak international economic hand means that Moscow has to play an especially skilful game, taking full advantage of all opportunities, hence his rapid response to 11 September. How stable and robust are the policies that flowed from this response? This forms the core of the third and last set of questions the chapter addresses. Many have asked how long Putin can pursue active cooperation in the face of widespread criticism within the elite, especially the military. That is not the main problem. The Kremlin can withstand such criticism as long as the President himself remains committed to the post-September line. Putin’s commitment depends not so much on the amount of elite grumbling as on how he personally assesses the balance of costs and benefits. That in turn hinges on how far Washington meets the expectations of reciprocity which underpinned Moscow’s policy of active cooperation after 11 September. A lack of American reciprocity is likely to encourage Russia to cooperate more closely with Europe. How close such cooperation, whether with Brussels or Washington or both, becomes in the longer term depends on fundamental issues of compatibility between Russia and the leading states of the international community. As the chapter concludes, it is not simply a matter of Russia competing effectively on world markets. In order to become an integral part of that community, Russia needs to become a ‘competition state’, and that requires the kind of pluralist democracy that scarcely fits in with Putin’s domestic political agenda.

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 39

WHAT KIND OF A BREAK IN POLICY? The bold and dramatic manner in which Putin extended support to Bush and the American war on terrorism has tended to colour assessment of the policies followed by Moscow in the wake of 11 September. They are too easily seen as a revolutionary break with Russian foreign policy in the later Yeltsin period and even in the pre-September months of Putin’s presidency. There is no doubt that the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington triggered cooperation from Moscow that was far more active and willingly given than any political and security help over the previous decade. At issue is the question of how much of a break September actually marks and in what areas its distinctiveness lies. The break is more evident in the way in which Moscow conducted policy towards the West rather than in the thrust of substantive action on contentious issues. Under Yeltsin, and especially in the later 1990s, the voice of Russian foreign policy mixed pledges of friendship with increasingly loud tones of protest, whether over NATO expansion or military action in the Balkans. There was much indignation about ‘unipolar’ tendencies, the excessive power of the USA in all areas; official speeches and documents pronounced on the need for Russia to help reinforce a multipolar world. Sitting uneasily alongside commitments to cooperation there was a rhetoric of irritated assertiveness and appealing to others, such as China, to help constrain the world hegemon. On coming to office, Putin continued to use both vocabularies though he soon ceased highlighting multipolarity. The language was often tough, particularly on security issues, but more straightforward than that of the later 1990s. For much of the first 18 months of his presidency Putin seemed to be feeling his way, trying out a range of diplomatic initiatives to strengthen Russia’s credentials as a cooperative player to be reckoned with on the world stage. Where Western leaders showed readiness for closer relations, Putin responded in a more sober but more consistent manner than Yeltsin. At his meetings with Bush, in Ljubljana and Genoa, the Russian President tried to establish a climate of personal trust and seemed partly successful in doing so. These new presidential links did not seem to narrow differences on issues such as the ABM treaty, which remained a bone of contention through the summer of 2001. But the relative success of his contacts with Bush encouraged Putin to use the personal approach in the aftermath of 11 September. The Russian President was the first foreign leader to call the White House after the attacks, and through the months that followed Putin continued to place a heavy emphasis on direct contact with Bush, on what Gorbachev used to call ‘the human factor’ in international relations. It was perhaps in part because of his personal investment in the relationship that Putin took pains to avoid slipping into the traditional Russian vocabulary of complaint and indignation at every unfavourable turn in events. He

40 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

played down what many in Moscow regarded as highly objectionable developments, such as news in early 2002 of increased US military presence in central Asia and the Caucasus, and asked that they not be overdramatized. In the realm of style and presentation, then, the differences between pre- and post- September are considerable. When we move from presentation and rhetoric to substantive action, the gap is smaller if still significant. The contrast between Russian policy before and after September is less marked than it might first appear. On closer inspection, Moscow under Yeltsin was more collaborative in action than words. Active cooperation after September was less extensive and more contingent than the accompanying declarations of solidarity and alliance might lead one to believe. Through the most acrimonious exchanges of the later 1990s, the Kremlin held fast to its established line of cooperation with the West, largely because Moscow understood that open conflict might jeopardize political inclusion and, not least, the flow of economic support. While continuing to fulminate against the idea of NATO expansion, Moscow eventually accepted its inevitability and negotiated a new relationship with the organization in the shape of the 1997 Founding Act. Criticism of NATO action in Bosnia continued alongside political cooperation within the Contact Group. The high tensions which surrounded Kosovo in 1999 did not prevent Russia from eventually collaborating with the Western powers in order to avoid political isolation. Even the last-minute ‘dash’ to take Pristina airport was in essence a symbolic move to try to stake out a claim to territory in a peacekeeping operation which involved cooperation with Western forces.3 In former Yugoslavia as elsewhere, Russian assertiveness under Yeltsin had a selflimiting quality.4 Putin was sensitive to the flaws of self-limiting assertiveness which brought Russia neither the international reputation she sought as an aspiring great power nor the full fruits of partnership with the advanced industrial states her economy needed. For the first 18 months, Putin seemed to be trying to carve out a more consistent line which would marry the benefits of cooperation with the dignity of great power status. The events of 11 September seemed to offer him the opportunity of cooperating with the USA on a basis of partnership. Many of the moves associated with what may be called a policy of dignified cooperation were dictated by the extraordinary and rapid changes in the international environment. Let us review briefly the extent and depth of Moscow’s supportive moves. We have already noted the rapid and unqualified nature of the Kremlin’s declaration of political solidarity with the USA and the West in the war against terrorism. While Putin had little choice about expressing general sympathy, he could have qualified his support for American military interventionist action, as Moscow had done on previous occasions. There were no efforts to use the situation to coordinate critical

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 41

stances with China and Third World states. On the contrary, at the AsiaPacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) Shanghai summit in mid-October, he expressed none of the concerns about proportionate reaction shared by some participants and backed a full military campaign against global terrorism.5 Such solidarity was confirmed in a joint Russian-US statement on countering terrorism. New in its degree and forcefulness, Russian solidarity with America on this issue reflected a radicalization of Putin’s established position on combating terrorism. From the outset, he had identified terrorism as the main threat to the security of Russia and had blamed militant Islamic networks for destabilizing the north Caucasus as well as central Asia. Moscow had repeatedly called for cooperation and a common international front against terrorism and depicted Russia as the natural ally of the West, or more accurately the North, against terrorist threats from the South.6 The events of 11 September created ideal conditions for just such a common front, with cooperation admirably serving established Russian security interests. So there is an important continuity of purpose at play here. What was striking about Russian collaboration was the extent of operational support involved. Putin broke new ground in the range and depth of help he provided for the US campaign against the Taliban.7 This operational help ranged from intelligence collaboration to aid in accessing military facilities in the region. The sharing of intelligence with the USA was managed through a coordinating group. This operated effectively and Moscow reportedly provided more valuable information than any NATO ally. References by Sergei Ivanov, the Minister of Defence, to the need for reciprocity suggest that Moscow saw the Americans as reluctant to match Russian intelligence provision.8 Cooperation on the Afghan campaign encouraged the development of closer general contacts between intelligence services; February 2002 saw the first visit to Washington by a head of Russian military intelligence. Significant operational support for the campaign against the Taliban also came in the shape of Russian aid to the Northern Alliance on which Washington had to rely for ground forces. While Moscow strenuously denied having any servicemen in Afghanistan, there were reports that between 1,000 and 2,000 Russian technicians, pilots and military advisers were helping the Northern Alliance in their operations. All told, the Alliance benefited from an estimated US$30–45 million worth of military aid.9 Contributing such resources to the anti-Taliban campaign did not necessarily always serve the common cause, as defined by Washington. Moscow used its long-standing military and political links with the Northern Alliance to further its own agenda. The Russians reportedly encouraged their Afghan allies to move fast to take Kabul and themselves

42 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

acted quickly to establish a substantial diplomatic presence in the capital and promote a purely Northern Alliance provisional government.10 The mixed quality of Russian help also extends to the contribution that Moscow made to clearing the way for American use of military facilities in central Asia. Initially, both Putin and Ivanov were cautious about the involvement of any CIS states in military action against Afghanistan.11 The 24 September presidential speech on active cooperation marked a turning point and was followed by far more helpful statements on specific facilities to be made available in the states bordering Afghanistan. Russian support in central Asia came in two forms: active help and facilitating acquiescence. Active help was most clearly evident in the case of Tajikistan, the only central Asian state which can be described as a de facto Russian protectorate. Moscow made available its air base near Dushanbe for retaliatory strikes against the Taliban and must have played a decisive part in persuading the Tajik government to overcome its initial reluctance to host US forces. In the cases of Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan, the Russian role was more one of acquiescence to these states cooperating with the Americans. Such acquiescence played a facilitation role. If the decisions to respond positively to Washington’s requests for help were taken in Bishkek and Tashkent, a benevolent or at least neutral attitude on Moscow’s part eased the way. Even Karimov, with his record of independence within the CIS, might have continued to hesitate to accept the attractive American deals on offer to Uzbekistan without knowing that Moscow could live with the outcome.12 Russian readiness to accept a US military presence in central Asia reflected a more flexible stance on the broader issue of NATO influence within the CIS. This certainly represented a break with policy under Yeltsin. Through the later 1990s, Moscow talked about the unacceptability of NATO expanding beyond a kind of Red Line around the borders of the CIS. Under Putin, statements about NATO reach became less categorical. This is not to claim that Putin clearly signalled his later tolerance of US presence in central Asia. Rather, it is to suggest that even before September his stance on these issues highlighted a greater capacity for pragmatic flexibility. While the events of 11 September brought about a step-change in Russian tolerance of US military presence in central Asia, they seemed to make less difference to Putin’s view of NATO expansion into the Baltic States. During his visit to the USA in November 2001, the Russian President conceded that the Baltic States had the right to join NATO if they so wished. Yet such resigned tolerance was not a product of the 11 September. The week before the terrorist attacks Putin had stated that Moscow recognized the right of the Baltic States, like any others, to seek NATO membership even if he added that there was no objective reason for their wish to do so.13 Nor was the line on NATO in general radically

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 43

altered by September. On his visit to Brussels in early October, Putin held out the prospect of Moscow reconsidering opposition to NATO enlargement if it moved from a military alliance to become a political organization—a common refrain of Russian policy. He even added that 11 September showed the urgent need for such an evolution, since the attacks had revealed the inadequacy of NATO as a security provider.14 PRAGMATISM OR PARADIGM LEAP? Even if there is less of a break between Russian policy before and after 11 September than might first appear, the new quality of active cooperation with the USA still calls for explanation. To make sense of post-September policies, do we need to identify a shift in policy paradigm, a presidential reversion, perhaps, to the neoliberalism of the Gorbachev era and the first year or so of the Yeltsin period? I would contend that we do not. Interpreting post-September Russian foreign policy in terms of pragmatic responses flowing from modern realist predispositions and priorities takes us a long way. The experience of September and managing its policy aftermath undoubtedly catalysed some changes in the weighting of priorities, but these did not amount to a paradigm shift. From the beginning of his presidency, Putin took a pragmatic and calculating approach to the conduct of foreign policy. Pragmatism and predictability were the features given pride of place in official statements.15 Putin deliberately fostered the image of a cool, controlled decision maker. Among the President’s qualities, one that has struck observers forcefully was described by the editor of the Wall Street Journal as ‘enormous earnestness’.16 For Putin, foreign policy, as politics and public service in general, is too serious a matter to be dealt with in an emotional and ideological manner. It calls for a businesslike managerial approach focusing on effectiveness and the efficient use of resources. The Yeltsin years—and indeed the Gorbachev era—could be seen as graphically demonstrating the pitfalls of a foreign policy led by emotion and ideological vision. The lessons of these decades surely reinforced Putin’s temperamental predisposition to take a dispassionate and pragmatic approach, and this came through strongly after September. One can see two types of pragmatic behaviour at work in Putin’s responses: passive and active. Both were visible to some extent before September and brought out more sharply by the sudden change in the international environment. Under the ‘passive’ heading comes what might be called reasoned acquiescence—Putin’s readiness to accept powerful adverse developments. It is within this framework that one should view the tolerance the Kremlin showed towards US military presence in central Asia and the prospect of NATO expansion into the Baltic States. These policy shifts were essentially decisions not to protest or try to move against

44 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

developments over which Moscow had little leverage. At best, the expenditure of very considerable resources would have yielded meagre returns. Here Putin seems to have drawn lessons from the ineffectiveness of past Russian campaigns of noisy protest against NATO enlargement and Western military action in the Balkans. Plagued by its own self-limiting assertiveness and others’ overwhelming resources, Moscow’s campaigns had exposed the disparity between rhetoric, policy stance, action on the ground and actual impact on developments. The damaging consequences for Russia’s credibility were especially clear to a leader like Putin who placed so much emphasis on the importance of Russia’s image in the world as a serious international actor.17 Building such a reputation involved avoiding dramatic, half-hearted gestures to obstruct developments driven by forces largely beyond Russian control. It was this kind of pragmatic reasoning that induced Putin well before September, in the early 2001 discussions on Russia’s debt, to come down on the side of those in the Russian economic establishment who rejected suggestions of non-payment and argued for observing the internationally recognized rules of the game. The general thrust and dynamism of post-September cooperation makes sense if we also see it in terms of an active pragmatism, the opportunistic and flexible use of Russia’s foreign policy resources to maximize international returns. This approach emerged much earlier than September. Soon after becoming president, Putin made active use of opportunities to capitalise on Moscow’s links with Soviet-era allies to try to boost Russia’s standing as a cooperative member of the international community. At the July 2000 G8 summit he capitalized on a high-profile visit to Pyonyang, made en route to the meeting, to put forward a package designed to prevent the development of a North Korean ballistic missile programme. Even though the proposals ultimately failed to yield any real progress, their adroit presentation at the summit helped to establish Putin’s reputation among his G8 colleagues as an effective leader with whom they could do business. In response to the subsequent cooling of relations with Washington, associated with the early Bush administration, Putin tried to use links with Europe and differences over the ABM treaty to bring the attention of the USA to the need to take Russia more seriously as a partner. The events of 11 September created a remarkable opportunity to make use of Russia’s resources to raise the country’s international standing. The American need to destroy the Taliban and the al-Qaeda network in central Asia brought about a highly favourable shift in what might be called the overall terms of trade in Russia’s relations with the USA. Washington’s urgent operational needs suddenly raised the value of Moscow’s diplomatic support and, particularly, of its military and security assets in the region. Russian resources and cooperation became more valuable to the USA than at any time since the end of the Soviet Union. Putin seized the opportunity

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 45

to take advantage of the inflated value of his resources to improve Russia’s standing with the USA and, more widely, to strengthen its position in what in Soviet times had been termed the international correlation of forces. Here was an unprecedented chance to put on the international scales security assets which might help make up in overall standing for Russia’s chronic lack of economic power. Taking advantage of 11 September by cooperating with the USA, rather than standing to one side, could enable Moscow to punch above its economic and technological weight on the world stage. Beyond such potential general advantages, September also held out the prospect of active cooperation bringing gains for Moscow in four specific areas. The first was Chechnya. By making al-Qaeda the most important single international threat for Washington, the events of 11 September in themselves inclined the Americans to take a far more sympathetic view of long-standing Russian complaints about Islamic terrorism, in general and al-Qaeda in particular, in disrupting Chechnya. Putin was particularly vehement in denouncing the opposition in Chechnya as bandits and had long regarded the reimposition of control over this troublesome republic as his ‘historical mission’. His strength of feeling on the subject made it likely Putin would see any war against terrorism as a common cause. Cooperating actively in such a war had a double attraction. It could produce more international sympathy with the methods used by Russia against the Chechen opposition or at least stem the criticism levelled at Moscow. Further, cooperation with the USA could help strengthen Moscow’s hand against any attempts by al-Qaeda and the Taliban in retaliation against US attacks to cause trouble in the north Caucasus. A similar hope figured in the second area where Moscow looked for dividends: ex-Soviet central Asia. Long before September, Moscow had identified the Taliban as the main threat to stability in the region and as a source of inspiration and material support for the fundamentalist Islamic movements that were causing growing problems for the governments of Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. In summer 2000 there was even talk of bombing Taliban targets, but this was ultimately considered too risky. The central Asian states had inadequate forces to withstand serious counterattacks and the Russian troops in the region were overstretched.18 Joining the US campaign certainly posed some potential risks of attracting retaliation, yet Putin could have no confidence that this would be avoided by staying on the sidelines. In any case, close, and even allied, relations with the USA would enhance security in Russia’s southern arc of instability. The last two sets of expected dividends from cooperation lay beyond this arc and involved global issues. On the political and security fronts, Putin might reasonably have thought that support for Washington in its hour of need would ease the negotiation of a compromise solution to the vexed question of missile defence and the ABM treaty, which had long troubled

46 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

relations with the USA and was the main focus of tensions in 2001. Russian cooperation in central Asia could also bring American reciprocity in the economic field. Moscow harboured hopes of US help in rescheduling her large international debt and in advancing towards membership of the World Trade Organization. Interpreting active cooperation after 11 September in terms of pragmatic calculation takes us quite a long way towards understanding the decisions made in the Kremlin. But any attempt to gain a deeper appreciation of these decisions must look at the ideas and values that shaped the priorities and defined the weightings of the various elements in Putin’s cost/benefit reckoning. One approach is to attempt to locate Putin in terms of two perspectives which have influenced Russian foreign policy thinking, in varying degree at different stages over the decade. The first is essentially realist, proceeding from a notion of national interest based on material capability and on achieving influence, power and prestige in a highly competitive world. Widespread within the Moscow policy class, and especially within the security establishment, this perspective is associated with the idea of Russia as a great power which deserves to play a prominent role in world affairs. A more modest role for Russia, as a power of the second rank, forms part of the second, liberal, perspective. Most commonly found among the advocates of pluralist political democracy and market reform, this view highlights the prime importance of economic performance in international affairs. Development of an efficient market economy is seen as the only path to prosperity and security at home and influence abroad. The best way for foreign policy to help the country advance along this path is to cooperate and integrate with the leading developed states and international organizations. In its strongest version, this perspective sees cooperation with states and international organizations yielding benefits to all. In the liberal view, cooperation and integration are safe as well as necessary, since they tend to produce absolute gains rather than the relative ones inherent in the competitive world that remains central to the realist perspective. Putin may be best described as a sophisticated modern realist. He appreciates the economic as well as security components of state power. He understands that Russia has to cooperate with the Western-dominated international system in order to make any headway in what remains a world of competitive states. Putin’s professional experience helps account for his views on security issues. He is traditionally realist in seeing security as essential to the vigour of the Russian state and central to the Kremlin’s domestic and international priorities. Where security resources are concerned, Putin take a more modern realist view. He seems critical of traditional military concerns with quantitative issues in the nuclear or conventional field. For Putin, it is the quality of resources that matters, and this applies not just to ‘hard’ military capabilities but to also ‘soft’ security

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 47

areas. The key to both lies in a vigorous and advanced economy. This sophisticated understanding of security needs reinforces an emphasis on economic development that also stems from Putin’s state-building agenda. His central project is to build a strong modern state capable of delivering order and plenty at home and the capacity to compete effectively within the international system. Putin is keenly aware of the enormous distance the Russian economy has to travel before being capable of meeting these domestic and international objectives. Awareness of the need to catch up with the developed West lies behind his insistence on rapid growth. In spring 2002, he urged the government to be far more ambitious in its growth targets.19 On this and related issues, Putin identifies with the most radical of the liberal economists. He shares their conviction that the best way forward for Russia is through adjustment to and adoption of international market capitalist standards. In other words, Putin takes important elements from the liberal perspective, but he factors them into a modern realist framework and a grander vision of Russia’s international role. For liberals, Russia can at best become a more prosperous and more influential power of the second rank. For Putin, Russia is inherently a great power, by virtue of its history and its scientific, cultural and spiritual resources.20 Putin sees his mission in somewhat de Gaullist terms, as bringing about national revival and ensuring that Russia achieves the international position it deserves by right.21 Economic dynamism through integration is a necessary rather than sufficient condition for achieving this position. On the one hand, Putin believes in close involvement, and in June 2002 underlined the need for ‘total immersion’ in the world economy.22 On the other hand, he retains a realist view of the international environment. Russia, he told the Federal Assembly in April 2002, had to be strong and competitive as she would have to ‘fight’ for its ‘place in the sun’.23 In this competitive climate, the way ahead for Russia still lies through cooperative relations with the most powerful states and membership in the key organisations. But in cooperating, Russia must safeguard its national interests, as do all other states. In Putin’s perspective, cooperation and integration must be practical strategies to maximize influence and standing. HOW ROBUST IS POST-SEPTEMBER COOPERATION? The policy of active cooperation appears fragile on two main fronts: domestic criticism and inadequate Western reciprocity. Many commentators have pointed to the wide gap Putin’s responses to 11 September opened up between the Kremlin and large segments of the policy elites in Moscow.24 Within the political class, critical comment ranged from

48 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

the predictable communist charges of national betrayal to more mainstream doubts about the dangers of siding overmuch with the USA. This could expose Russia to retaliation and bring little in compensating rewards from Washington. In private discussions with Putin soon after the attacks on the USA, the overwhelming majority of party leaders expressed scepticism about giving the Americans full support.25 Such high levels of private dissent were not reflected in any organized and effective political protest. The months following September saw none of the kinds of Duma protest which used to surface regularly in the earlier Yeltsin years in connection with pro-Western moves. And even those had little or no real impact on policy. Under Putin’s presidency, the Duma has become a largely tame legislature unlikely to present the Kremlin with serious problems in pursuing its line of cooperation. This is especially the case as Putin’s popular standing remains high. After initial sympathy with the victims of terrorism, large sections of the public expressed doubts about the extent of Russian support being given as well as about the USA as a partner.26 Such scepticism did not, however, translate into any appreciable decline in general support for Putin’s foreign policy or in his impressive personal ratings.27 The strongest scepticism about Putin’s cooperative stance came neither from the public nor from politicians but from the executive, and especially from the foreign policy and military establishments. The usually cautious Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov, without voicing open criticism, expressed Moscow’s position in a discernibly less enthusiastic fashion, in turn himself attracting scathing comment from Kremlin associates.28 Privately, many Russian diplomats considered Putin’s moves unwise and would have preferred a policy of ‘positive neutrality’.29 More open criticism came from the military elite. Predictably, the most extreme objections were voiced by retired communist and nationalist-minded officers, to some extent on behalf of larger numbers of their serving colleagues.30 Far more serious for Putin was the apparent difficulty of overcoming doubts among leading military and security officials supposedly close to the Kremlin. Sergei Ivanov, Minister of Defence and formerly secretary of the Security Council, in the immediate wake of the terrorist attacks seemed to rule out the American use of military facilities in central Asia.31 While this was the first of several indications of the Defence Minister’s more cautious attitude to cooperation with the USA, it may have reflected a lack of policy certainty and coordination in the early days after 11 September. Widespread executive dissatisfaction with the policy was perhaps intensified by irritation at being excluded from what was a narrowly presidential decision-making process. There was apparently no meeting of the Security Council in the immediate aftermath of the September attacks. The key decisions seem to have been taken by Putin, in consultation with a few close advisers. Speculative reports about who might have influenced

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 49

Putin singled out civilians such as Sergei Prikhodko, Sergei Yastrzhembskii and Mikhail Margelov.32 It is difficult to believe that Putin would not also have consulted his security chiefs and former St Petersburg security colleagues now in the presidential administration, although the actual decision to provide the range of support announced on 24 September may well have been made by the President himself. As a specialist in security matters, Putin would feel confident about taking personal decisions in this area. In any case, he had no apparent difficulty in translating his decision into policy and no serious problem in asserting his authority to silence public questioning of the consequences of his pro-US line. This was the case with misgivings surrounding US bases in central Asia and the Caucasus, concerns about US withdrawal from the ABM treaty and the spread of US military presence to Georgia. Unless something untoward happens, such as a major economic crisis, it is well within Putin’s capacity, as a highly popular and vigorous president, to manage critical pressures from the policy elites. The kind of pressure likely to weaken active cooperation is far more likely to come from within Putin’s close circle, and most of all from his own doubts about the evolving balance of costs and benefits associated with the policy. In an important sense, the greatest vulnerability of the policy lies in its inherent shortcomings as a strategy. Following the events of 11 September, Putin made a choice of strategic significance but did not develop a strategy to match.33 The decision to provide military support does not appear to have formed part of an elaborated strategy. This was perhaps one of the costs of the narrowly presidential decision-making process. Little thinking seems to have been given to longer-term implications or to alternative moves in case developments failed to follow the course initially assumed. The working assumptions through September were that the Americanled campaign would be long and hard-fought. This was a perfectly reasonable scenario, shared by most on the Western side. It was also reasonable to hope that Moscow’s close links with the Northern Alliance would give it considerable say in shaping the succession to the Taliban. By being an indispensable partner, Moscow might be able even to exercise some constraint over Washington.34 In any case, the duration and difficulty of the conflict would prolong and deepen Washington’s indebtedness to Moscow and so increase the dividends of the active cooperation line. In the event, such reasonable assumptions proved to be wrong and the USA achieved its immediate objectives more quickly and easily than most had anticipated. Washington failed to respond in kind to the active support extended by Moscow. Putin hoped his generous response would bring the fruits of partnership if not alliance; Bush conceded only the trappings of a new ‘strategic relationship’. Neither the presidential get-together at the Crawford ranch in November 2001 nor the Moscow summit of May 2002

50 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

saw major steps forward in the relationship. The defiant manner in which the President claimed success for his policy perhaps indicated his own growing concern about its effectiveness.35 From Putin’s standpoint, American moves in these months, across a range of issues, were hardly encouraging. Criticism of Russian conduct in Chechnya soon resurfaced and was accompanied by adverse comment about the growing pressures on the mass media. Even though Washington avoided taking any firm stand on either issue, Moscow still interpreted the return of criticism of sensitive domestic affairs as violating the spirit of post-September partnership.36 Further concern about American intentions was aroused by the way in which the US military appeared to be settling in for a long stay in central Asia. Nor was Moscow reassured by statements from Washington that the USA did not plan to establish permanent bases in the region but would make use of them for however long proved necessary.37 Sensitivity about the creeping extension of American influence into the Caucasus was heightened by the sudden appearance of US military advisers in the Pankisi Gorge in March 2002. Putin had to assure critics that the deployment in Georgia was neither a shock nor a tragedy, but he could not have been very happy about the way in which the move had been made.38 More damaging to Putin’s hopes for partnership behaviour from the USA was the cavalier manner in which Washington proceeded on strategic nuclear issues. It simply gave Moscow a week’s notice of the US decision to withdraw unilaterally from the ABM treaty. Moscow had long regarded the 1972 treaty as a symbol of stability in strategic relations, particularly since Bush had begun his drive for the National Missile Defence (NMD) system. Putin had repeatedly expressed willingness to amend the treaty in a way sufficiently permissive to allow development of the NMD. While shrugging off the demise of the ABM, the Russian President must have been disappointed by Bush’s stubbornness. Similar American obstinacy appeared in the negotiations on nuclear arms cuts. Washington agreed to reduce warheads to a level of 1,700–2,200 over a ten-year period. The subsequent announcement of plans to store a large proportion of the old warheads in case of future need aroused critical comment from Moscow. Despite continued Russian concerns, the Americans refused to change their plans so that the arms reduction treaty signed at the Moscow summit in May 2002 had little substantial importance. For Putin, the substantive military issues mattered less than the political signals that these American moves conveyed. They scarcely reciprocated the kind of partnership attitudes Moscow had tried to exhibit in September. Nor did such attitudes stand out in American handling of the difficult questions of Russia’s relations with Iran and Iraq. There was apparently no consultation with Moscow before Bush’s denunciation of the ‘axis of evil’ in February 2002 which Putin tried to play down as an emotional speech made for domestic purposes.39 It was left to Sergei Ivanov, as Defence

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 51

Minister, to reiterate that Moscow would not support US military action against Iraq. In order to avoid a situation which would place Moscow’s relations with Washington under great strain, Russia continued to promote a political solution to the problem within a UN framework. Should political methods fail, Moscow’s adverse reaction to US military action against Baghdad still seems likely to be moderate, particularly if the Kremlin receives assurances that any new Iraqi regime would safeguard Russian economic interests.40 National economic interests also figured prominently in Moscow’s stance on its relations with Iran. Throughout the months following the ‘axis of evil’ speech, Putin stood firm on Russian involvement in building Iranian nuclear power reactors. He countered continuing American objections by accusing Washington of double standards and pointing to US involvement in nuclear plant construction in North Korea.41 What emerges clearly from the case of both Iraq and Iran is Putin’s determination to safeguard Russian strategic economic interests. The economic balance sheet is central to the continued viability of the postSeptember line. Up to summer 2002, the picture here was mixed. From Moscow’s standpoint, trade relations with the USA remained burdened, if only symbolically, by the long afterlife of the Jackson-Vanik Agreement. Washington did, however, fulfil its pledge to recognize Russia as a market economy and showed other signs of helping to support Moscow’s bid to join the World Trade Organization (WTO). Full admission to the G8, announced at its June 2002 gathering, also went some way to meeting the Kremlin’s expectation of greater inclusion in the key international clubs. One important litmus test of the willingness to include Russia continued to be Western attitudes to Moscow’s relations with NATO. The proposal put forward by Prime Minister Tony Blair in November 2001 to create a new Russia—North Atlantic Council was clearly an effort to make a newly cooperative Kremlin feel appreciated. Objections to the scheme in Washington, especially from the Defence Department, diluted its content and reinforced Russian doubts about its value.42 Apart from being more inclusive in presentational terms, the new Council of 20, with decisionmaking rights on selected issues, seemed to give Moscow relatively little new of substance. The military reacted to the scheme with predictable scepticism43 and even Putin felt the need to underscore Moscow’s determination to have its voice heard and its interests taken into account.44 Moscow expected some real progress towards transforming NATO from a defensive alliance into a political organization dealing with security throughout Greater Europe. On this and other issues, Moscow found many west European governments more amenable than the USA. As of mid-2002, it looked likely that the disappointing dividends yielded by active cooperation with the US might incline Putin increasingly to turn his attention to Europe. There are good economic and political reasons for the president to focus on

52 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Europe to further his agenda of making Russia a more integral and more competitive and weighty member of the international community. The EU has long been Russia’s most important trading partner and the source of half of total inward investment. The EU was helpful in advancing Moscow’s case for joining the World Trade Organization, just beating the USA in recognizing Russia as a market economy. In security terms, the EU and the major European states offer a potential counterweight to American dominance in NATO and also some possible influence over Washington.45 Putin seems also to have some personal inclination to see Russia as inherently oriented towards Europe. And there is a widespread feeling within the policy class, and the political public, that Europe and the EU represent the most benign face of the West, more accessible and potentially most profitable for a Russia seeking to modernize and integrate. Even so, Russia’s contacts with Europe have long been beset by the slow, bureaucratic nature of the way the EU manages external relationships. The elaborate framework of processes is too wide and insufficiently focused. Questions such as access to Kaliningrad, where progress would help build wider confidence, remained unresolved in mid-2002. One might have expected the Kremlin to display particular flexibility on the visa issue in order to improve Russia’s standing with the EU, yet Putin adhered to entrenched positions and even criticized Brussels for trying to impose unacceptable solutions.46 The disagreements over visa regimes in Kaliningrad flag a fundamental problem that Russia is likely to encounter in its efforts to promote integration with the West in general and with Europe in particular. Even if Russia makes good progress on economic, security and general political issues, it might come up against a normative barrier. Putin’s notion of a managed democracy does not fit well with the liberal requirements for the ‘competition state’.47 Success on the domestic side of his project of building a strong modern state could make it more difficult for Putin to achieve his ambition to see Russia become a powerful, integrated and competitive member of the international community. NOTES 1. Trud, 6 October 2001. 2. See the transcript of her talk, ‘Putin’s Domestic and Foreign Policy Challenges’ given at the Carnegie Endowment, March 2002, reproduced in Johnson’s Russia List (hereafter JRL), no. 6121. 3. D.Lynch, ‘“Walking the Tightrope”: The Kosovo Conflict and Russia’, European Security, vol. 8, no. 4, 1999, pp. 57–83. 4. L.Aron, ‘The Foreign Policy Doctrine of Post-communist Russia: Its Domestic Context’, in M. Mandelbaum (ed.), The New Russian Foreign Policy (New York, 1998), p. 32.

PUTIN’S FOREIGN POLICY AFTER 11 SEPTEMBER 53

5. O.Antonenko, ‘Putin’s Gamble’, Survival, vol. 43, no. 4, 2000/2002, p. 50. 6. Putin, Russian television 8 July 2000, BBC Summary of World Broadcasts (hereafter SWB), no. 3888; also see the Foreign Policy Concept, IT, 10 July 2000, no. 3889; MID website, SWB no. 3890, B/5–12. 7. For Putin’s 24 September speech, see Kommersant, 25 September 2001, translated in Current Digest of the Post-Soviet Press (hereafter CDPSP), vol, 53, no. 39. 8. Kommersant, 28 September 2001. 9. I.Korotchenko, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 4 October 2001; P.Felgengauer, reported by Reuters, 9 October 2001. 10. Izvestiya, 20 November 2001. 11. Sovetskaya Rossiya, 18 September 2001. 12. For estimates of financial benefits, see Moskovsky Komsomolets, 12 February, translated in the JRL, no. 6072. 13. Putin in Helsinki, 3 September 2001, JRL, no. 5423. 14. Nezavisimaya gazeta, 4 October 2001. 15. Foreign Policy Concept, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 11 July 2000; Putin, 9 June 2000, SWB, no. 3864. 16. See interview in JRL, no. 6072. 17. Putin, 8 July 2000, SWB, no. 3888. 18. For a review of the situation, see E.Akerman, ‘September 11: Implications for Russia’s Central Asian Policy and Strategic Realignment’, Review of International Affairs, vol. 1, no. 3, 2002, pp. 9–10. 19. Izvestiya, 9 April 2002. 20. Itar-Tass, 10 July 2000, SWB, no. 3889. 21. For his reported admiration of de Gaulle, see Wall Street Journal editor’s comments in JRL, no. 6072. 22. ORT, 24 June, SWB in JRL, no. 6322. 23. Rossiiskaya gazeta, 19 April 2002, translated in CDPSP, vol. 54, no. 16. 24. For instance, see Y.Fedorov, Moskovkskie Novosti, 16–22 October 2001; V.Kulagin, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 27 March 2002, translated in CDPSP, vol. 54, no. 13. 25. According to Yavlinsky, only 2 of the 21 present agreed with the President’s line; speech on 31 January 2002 at the Carnegie Endowment, in JRL, no. 6061. 26. Izvestiya, 5 March 2002. 27. Rossiiskaya gazeta, 9 January 2002. 28. G.Pavlovsky’s sniping at Ivanov, smi.ru, 13 May 2002, in Radio Free Europe/ Radio Liberty (hereafter RFE/RL), Newsline, 14 May 2002. 29. Y.Fedorov, Moskovkskie novosti, 16–22 October 2001. 30. Sovetskaya Rossiya, 10 November 2001. 31. Rossiiskaya gazeta, 15 September 2001. 32. A.Golts and D.Pinsker, ‘Sovetniki tainye I deistvitelnye’, Yezhedelny Zhurnal, no. 1, 15 January 2002, on www.ei.ru, translated in JRL, no. 6032. 33. See the assessment of Dmitri Trenin, one of the most astute analysts of Russian foreign and security policy, ‘Osennii marafon Vladimira Putina: k rozhdeniyu rossiiskoi vneshnepoliticheskoi strategii’, Brifing Moskovskogo Tsentra Karnegi, vol. 3, no. 11, November 2001.

54 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43.

44. 45.

46. 47.

V.Frolov, Moscow Times, 21 January 2002. Kommersant Daily, 23 May 2002. Putin, 15 January 2002 as reported by Reuters, JRL, no. 6025. Assistant Secretary of State E.Jones as reported by Agence France-Presse, 12 February 2002, JRL, no. 6072. V.Nikonov, Trud, 2 March 2002. Putin interview in the Wall Street Journal, 11 February 2002. Los Angeles Times, 22 May 2002, as cited in S.Charap, RFE/RL, Newsline, 11 July 2002. Reuters, 11 July 2002, JRL, no. 6351. S.Karaganov, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 28 February 2002. See the incisive analysis by Bobo Lo, ‘Integratsiya s ogoborkami? Rossiya, NATO I evropeiskaya bezopasnost’, Institut nauchnoi informatsii po obshchestvennym naukam, tsentr izucheniyu problem evropeiskoi bezopasnosti, Evropeiskaya Bezopasnost: sobitiya, otsenki, prognozy, no. 3. RFE/RL, Newsline, 29 May 2002; for Kvashnin’s derogatory comments, see I. Korotchenko, Nezavisimaya gazeta, 6 March 2002. For excellent studies on Russia’s relations with the EU, see D.Gowan, How Can the EU Help Russia, London: Centre for European Reform, 2000; and V.Baranovsky, Russia’s Attitudes towards the EU: Political Aspects, Helsinki: Finnish Institute of International Affairs, 2002. RFE/RL, Newsline, 29 May 2002. For analysis of the ‘competition state’, see P.G.Cerny, ‘Paradoxes of the Competition State: The Dynamics of Political Globalization’, vol. 32, no. 2, 1997, pp. 251–74.

Part II: Russia’s Road into Europe

6 Russia and the Dual Expansion of Europe1 MARGOT LIGHT, JOHN LÖWENHARDT AND STEPHEN WHITE

INTRODUCTION In June 1997, the European Council, meeting in Amsterdam, recommended that the European Commission should begin negotiations for membership of the EU with the governments of Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Poland and Slovenia. A month later, at a NATO summit in Madrid, invitations were issued to the governments of the Czech Republic, Hungary and Poland to begin accession talks. A process began of separating Europe into ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’. For no matter how frequently NATO and EU officials say that they do not intend to redivide Europe, and no matter how many ‘partnership’ agreements they offer to non-members, it is inevitable that admitting some countries to full membership of the two organizations and excluding others will produce ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’. Those countries that are neither EU ‘accession’ states (the shorthand term used to refer to the six states in the process of negotiating membership) nor ‘pre-ins’ (as Slovakia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Bulgaria and Malta were categorized in October 1999 when the European Commission proposed opening negotiations for their accession)2 are, by definition, outsiders. Being outside affects the way people perceive themselves and their environment. It also affects their relationships with both insiders and fellow outsiders. Exclusion from the expanding NATO alliance influences outsiders’ security perceptions and the way they view their role in Europe. The perception of exclusion, therefore, has important consequences for the domestic and foreign policies of outsider states. Russia is the most important example of an excluded state, if only because of its size and strategic significance. Notwithstanding then Acting President Vladimir Putin’s widely quoted throw-away remark to David Frost on 5 March 2000 that he could see no reason why Russia should not join NATO in due course, the Russian government does not seek EU or NATO membership.3 It does not object to EU enlargement, and does not mind if some of the Soviet successor states join the EU. It is vehemently

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 57

opposed to NATO expansion, however. It protested very strongly against the first round of expansion, and it opposes any further extension of membership, particularly if former Soviet states are permitted to join. NATO expansion affects Russia’s relationship both with NATO itself and with those Soviet successor states that wish to join NATO or which appear to prefer better relations with it than with Russia and the CIS. The EU and NATO have attempted to allay the anxiety of the Russian government about the enlargement of the organizations. The EU concluded a Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) with Russia in June 1994, for example, but its ratification was delayed because of the first war in Chechnya and it only came into force on 1 December 1997. The EU Treaty of Amsterdam (adopted in June 1997) introduced a new policy instrument: common strategies to be implemented in fields where EU member states share important interests. When the treaty entered into force on 1 May 1999, the first common strategy adopted by the European Council in June 1999 was the Common Strategy on Russia. The Russian government responded later that year with its own medium-term Strategy for the Development of Relations between the Russian Federation and the European Union (2000–2010).4 Russia was a member of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) from March 1992, and it became a member of the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) which succeeded it in 1997. When NATO launched its Partnership for Peace (PfP) initiative in 1994, Russia signed a PfP Framework Document on 22 June 1994. And when NATO heads of state and government decided to enlarge NATO, they also began to negotiate a separate charter with Russia, making great efforts to ensure that it was adopted before the formal accession of new members. On 27 May 1997, the Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security between NATO and the Russian Federation was signed by the Secretary-General of NATO and heads of state and government of NATO and the Russian President in Paris.5 These attempts by the EU and NATO to allay Russian anxiety have not prevented many Russians from feeling isolated and marginalized as enlargement gets under way. They cannot disguise the fact that a wider Europe is being created from which Russia is excluded. This chapter examines the effects of exclusion on Russian perceptions of Europe. It is based on the published views of the foreign policy community, on two focus groups conducted in September 1999, on interviews conducted in Moscow in September and in Kazan’ in December 1999, and on the results of our first nationwide survey commissioned in January 2000.6 All the evidence indicates that Russians are deeply affected by exclusion from European expansion, but that they are more worried about NATO expansion than about the enlargement of the EU.

58 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

While there are distinctions between the foreign policy views of liberal Westernizers’, ‘pragmatic nationalists’ and ‘fundamentalist nationalists’ in Russia, there are few genuine liberal Westernizers left and none of them remain in policy-making positions.7 In general, liberal Westernizers favour a Western type of democratic market society for Russia and want good relations with Western countries. Pragmatic nationalists also endorse democracy and want good relations with the West, but they put Russian national interests first. They tend to believe that a market economy has to be adapted to specific Russian conditions. Fundamentalist nationalists, on the other hand, believe that Russia can forge its own, specific path of development. They see the West as hostile and are nostalgic for the Soviet (or even the Russian imperial) past.8 RUSSIA AND NATO Liberal Westernizers dominated Russian foreign policy immediately after the disintegration of the USSR; it was the issue of NATO expansion, above all, that undermined their influence. Both pragmatic and fundamentalist nationalists blamed them for making too many concessions to the West, thus encouraging Western politicians to take further advantage of Russia. One businessman we interviewed, for example, maintained that Andrei Kozyrev, the most prominent liberal Westernizer and Russia’s first Foreign Minister, had defended Western, not Russian, interests. Another of our interviewees accused Kozyrev of having made ‘unforgivable mistakes’ as Foreign Minister. When Russia’s membership of the Partnership for Peace was debated, liberal Westernizers favoured signing up, while pragmatic nationalists were hesitant, and fundamentalist nationalists were unambiguously opposed. On the subject of NATO expansion, however, they were united, even if they had different reasons for objecting.9 Whatever his private views, Kozyrev, like Russian officials and politicians of all persuasions, used every available public opportunity to express Russia’s opposition whenever the possibility of NATO enlargement was mooted. After a faux pas in Warsaw when he told President Walesa that Russia did not mind if Poland joined NATO, President Yeltsin also consistently made it clear that he disapproved of NATO expansion. Moreover, the Russian public believed that NATO expansion would harm Russia: in an October 1996 poll, 32 per cent thought that expansion would be bad for Russia; in March/April 1997, of the 22 per cent of respondents who were reasonably well informed about NATO, 62 per cent thought that expansion of the Alliance would harm Russia.10 The NATO-Russia Founding Act was intended to reassure Russia that cooperation between Russia and the Alliance would continue even if enlargement proceeded. But the ground for future disagreement was laid when it became clear that whereas President Yeltsin interpreted the Act to

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 59

mean that NATO would have to consult Russia in the Permanent Joint Council, NATO leaders insisted, as President Clinton expressed it, that Russia would have ‘a voice in but not a veto over NATO’s business’.11 Moreover, while many people in the West seemed to think that by signing the Act, the Russian government had signalled its tacit acceptance of NATO expansion, this did not at all correspond to the Russian interpretation. Public criticism of expansion did not abate. The public response to expansion was extremely negative (66 per cent in a July 1999 poll believed that it represented a direct threat to Russia). Russian analysts, on the other hand, considered expansion a ‘strategic error’, but they understood that Russia could not prevent it from occurring. At the beginning of 1999, it looked briefly as if Russians had accepted the inevitable, although the new Foreign Policy Concept adopted in June 2000 reiterated that ‘Russia retains its negative attitude towards the expansion of NATO’.12 The formal accession of Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic to NATO in March 1999, followed by the adoption of a new strategic concept at the 50th anniversary NATO summit in Washington and the announcement that the door to NATO membership remains open, caused further consternation.13 Kosovo was the final straw. NATO’s use of military force was not discussed by the UN Security Council and nor did NATO consult the Russian government in the Russia—NATO Joint Council. To Russians this seemed to forebode that NATO was intent on denying Russia a voice on important European security issues. The attack on Serbia confirmed the prejudices of those who held fundamentalist nationalist views, and it undermined more moderate views. NATO had, in Russian eyes, ceased to be a defence alliance. Moreover, its new strategic doctrine implied that it might, in future, intervene in the conflicts on the periphery of Russia. During interviews with the foreign policy elite in September, our interlocutors across the political spectrum condemned the air strikes against Serbia, disapproved of NATO expansion, and argued that the new strategic doctrine undermined Russian security. One fundamentalist nationalist in Moscow, for example, claimed that the attack on Serbia revealed NATO in its true colours; another argued that the conflict in Yugoslavia was simply a testing ground for further attacks that NATO intended to undertake. Pragmatic nationalists pointed out that Kosovo had persuaded the army and the general public that NATO’s new strategy represented a direct threat to Russia. Angry protests about NATO’s action were still being voiced in December 1999. In Kazan’, for example, an interviewee expressed the view that ‘the US now openly says it wants to rule the world’; he believed that the USA was using NATO as an instrument to reach that goal. In separate interviews in Moscow and Ekaterinburg in December, which had nothing to do with

60 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

foreign policy, interlocutors invariably criticized NATO policy in the Balkans.14 Focus group discussions confirmed that Kosovo had made a deep and negative impression on people at all levels of society. They also revealed that NATO and the USA were widely seen as synonymous. Oddly, even among the elite, far less blame for the attack on Serbia was attached to European NATO members than to the USA. NATO is ‘being used by the US to weaken western Europe’, said a history lecturer in Kazan’, and ‘in essence, the EU was subservient to NATO and the Americans’ in the Kosovo conflict. Russians are deeply concerned that NATO might expand further, particularly to include the Baltic states or Ukraine. Again, this concern is prevalent at all levels of society. In our January 2000 survey, 37 per cent of respondents thought that Baltic membership of NATO would present a threat (a large threat or some threat) to Russia, while only 17 per cent saw it as no threat, and 35 per cent did not know. Curiously, however, a large majority (75 per cent) thought it unlikely that Russia would be attacked in the next five years, and only 24 per cent thought an attack likely. Nevertheless, 60 per cent of those polled thought that Russia should increase its spending on defence—but they were responding as much to the war in Chechnya (which they strongly supported—71 per cent supported the campaign entirely or in part, while 9 per cent opposed it) as to the expansion of NATO. When it came to how Russia should respond to NATO expansion, however, realism prevailed. Among the foreign policy elite, fundamentalist nationalists and a few pragmatic nationalists predicted a strong Russian response, suggesting variously that military spending would rise, there would be a new arms race, the ‘nuclear factor’ would be ‘reconsidered’, and new allies would be found. For the most part, however, interviewees understood that economic weakness limited Russia’s ability to respond. One academic of liberal Westernizer persuasion summed it up as follows: ‘Russia’s political leaders will have to take measures, but I can’t see what they can do. They have illusions, their rhetoric is strong, but there are no measures they could take. They may say that military spending will rise, but there is nowhere from which to take the money for military spending.’ RUSSIA AND THE EUROPEAN UNION Russian views about the EU are generally positive and they contrast strongly with the widespread criticism levelled at NATO. EU enlargement seemed, at first, to be perceived as an acceptable alternative to NATO expansion, but even after NATO had expanded and the EU could no longer be seen as an alternative, extension of EU membership to former socialist states was still regarded favourably. As Dmitri Trenin points out,

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 61

there is a tendency in Russia ‘to contrast “the good West of Europe/EU” with the “bad West of America/NATO”’.15 On the other hand, very few people in Russia are informed about the EU. International issues in general have a low profile in the media, compared with the attention given to Russia’s turbulent domestic affairs. Relations with the EU are primarily economic and technical, not the dramatic stuff of news headlines, and European integration has no relevance to people’s daily lives; consequently, the EU gets little media coverage.16 This explains why public awareness is low, although given the amount of EU assistance which Russia receives, the European Commission might be disconcerted to discover how little awareness there is of what the EU does for Russia.17 Sixty-nine per cent of respondents in our survey at the end of January 2000 did not know where the headquarters of the EU are located (answering either ‘don’t know’ or naming the wrong city). Only 20 per cent assessed the actions and aims of the EU as very or fairly positive and, although only 11 per cent assessed them as very or fairly negative, 69 per cent responded either that they did not know anything about the EU’s actions and aims or that they did not know what they thought of them. On the other hand, nearly 48 per cent of respondents thought that Russia would benefit if it joined the EU, only 12 per cent thought that it would not benefit, while 40 per cent thought it would make no difference. Lack of knowledge about the EU among the general public may be understandable; after all, European publics themselves are poorly informed about it, and there is no reason why publics in non-member states should be any better informed. It is less comprehensible, however, why some members of the Russian foreign policy community who, given their professional positions, ought to be better informed, seem to lack even name recognition of the EU. On the whole, people who identify with pragmatic nationalist views are better acquainted with the organization than fundamentalist nationalists, one of whom told us that ‘if a European Union is formed, then Russia must be part of it’. Among those who know something about the organization, there is no apprehension about its enlargement, even if the Baltic countries join, as long as the EU does not attempt to ‘force Russia into a corner’, ‘exclude it‘or ‘turn it into a pariah’. Some thought that enlargement would serve to draw Russia closer to the EU, and they believed that fulfilling EU demands and conditions would benefit the Russian economy. Thus, EU enlargement had the support of the general director of a successful factory that manufactures medical instruments who had adopted EU quality standards and hoped to export even more goods. Other interviewees were rather more wary, warning of a possible return to a divided Europe. Very few were clear, however, about the potential hazards of an expanding market which excludes Russia. One of the few who understood the problem was a leading member of the Tatarstan parliament who feared that Russia might become isolated very

62 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

quickly. He thought that ‘after EU enlargement in the next five years, it will become more difficult for Russia to export to Poland and the Czech Republic, because of the high EU standard in these countries. For Russia this will mean a loss of several billions of dollars per year.’ Of course, officials in the relevant ministries who deal with EU expansion are well aware that EU enlargement may have negative economic consequences for Russia. The anti-dumping measures regularly initiated against Russian exports on the grounds that Russia is a statetrading country (although Russia’s PCA refers to it as an economy in transition) have long been a source of friction. They know that problems will arise as the accession countries adopt the EU’s acquis communautaire. As the accession countries and the pre-ins gradually reorientate their trade towards the EU, their trade relations with Russia will be adversely affected. At the same time, Russia’s dependence on the EU, which currently receives 40 per cent of Russia’s exports and provides 38 per cent of its imports, will grow. Although one journalist suggested to us that EU barriers would benefit Russia, since it would enable the government to re-establish the kind of protectionist policies that would revive Russia’s real economy, this was not a view shared by these officials. Of all the potential negative consequences of EU enlargement, the issue that causes most concern is movement across borders. There is growing concern among officials and the business community that when the central and east European countries join the Schengen agreement, Russian citizens will require visas to travel. Moreover, it is not only the accession countries that will introduce stricter visa regimes. Under pressure from the EU, the pre-ins will also sign up. This is a particularly acute problem for Kaliningrad, which will in due course become a Russian enclave within the EU.18 Russia’s Medium-term Strategy (2000–2010) which was presented to the European Council in October 1999, reflects these concerns. Section 5 refers to the ‘ambivalent impact’ of enlargement on Russian interests and sets as a priority the task of ‘achieving the best advantages’ and ‘preventing, eliminating or setting off possible adverse consequences’ of enlargement. It calls for consultations to secure Russia’s interests as the acquis is adopted in the CEE countries, and draws particular attention to Kaliningrad’s problems.19 Russian government officials are only now beginning to realize how complex the task is of negotiating and consulting with both the EU and the accession states and, particularly, of ensuring that there is sufficient coordination across relevant ministries. At first the decision taken at the Cologne European Council to expand the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) made little impression in Russia.20 Even when asked directly in September about what the implications would be for Russia, the foreign policy elite revealed little awareness of the EU’s intention to develop a military capacity. No alarm was

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 63

expressed. Foreign Ministry officials directly concerned with relations with the EU were better informed, but in September 1999 they seemed preoccupied by the consequences of exclusion for Russia’s economic security, and relatively unconcerned about more traditional forms of security, particularly in relation to the EU. Of course, this may simply reflect the problem of compartmentalization which is characteristic of most bureaucracies but which afflicts Russia particularly severely. In other words, they may have been unaware of the EU’s plans because their business was the economy, while military security was dealt with in other departments, and there was effectively no communication between departments. But the people in defence-related fields whom we interviewed also knew very little about EU intentions with regard to security and defence. The authors of Russia’s Medium-term Strategy were clearly well informed on the subject, however, and they took a positive view of the prospect of the CFSP’s acquiring a defence aspect. The preamble to the Strategy maintains that a ‘strategic partnership’ between Russia and the EU can achieve a pan-European system of collective security based on ‘equality without dividing lines’. This system will not isolate the USA and NATO, but nor will it permit them to dominate the continent. The Medium-term Strategy also calls, in section 1.5.2, for practical cooperation with the West European Union (WEU) in the area of security ‘which could counterbalance…the NATO-ism in Europe’.21 In other words, a military aspect to the CFSP was perceived to offer an alternative European security structure, which would diminish NATO’s importance in Europe. In December 1999, at the Helsinki European Council, the EU’s planned military capacity acquired the name of the Common European Security and Defence Policy (CESDP). It was still not perceived in Russia as representing a threat. On the contrary, the National Security Blueprint, which was drafted and discussed in 1999 and adopted in January 2000, includes an extensive list of ‘fundamental threats [to Russian security] in the international sphere’. It does not mention the EU at all. Neither does Russia’s new Military Doctrine which was adopted in April 2000.22 Russia’s Medium-term Strategy indicates a tendency among officials to believe that the CESDP will provide a means by which Russia can cooperate with the EU in security matters and which, at the same time, it can use to drive a wedge between the European members of NATO and the USA. More sophisticated Russian analysts pointed out, however, that Ministry of Foreign Affairs officials were in danger of reverting to the kind of zero-sum thinking that was characteristic of the Soviet Union. In particular, they were deceiving themselves in thinking that the Western system was a kind of balance in which ‘increasing the “European”’ weight would automatically weaken the American side of the balance’. In fact,

64 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

increasing the European weight was possible only because it would not undermine the transatlantic link.23 The appointment of the former NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana as the EU’s High Representative for the Common Foreign and Security Policy supported this warning. It was highly unlikely that the person who had designed and implemented NATO expansion would take responsibility for an EU policy that was directed towards diminishing or undermining NATO’s influence in Europe. Moreover, EU officials emphasized that the CESDP was intended as an addition, not an alternative, to NATO. EU High Commissioner for External Affairs Chris Patten, for example, insisted —calling himself both a committed European and a committed Atlanticist— that the EU was seeking to strengthen the transatlantic relationship. Solana also argued, ‘as a former Secretary-General’ of NATO, that the CESDP would not replace the Alliance. On the contrary, he insisted, ‘an effective CFSP will be to the advantage of NATO…[but] NATO will remain the foundation for the collective defence of its members’. European leaders have made clear, he added, that the objective of the Union is to develop the capacity to conduct EU-led military operations in response to international crises, but only where NATO as a whole is not engaged’.24 Once it became clear that the CESDP was intended to supplement NATO, Russian policy makers became less sure about the advantages of the EU’s developing a military potential. They may also have been taken by surprise at the rapidity with which developments in the security field advanced. Their own experience within the CIS suggested that agreements and treaties were difficult to make in multilateral bodies, and even more difficult to implement. Moreover, the long delay between signature and ratification of the Russia—EU PCA, and the lengthy negotiations on which the accession countries were engaged, may have led them to believe that progress on CESDP would be slow and difficult. In any case, CESDP as an addition, not an alternative, to NATO seemed to signal the possibility of even further isolation for Russia. Moreover, it might require a reassessment of their previous positive response to EU membership for former Soviet states. The Foreign Policy Concept published in June 2000 states enigmatically that ‘the EU’s emerging military-political dimension should become an object of particular attention’. The Military Doctrine lists, as one of Russia’s main external threats, ‘the expansion of military blocs and alliances to the detriment of the Russian Federation’s military security’.25 The CESDP gives the EU many of the attributes of a military alliance and, seen as an augmentation of NATO, it may be perceived as detrimental to Russia’s military security when it includes new EU members such as Estonia. At the time of writing, some Russian analysts still believe that the CESDP offers a means by which Russia can continue cooperating with the West despite the tension between it and NATO. Other analysts argue that the

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 65

Russia—EU security dialogue cannot act as a substitute for the Russia— NATO relationship. The latter argue that Russia’s first priority ought to be re-engaging with NATO, for only when it has re-engaged will it be able to establish a constructive relationship with the CESDP.26 CONCLUSION Russian policy makers frequently contrast the multipolar international system, which became a possibility after the Cold War and which Russia supports, to the unipolar world which they believe that the USA now wishes to construct and dominate. Unipolarity has acquired such significance as the symbol of a world from which Russia’s voice is excluded that the new Military Doctrine defines ‘attempts to ignore (infringe) the Russian Federation’s interests in resolving international security problems, and to oppose its strengthening as one influential centre in a multipolar world’ as one of the main threats to Russian security.27 NATO is perceived as an instrument of US foreign policy, and one of the chief means by which the US intends to achieve unipolarity. The expansion of the Alliance enhanced the perception, and the attack on Serbia confirmed it. Again, the Military Doctrine indicates how seriously these events affected Russian perceptions. The first two factors listed as destabilizing Russia’s military-political environment are ‘attempts to weaken (ignore) the existing mechanism for safeguarding international security (primarily, the United Nations and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe)’ and ‘the use of coercive military actions as a means of ‘humanitarian intervention’ without the sanction of the UN Security Council’.28 The CESDP seemed, at first, to offer an alternative security system for Europe, one more acceptable to Russia. When it became apparent that CESDP is intended to complement NATO, Russia responded less positively to it. Paradoxically, however, one reason why EU officials, particularly Chris Patten and Javier Solana, found it necessary to insist that CESDP would enhance and not undermine NATO was the fact that Russia saw it as a wedge which might be used to divide the European members of NATO from the USA. Western analysts and policy makers sometimes react as if Russia’s hopes to use CESDP as a wedge were unnatural rather than simply unwelcome. They interpret it as a return to the Soviet past, or at least a sign of the potential danger that Russia might represent to European security. In fact, when faced by a perceived hostile and superior force, the rational response is to try to divide it. In other words, it would be unnatural if Russian policy makers did not try to divide what they perceive as a dangerous opposition. Moreover, it was not only the Soviet Union that used this tactic in the past.

66 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

It was used just as frequently by the West in its relationship with the Soviet bloc. The important point, however, is that wedge-driving is a rational response to a perceived hostile alliance. The way to prevent it, therefore, is to alleviate the perception of hostility that makes it a rational response. The EU’s assurances that the CESDP will complement NATO exacerbate Russia’s perception of exclusion from an enlarging hostile alliance rather than alleviate it. In other words, if the EU wishes to prevent wedge-driving on the part of Russia, it should put more effort into improving the relationship between NATO and Russia. One way in which it might do this is to use its good offices to reactivate the Russia—NATO Joint Council. It should also ensure that the determination expressed in section 3 of the EU’s Common Strategy on Russia, to ‘develop cooperation with Russia in the new European Security Architecture’,29 is translated into policy. EU assurances that the CESDP will complement NATO are not only intended to deter Russia from attempting to divide European NATO members from the USA, but also directed towards the USA. While the USA likes the fact that the CESDP might make Europe shoulder a fairer share of the Western defence burden, the idea that it could undermine NATO’s predominant role in European security is far from welcome. In fact, the USA and the Russian Federation have diametrically opposite reactions to the CESDP. The more the CESDP seems an alternative to NATO, the less welcome it is to the USA, and the more attractive it is to Russia—and vice versa. Since Europe itself is ambivalent—it wants to pull its international weight by having an effective CFSP, but fears that the USA might revert to a policy of isolationism and withdraw from NATO and Europe—the only way out of the general dilemma is to ensure that the relationship between NATO and Russia improves. President Putin has declared that there is nothing to prevent cooperation between Russia and NATO ‘if [Russia] is treated as an equal partner’.30 Treating Russia as an equal need not imply giving it a veto over Alliance policy, but it clearly requires doing more to ensure that Russia’s voice is heard within NATO than members have been prepared to do up to now. But both sides have to cooperate if the NATO-Russian relationship is to improve. President Putin and his government also have a responsibility to foster cooperation. They need, at least, to make a greater effort to understand the nature of the dilemma and the role they play in producing it. They might also recall the insights of Mikhail Gorbachev’s ‘new political thinking’, in particular, in relation to the effect Soviet rhetoric had on producing the ‘enemy images’ that underpinned the Cold War.31 Applying the precepts of Soviet ‘new political thinking’ to some of the more hard-line public statements about international relations (for example, those made by people such as Colonel-General Leonid Ivashov,

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 67

head of the International Relations Department of the Russian Ministry of Defence)32 might improve the opportunities for cooperation. EU, NATO and Russian policy makers, therefore, all have similar responsibilities with regard to cooperation. There can be no European security without Russia, nor is European security feasible without the USA. And since the US security role in Europe is enacted via NATO, all three sets of policy makers must concentrate on improving the cooperation between NATO and Russia. NOTES 1. This chapter is based on research conducted by Stephen White and John Löwenhardt in Russia in September (Moscow), and December (Kazan’) 1999. The research project, entitled The Outsiders: Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova and the New Europe’ (Project Grant L213252007), is part of the Economic and Social Science Research Council ‘One Europe or Several?’ programme. An earlier version of parts of this chapter appeared as Policy Paper 02/00 in the Policy Papers series of that 2. A ‘differentiated’ approach will be taken towards the pre-ins, which will take programme. account of each candidate’s progress towards meeting the criteria for membership. See Regular Report from the Commission on Progress towards Accession, 13 October 1999, IP/99/751, at www.europa.eu.int/comm/enlargement/report_10_99/intro/ index.htm (accessed 29 April 2000). 3. In conversation with three Russian journalists, Putin maintained that Russia would not want to be a member of NATO in its present form. However, if NATO were transformed into a primarily political organization, membership would be worth discussing. Ot pervogo litsa: Rasgovory s Vladimirom Putinym (Moscow, 2000), p. 159. 4. For Russia’s PCA agreement, see Official Journal of the European Communities (hereafter OJ) L 327, 28 November 1997. The EU’s Common Strategy on Russia is published in OJ L 15, 4 June 1999. For Russia’s Medium-term Strategy, see the Finnish Presidency, ‘Unofficial Translation by the Russian MFA of the “Medium-term Strategy for Development of Relations between the Russian Federation and the European Union (2000– 2010)” Presented by the Russian Side at the EU-Russia summit in Helsinki on 22 October 1999’ (hereafter ‘Medium-term Strategy’). Available at www.presidency.finland.fi/frame.asp (accessed 29 April 2000). 5. The text of the Founding Act can be found at NATO Handbook, 1998 edition. NATO On-line Library, www.nato.int/docu/handbook/1998/ v070.htm (accessed 29 April 2000). 6. We interviewed foreign policy elites; in other words, senior party officials, members of the Duma and Federal Council foreign policy committees; prominent businessmen, senior officials in key ministries. The participants of the focus groups, on the other hand, were ordinary people, of mixed gender, age and education. The full project will examine the effect of exclusion on

68 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

7.

8.

9.

10. 11.

12.

13.

14.

15. 16.

17.

Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova as well as on Russia. Apart from approximately 140 elite interviews in the four countries, data will be obtained from nationwide opinion surveys and 16 focus groups (including four among military personnel). These terms are used in Neil Malcolm, Alex Pravda, Roy Allison and Margot Light, Internal Factors in Russian Foreign Policy (Oxford, 1996) to categorize views about Russian foreign policy. They are used for convenience and are not intended as strict categories, since there are overlaps between them and some individuals change their views over time. A detailed blueprint of fundamentalist nationalist views is offered, for example, in Aleksei Podberezkin, Russkii put’, 4th edn (Moscow, 1999). Podberezkin was a candidate in the March 2000 presidential elections; he gained 0.13 per cent of the vote, coming tenth of the eleven candidates. For the liberal westernizer arguments about PfP, see the article by A.Konovalov and S.Oznobishchev in Segodnya, 26 March 1994. Aleksei Pushkov’s interview with Vladimir Lukin in Moskovskie novosti, no. 16, 1994, gives the pragmatic nationalist doubts. See also Alexander Sergounin, Post-Communist Security Thinking in Russia: Changing Paradigms, Copenhagen Peace Research Institute Working Papers, no. 4, 1997, p. 52. Opinion Analysis, Office of Research and Media Reaction, USIA, Washington, DC, 24 January 1997, M-12-97 and 27 May 1997, M-87-97. President Yeltsin’s remarks are quoted in Krasnaia zvezda, 28 May 1997; President Clinton’s Rose Garden speech appears in NATO, The US Mission, President Clinton Hails NATO-Russia Agreement. Available at www.nato.int/usa/president/s9705l4c. htm (accessed 1 November 1999). Boris Kazantsev, ‘Posledstviia rasshireniia NATO’, Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn’, nos. 11–12, 1997, p. 20. See also I.Maksimychev, ‘K kakim beregam plyvet Evropa’, Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn’, no. 10, 1997, pp. 29–36; P.Ivanov and B.Khalosha, ‘Rossiia-NATO: chto dal’she’, Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, no. 6, 1999, pp. 5–15; The Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation’, at www.gov.ru/main/ministry/ispvlast47.html (accessed 23 August 2000). The new strategic concept and the Membership Action Plan are published in The Reader’s Guide to the NATO Summit in Washington, 23–25 April 1999 (Brussels, 1999). These interviews were part of a project conducted by the European Institute for the Media that monitored the media coverage of the Russian parliamentary elections. The project was funded by the European Commission through the Initiative for Democracy and Human Rights. Dmitri Trenin, ‘Russia—EU Partnership: Grand Vision and Practical Steps’, in Russia on Russia, Moscow School of Political Studies, February 2000. Igor Leshoukov, Beyond Satisfaction: Russia’s Perspectives on European Integration, ZEI Discussion Paper C 26, 1998, Centre for European Integration Studies, Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universitat, Bonn. We are grateful to David Gowan for drawing our attention to this paper. From 1990 to 1995, the EU was the largest donor to the newly independent states (NIS). Russia was the largest NIS recipient, receiving 16.4 per cent of Official Development Assistance and 43.4 per cent of Technical Assistance.

RUSSIA AND THE DUAL EXPANSION OF EUROPE 69

18.

19. 20. 21. 22.

23. 24.

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31.

32.

See European Commission, ‘EU cooperation with the New Independent States and Mongolia’, at www.europa.eu.int/comm/dg1a/nis/intro/index.htm (accessed 30 April 2000). Total TACIS (Technical Assistance to the CIS) funding to Russia in 1991–1996 was Ecu 927.89 million. The indicative budget allocation for TACIS assistance to Russia for 1996–1999 was Ecu 0.6 billion. See European Commission, ‘TACIS Country Close-up: Russia’, at www.europa.eu.int/comm/dg1a/tacis/country_closeup/russia/ cc_russ_indic.htm (accessed 30 April 2000). V.Pozdniakov and S.Ganzha, ‘Novye strany na poroge Evropeiskogo soiuza’, Mezhdunarodnaia zhizn’, no. 3, 1999, pp. 37–44. On the EU’s Kaliningrad dilemma, see Lyndelle D.Fairlie, Will the EU use Northern Dimension to Solve Its Kaliningrad Dilemma?, Copenhagen Peace Research Institute Working Papers, no. 21, 1999. See ‘Medium-term Strategy’. We are extremely grateful to David Gowan for sharing both his sources on, and his understanding of, Russian perceptions of an expanded CFSP with us. ‘Medium-term Strategy’. ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti’, Sobranie zakonodatel’stva Rossiiskoi Federatsii, no. 2, 2000, pp. 691–704; ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 22 April 2000. Dmitrii Danilov, ‘Potentsial’nyi soiuznik Moskvy’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 47, 3–9 December 1999. The Rt Hon. Chris Patten, speech/99/174 to the WEU Council of Ministers Luxembourg, 23 November 1999; Javier Solana, The Development of a Common Foreign and Security Policy and the Role of the High Representative’, Danish Institute of International Affairs, Copenhagen, 11 February 2000; and see ‘Presidency Reports to the Helsinki European Council’, Bulletin EU, 12/1999. The Foreign Policy Concept’; ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii’. See Danilov, ‘Potentsial’nyi soiuznik Moskvy’, for the first views, and Trenin, ‘Russian-EU Partnership’, for the second. ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii’. Ibid. OJ L 15, 24 June 1999. Ot pervogo litsa, p. 159. See, for example, V.Petrovskii, ‘Doverie i vyzhivanie chelovechestva’, Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, no. 11, 1987, pp. 15– 26, and Shevardnadze’s speech at a conference of diplomats in Vestnik Ministerstva inostrannykh del SSSR, no. 15, 15 August 1988, pp. 27–46. In a speech to the Duma on 24 April 2000, Colonel-General Ivashov accused the USA of being behind the war in Chechnya and manoeuvring to thwart Russian military operations in Chechnya. Reported by BBC Monitoring International Reports from Interfax news agency, at www.globalarchive.ft.com/search-components/index.jsp (accessed 30 April 2000).

7 Russia’s Place in European Defence ALYSON J.K.BAILES1

The subject of this analysis may seem rather specialized, but I will try to develop it in a way which leads back to some of the larger issues of Russian security in Europe and which, ideally, might also help to illuminate them from a new perspective. My personal qualifications for addressing these issues are slight, especially as I am not in any sense a Russia expert. But there is one thing I can claim which is unusual if not unique: namely that I have worked in a western integrated institution, West European Union (WEU), which has never experienced the slightest problem with Russia, or vice versa.2 The only frustrations in Russia—WEU relations have arisen when one or both sides were not able to exploit the positive potential of the relationship as fully as they might have hoped. And this despite the fact that WEU’s activity has been focused on the linkage between two fields, defence and European integration, which have both in themselves been the source of frequent contradictions in relations between Russia and the West. Should we conclude that the relative weakness of WEU as an organization, notably the fact that it has never carried out any significant military operations, has simply left nothing to argue with Russia about? Or, as I would prefer to imagine, is there something about the concept of European defence, the actual combining of the notions of defence and of European identity, that opens the way for a more positive Russian response and a more mutually profitable solution? It would be important to know the right answer because European defence is about to become big business, taking a greater step forward than at any time since 1945. For 50 years it has remained an area of confusion and frustration because the Europeans themselves could not agree on what the concept really meant, whether it should be pursued inside or outside NATO, which Europeans should be allowed to take part in it, and so on. For ten years, from 1991 to 2001, WEU tried in its modest way to overcome, or at least reduce these contradictions. It has concentrated on preparing structures, plans and capabilities for Europeanled crisis management missions (‘non-Article V cases’ in NATO language) where there is no immediate clash of competence either with NATO’s collective defence work or with the EU’s political and economic responsibilities. It

RUSSIA’S PLACE IN EUROPEAN DEFENCE 71

has also tried to bring in the very widest range of interested countries so that no one has to feel excluded: thus WEU regularly works with a group of 28 west and central European democracies and has special relationships not just with Russia but also with Ukraine, Canada, Malta, Cyprus, Israel and six other non-EU Mediterranean states.3 But despite this good political and conceptual approach, WEU has not been allowed to lead any military operations; and the overall lack of success in getting Europeans to modernize their military capacities was exposed all too painfully in Kosovo in 1998 to 2000. As a short-term reaction to the Kosovo crisis but also, perhaps, because of a longer-term evolution that has now reached critical mass, the 15 countries of the EU decided in 1999 on a bold institutional change. The EU itself is going to become a defence organization, for the first time in its history, by acquiring everything it needs in order to carry out crisis management operations directly under its own command.4 At the time of writing, new EU committees created for this purpose have already been meeting for five weeks on a trial basis within the so-called second pillar;5 the first elements of an EU Military Staff have arrived in Brussels; and the EU’s Defence Ministers have agreed on a process for stimulating each other to make better military contributions so that in a couple of years’ time the EU should be able to put 60,000 well-trained and harmonized Rapid Reaction Forces (RRF) on the ground in as little as eight weeks.6 This is remarkable progress by the normal standards of the EU, but to place it in the correct perspective, it is worth underlining some important limitations. First, the members of the EU are not all going to exchange defence guarantees; they are only going to work together for non-Article V tasks in the service of the wider international community, and so the Union is not going to turn into anything like an alliance. Secondly, this is not going to be an area for fully standardized or juridically binding cooperation since every member of the EU will have a free choice whether to give military forces or not for any particular operation. Thirdly, for this same reason and also because of the unpredictability of crisis management tasks, the European forces to be used will not take the form of a standing army but will be put together to meet the specific needs of each operation, drawing on existing national and multinational formations which already wear a number of other ‘hats’. On the other hand, there are several respects in which the new EU initiative has a rather wide-ranging and even open-ended character. First, the spectrum of tasks that the EU may wish to carry out is the same that WEU has focused on since 1992 (the so-called Petersberg tasks). These are quite diverse, ranging from evacuation of European citizens in danger through many kinds of humanitarian operations, so-called traditional peacekeeping and pre-emptive deployments, even up to the possibility of ‘peace making’ where the task is suitable for European forces and the

72 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

necessary legal base available.7 The EU has not so far made clear whether it intends to put any geographical limit to the possible scope of such missions, saying only that it will act in response to ‘international crises’ and in accordance with the principles of the UN Charter. Secondly, the EU will have a much wider choice than NATO of instruments for intervention inasmuch as it could use paramilitary or nonmilitary elements like police, border controllers, aid workers or medical specialists for a part or even the whole of a specific European-led operation.8 At the same time, in any given crisis prevention or crisis management situation the EU is almost certain to be involved also as a diplomatic, political, economic and financial player. Consequently, it can directly harmonize its military action with these others and make sure the military element is always the servant of a broader European policy, not its master. Thirdly, the EU has already made clear that it intends to find ways of involving not just its own 15 members, but all the other Europeans who have been part of the WEU family, in its new defence work. The six nations who are in NATO but not the EU and the others who are applying to join both organizations will be offered the chance to help in three different ways: in the EU’s general preparations and planning for military tasks; in the execution of individual missions where they may be able to contribute forces; and in the assembling of the rapid reaction capabilities needed to meet the EU Headline Goal.9 What does all this mean for Russia? In what follows I will try to tackle this question from three different perspectives moving from the narrowest to the broadest and from the short to the longer term, as follows. (1) What will be Russia’s direct and practical involvement in the EU’s new defence activities? (2) What effects of importance for Russia could this EU initiative have on the present-day landscape of European and transatlantic security? (3) What longer-term perspectives could this open up for the linkage between the European integration process and Russia’s own destiny? RUSSIA’S INVOLVEMENT IN THE EU’S NEW DEFENCE ACTIVITIES Russia’s relationship with WEU in recent years has had a double focus: policy dialogue and practical cooperation. The former has involved highlevel visits by Russian officials and debates with the 28 nations of the WEU Council, including regular sessions with the ambassadors who head the Russian Mission in Brussels. The WEU’s Institute of Security Studies has also carried out major projects with the help of Russian experts, resulting in the publication of a detailed study on Russia—WEU relations.10 Practical cooperation is closely geared to the possibility of WEU operations being carried out with Russia’s support and/or participation. It has included the supply of Russian imagery to the WEU Satellite Centre,11 Russian

RUSSIA’S PLACE IN EUROPEAN DEFENCE 73

observation of a number of WEU crisis management exercises including the one held jointly with NATO in February 2000,12 and negotiations for a WEU—Russia framework agreement on the provision of long-haul airlift. Russia has also made known its interest in dialogue with WEU’s sister organization WEAG (Western European Armaments Group), which addresses the issues of European armaments policy.13 If Russia wishes to maintain the equivalent types of dialogue and contact with the EU after the Union takes over WEU’s crisis management responsibilities, the door on the European side would seem to be already open. The EU adopted in June 1999 a Common Strategy on Russia which included as one of its highest aims the joint effort for European stability and for global and European security.14 The detailed chapter of the Strategy on this subject mentions not only the possibility of dialogue, coordination of policies on the OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) and its activities, and joint policy initiatives for conflict prevention, arms control and disarmament, but specifically states that the EU will consider inviting Russia to take part when it carries out a crisis-management operation using WEU as its agent. It is logical to suppose that the same will be true when the EU starts carrying out such operations directly, and that the EU will then be just as interested as WEU has been in exploring the various practical modes of Russian support. It is hard, then, to imagine any problems arising in this specific shortterm context, assuming of course that Russia is content to accept the EU as the inheritor of WEU for this purpose. It should merely be noted that the exact timing of the handover is not yet certain: the EU expected to be politically ready to carry out the main part of the transition at the end of 2000, but did not exclude that the need for treaty amendment and/or complications of a purely practical nature might delay certain aspects of the transfer.15 The EU will probably prefer to take things in a logical sequence, namely to define first its internal decision-making structures and only then to define the precise modalities of cooperation for strategic dialogue partners such as Russia. So, to sum up, there is ground for confidence but perhaps a little need for patience on this front. EFFECT OF THE EU DEFENCE INITIATIVE ON RUSSIA My second question was about the impact of the European defence initiative on the larger security environment, and here it would be premature to give a clear and simple answer. I can perhaps best try to illuminate the issues involved by mentioning two interpretations which I think would not be correct. First, it would not be correct to see this as an anti-NATO initiative or something that implies a two-way split within the Atlantic community.

74 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Although some Americans have expressed such fears, WEU’s SecretaryGeneral Javier Solana has steadily told them that they are mistaken and he is well placed to know the truth, being also the EU’s High Representative for its new-style security and defence policy. After all, the EU took its key decisions in June 1999 in the middle of the Kosovo crisis where NATO was taking the lead and was receiving loyal support in doing so from both allied and non-allied Europeans. The Europeans know very well that they still need NATO, not just for carrying tough military operations of this kind but also to provide a guaranteed framework for US—European consultation and a barrier to any nationalistic tendencies among themselves. So the EU’s new initiative is in many ways remarkably ‘NATO-friendly’. It is still based on the idea of ‘dual use’ of European command structures and other valuable military assets developed within NATO; in other words, the EU would have the possibility, just as WEU has had up to now, of asking NATO to lend such assets for use under European command and EU political control in a specific operation. More generally, the EU’s approach is based on the idea of partnership, mutual reinforcement and complementarity with NATO since it specifies that the EU will lead operations only where NATO as an institution is not involved.16 And even in the field of improving defence capabilities the EU’s leaders have made clear that they want to achieve improvements that will enhance NATO’s strength as well, rather than allowing European nations to divert their efforts towards a conflicting or less demanding set of military requirements. It will be important for any country that wants to associate itself with the EU initiative to accept these political realities and to avoid any approach that creates unnecessary EU-NATO friction. NATO SecretaryGeneral Lord Robertson, when trying to explain the contradictions inherent in his job during the new age of USA-Europe relations, has used a graphic image by saying that he is quite capable of ‘riding two horses at once’.17 The Europeans will not thank anyone who tries to destroy their balancing act by shooting one of the two horses beneath them. On the other hand, it is quite clear that the EU does not intend to be either a subordinate to NATO or a kind of inferior copy of the Alliance. It will be a different type of defence player with a quite different set of strengths, including the possibility mentioned above of putting together integrated packages of military and non-military actions. It will reflect a distinct set of European interests, which do not have to be in conflict with Atlantic interests but may objectively differ from them, for example in the degree of priority and concern that the Europeans attach to certain risks, or in the precise type of military contribution that the Europeans’ culture, history and experience make it possible for them to offer.

RUSSIA’S PLACE IN EUROPEAN DEFENCE 75

In broader terms, as Solana has often stressed, acquiring defence competence will make the EU a more credible and capable global actor, better able to promote its specific interests both at the European and (when necessary) the world level. He sees this greater European strength as helping, among other things, to ensure that the Union can take full responsibility for its expanded territory as EU enlargement goes forward, because it will be better equipped to deal with all the crises and other possible dangers—apart from an old-style military attack—which might threaten that territory from outside. In these respects the EU initiative seems to fit well with the idea of a more multipolar world order in which groups of democratic states can legitimately play different roles and can serve the common cause of prosperity, peace and order in different ways. As former US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright said, and as many Europeans have been happy to quote: ‘We’—that is the USA and Europe—‘are cousins, not clones.’18 And as a final remark, if NATO can learn to live with the EU and respect it as an independent partner, this experience may also make it easier for ‘mutually reinforcing’ relationships to emerge between NATO and other strategic partners and institutions. The second incorrect interpretation would, however, be to push this analysis too far and to conclude that the EU will now become militarized, or that it could start to present some kind of strategic challenge or competition to its neighbours. Such concerns might be felt on the southern as well as the eastern borders of the EU, but it is hard to see any real foundation for them. The EU is in essence a peaceful organism which tries to build prosperity and democracy through a process of interdependent cooperation with partners both close to its borders and further away. It would be the first to suffer from any destabilization in the larger Europe and it has gone to some trouble to reassure its neighbours that its defence powers will only be used as a last resort, in accord with the principles of the UN Charter. Of course, the more successful the EU can be in building a framework for its neighbours and partners to participate directly in EU-led actions, the less reason those nations will have to misunderstand the nature of such operations or to fear that European strength could be used in improper ways. But even if there is not to be a militarization of EU policy, it is legitimate to hope that the new defence competence will lead to a certain ‘securitization’ of EU thinking: that is, a greater awareness by the EU of the security consequences of its actions and a greater readiness to combine and adjust its various policy instruments for overarching security goals. In particular, if EU enlargement is to be carried out with proper regard for everyone’s interests and with a positive net effect on stability, it will be important for the EU to understand the possible security implications and prepare constructive solutions for them. In south-eastern Europe, the EU’s

76 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Stability and Growth Pact initiative adopted at Amsterdam in June 1997 has shown some welcome signs of this security-conscious thinking. In the Nordic—Baltic region, the EU has already acknowledged that the expansion of its borders must take place in a way that respects the integrity of Russian territory and which, specifically, brings new advantages rather than new problems for Kaliningrad. As a general proposition I would suggest that the EU needs to give much more concrete support to regional networks which soften the future and present dividing line of the EU frontier, and that a security-based approach should lead it to give even greater attention to those networks that involve Russia—the Northern Dimension, the Barents region and Baltic Sea frameworks and the Black Sea Economic Cooperation.19 EFFECT OF THE EU DEFENCE INITIATIVE ON Russia—EU RELATIONSHIP The final question I raised is about how the longer-term Russia—EU relationship could be affected by bringing European defence into the equation. This means looking ahead into such an uncertain future that its implications can only be tackled by exploring another set of questions. First, what prospects is the EU already offering to Russia and how does Russia feel about taking them up? The EU’s Strategy document mentioned above talks not just about strategic partnership but also about the ‘integration of Russia into a wider area of cooperation in Europe’, as a way of ‘help[ing] Russia to assert its European identity’. It mentions the idea of a future free trade area between the EU and Russia—and an influential British academic, Charles Grant, has recently suggested that the terms of this economic relationship could be modelled on those of the present European Environment Agency agreement with Norway and Iceland, which implies a very close degree of integration indeed.20 In fact, about one-third of Russia’s external trade is already done with EU countries, and if we added to this Russia’s trade with Turkey and the central European countries who hope soon to join the EU, the proportion would rise to nearly one-half.21 Besides, many parts of Russia’s western territory are already quite involved in and influenced by patterns of regional trade and cooperation, such as joint infrastructure developments, which link them intimately with present or future members of the EU. So the idea of a larger Russia—EU trade community is not without a certain material foundation and some aspects of it might seem rather attractive for the EU as well, notably the market that would be offered by the huge Russian population and the prospect of being able to share in developing Russia’s great natural resources. (If combined with the EU entry of central and east European countries, it would also have the effect of giving Russia full and equal access again to their

RUSSIA’S PLACE IN EUROPEAN DEFENCE 77

markets, in a way that has not been possible since the end of the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance.) However, when we look at it in the cold light of today’s realities the achievement of this dream seems much more difficult and perhaps even doubtful. There is a big difference in economic and social conditions between Russia and western/central Europe, and the early imposition of free trade, let alone the free movement of persons and capital, would risk severe destabilization on both sides. Applying EU norms across the whole of Russian territory, even in the fields directly related to trade, such as competition policy and social and environmental standards, would be a frightening task. There is a further question that needs to be asked, about whether Russia really understands and accepts what it means to be part of an integration process in the European sense. It is true that Russian attitudes to the West include a strong element of wanting to ‘belong’, and a wish to take part fully and equally in the development of the rules of a free international community. It could also be argued that the EU offers a much better setting for Russia to try to fulfil this goal than NATO does, since the USA will not be involved, and since the European power structure is more balanced and fluid with obvious areas of strength on both the Russian and the EU sides. However—and this is a point on which the British are well qualified to speak—living in the EU style brings changes and demands sacrifices which are very hard to imagine when looking at it from the outside. It means exposing one’s national identity to a very intimate mixing process with a wide range of other European societies and cultures and with quite unpredictable results. It involves very specific and wide-ranging transfers of sovereignty—a sovereignty that in Russia’s case appears to have great political and psychological value and presumably would not be easy to surrender even in part. In the security field it puts constraints on the kinds of action that can be considered in defence of national interests, both internally and externally; and even if it does not involve formal guarantees it does bring a strong obligation of solidarity towards other EU members in trouble. As Austria has discovered recently, these EU common values and the common standards that they imply are not just a matter of theory but can lead to political reactions which, to any outside observer, would look very like interference by some EU members in other members’ internal affairs.22 Is life in such a promiscuous community really how Russia sees its future, and is Russia willing to pay the price that it will demand? Indeed, is the EU willing to ‘get into bed’ with Russia in the same spirit, and is it ready to contemplate the great changes in the balance of its own culture and identity which the incorporation of Russia—and a genuine adaptation to Russia’s needs and interests—would bring?

78 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

In case these questions are not difficult enough, I will end this analysis with four others, more specifically related to security, and looking further ahead into the possible new dynamics of EU-Russia relations: 1. Are current Western policies, including EU policies, on the use and transport of Eurasian oil and gas resources consistent with a future Russia—EU economic partnership and, specifically, with EU members’ own reliance on Russian gas and oil? Should European policy in this respect reflect different interests from those of the USA? 2. In the vision of an EU-Russia free trade area or of an even more fully integrated partnership, what would be the role of Russia’s CIS neighbours? Might the EU and Russia together be able to find the formula for voluntary, mutually profitable and durable cooperation with all these states which neither the EU nor Russia could perhaps find today on its own? What would Russia’s attitude be if these neighbours also want to establish cooperative links with the EU’s new defence identity, as Ukraine has done already? 3. Will the EU’s new defence responsibilities in crisis management gradually lead the Union to adopt more distinctive and stronger positions on issues of arms control, export control and nonproliferation, and if so, are these positions likely to strengthen or to complicate the EU’s strategic partnership with Russia? 4. Do the EU and Russia have conflicting, complementary or parallel security interests towards such neighbours as Iran, Afghanistan, India and China, and towards the Asian and Pacific regions as a whole? Could any deeper involvement of Russia in the European integration process bring lessons and possible new solutions for the organization of multinational security structures involving Russia in these other geographical regions? And if not, how difficult would it be for Russia to exist with a strengthened security community on its western border while having to play by a different and more old-fashioned set of rules towards the east and south? NOTES 1. The statements in this chapter are made in a purely personal capacity. 2. Western European Union, originating from the Brussels Treaty of 1948 and modified Brussels Treaty of 1954, is a European defence organization with ten full member states: Belgium, France, Germany, Greece, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Portugal, Spain and the UK. 3. In addition to its full members, the WEU offers wide-ranging involvement in its policy-making work and activities to associate members (Czech Republic, Hungary, Iceland, Norway, Poland, Turkey), five observers (Austria,

RUSSIA’S PLACE IN EUROPEAN DEFENCE 79

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

Denmark, Finland, Ireland, Sweden) and seven associate partners (Bulgaria, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia). The EU’s efforts to develop a Common European Security and Defence Policy (CESDP), involving policy-making work within the ‘second pillar’ of the Union (in conjunction with the the Common Foreign and Security Policy) and the identification/enhancement of both military and paramilitary intervention capabilities, were formally launched at the Pörtschach European Council meeting at the end of 1998. Principles and structural arrangements for the new policy were worked out in stages and published notably in the conclusions of the European Councils at Cologne (3–4 June 1999) and Helsinki (10–11 December 1999). The Helsinki European Council decided that, on full activation of the CESDP machinery at the end of 2000, the key deliberative bodies below Council of Ministers level would be a new Political and Security Committee manned by ambassadors of the 16 member states permanently located in Brussels and a European Military Committee meeting occasionally at Chiefs of Defence Staff level but normally manned by senior military representatives. Interim versions of these two bodies began meeting on a trial basis in Brussels from early May 2000. The EU’s global target for a military intervention capability was defined at the Helsinki European Council under the name of a Headline Goal. A Capabilities Commitment Conference, where each EU nation declared its national contribution to this pool of politically deployable troops, took place in November 2000 (under the French EU presidency). The range of non-Article V ‘Petersberg tasks’ was defined in the WEU’s Ministerial Declaration issued at Petersberg near Bonn on 19 June 1992. The EU incorporated the same wording, as an indication of the range of European operations for which it might wish to take political responsibility, in Article 17 of the Treaty of Amsterdam, agreed upon on 17 June 1997 and signed on 2 October 1997. The Helsinki European Council decided to launch work in 2000 on identifying the range of non-military (notably police) capabilities that might be required for Petersberg-type missions under EU command. The aim is to set a Headline Goal for such forces and identify national contributions, in the same fashion as the military goals mentioned above. The conclusions of the Feira European Council on 19–20 June 2000 set out modalities for consultation with, and practical contributions by, a total of 15 interested non-EU states in connection with the EU CESDP. The overall framework will cover all central and east European states recognized as applicants to the EU, plus Cyprus and Malta, and plus Norway and Iceland, which are not applying for EU membership but are members of NATO. Within the framework, the six European non-EU Allies (Czech Republic, Hungary, Iceland, Norway, Poland, Turkey) will have somewhat more frequent consultations and some additional rights, notably concerning the right to join in EU operations which make use of NATO assets and capabilities. Consultations in these various formats were launched on an experimental basis, using the provisional EU organs established in May 2000, in the weeks immediately following the Feira meeting.

80 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

10. Dmitri Danilov and Stephan de Spiegeleire, ‘From Decoupling to Recoupling: A New Security Relationship between Russia and Western Europe’, Chaillot Paper No. 31, WEU Institute Paris, April 1998. Available at www.weu.int/ institute 11. The WEU Satellite Centre, sited at Torrejon in Spain, is a subordinate organ of WEU devoted to the analysis of space-based imagery, which it can obtain both from satellites owned by WEU countries (e.g. Helios) and from others (Russia, India, Ukraine among others). 12. NATO-WEU joint crisis management exercise CMX/CRISEX, 17–23 February 2000. Observer status for the exercise was granted to Russia, Ukraine, NATO’s and WEU’s Mediterranean dialogue partners and certain other Partnership for Peace nations. 13. The Western European Armaments Group, established in 1993 to promote European armaments collaboration, is linked with WEU but has a different membership structure and procedures (WEU’s ten full members plus Denmark, Norway, Turkey). 14. Common Strategy of the European Union on Russia, adopted at the Cologne European Council, 4 June 1999. 15. The European Council held at Nice in December 2000 confirmed the EU’s assumption of its new defence responsibilities, made final provision for the close-down of WEU’s former crisis management work (leaving WEU with only its residual Article V competence), and in the process clarified such matters as any requirement for EU treaty amendment. 16. Formula used in the Helsinki European Council statement. 17. Quoted by Lord Robertson at several press conferences in early 2000. 18. Speech by Secretary Albright at the opening of the US Mission to the EU’s new Chancery building, 10 March 2000. Available at www.useu.be/issues/ useu0310.html 19. Charles Grant, ‘How to Help Russia’, Centre for European Reform (CER) Bulletin, February–March 2000. 20. Ibid. 21. From OECD trade statistics 1997. 22. The reference is to the political sanctions applied by other EU members against Austria in spring 2000 following the formation of an Austrian government coalition including Jörg Haider’s neo-fascist party.

8 Russian Strategic Uncertainty in an Era of US Tactical Intrusiveness ALVIN Z.RUBINSTEIN

From a geostrategic perspective, the USA’s national interest in Europe is basically the same today as it was at the beginning of the twentieth century: to ensure that no single power dominates the European continent. This may not have been a crucial determinant of US involvement in the First World War, but it was certainly at the heart of US policy in the Second World War, and again in the post-1945 period, as well as throughout the era of bipolarity and rivalry between the USA and Soviet Union. Once the Cold War ended in December 1991, a dramatically different geostrategic environment was ushered in—or so it seemed at the time. In the early 1990s, the international environment in many ways resembled that of the 1920s. None of the major powers was faced by a serious military threat or by a polarizing ideological or military adversary. As in the 1920s, this was the start of an era of assorted transitions in Europe, east Asia and the Middle East in the wake of collapsed empires, while the major powers preferred to look inwards to domestic challenges, with an attendant desire to downgrade foreign policy. The USA had ‘won’ the Cold War or, as some have argued, the Soviet Union had ‘lost’ the Cold War. The important outcome was that, geostrategically, the USA could dominate the slowly emerging acentric international system and influence its evolution much more effectively than it had been able to. In fact, if the USA had continued to operate within a status quo NATO, it could have promoted security, reform and cooperation for all the nation-states of Europe; it could have decisively shaped both Europe’s security architecture and its political attitudes. Instead, Washington opted for the expansion of NATO. The determining arguments for NATO enlargement had little or nothing to do with the US national interest; little to do with a coherent US strategy for Europe and Eurasia; and little to do with advancing global security and interests. The mistake has already been made—as an assessment of the worsening strategic relationship between the USA and Russia will demonstrate. Still, strategy and the US national interest are continually under review, and given the capacity of domestically driven foreign policy moves to compound mistakes into follies, there are grounds for deep concern over

82 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

the possibility of further expansion—that is, a second wave that might include the Baltic States, Slovakia, Slovenia and Romania, among others. NATO enlargement has quite possibly destroyed the best chance the international system had for a protracted period of peace and security cooperation. George Kennan’s prescient words, written of a different era, nonetheless resonate for our situation: ‘Once again, as so often in the course of these rapidly moving events, Washington—troubled, hesitant, and ill-informed—had spoken, reluctantly, into the past.’1 Nothing better exemplifies Washington’s post-Cold War mishandling of its relationship with Russia than NATO enlargement. First, by ramming NATO enlargement through in haste, the USA lost the opportunity to fashion an acceptable Pax Americana-type domination over the entire European continent. NATO enlargement has repolarized the European security environment. In 1992, conditions in Europe (including Eurasia) were conducive to a security and peace that had at its centre a USA that could provide guarantees to all countries on the continent: not only was there a functional hegemon, the USA, which did not covet any country’s territory, but no country had any prospect of challenging or supplanting the US position and role of manager, arbiter and benign superpower. Moreover, the non-NATO countries (small as well as large, weak as well as strong, and vulnerable as well as secure) had a rare chance to look inwards to develop viable institutions and promote democratization and development: indeed, the vision of a ‘common European home’, to which the Soviet Union’s Mikhail Gorbachev had aspired, was not an impossible dream. NATO enlargement has upset this short-lived equilibrium among the interdependent countries on the continent, to the detriment of US strategic interests. The USA purports to seek security and stability, but these are mutually reinforcing phenomena only in a condition of essential equilibrium, not in conditions of change. The expansion of NATO to the east changed the calculus of power and the network of inter-relationships. The admission of Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary enhanced their security, but not the security (or stability) of all European states. NATO’s enlargement was perceived by Russia to be anti-Russian in character and aim. And there is little doubt that anti-Russian sentiment—undisguised or implicit—did permeate the American Senate’s hearings on NATO enlargement held in October and November 1997. All advocates of enlargement made it very clear that excluding Russia from membership was essential and inevitable for the indefinite future. As they defined Europe, Russia was beyond the pale. Fear of Russia served as a surrogate for a convincing strategic rationale—which was never offered or effectively explained. The second consequence of NATO enlargement is the growing estrangement of Russia from the USA (somewhat modified by the events of

RUSSIAN STRATEGIC UNCERTAINTY 83

11 September 2001). NATO enlargement has had chilling effects on Russian-American relations. It has reopened a psychological and political divide. The Soviet Union’s implosion at the end of December 1991 pushed the frontiers of Russia in Europe back to where they had been in the early seventeenth century. Territorially shorn of a forward position in the heart of Europe, Russia became a militarily diminished power. Nonetheless, in 1992, under Boris Yeltsin, the most pro-Western ruler Russia had ever known, the ‘Westernizers’ in the Russian elite—and the reformers—held sway; and their aim was Russia’s acceptance in the common European home. NATO enlargement squelched all of these Russian diplomatic, political, military and cultural aspirations. The rhetoric of partnership spouted periodically at summit meetings is just that: Moscow does not believe it. (If the USA still views Castro’s Cuba as an enemy, what must Moscow think of the USA?) Thirdly, NATO enlargement unwisely altered the calculus of Germany’s position in an evolving Europe. By ending Germany’s position as a border state and placing it once again at the centre of Europe, NATO enlargement is likely, in time, to rekindle adversarial and competitive relationships between Germany and France and between Germany and Russia and, in the process, complicate the possibility of a prolonged period of peace in Europe, which is a prime US objective and which may require a greater US commitment, indefinitely, and involving considerably more resources than would have been necessary in the absence of enlargement. Already the most powerful country in western Europe and the EU’s dominant member, within a decade or two Germany should regain the position of economic and industrial power that it had on the eve of the First and Second World Wars. Central and eastern Europe will be more firmly under Germany’s economic and political influence than they already are. Indeed, the opposition in Poland and the Czech Republic fears that by joining the EU the way would be open for Germans to buy up former German lands. Another likely consequence of NATO enlargement will be to diminish the relative importance of France and the UK in the alliance. Bitter French criticisms of US hegemony are, in part, veiled hints of French displeasure with Germany’s increasing tilt towards the USA. Enlargement answered Germany’s complex Eastern Problem, which has three facets: the vulnerability of its borders to unwanted migrations from eastern Europe and the countries of the former Soviet Union; the psychological feeling that Germans have of continuing ‘to live at a frontline’; and the sense that Germany should not again be squeezed between two adversarial blocs but should take ‘its natural geographic place, which is in the center of Europe, not at an artificial borderline of European subregions’.2 But was it strategically in the US national interest? The USA wants strong allies—but not too strong, lest this result in an independent policy line not in the US interest. A bit of anxiety is not necessarily bad, for

84 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

nations as for individuals; it can spur cooperation and accommodation. From Washington’s perspective, Germany’s uneasiness over its eastern border reinforced its deference as a NATO ally and its need for a continuing prominent American presence. Empathetic and astute observers of German policy and cultural angst worry that nationalism rather than Europeanism are beginning to surface in Germany’s approach to the countries of central and western Europe. While not believing that history must repeat itself, they foresee inevitable tensions which will require Germany to act with exceptional self-restraint. The distinguished historian of German history and politics Fritz Stern, when visiting Germany in early 2000, also spoke of a need for German restraint. Where once the talk had only been of Europe and détente, today, he noted, there is a ‘new vocabulary of interests, great European power, and influence’.3 Fourthly, NATO enlargement has already adversely affected progress in arms control negotiations. Most analysts would, I think, agree that a close, comprehensive and constructive military relationship with Russia is a primary US security interest. Notwithstanding straitened circumstances and a diminished conventional weapons capability, Russia remains a nuclear superpower. Only the USA is equipped to deal effectively with Russia on a range of critical nuclear and nuclear-related issues. Russia’s nuclear condition is more worrisome now than it was during the Cold War. The problems are many: less reliable command and control systems; the vulnerability to theft and tampering of nuclear stockpiles; the sale of nuclear technologies to such countries as China, Iran and India; the growing danger of nuclear accidents and pollution in a deteriorating social and security environment in Russia; and, exacerbating and complicating all of this, is the stasis in START II negotiations, which stemmed from the Duma’s anger at NATO’s expansion in the east. Starting in late 1996, Russian publications revealed a bitter hostility to NATO, whose expansion was widely compared to Nazi Germany’s Drang nach Osten, with the communist press caricaturing NATO SecretaryGeneral Javier Solana’s ‘assurance in the form of a smiling boa constrictor’.4 The conviction that the USA and Germany were conniving to acquire unchallenged supremacy over the world was shared by both communists and non-communist nationalists. Aleksei Arbatov criticized the USA for treating Russia as a defeated power. For him, NATO was the cause of what had gone awry in Russian-American relations: ‘NATO’s expansion to the east [was] undoubtedly a turning point in relations between Russia and the West in the post-Cold-War period.’5 START II may eventually be ratified by the Duma, but the character and degree of cooperation originally envisaged and needed to ensure full and expeditious compliance is a new uncertainty. START III is problematical. Moreover, all signed arms control treaties are on the block, awaiting

RUSSIAN STRATEGIC UNCERTAINTY 85

Washington’s decision on ballistic missile defence (BMD). As a result of NATO’s Kosovo war, the Russian military has emphatically committed to a first use’ doctrine of nuclear response, ‘in the event of need to repulse armed aggression, if all other measures of resolving the crisis situation have been exhausted and have proven ineffective’. Acting President Vladimir Putin formally issued the national security blueprint (kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti) of the Russian Federation in January 2000.6 Fred C.Ikle’, Undersecretary of Defence for Policy in the Reagan administration and a highly respected strategic thinker, has proved to be right. In testimony before the House Committee on National Security on 17 July 1997, he not only expressed his concern that NATO enlargement would complicate further efforts to proceed with nuclear downsizing, but he stressed his fear that, in managing NATO enlargement, Washington would be diverted from pressing ahead with Russia on much higherpriority nuclear issues. He noted: There is only so much time in high level meetings to cover multiple agendas. The nuclear issues that require Russian action are so important, so overarching, that we must focus on them all our leverage and influence with Moscow, all the “carrots and sticks” that we can command for this continuing negotiation with the Russian authorities.’7 In the field of arms control, as in other areas and on other issues, the USA should avoid the triumphant notion that there is nothing Russia can do to prevent NATO’s further expansion. The essential concern is not what Russia will do but rather what it will not do. Fifthly, NATO enlargement has been justified on grounds that it will strengthen the alliance, that the ‘gains decisively outweigh the burdens’. Yet, historically, no alliance has strengthened itself by embracing weak, dependent, resource-poor, geographically vulnerable new members, none of whom is in immediate or remotely foreseeable danger of attack by any power. In its present geographical and military position, the USA does not need the territory, know-how or capability offered by the countries of central and eastern Europe. Nor is the security of any other NATO country significantly enhanced by the three new members, whose defence only adds unnecessarily to every NATO country’s burden. As Michael Mandelbaum and others have argued, at a time when Europe is at peace and secure, NATO seems bent not on downsizing military establishments and building on the existing series of arms limitation agreements, but on upsetting the unparalleled strategic stability that it has enjoyed since the end of the Cold War.8 More disturbing, if President Clinton’s statement that ‘NATO first [new] members should not be its last’, is borne out, there is even more trouble ahead. Against this background, Russian suspicion was further heightened in January 1998, when the US-Baltic Charter was signed in Washington. The Charter involves no binding commitments on the USA, but it enables Washington to sidestep the issue of the next tranche, even while

86 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

reaffirming its pledge to keep NATO’s door open. In trying to alleviate the disappointment of the Baltic States, the US may be opening the way for a new administration to push enlargement in response to domestic electoral considerations, even though there is no strategic case. During a three-day visit to Estonia in late January 2000, Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott defined the fate of the Baltic States as ‘a litmus test for the fate of the entire continent’, and assured these countries that the USA would support them to become secure, stable, prosperous democracies integrated into Euro-Atlantic structures.9 Reading public statements and speeches of what US officials asseverate to Russian audiences on NATO’s benign purposes is to wander into the world of Orwellian doublespeak and obscurantism. Sixthly, unfortunately for strategic stability, the coincidence of NATO enlargement and NATO’s projection of military power in out-of-area matters, that is, in regions lying beyond NATO’s mandate, has sounded alarm bells not just in Russia, but in China, India and other countries as well. In the past, divergent national interests and ambitions around NATO’s vast southern flank have caused serious intra-Alliance tensions. In 1956 there was the Suez crisis; in the mid-1960s and again in 1974 there were Turkish-Greek tensions over Cyprus; in the late 1960s and 1970s, the ArabIsraeli conflict; in the late 1970s and 1980s, the west Europeans’ tilt towards Arab positions on peacemaking and towards the Palestinians, lax commercial and political relations with Libya and an accommodating approach to Iran; in April 1986 the refusal of France and Spain to grant US bombers based in Britain over-flight privileges to attack targets in Libya in reprisal for Qaddafi’s terrorist action against American servicemen in Berlin. When Yugoslavia imploded in 1991–92, Bosnia precipitated acrimony and bitterness within NATO. At first, the west Europeans, feeling confident in their ability to manage the situation, sought to develop a common approach. However, they soon realized their military limitations and dependence on the USA for logistical, intelligence and combat support. With their sense of ineptness came a growing resentment at Washington’s equivocation. That mood was aggravated, especially in Paris, by Washington’s often high-handed behaviour, as illustrated by its lack of consultation on the timetable for NATO enlargement, the surprise announcement by Secretary of Defense William Cohen that American troops would be withdrawn from Bosnia by 30 June 1998 (an announcement subsequently retracted), and rejection of the view of a majority of NATO’s leaders at Madrid in July 1997 in favour of membership for Slovenia and Romania (as well as for Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary).10

RUSSIAN STRATEGIC UNCERTAINTY 87

The high expectations for the US-cobbled Dayton Accords of December 1995 have steadily dropped, and American troops in Bosnia have no exit strategy—and there are pathetically few signs that the objective of the recreation of a multi-ethnic, multi-religious, democratic Bosnia is realizable: a ‘politically correct’ policy for Bosnia seems beyond even the American capability of demonstrating its capacity for social engineering; meanwhile, the costs continue to rise, far exceeding initial US administration estimates. Compared with Bosnia, Kosovo has spawned even more doleful strategic consequences for the US policy of pushing NATO into assuming out-ofarea roles for which the Alliance was never intended. The full force of NATO’s military power was directed against Serbia on 24 March 1999, after Serbia refused to accept a NATO demand for NATO-led supervision of the Serbian province of Kosovo in order to protect the Albanians living there. Clinton unleashed NATO’s air power (mostly US planes), expecting an early capitulation. Instead, the Serbs resisted stubbornly. On 7 May 1999, US planes mistakenly bombed the Chinese Embassy in Belgrade, evoking sharp criticisms from Beijing of USA’s hegemonic ambitions, alltoo-free recourse to military means to get its way, and failure to bring the matter first to the UN Security Council. On 10 June 1999, President Clinton reported to the nation that ‘the Serb army and police are withdrawing from Kosovo. We have achieved a victory for a safer world, for our democratic values and for a stronger America.’11 Critics remain unconvinced. They continue to believe that the war was avoidable. They contend (1) that the USA could have fashioned a political settlement by working through the UN Security Council in March, as it was eventually required to do in June, in order to obtain the diplomatic legitimacy to accompany its triumph on the battlefield; (2) that a willingness to accept Serbian sovereignty over Kosovo at Rambouillet in March 1999, as the UN did in June, might have led Serbian President Milosevic to grant the Albanians official autonomy; and (3) that Clinton’s recourse to NATO and a unilateralist policy was reinforced by his belief in the US role as ‘the indispensable nation’, which demonstrated just how far he had departed from his early commitment to multilateralism and constructive engagement. The main point to be emphasized here is that NATO’s overwhelming use of power against a small country lying outside NATO’s sphere has had adverse repercussions for US relations with Russia, China and the UN. Carl von Clausewitz warned of the need always to take account of the unpredictable that occurs in ‘the fog of war’ and to remember that war can never be separated from political intercourse. The consequences of NATO’s pummelling of Serbia and occupation of Kosovo are 40,000 NATO troops bogged down in an occupation without an exit strategy; costs for reconstruction and development that are not forthcoming from western Europe or the USA; an aggravation of US—Russian relations;

88 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Russia’s position that it is more justified in its application of disproportionate force against the rebels in Chechnya than NATO was in attacking Serbia; western Europe’s uneasiness over its dependence on the USA; and a new arms race as other powers seek to enhance their military capability to offset the technological and logistical prowess displayed by the USA in Kosovo. In retrospect, the strategic consequences for the US— Russian relationship seem likely to intensify their re-emerging adversarial relationship. Seventhly, inevitably, NATO enlargement and NATO’s savage destruction of Serbia’s civilian infrastructure (which, it must be noted, went far beyond the destruction wreaked on Saddam Hussein’s Iraq over the past decade) have served to focus the Russian military’s attention on security issues in ways that do not augur well for irenic cooperation in building cooperative security in Europe. In the post-Yeltsin era, any Russian leader is likely to proceed on the assumption that the USA is the prime adversary of and threat to Russian interests; and he may be expected to engage in skilful manoeuvering and adept use of a variety of often contradictory tactics to safeguard and advance Russian foreign policy interests. Eighthly, NATO’s Partnership for Peace (PfP) activities in Transcaucasia and central Asia heighten Russia’s sense of beleaguerment. An adjunct of NATO enlargement, PfP’s intrusiveness is interwoven with the competition for control of oil and natural-gas pipelines and reserves in the region, with the result that there seems to be emerging a new ‘Great Game’ in Eurasia, involving Russia, the USA, Iran and Turkey. NATO’s intrusiveness is easily catalogued: in September 1997, for example, US-led military exercises were held with Kazakh-Kyrgyz-Uzbek forces; in October 1997, the then US ambassador to NATO, Robert Hunter, visited Azerbaijan and Georgia for discussions on PfP programmes and NATO-sponsored activities to be held on the territory of these two nations; and in October 1998 the then Secretary-General of NATO, Javier Solana, spoke in Tbilisi of NATO’s interest in making the region’s security environment congenial for investment and development and described the region as part of EuroAtlantic security space.12 For his part, Georgian President Eduard Shevardnadze, who, has been courting NATO in order to offset Russian pressures for military bases, speaks openly of his intention to apply for NATO admission at the earliest opportunity.13 And in late December 1999, after a visit to NATO headquarters, Azerbaijan’s Foreign Minister announced his country’s interest in applying for membership; in the meantime, Azerbaijan’s parliament has approved a status of forces agreement with NATO, and Azerbaijan dispatched its first peacekeeping contingent (a platoon) to the NATO-led operation in Kosovo. Is this all symbolism? Too much can perhaps be made of these various activities. But Russian military planners see them through a prism of suspicion as

RUSSIAN STRATEGIC UNCERTAINTY 89

attempts by NATO to build outposts of influence all along Russia’s vulnerable southern periphery. To the extent that Moscow views NATO’s activism in the region as a quest for strategic advantage, and not just for strategic denial, its hostility and worst-case interpretations must be expected. Finally, how an enlarged NATO is to handle Russia is still an open question. In his speech at West Point on 31 May 1997, President Clinton insisted that NATO enlargement would strengthen the Alliance; that it would ‘provide a secure climate where freedom, democracy, and prosperity can flourish’; that NATO would encourage prospective members to resolve their differences peacefully; and that NATO enlargement together with PfP would erase ‘the artificial line in Europe that Stalin drew and bring Europe together in security, not keep it apart in insecurity’.14 Russia’s President Vladimir Putin is an uncertain factor in the future of the overall US—Russian relationship. For the moment, however, at least in the realm of foreign policy, it is clear that he is a nationalist, a statist and a pragmatist. Eager to improve relations with the EU, and especially with Germany, his policy towards Yugoslavia has been geared towards Europe rather than the USA. For example, Putin was quick to embrace the electoral defeat of Slobodan Milosevic; to send the Russian Foreign Minister to urge Milosevic to accept the verdict of the Serbian people and not resist the turnover of administrations; and to recognize the new government of Vojislav Kostunica. In the uncertain Balkan politicaldiplomatic arena, Putin will try to exploit west European uneasiness over the US approach to such issues as National Missile Defence, the ABM treaty and further expansion of NATO in order to pursue Russia’s objectives on the continent. NOTES 1. George F.Kennan, Russia Leaves the War (Princeton, NJ, 1956), p. 517. 2. Reinhardt Rummel, The German Debate on International Security Institutions’, in Marco Carnovale (ed.), European Security and International Institutions after the Cold War (New York, 1995), p. 187. 3. Roger Cohen, ‘A Peacemaker for the Germans’, New York Times, 8 January 2000, p. B9. 4. J.L.Black, Russia Faces NATO Expansion: Bearing Gifts or Bearing Arms? (Lanham, MD, 2000), p. 64. 5. Ibid., p. 95. 6. ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 1, 14–20 January 2000. 7. Statement by the Honorable Fred C.Ikle’ before the Committee on National Security, US House of Representatives, Washington, DC, 17 July 1997.

90 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

8. Michael Mandelbaum, The Dawn of Peace in Europe (New York, 1996), passim. 9. As quoted in Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 21, 31 January 2000, p. 3. 10. For example, see R.W.Apple, Jr, ‘Clinton on His Foreign Policy: A Rosetinted World’, New York Times, 18 December 1997, p. A12. 11. ‘Clinton’s Remarks on Balkan War’, New York Times, 11 June 1999. 12. See ‘The South Caucasus: Solana in Tbilisi’, Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, 4, no. 180, 1 October 1998, p. 3. 13. ‘Shevardnadze Winds Up Landmark Visit to the US’, Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 3, no. 142, 22 July 1997, p. 4; see also ‘Georgia Knock-KnockKnocking at NATO’s Door’, ibid., vol. 6, no. 5, 7 January 2000. 14. See www.pub.whitehouse.gov

Part III: A Northern Passage

9 Opportunities and Challenges for Russia in the Nordic—Baltic Region PAVEL K.BAEV

INTRODUCTION During the transition of power from its first president to his hand-picked successor, Russia appeared to waver at various crossroads in its internal transformation and external orientation. Hard choices with high-risk factors were awaiting decisions from President Vladimir Putin in almost every political direction except one. The vast north-western area looked remarkably uncomplicated and problem-free, while offering some attractive cooperative options. But in fact the scale of hidden security challenges in this region is no smaller than in the Caucasus, and some of them even have the potential of acquiring truly catastrophic proportions. In the Nordic—Baltic area Russia is most firmly anchored to the emerging new European security order through well-developed institutional frameworks. Russia’s north-west has traditionally been its ‘window to Europe’ and it now offers a natural interface with welldeveloped cross-border links. The potential for violent conflicts in this area is by far the lowest around Russia’s borders; recurrent tensions in its relations with the three Baltic States have reliable channels for resolution, while the brewing internal crisis in Belarus has little impact on the BalticNordic neighbourhood. Sustained reductions of armed forces in the area, and particularly the massive cuts in Russian defence structures, have in essence led to the demilitarization of the regional security agenda. The new Russian leadership shows interest in exploring the emerging opportunities for expanded cooperation in the area; Russian regional leaders also recognize their European interests. The dilemma of East-West appears irrelevant for Russia’s prospects in this direction; the soul-searching Eurasian ideas do not seem to make much sense here. However, one issue that has the potential for escalating into a major political crisis and blocking cooperation in many fields is the next round of NATO enlargement. Even without artificial urgency and deliberate prioritization, this issue looms in the background of many

OPPORTUNITIES IN THE NORDIC—BALTIC REGION 93

international initiatives and poisons the political atmosphere. Two unfortunate results of this hidden and postponed crisis are the poor military-to-military contacts and the hugely inadequate attention paid in the West to the increasing problems of Russia’s vast nuclear arsenal in the Far North.1 The aim of this chapter is to examine the unique combination of opportunities and risks for Russia and its Western partners in the Nordic— Baltic area. It starts by examining the various institutional frameworks in the area, focusing particularly on the new cooperative agenda with the EU. It then looks into the potential crisis that a new wave of NATO enlargement could cause. Priorities of the Russian leadership, personified as the ‘Putin factor’, are evaluated. Lastly, it presents the extraordinary risks related to Russia’s poor maintenance of its nuclear structures in the region. INSTITUTIONAL FRAMEWORKS AND THE NEW COOPERATIVE AGENDA The Nordic—Baltic area is unique in its wealth of various institutional frameworks which, unlike in some other European sub-regions, actually work and perform useful functions.2 Russia is an active member of the Baltic Sea Cooperation Council and the Barents Euro-Arctic Initiative, both launched at the beginning of the 1990s.3 Since these institutions have provided for the sustained development of economic, cultural and political ties, in 1997 and early 1998 it appeared possible that Russia would be able to achieve a breakthrough towards a deep engagement with qualitatively stronger links to northern Europe, overcoming the numerous controversies in its relations with the three Baltic states.4 That opportunity was missed in essence owing to the poor state of the Russian economy, which led to, and was much aggravated by, the August 1998 financial crash. This massive and sudden crisis showed very clearly the limited effectiveness of the available institutional structures for dealing with Russian-scale disasters and their meagre potential for further development both in the economic area (since Russian markets contracted so greatly) and in the political sphere (since Russian politics became introverted).5 The Russian leadership, faced with impending double elections (parliamentary and presidential, with the gubernatorial elections not far off) which were liable to bring about a massive redistribution of power, generally lost interest in the Nordic—Baltic area. While promising new opportunities had started to emerge there, they required hard and sustained work—and promised results only in the medium term. Finland, since joining the EU in 1995, had been planning an initiative that would channel the Union’s activities towards the Baltic States and north-western Russia. The initiative, named the Northern Dimension, was announced by

94 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Prime Minister Lipponen in September 1997 in order to prepare the ground for launching it as a major EU programme during the Finnish presidency in the second half of 1999.6 Russia was presented with ample opportunities to participate in designing and focusing specific projects within this framework, but appeared slow and inattentive. Nevertheless, by the end of the 1990s the increased activity of the EU in the Nordic—Baltic region had made it the major actor there with much more influence, resources and dynamism than all the other institutional frameworks combined. Many EU-supported cross-border projects have been launched involving Russian participants mostly on regional and local levels.7 Significantly, Russian economic relations with the three Baltic states had shown stability and growth throughout the 1990s, despite occasional political rows and scandals (such as with Latvia in spring 1998).8 Without going into too much detail on economic interactions (addressed in Chapter 10 by Ingmar Oldberg), we can take it for granted that north-western Russia has the best opportunities for direct foreign investment (and not just ‘adventure capital’ flocking to Moscow), for productive cross-border contacts, and for external aid focused on the most urgent societal problems.9 The region that has best been able to use these new opportunities during the past few years has been the Novgorod oblast, where reform-oriented leadership has succeeded in creating an investor-friendly climate. Karelia has developed useful skills in exploiting Finnish interest in launching joint projects, without provoking any ‘unhealthy’ nationalistic movements on either side of the border. Kaliningrad, while sinking into the mire of urban decay and social fragmentation (much aggravated by pervasive crime, booming drug trafficking and an AIDS epidemic), is consistently seeking international aid to struggle with its ills and hoping to find new prospects by opening up towards its Baltic neighbours.10 St Petersburg, with its huge industrial, scientific and cultural potential, aspires to become a natural capital of the Europeanized north-western Russia as well as one of the focal points of the Northern Dimension.11 At the same time, Murmansk and Arkhangelsk oblasts, which had a very promising start in the early 1990s with the Barents Initiative, have found themselves on the far fringe of the Northern Dimension and are struggling to attract more attention. Promising as it is, the EU-centred cooperative agenda in the Nordic— Baltic region could be significantly reduced and narrowed down, first of all at the expense of Russia. At the December 1999 EU summit in Helsinki, which was supposed to make a big engagement offer to Russia, the Chechen issue very clearly hijacked the agenda and devalued the offer. That issue effected a whole range of cooperative projects involving Russia. Another issue that objectively limits the scale of the whole Northern Dimension in the EU’s activities is Kosovo, which will continue to require priority in political attention and resource distribution; for most EU

OPPORTUNITIES IN THE NORDIC—BALTIC REGION 95

members the need to stabilize the Balkans is more serious than the need to engage north-western Russia.12 That may result in a shift in focus of the Northern Dimension towards helping the Baltic states to prepare to join the EU, perhaps towards 2010, and the Russian regions might find themselves neglected and pushed out of the most dynamic frameworks. WHO NEEDS ANOTHER NATO ENLARGEMENT CRISIS? In the emotional, disruptive and essentially counterproductive debates between NATO and Russia on the prospects of enlargement in 1993–97, the issue of the ‘Atlanticization’ of the three Baltic states was never far from the surface. For Moscow, Hungary’s or the Czech Republic’s membership in NATO is of little geopolitical importance; Poland certainly has more direct impact; but the most significant threat is seen in the fact that the entry of three former Warsaw Pact states into the Atlantic Alliance inevitably opens the prospect of its further expansion to include the three former Soviet Baltic republics.13 For the solid majority of the Russian political elite this prospect is simply unacceptable; mainstream commentators and media pundits, who were so sophisticated in the first round of the NATO debates, now see no need to produce a list of reasons or any elaborate argument.14 The resolution of the crisis in NATO-Russia relations in May 1997 through the Founding Act (a pompous but not legally binding document) was not satisfactory, and neither side perceived the Permanent Joint Council as a body capable of developing a mature partnership on a new level.15 Indeed, these structures of cooperation failed to produce a common understanding over the escalating crisis in Kosovo and then all but collapsed when NATO resorted to a massive use of air power against Yugoslavia.16 While Russia did play a constructive role in finding a political way out of that war (some would say saving NATO from a suicidal failure) and has duly participated in KFOR (the NATO Kosovo Force), the Kosovo crisis made a huge difference in NATO-Russian relations and will continue to generate mistrust and a sense of threat for years to come.17 The normalization of relations with NATO initiated by Putin even before he was elected president does not amount to overcoming the rift and restarting the partnership. The key national security documents approved in early 2000 clearly imply the possibility of a military confrontation with the Alliance (without directly defining it as the enemy, as the drafts did), a possibility that first emerged as a ‘clear and present danger’ against the background of the Kosovo war.18 Certainly, these documents should not be interpreted as guidelines, but the character of post-Kosovo contacts between the Russian military and NATO could be perhaps described as controlled hostility, which corresponds to the détente

96 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

(quite possibly, short-lived) on the political level. Arms control is again (very much like in the Brezhnev era) being instrumentalized for reducing the risk of a major confrontation, but the reality of a fundamental conflict is essentially taken for granted by the majority of the Russian political elite. As far as the Baltic ‘theatre’ is concerned, the problem is that the 1990s saw a massive demilitarization, which on the Russian side is irreversible, leaving Moscow with many strategic weaknesses and vulnerabilities, including Kaliningrad. On the NATO side, the perceptions might be different and more varied, and the concerns about isolating and alienating Russia are widespread. NATO has to give top priority to sustaining its operations in Bosnia and Kosovo, and cooperation with Russia is an important element of both.19 Fresh efforts undertaken by the UK, France and Germany to create an independent European military capability for dealing with local conflicts are also focused on the Balkans.20 This concentration of attention and resources on the southern flank objectively works against enlarging NATO in the Baltic area (Slovenia has become the most useful candidate). In the USA, which more or less unilaterally determined the dynamics and the scale of the first wave of enlargement, the drive for expanding the Alliance further is all but non-existent. President George W.Bush, who is generally less interested in European affairs, relies on Republican experts who argue for consolidating rather than expanding the Alliance and limiting US security commitments. Although none of the major Euro-Atlantic players is interested in a new phase of NATO enlargement in the Baltic direction, it still might happen. The three Baltic states, following the example of Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic, could initiate this process by advancing ‘moral responsibility’ arguments and trying to make Germany the champion of their cause. They may become particularly interested in speeding up their ‘Atlanticization’ if the EU enlargement proves to be a slow-moving process with their possible accession dates beyond 2010. In this situation, Vilnius (most active in the Atlantic networks), Riga and Tallinn would hardly find the Baltic Charter sufficiently reassuring and would most likely instrumentalize the ‘Russian threat’ (by playing up the Chechen war) in order to attract more attention in NATO headquarters.21 Another party that might be interested in a new NATO enlargement crisis is, paradoxical as it may seem, Russia. The remarkable internal cohesion achieved around Vladimir Putin’s rise to power may prove to be short-lived as he starts to implement policies challenging the interests of ‘oligarchs’ and regional leaders. This might generate a need for a new cause for political mobilization (particularly as public support for the Chechen war declines), and a new confrontation with NATO could be useful in this respect. It should be noted, however, that at the beginning of his presidency, Putin has demonstrated a clear intention of avoiding such

OPPORTUNITIES IN THE NORDIC—BALTIC REGION 97

confrontation. Indeed, he was only too glad to seize on the opportunities provided by 11 September 2001 both to deflect the criticism of Russia’s war in Chechnya and even more to reconcile the relations with the USA and NATO. A MAN FROM ST PETERSBURG Several features of Putin’s personal style of leadership and his initial political agenda have direct relevance for Russia’s short-term prospects in the Nordic—Baltic area. First of all, it is obvious that Vladimir Putin, very much unlike previous Russian and Soviet leaders, does not have strong personal connections to and feelings for the Russian deep periphery (glubinka); nor does he cherish any of the vague Eurasian ideas that Evgenii Primakov held so dear. Putin is essentially a man from St Petersburg, which is the most Europe-oriented urban centre in Russia; his formative experience was acquired in East Germany, perhaps not a showcase of European civilization but still certainly a part of Mitteleuropa. Therefore, it comes as no surprise to find a ‘natural’ European orientation in the new Russian leader, who might be inclined to give relations with north-western Europe more of his personal attention.22 This argument should not be interpreted as an attempt to portray Putin as a Europeanist or a westernizer because, in essence, he is a product of the KGB bureaucracy with all its advantages of professionalism, loyalty and relative incorruptibility, and disadvantages such as lack of flexibility and imagination. At first it seemed that he was less interested in befriending European leaders than Yeltsin was; his understanding of ‘big politics’ was probably closer to hard bargaining on the top level than to partnership based on personal understanding and trust. He has shown skill in strategic horse-trading with the USA but until 11 September could not find many assets for bargaining in the Nordic—Baltic region. He is very much focused on the role of the state and, by extension, on inter-state relations, failing to recognize the new supranational quality achieved in the course of European integration and finding it difficult to relate to the EU as the major player in the area. Besides, each new step in advancing the political and military union with Belarus, which is widely perceived in the West (including Poland and the Baltic States) as an authoritarian and inherently unstable outcast, implicitly complicates Russia’s European positions. One message that Putin has been trying to get across in his initial European forays is an invitation to invest. While even the most general contours of his economic policies have so far remained unclear, the determination to cut down on external borrowing and the intention to change the investment climate from a ‘criminal and risky’ into a ‘friendly and safe’ one have been declared unequivocally. The hidden problem here is that the liberal market-oriented prescriptions do not sit well with Putin’s

98 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

vision of a strong state modelled on such a vertically integrated structure as the KGB. His obsession with central control precludes establishment of any ‘free economic zones’ (on the Chinese model), for instance, in Kaliningrad. Defying Moscow’s gravitational pull, the new Russian president welcomes every opportunity to raise St Petersburg’s European profile (despite personal tensions with Governor Vladimir Iakovlev) and praises the achievements of Novgorod’s reform-oriented Governor Mikhail Prusak. However, the emphasis on intra-regional and cross-border cooperation, built into the EU’s Northern Dimension programme, runs against Putin’s political master plan. Generally, the contradiction is that the most promising prospects in the Nordic—Baltic area are in the economic, communications/information, social/ecological and other non-state-level interactions (often described as the ‘soft security’ field), while Putin is very much a ‘hard security’ man, with strong preferences for all sorts of ‘power instruments’, from secret services to nuclear submarines. And that brings us to the most serious security risks in the region. ‘THINKING ABOUT THE UNTHINKABLE’ UP NORTH One fundamental achievement of the 1990s in the Nordic—Baltic region was demilitarization, which has reached the level on which armed confrontation is practically impossible.23 President Yeltsin’s confidencebuilding initiatives presented in Stockholm in December 1997 and the resolution of the CFE ‘flank issue’ at the December 1999 Istanbul summit of the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe have essentially covered a high-profile arms control agenda. Russia in the midterm perspective could not rebuild a military potential sufficient even for occupying the three Baltic states.24 There is, however, one crucial exception to this picture of disarmament: the massive concentration of nuclear weapons on the Kola Peninsula. The military dimension was deliberately left out of the Barents Initiative, which allowed cooperation to make an unimpeded start but left the nuclear problem unattended.25 Military-to-military contacts in the framework of NATO’s Partnership for Peace programme have been on a very limited scale and could not make much impact either on the force readiness or on the mindsets of officers.26 In fact, the ongoing reductions in Russia’s strategic arsenal do not reduce nuclear risks and may even aggravate them as retired submarines are left to rust with their reactors unprotected and as nuclear warheads are disabled without proper treatment of radioactive materials. International attempts to assess the scale of this nuclear disaster revealed such a horrific picture that the Russian authorities, being unable to reduce the risks, opted for suppressing the activities of environmentalists.27

OPPORTUNITIES IN THE NORDIC—BALTIC REGION 99

One aspect of the nuclear problem in the Kola Peninsula is technical and financial. Most of the nuclear weapons and reactors belong to the Northern Fleet, which throughout the 1990s was seriously underfinanced and was unable to provide proper maintenance.28 The navy, with its sophisticated weapon systems, is in principle the most vulnerable element of the armed forces, and under-resourcing significantly increases the risks of technological accidents which (as the Kursk tragedy has reminded us) could easily acquire disastrous proportions, or even catastrophic ones when nuclear assets are involved. The second Chechen war is consuming a very large portion of the armed forces’ depleted resources,29 and the navy is inevitably suffering from further deprioritization. Russia’s strengthened political reliance on the nuclear status does not translate into a noticeable flow of funds to the naval strategic systems; Moscow requires only a few strategic submarines in order to be able to perform. President Putin might have a personal interest in building up a ‘proud’ Russian navy (as reflected in his Navy Day speech in July 2000 and several statements after the Kursk disaster),30 but his promises to give more attention to naval problems and allocate more funds to their solution would most probably amount only to polishing the decks of several flagships and would have no impact on the increasing probability of technological catastrophes. Another aspect of the nuclear problem is related to the human factor. Underfinancing and the cumulative lack of skilled personnel and shortage of drafted sailors (while the army annually receives with the draft only onehalf the number of recruits they need, the navy receives even less) are eroding discipline and morale in the navy. Examples of inadequate reaction in tense situations and irrational behaviour in the barracks are plentiful and the statistics of suicides are more than just worrisome. This depressing atmosphere in the combat units increases the probability of nuclear-related accidents, particularly since the Russian nuclear forces have no funds to modernize the old launch-upon-warning system (now partly blind and deaf due to poor radar coverage and the decline of the satellite fleet) with its many technically outdated control mechanisms.31 Low morale and poor training of crews also increase the probability of violations of safety regulations and mistakes in handling minor technical accidents, which could lead to their aggravation, as quite possibly was the case with the Kursk. Given this picture of a rusting, undermanned and chronically depressed fleet, it may be worth while to recall the history of mutinies in the Russian navy in the early twentieth century. This history includes mutinies on battleships (Potemkin and Ochakov, both in 1905, Pamyat’ Azova in 1906), which were all old and due to be scrapped, and in naval bases (Sveaborg in 1906 and Kronshtadt in 1905, 1906 and 1921), which were particularly badly maintained, besides the ‘heroic’ pages on the role of the Baltic Fleet in the revolutions of 1917.32 Remarkably, in all these cases it was bad food,

100 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

poor conditions and officers’ attempts to enforce discipline rather than any revolutionary propaganda that were the main driving force behind the violent uprisings. The military authorities faced serious difficulties in suppressing those uprisings owing to widespread sympathy for the rebels among the rank and file as well as among the civilian population onshore. Reflections on this history do not necessarily lead to predictions of mutinies in Gremikha or Gadzhievo, but the present situation in the Russian navy is coming alarmingly close to the explosive days of 1905 and 1906. One important factor that is lacking is a humiliating naval defeat such as that suffered in the Russo-Japanese war of 1904–05;33 on the other hand, the marines of the Northern Fleet have been involved in some of the bloodiest combat operations of the Chechen wars. But what makes the risks of naval mutinies so much more dangerous today is the fact that nuclear facilities and weapons would inevitably become involved, which would guarantee a resonance far greater than that of Potemkin. Taking into consideration the obvious lack of combat-capable and sufficiently reliable Russian units in the Leningrad military district and the very difficult access to many naval facilities from the land, NATO has to give serious consideration to scenarios where a limited military intervention might become necessary in order to secure certain nuclear assets. Such planning could benefit from the history of the British operation in Arkhangelsk and Murmansk in 1918–19.34 CONCLUSIONS The north-western direction where Russia has an interface with the Nordic —Baltic region presents a unique combination of opportunities and challenges. President Putin does not seem particularly keen to grasp the opportunities, which involve mostly regional and local interactions supported and coordinated by the EU. At the same time, the Russian leadership is certainly paying insufficient attention to the challenges presented by deteriorating infrastructure and rusting military hardware and remains reluctant to develop international cooperation aimed at reducing the nuclear risks. The fallout from the second Chechen war continues to reduce the scale and dynamism of many cooperative projects, narrowing Russia’s ‘window to Europe’ to a mere peep-hole. It is in the north-west that Russia has its greatest opportunities to confirm and reinforce its European identity, but it also remains perfectly capable of cutting itself off and continuing to slide down in what looks like a spiral of self-destruction.

OPPORTUNITIES IN THE NORDIC—BALTIC REGION 101

NOTES 1. The Kursk tragedy in August 2000 drew much international attention to the prolonged decay of the Northern Fleet and to the risks generated by the neglect of this process. 2. Chapters by Pertti Joenniemi and Carl-Einar Stalvant in Andrew Cottey (ed.), Subregional Cooperation in the New Europe (London, 1999), provide a good overview. Renata Dwan (ed.) Subregional Cooperation in and around the CIS Space (New York, 2000), in the same series by the EastWest Institute, contains several chapters focused on related problems. 3. On the beginning of the Barents cooperation, see Olav Schram Stokke and Ola Tunander (eds), The Barents Region (London, 1994). 4. Several research projects in Moscow at that time explored the opportunities in this direction. See Dmitri Trenin, The Baltic Chance, Report of the Carnegie Moscow Center, November 1997; Rossiia i Pribaltika, Report of the Council on Foreign and Defence Policy, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 28 October 1997. I have argued about the chances for a breakthrough in ‘Bear hug for the Baltic’, The World Today, March 1998, pp. 78–9. 5. See Geir Flikke (ed.), The Barents Region Revisited, Conference Proceedings (Oslo, 1999). 6. I had an opportunity to participate in the inaugural conference The Northern Dimension of the CFSP’, organized by the Finnish Institute of International Affairs (UPI) in Helsinki, 7–8 November 1997. This institute produced a useful series of papers and monographs in 1998 and 1999. 7. See Jakob Hedenskog, The Foreign Relations of Russia’s Western Regions’, paper presented at the 5th Annual Convention of the Association for the Study of Nationalities (ASN), New York, 13–15 April 2000. 8. Arkady Moshes, Overcoming Unfriendly Stability: Russian—Latvian Relations at the End of the 1990s, Report for the Northern Dimension Programme (Helsinki, 1999). 9. For instance, in 1999 over 750,000 people crossed the Russian-Finnish border at the 17 border points in Karelia, a number almost equal to the size of the entire population of that republic. See Oleg Reut, ‘Republic of Karelia: A Double Asymmetry or North-Eastern Dimensionalism’, Copenhagen Peace Research Institute Working Papers, no. 13, 2000, p. 17. An example of external aid is Finland’s investment in the modernization of St Petersburg’s sewage system, which dumps about 1 million cubic metres of untreated sewage into the Gulf of Finland. See the St Petersburg Committee of External Relations website (www.kvs.spb.ru). Another example is international assistance in the struggle against the AIDS epidemic in Kaliningrad. See Michael Specter, The Heart of Plague’, International Herald Tribune, 5 November 1997. 10. See Ingmar Oldberg, ‘Kaliningrad: Problems and Perspectives’, in Pertti Joenniemi (ed.), Kaliningrad: The European Amber Region (London, 1998); Lyndelle Fairlie, The EU’s Northern Dimension and Kaliningrad, Report G78, Conflict Studies Research Centre, Sandhurst, 1999.

102 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

11. See Jakob Hedenskog, Between Autonomy and Central Government: St Petersburg and Its Relations to the Federal Powers, FOA Report (Stockholm, 1999). 12. A good estimate of the scale of the resources necessary for implementing the Stability Pact for south-eastern Europe has emerged from the Regional Funding Conference, held in Brussels on 29–30 March 2000. Only the Quick Start Package was evaluated, at 2.4 billion. See the interview with Bodo Hombach in European Security: OSCE Review, no. 1, 2000. 13. See David Yost, NATO Transformed (Washington, DC, 1998), particularly pp. 138–9 and 164–6. For an earlier analysis, see Ronald Asmus and Robert Nurick, ‘NATO Enlargement and the Baltic States’, Survival, Summer 1996, pp. 121–42. 14. See A.A.Sergunin, ‘Russian Debates on NATO Enlargement’, in A.S.Makarychev (ed.), Rossiia, NATO i novaia arkhitektura bezopasnosti v Evrope (Nizhnyi Novgorod, 1998). A more recent example is Rossiia i Pribaltika II, Report of the Foreign and Defence Policy Council, 1999. 15. For an acute analysis see Karl-Heinz Kemp, The NATO-Russia Founding Act: Trojan Horse or Milestone of Reconciliation?’, Aussenpolitik, 4, 1997, pp. 315–34. One has to see whether the new partnership in NATO, offered to the Russians, though still as secondary citizens in the wake of 11 September 2001, might indeed bring to an end the thorny debate over NATO’s extension and with it a final conclusion of the Cold War. 16. See Dmitri Trenin and Ekaterina Stepanova (eds), Kosovo: International Aspects of the Crisis (Moscow, 1999). 17. The presentation of Vladimir Baranovskii at the conference The New World Order: Russian between East and West’, Tel Aviv University, 3–5 April 2000, was convincing in this respect. 18. The National Security Concept was approved by a presidential decree on 10 January 2000, and its draft was approved by the Security Council on 5 October 1999; see ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 1, 14–20 January 2000. The new Military Doctrine was approved by a presidential decree on 21 April 2000; see ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, ibid., no. 15, 28 April– 11 May 2000. 19. See Roland Dannreuther, ‘Escaping the Enlargement Trap in NATO-Russia Relations’, Survival, Winter 1999/2000, pp. 145–64. 20. See Peter van Ham, ‘Europe’s Common Defense Policy: Implications for the Trans-Atlantic Relationship’, Security Dialogue, June 2000, pp. 215–28. 21. A good example is the strong statement about the possibility of a Russian military attack against the Baltic States, which ‘by implication will be an attack on NATO’, by Latvian President Vike-Freiberga on 30 April 2000. See RFE/RL Newsline, 3 May 2000. 22. I have speculated on Putin’s political style in ‘Putin’s Honeymoon Coming to the End’, Johnson’s Russia List, no. 4114, 17 February 2000. 23. I have argued this in ‘Boris Woos the Baltics, but Are the Russians for Real?’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, March 1998, pp. 9–12. 24. For a solid analysis see Jacob W. Kipp, ‘Russia’s Northwestern Strategic Direction’, Military Review, July–August 1999, pp. 52–65.

OPPORTUNITIES IN THE NORDIC—BALTIC REGION 103

25. See Anders Kjølberg, The Barents Region as a European Security-building Concept’, in Olav Schram Stokke and Ola Tunander (eds), The Barents Region (London, 1994), pp. 187–200. 26. While the efficient help from Norway and the UK in the Kursk rescue operation could help to reduce prejudices against NATO, the fact of close monitoring by British and American submarines of the Northern Fleet exercises reflects Cold War stereotypes. See Mikhail Hodarenok, ‘Samaia strashnaia katastrofa Otechestvennogo Flota’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 22 August 2000. 27. The report The Russian Northern Fleet: Sources of Radioactive Contamination (1996), prepared by Tomas Nielsen, Igor Kudrik and Aleksandr Nikitin for a project conducted by the Bellona Foundation, remains the most informative source on this problem. Aleksandr Nikitin was arrested by the FSB (Federal Security Service) on espionage charges soon after the release of this report and acquitted by Russia’s Supreme Court only in April 2000. One new target for accusations of nuclear-related espionage is Igor Sutiagin, a researcher from ISKAN (USA and Canada Institute), arrested by the FSB in October 1999. 28. See Ingmar Oldberg (ed.), The Russian Navy Facing the 21st Century, Conference Proceedings (Stockholm, 1996). 29. For a competent estimate, see Mark Galeotti, ‘Costs of the Chechen War’, Jane’s Intelligence Review, January 2000, pp. 14–19. 30. See Aleksandr Gol’ts, ‘Kuda zh nam plyt’,’ Itogi, no. 35, 28 August 2000. 31. On that topic, see Deborah Y.Ball, The Security of Russia’s Nuclear Arsenal: The Human Factor’, PONARS Memo no. 92, October 1999, Harvard University. 32. A reliable English-language source is Evan Mawdsley, The Russian Revolution and the Baltic Fleet (London, 1978). Adam Ulam’s Russia’s Failed Revolutions (New York, 1981) remains the standard reference. 33. The Kursk disaster was in fact directly compared to the catastrophic defeat of the Russian navy at Tsushima in 1905. See William Pfaff, ‘Humiliation in Russia: A Force for Renewal or Collapse?’, International Herald Tribune, 28 August 2000. 34. See Benjamin D.Rhodes, The Anglo-American Winter War with Russia, 1918–1919 (Westport, CT, 1988).

10 Northern Europe: A New Web of Relations1 INGMAR OLDBERG

Historically, it was in the north that Russia and (western) Europe met most directly. Many wars were fought there and competition over the command of the Baltic Sea was fierce, but there was also much trade and friendly exchange.2 This was also the case after the Second World War. Compared with other regions, the Soviet Union considered this a relatively quiet one. Northern Europe traditionally includes the five Nordic states: non-allied Finland and Sweden, and the NATO states Norway, Denmark and Iceland. These states together form the Nordic Council. When the Soviet Union fell apart in 1991, the region was enlarged by the three Baltic states of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, which became observers in the Nordic Council. All these countries except Iceland are also situated on the Baltic Sea. This chapter examines briefly whether Russia’s relations with the countries of this region are developing towards conflict or cooperation.3 This task is approached by analysing the Russian military-strategic, political and economic priorities as they have evolved in the 1990s. As will be seen, these priorities are closely interrelated. MILITARY-STRATEGIC INTERESTS AND NATO ENLARGEMENT It can be claimed that the military-strategic importance of the Baltic Sea region to Russia increased as Russia lost its positions in central Europe, Poland and Ukraine around 1990, and these states turned westwards instead. The West crept closer, as it were. Moreover, the strategic importance of the Kola Peninsula grew as a result of the START agreements with the USA concerning the reduction of land-based nuclear forces. The strongest Russian fleet with most nuclear submarines and other strategic assets were based in the Kola region and it became vital to secure these for deterrence.4 Despite or because of these strategic interests, Russia in the early 1990s gave priority to détente and disarmament in the Nordic region. Following Swedish reports throughout the 1980s about submarine incursions, which placed the blame on Russia, Russia agreed to a joint investigation and

NORTHERN EUROPE: A NEW WEB OF RELATIONS 105

could relish later reports to the effect that many incidents could have been either mistaken or caused by NATO.5 When, in 1991, Finland abrogated the friendship and mutual assistance treaty of 1948 with the Soviet Union, Russia agreed instead to sign a cooperation agreement without security commitments. Russia recognized the Baltic states and gradually pulled out its troops, a process that was completed (with minor exceptions) in August 1994. Russia started to participate in NATO exercises in the Baltic Sea together with the Baltic and Nordic states, and the exchange of military visits with the Nordic states was intensified. In 1997, President Yeltsin announced a unilateral initiative to reduce troops in north-west Russia by 40 per cent, and this was accomplished in 1998. The north-western flank of Russia was officially declared to be the most secure.6 It should be noted, however, that this Russian disarmament was carried out not only for friendship’s sake but also for financial reasons and that some forces were more needed in the south for the Chechen war. Furthermore, these Russian steps towards retreat and conciliation were accompanied by more assertive ones, which met opposition in northern Europe. When NATO decided to enlarge and the Baltic states applied to join, hindering this development became the most important Russian objective in this region. The possibility of NATO bases in the Baltics, from where Russia had recently withdrawn, was seen as a major threat to the Russian heartland. Moreover, if Lithuania were to follow Poland into NATO, Kaliningrad would be surrounded by NATO states.7 To this end, Russia applied all kinds of pressure on the Baltic states—from military threats to economic sanctions (see below)—but this served only to reinforce the Baltic states in their resolve to join NATO. As alternative solutions, Russia offered unilateral security guarantees and several confidence-building measures to the Baltic states, or even double guarantees together with NATO. Russia was willing to accept the Baltic states’ joining the EU instead of NATO. It further proposed a regional zone of stability and confidence, which would include the Baltic states, Sweden and Finland, and the old Soviet idea of a nuclear-weapons-free zone, now stretching from the Black Sea to the Baltic, was dusted off. Another idea was a joint air surveillance system for all Baltic littoral states.8 A prominent Russian ex-diplomat thought that such a system could be based on Gotland or the Åland Islands.9 These ideas were actively propagated by Russian officials in the Nordic states. Thus Yeltsin used his first official visit to Sweden in 1997 to launch the idea of the 40 per cent troop reduction. The neutrality policies of Sweden and Finland were praised and held up as models for the Baltic states.10 In the face of the growing NATO presence Russia was little concerned with Swedish and Finnish military aid to the Baltic States.11 However, these alternative proposals were rebuffed not only by the Baltic States but by the Nordic states as well: a response that the

106 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

disappointed Russians attributed to NATO pressure. Russia also criticized signs that Sweden and Finland were diverging from their policy of neutrality, for example when right-wing political parties and individuals advocated NATO membership. Russia was displeased by Finland’s purchase from the USA of 64 F-18s for its air force in the mid-1990s.12 Sweden was repeatedly accused of spying on Russia, allegedly even acting on NATO’s orders.13 Russia was gratified by Swedish willingness to have a bilateral naval exercise with Russia in 2000, but was disappointed when it was postponed owing to the Chechen war.14 Concerning the NATO members Norway and Denmark, Russia appreciated the restrictions they had imposed on NATO bases and exercises during the Cold War, which now could be used as a model for Poland. But Denmark was upbraided for supporting Baltic membership in NATO and participating in the new NATO staff headquarters at the German-Polish border town of Szczecin.15 Norway was reprimanded for permitting NATO exercises with NATO units further north than before. Russia was also concerned about the demilitarized status of Spitzbergen and engaged in spying activities in Norway.16 Currently, the worst irritant is the construction of a large space radar station at Vardö, 60 kilometres from the Russian border, which is seen as being directed against Russia in the context of US plans to build an anti-ballistic missile defence system in violation of the 1972 treaty.17 NATO’s Kosovo operation and Russia’s second war in Chechnya in 1999 separated the Nordic and Baltic states from Russia even more. These states supported NATO’s military efforts to stop Serb repression and condemned the Russian methods of suppressing the Chechen separatists, whereas Russia adopted the opposite position, giving priority to territorial integrity over human rights. The good news for Russia in the current situation is that NATO is preoccupied in the unruly Balkans, which probably makes enlargement in the quiet Baltic region less urgent. The good news for the Baltic states is that Russia is bogged down in the Caucasus. Thus, even if the security situation in the north remains stable compared with other regions, Russia perceives new threats, especially with regard to the Baltic States. NATO’s enlargement and new missions as well as Russia’s war in Chechnya have clearly impaired its relations with its Nordic neighbours. POLITICAL INTERESTS Russia’s interest in military security on its north-western flank was closely linked to its political interests and ambitions. First was the need to gain recognition for its borders in the region. As before, there were no territorial claims from Norway, but the question of the delimitation of the economic zone in the Barents Sea and around Spitzbergen remained

NORTHERN EUROPE: A NEW WEB OF RELATIONS 107

disputed and unresolved despite improved relations.18 Nor did Finland present official claims to territory that it had lost during the Second World War, even though there were small groups in Finland who raised this issue, especially when the Soviet Union disintegrated. Russia paid much attention to these voices, but duly appreciated the official Finnish view—so much so that a former diplomat suggested that Russia could lease Pechenga on the Arctic Sea to Finland.19 More problems arose with the new Baltic states. In negotiations with Russia about border treaties, Estonia and Latvia did at first lay claims to Russian regions as they based their legitimacy on continuity with the states that had existed between the world wars and rejected Stalin’s occupation and border changes during the Second World War. But around 1996 they gave up these demands because they received no support in the West and their primary goal was to join NATO and the EU, which would not admit states with unresolved border questions. Instead, Russia started to refuse to sign the border treaties as a means of keeping the states out of NATO, which was a primary objective for Russia. With regard to Lithuania, some nationalists there indeed wanted to incorporate Kaliningrad, but all consecutive governments renounced such claims against Russia. In 1997, a border treaty was signed with Russia, and it was ratified by the Lithuanian parliament in 1999. Instead, Russian nationalists made claims to the Klaipeda region, which Stalin had transferred to Soviet Lithuania in 1945, and the Duma (at least the one elected until 2000) refused to ratify the border treaty, partly in order to keep Lithuania out of NATO and partly as a means of gaining freer transit to Kaliningrad.20 Another political goal for Russia was to support the Russian-speaking minorities in the new Baltic states, especially in Estonia and Latvia, where, according to the Russians, human rights were being violated.21 It was pointed out that hundreds of thousands of persons (290,000 in Estonia, 650,000 in Latvia in 1999) had not received citizenship and were therefore deprived of political and economic rights, and that the Russian language was being suppressed. Concern for human rights in Estonia and Latvia was popular among Russian nationalists who dominated the Duma until late 1999, and it served to exert political pressure on the Estonian and Latvian governments. Specifically, the resolution of ethnic disputes was also a condition for NATO membership. Moreover, the campaign against Latvia since 1999 could serve as a riposte to Western objections over Russian violations of human rights in Chechnya. Russia employed a wide variety of methods to support its compatriots in Estonia and Latvia: military threats, refusal to sign border agreements, economic reprisals, and so forth. However, some Russian officials realized that these methods were counterproductive, since they deterred Estonia and Latvia from liberalizing their citizenship and language laws and drew

108 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

criticism against Russia in the West.22 The Baltic Russians patently prefer to remain in their homes rather than to move to Russia; while Russia, which lacks the financial resources either to take in the Baltic Russians or to support them in their states, in fact wants them to stay and be integrated there. Thus Russia has also used the indirect method of making appeals to the UN, the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe, the EU and not least the Nordic states to put pressure on the Baltics. This is why the Council of Baltic Sea States has a special mandate for minority questions. Western and Nordic concern has probably been more instrumental in promoting liberalization of the Baltic laws than Russian pressure. The Nordic states have helped these Russians and promoted their integration more than Russia has, a fact that informed Russians are willing to admit.23 A third Russian objective since 1991 has been to gain recognition as a democratic state and to participate in the integration processes in Europe, thereby promoting Russia’s well-being and internal stability. The five Nordic states, which had conducted a rather cautious and friendly policy towards the Soviet Union, were seen as instrumental in this regard, even though they had supported the Baltic states’ fight for independence. In 1993, Russia co-founded the Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC) with its Nordic neighbours in order to encourage cross-border cooperation between the regions in the Far North, as well as the Council of Baltic Sea States (CBSS) including the three Baltic states. Political contacts improved on all levels, and the number of official visits multiplied. President Yeltsin for example paid official visits to Sweden and Norway, and the royal families of these states made trips to Russia. Russian (and Baltic) towns developed relations with twins in the Nordic states. Visa procedures were simplified and border crossings were opened with both the Nordic and Baltic neighbours. Russia and Lithuania agreed on visa-free travel for Kaliningraders and Lithuanians.24 In sum, Russian political ambitions in the Baltic—Nordic area have been rather ambiguous, wavering between pressure and great-power politics, mainly with respect to the small Baltic nations, on the one hand, and the desire to be integrated and efforts to foster stability, on the other. ECONOMIC INTERESTS IN THE EU CONTEXT Russia’s transition from a militarized state to a market economy with a growing emphasis on economic development boosted its interest in trade with the West, especially Europe, including the Nordic states. Foreign trade was liberalized and most of it gradually shifted from CIS states towards western Europe, which could pay world market prices for Russian products and sell high technology to Russia. Russia thus signed its own partnership agreement with the EU and did not oppose Sweden’s and

NORTHERN EUROPE: A NEW WEB OF RELATIONS 109

Finland’s joining the Union in 1995. As for Finland, Russia’s main trading partner in northern Europe, trade exchange in 1997 returned to the levels of the late 1980s after the intervening decline.25 In particular, Russian timber exports increased considerably, and 40 per cent of Russian road transports went through Finland. Russia appreciated the Finnish EU chairmanship in the second half of 1999, when Finland promoted the Northern Dimension programme, a major goal of which was to develop ties with Russia and to support the development of its democracy and market economy.26 When visiting Stockholm in 1997, President Yeltsin suggested building a gas pipeline to Sweden and called for investment in Russia. Russia also had high expectations of Sweden’s presidency of the EU in 2001. A government newspaper thus asserted that Sweden’s membership in the EU had several caveats which enabled it to conduct an independent economic policy and to withstand anti-Russian sanctions. It also argued that Sweden had problems in selling its products in the eurozone since it was not an EMU (European Monetary Union) member. The Swedish government did not exclude the possibility of a Swedish-Russian free-trade zone, which other states in the region could join later. Russian exports to Sweden grew, especially of manufactured goods, as did Swedish exports to Russia. According to this paper, Sweden was the sixth largest investor in Russia, ahead of, for example, France and Japan.27 The opening of an IKEA furniture store in Moscow earlier this year was given wide publicity.28 Russia also developed strong common interests with the non-EU member Norway (and OPEC, the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries) on maintaining high oil and gas prices, which are vital for the Russian state budget balance—in opposition to other states led by the USA, which want to lower the prices.29 The Russian Arctic fishing fleet also made profits from landing catches in Norway and Iceland. Finland, Norway and Sweden have proved willing to provide environmental aid and investments in north-western Russia, since they are directly affected by industrial pollution and risks of accidents in active or decommissioned nuclear submarines and surface ships in the Arctic Sea as well as in nuclear reactors on the Kola Peninsula and near St Petersburg. This initiative received support from the EU and other European institutions and—concerning nuclear disarmament—the USA. According to the Russian researcher Alexander Sergounin, the Russian oblasts of Murmansk, Karelia, Leningrad and Kaliningrad have become more dependent on their western neighbours than, for example, on Moscow.30 Nonetheless, the volume of trade seldom reached the levels of Soviet times and was relatively small for the Nordic States. Russian trade made up less than 1 per cent of Swedish foreign trade, less than Swedish trade with, for example, Poland, and the Russian share even in Finnish foreign trade was only about 6.5 per cent. Danish, Norwegian and Icelandic trade with Russia was even less. Thus it is naive to believe that Sweden, for example,

110 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

would risk its position in the EU because of dependence on Russian trade. Both states are bound to fall into line with the EU Schengen agreement on imposing stricter external border controls. Thus Finland has restricted visa exemptions for short-term Russian tourists, which Russia has reciprocated, and imposed EU environmental rules on Russian road freight. Indeed, Russia is painfully aware of the problems of remaining outside the expanding European market. Furthermore, Western investment in Russia was hampered by Russia’s bad infrastructure, its contradictory, restrictive and ever-changing legislation, corruption and crime, political instability and recurrent economic crises. The ruble crash in August 1998 was a heavy blow to the banking system and led to a sharp reduction in Russian imports. With regard to fishing, there were disputes with Norway and Iceland not only over economic zones but also over quotas and the size of net meshes.31 Norway tended to follow OPEC in raising oil exports to curb prices.32 Concerning environmental aid, Russians officials could complain that most of the money is spent on expensive Western (Nordic) consultants, while Western experts disliked the blackmail that Russia could go on polluting until it received aid. Moreover, Russia has little money to spend on the environment, which is not seen as the most urgent problem. Besides, environmental projects pay off only after a long time, and nuclear waste disposal will probably never become commercial.33 Russian military interests also entail reluctance to grant access and provide data to Westerners. One symptom of this was the repeated espionage trials against the ex-naval officer Vladimir Nikitin, who had provided Norwegian environmentalists with information about the Northern Fleet.34 Another problem was that Russian exports were dominated by raw materials—in the above cases, fish and timber. The industries processing these raw materials were left almost empty-handed and paid much less in taxes to the state. Thus, in December 1999, Prime Minister Vladimir Putin increased timber export tariffs threefold, which led to protests in Karelia, and promised more state control in the economy and federal control over the regions. Consequently, Russia’s relations with the EU and the Nordic states are burdened by many problems on both sides. Nevertheless, since 1999, industrial production and trade with the West have recovered, at least from the August 1998 crisis, and the election of Putin as president may bring more stability and predictability. This may actually bring more Nordic (Western) trade and investments to Russia, even if other partners are still preferred. Turning now to the three small Baltic states, Russian economic interests there were naturally quite different. Thanks to their roads, railways, pipelines and ports, these states were particularly important for the transit of the growing Russian exports to the West, on which Russia became so dependent. The Latvian port of Ventspils thus at times handled 20–30 per

NORTHERN EUROPE: A NEW WEB OF RELATIONS 111

cent of Russia’s total oil exports. Russia was also interested in maintaining its economic positions in the Baltic states, particularly in the energy and raw material sectors, and its big business made investments in the rapidly developing Baltic market economies, often in cooperation with local Russians.35 However, as noted above, Russia, convinced of the Baltic states’ dependence on it, often resorted to politically motivated economic sanctions against them. Owing mainly to its citizenship policy, Estonia, which is the fastest developing of these states, has so far not been granted mostfavoured-nation status and pays double customs dues. The Duma decided to impose sanctions on Latvia on account of its discrimination against the Russians, though the newly elected Duma in 2000 rejected this policy, preferring a strong statement of protest instead.36 In order to escape ‘exorbitant’ Baltic transit fees, Russia has further decided to build new ports in the Gulf of Finland for oil, gas and metal exports. The problem with such sanctions, however, was that they undermined the principle of free trade and hurt Russian private companies and their Baltic Russian partners. The construction of new ports both costs a lot of scarce investment money and takes a long time. Russian economic pressure also reinforced the desire of the Baltic countries to reorient their trade towards the West (to which in any case they wanted to belong), and the West was forthcoming. Amazing results were achieved. Estonian trade with Russia decreased from above 90 per cent of the total in 1991 to below 20 per cent in 1993, with Sweden and Finland taking over the role of first partners. In Latvia and Lithuania, imports from Russia accounted for only 10 and 20 per cent respectively in 1999 (data based on nine months); instead most of their trade was directed towards Germany and western EU states.37 As mentioned above, Russia has accepted EU membership for the Baltic states as an alternative to NATO membership, partly for military and political reasons, partly because Russian business could thereby gain greater access to the EU market. But lately, as the Baltic membership negotiations are advancing, Russia has begun to point out problems and demand consultations. Russian criticism of Baltic border claims and ethnic discrimination also serves to complicate the states’ EU accession. And if the Baltic countries become members, it will be harder for Russia to apply economic pressure on them without antagonizing other Union members. Finally, Russia was concerned about the Kaliningrad exclave and its transit across Lithuania. Customs and transport costs made goods from Russia proper about 50 per cent more expensive in that region. Kaliningrad was compensated by being declared a special economic zone in 1996 with free import and export with its neighbours. The problem was that Kaliningrad became heavily dependent on imports of foodstuffs, especially from Lithuania and Poland, which spelled crisis when the August 1998 ruble crash occurred. Furthermore, since the zone was used as a loophole

112 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

for imports from the West to the rest of Russia, and Kaliningrad’s governor Leonid Gorbenko wanted to protect local producers, the customs freedom was undermined by quotas, which resulted in price hikes. This problem is aggravated by the EU enlargement process, specifically the enforcement of the Schengen rules on stricter external border controls, which tends to increase the isolation of the Kaliningrad exclave. In January 1998, Poland reintroduced visas for Kaliningrad so as to prepare for EU membership, even if the costs of the visas were later reduced after Russian protests.38 Lithuania, on which Kaliningrad is most dependent, will certainly also adapt to the Schengen rules when it becomes an EU member, but it has declared that it will not impose restrictions before then, as Poland did, and will try to help Kaliningrad obtain special favours from the EU.39 The EU is engaged in technical assistance projects in the region, and Sweden vowed to address the problem when it took over the EU presidency. This was duly noted in Russia, which, however, interpreted this promise as a sign that Sweden is against isolating Kaliningrad from the rest of Russia.40 Thus, Russia’s interest in economic relations with northern Europe became more pronounced than before, its attitude to the EU and its eastern enlargement was positive, and new promising projects emerged. However, this interest was still crippled by systemic problems in Russia and military and political considerations. The latter was especially the case with regard to the small Baltic states which had so recently been part of the Soviet Union. CONCLUSIONS As the Baltic states became integrated with the Nordic states in the 1990s, while at the same time drawing closer to Europe in military, political and economic respects, Russia’s relations with them were increasingly influenced by wider concerns. However, Russia’s foreign policy in this direction (and others) was also dictated by its domestic scene and the priorities of the main actors on it. The Baltic states played an inordinate role for their size, both because of their location, close to the West and the Russian heartland, and because of their recent past as Soviet republics. Russia’s relations with the Nordic states, which had formerly been fairly stable and quiet, were thus strongly affected by developments in the Baltic states and the Nordic attitude to them. In the Nordic states, the Baltic states’ efforts to join the West in the form of NATO and the EU were seen as legitimate and welcome, and Russian policy towards them was considered a litmus test of whether Russia was heading for cooperation, democracy and market orientation or confrontation, authoritarianism and state control. Russia still viewed the Baltic countries as belonging to its sphere of influence, outside the CIS, yet not qualifying for NATO

NORTHERN EUROPE: A NEW WEB OF RELATIONS 113

membership. In the 1990s, Russian military and political interests prevailed over economic concerns, even if the latter received added weight. Russia continued to show a penchant for exerting pressure wherever it perceived signs of weakness and for making links between military and political issues —policies that were rather counterproductive and detrimental to Russia’s own best interests in the region. It remains to be seen whether President Putin will rely more on his past as a security agent or on his economic experience from St Petersburg when it comes to developing the future policy towards the Nordic/Baltic area. NOTES 1. The finalization of this chapter has profited from a research grant at the Kennan Institute of the Woodrow Wilson Center, Washington, DC, in April 2000. 2. Dmitri Trenin, ‘Security Cooperation in North-eastern Europe: A Russian Perspective’, in Dmitri Trenin and Peter van Ham (eds), Russia and the United States in Northern European Security (Helsinki and Bonn, 2000), pp. 16ff. 3. For a similar approach, see Lena Jonson, ‘Russian Policy in Northern Europe’, in Vladimir Baranovsky (ed.), Russia and Europe: The Emerging Security Agenda (Oxford, 1997). 4. See also Alexander A. Sergounin, ‘In Search of a New Strategy in the Baltic/ Nordic Area’, in Baranovsky (ed.), Russia and Europe, pp. 325ff. 5. Petr Cherniakov, ‘Shvedy gonialis’ ne za temi podlodkami’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 15 March 2000. The joint investigation could not agree which country was behind the incursions. 6. Trenin, ‘Security Cooperation in North-eastern Europe’, p. 29. 7. NATO decided to admit Poland in July 1997, a decision that took effect in March 1999. 8. See Ingmar Oldberg, ‘No Love Is Lost—Russia’s Relations with the Baltic States’, in Gunnar Artéus and Atis Lejins (eds), Baltic Security: Looking Towards the 21st Century (Riga, 1998), pp. 152 ff; Ingmar Oldberg, ‘Russia and its Western Neighbours in the Context of NATO Enlargement’, in Ingmar Oldberg (ed.), At a Loss: Russian Foreign Policy in the 1990s (Stockholm, 1999), pp. 34ff; Arkady Moshes, The Baltic Sea Dimension in the Relations between Russia and Europe (Stockholm, 1999), FOA R 99– 01055–180–SE, pp. 16ff; J.L.Black, Russia Faces NATO Expansion (Oxford, 2000), pp. 202 ff. 9. Iurii Deriabin, ‘Mery doveriia na Severe Evropy’, in EU and Russia: The Northern Dimension, Conference Proceedings, Carnegie Moscow Center, 1– 2 October 1999, p. 3. 10. BBC Monitoring Service, Summary of World Broadcasts: Former Soviet Union (hereafter SWB), SU/3088 E/1, 28 November 1997; Petr Cherniakov, ‘Novyi etap otnoshenii Moskvy i Khel’sinki’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 20 April 2000. A government paper recently claimed (erroneously) that Sweden is

114 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

11. 12.

13. 14.

15.

16.

17.

18. 19.

20. 21.

22. 23.

24. 25. 26. 27.

permanently neutral and opposes NATO eastern enlargement: Aleksei Chichkin, ‘Shvedskii biznes “v politiku” ne igraet’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 15 April 2000. Pik Paip and Viktor Sokolov, ‘Pribalty otkazali Rossii’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 12 November 1997. Jan-Anders Ekström, ‘Jeltsin Avvisar Finländskt Medlemskap’, Svenska Dagbladet, 17 March 1997; Cherniakov, ‘Novyi etap otnoshenii Moskvy i Khel’sinki’. Sergei Gorlenko, ‘Chto ishchut shvedy v Iantarnom Kraiu?, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 2 March 2000. Vladimir Ermolin, ‘Odinochnoe plavanie Baltflota’, Izvestya, 5 April 2000. As a kind of compensation, Sweden invited the Russian navy to a ceremony over a Soviet submarine which had sunk in Swedish waters during the war, and Russia gratefully accepted (Itar-Tass, 22 May 2000). Marat Zubko, ‘Datsko-norvezhskaia model’ dlia novykh chlenov NATO?’ Izvestya, 27 February 1997; ‘Rossiia-Daniia’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, no. 2, 1999, p. 35. ‘Rossiia-Norvegiia’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, no. 4, 1999, p. 34; Centre for Russian Studies Database, Norwegian Institute of International Affairs, www.nupi.no/cgiwin/Russland, ‘Norway Fears Russia, Sweden Does Not’, 12 July 1995, ‘Norway Expels Russian Diplomats’, 12 March 1998. Anatolii Diakov and Teodor Postol, ‘Protivoraketnyi front na Severe Norvegii’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 7, 25 February–2 March 2000; Moscow Times, 20 March 2000. Andrei Farutin, ‘Chto nam delat’ so Shpitsbergenom?’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 27 November 1998. Vladimir Fedorov, ‘Karel’skii sindrom’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 30 May 1996; Cherniakov, ‘Novyi etap otnoshenii Moskvy i Khel’sinki’; Sergounin, ‘In Search of a New Strategy in the Baltic/Nordic Area’, pp. 343ff. Oldberg, ‘Russia and its Western Neighbours in the Context of NATO Enlargement’, pp. 38, 41ff. Since the Nordic states have no Russian minorities, the Russian press has instead accused Norway of oppressing its Saami population. Petr Cherniakov, ‘Oslo ugnetaet Saamov’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 16 March 2000. For a Swedish reaction, see Elisabeth Crona, ‘Lindh kritiserar Ryssland’, Dagens Nyheter, 18 May 2000. Oldberg, ‘No Love Is Lost’, 158 ff; Sovet po vneshnei i oboronnoi politike, ‘Rossiia i Pribaltika-II’, Nezavisimaia gazeta—Stsenarii, no. 9, 13 October 1999; Dmitri Trenin, Baltic Chance (Moscow, 1997). Moshes, The Baltic Sea Dimension in the Relations between Russia and Europe, pp. 11ff. Ibid., p. 6; Stefan Lundberg, ‘Ryssar får Finland att Blomma’, Dagens Nyheter, 9 June 1998. Cherniakov, ‘Novyi etap otnoshenii Moskvy i Khel’sinki’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 20 April 2000. Aleksei Baliev, ‘Briussel’ Stokgol’mu ne ukaz’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 1 April 2000; Chichkin, ‘Shvedskii biznes ‘v politiku’ ne igraet’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 15 April 2000.

NORTHERN EUROPE: A NEW WEB OF RELATIONS 115

28. Elena Vansovich and Evgenii Leonov, ‘Otsel’ grozit’ my budem shvedu’, Kommersant, 17 March 2000. 29. Petr Cherniakov, ‘Norvegiia posleduet resheniiu OPEC’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 16 March 2000; I.I.Rodionov and S.Z.Zhiznin, “‘Gazovye’ prioritety rossiiskoi diplomatii’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, no. 2, 2000, p. 63. 30. Alexander Sergounin, The Process of Regionalization and the Future of the Russian Federation, Copenhagen Peace Research Institute Working Paper, no. 9, pp. 9, 15 ff. See also www.bellona.no and Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, The Barents Region Cooperation and Visions for the Future (Odin: Utenriksdepartementet, UD) at www.odin.dep.no/ud/publ/1999/barents (accessed 11 November 1999). 31. Farutin, ‘Chto nam delat’ so Shpitsbergenom?’ 32. Cherniakov, ‘Norvegiia posleduet resheniiu OPEC’. 33. For analyses of these problems, see Geir Flikke (ed.), The Barents Region Revisited (Oslo, 1999); see also special issue of Nordisk Östforum (Oslo), no. 1, 2000. For one example, see Centre for Russian Studies Database Norwegian Institute of International Affairs, ‘Primakov meets with his Finnish counterpart’, 21 February 1999 (www.Nupi.no/cgi-win/Russland/ krono.exe/3968). 34. For several articles, see Bellona Foundation, Russia, at www.bellona.no/e/ russia (accessed 8 September 1999); and Steven Sawhill, ‘Cleaning Up the Arctic’s Cold War Legacy: Nuclear Waste and Arctic Military Environment Cooperation’, Cooperation and Conflict: Nordic Journal of International Studies, no. 1, 2000. 35. Moshes, The Baltic Sea Dimension in the Relations between Russia and Europe, p. 9ff; Oldberg, ‘No Love Is Lost’, pp. 166ff. 36. BBC Monitoring Service, SWB, SU/3808 B/8, 6 April 2000. 37. Oldberg, ‘No Love Is Lost’, pp. 168ff; Michael Wyzan, The Baltic States: Still Recovering from the Russian Crisis (Stockholm, 1999), p. 11. 38. Ingmar Oldberg, The Kaliningrad Region—a Troublesome Exclave’, in Daniel R. Kempton and Terry D.Clark (eds), Unity or Separation, CenterPeriphery Relations in the Former Soviet Union (New York, 2000), p. 65; V.G.Pozdorovkin and Iu.S. Arutiumov, ‘Kaliningradskii faktor v sotrudnichestve Rossii so stranami Baltiiskogo regiona’, Diplomaticheskii vestnik, no. 1, 2000, pp. 67ff. 39. Vytautas Usackas, ‘Linking Russia with New Europe’, Washington Times, 12 January 2000; Home page of the Lithuanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Lithuania’s Cooperation with Russia’s Kaliningrad Region, Political Dept and Information and Press Dept of MFA, 1999, at www.urm.lt/political/ kaling.htm (accessed: 26 November 1999). 40. Lyndelle D.Fairlie, ‘Will the EU Use the Northern Dimension to Solve the Kaliningrad Dilemma?’, in T.Forsberg and Karoliina Honkanen (eds), Northern Dimensions (Helsinki, 2000), pp. 85ff; Chichkin, ‘Shvedskii biznes “v politiku” ne igraet’.

Part IV: The Southern Tier and the Middle East

11 Russian Policy in the CIS under Putin S.NEIL MACFARLANE

INTRODUCTION There has been much speculation about the directions in which Russian foreign policy veers under Vladimir Putin. When elected as President, an International Herald Tribune headline suggested: ‘Putin is another riddle wrapped in a mystery in an enigma.’ An earlier headline read: ‘Putin has big lead, but few know where he is going.’ A reported exchange with a reporter prior to the presidential election is symptomatic. When asked whether he was going to change after the election, he responded, ‘I am not going to tell you that.’1 Leadership, however, is not the only important determinant of state behaviour. The latter depends as much on the conditions faced by policy makers—and notably such factors as the distribution of power, state capacity and identity—as it does on the personalities and dispositions of the policy makers themselves. In this short chapter, although not dismissing the important role of personality (or, for that matter domestic politics) in foreign policy, I examine the context in which the Russian leader makes policy, and the constraints which that context places upon his policy choices, with specific reference to the southern tier of the CIS.2 The first section looks at the meaning and types of hegemony as a regional structure of power in international relations as one possible approach to explaining and predicting Russian policy in the region and identifies a number of hypotheses that may be useful in explaining Russian strategy in the Federation’s immediate region. The second section discusses the sources of Russian engagement in the non-Russian former Soviet republics, focusing on the Caucasus and central Asia and applies the framework of analysis to the case of Russia in what used to be called ‘the near abroad’. Before beginning, it is important to state two assumptions that underlie the analysis. First, the analysis assumes that Russia will survive and maintain its territorial integrity. The second, and perhaps more

118 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

controversial, assumption is that Russia will undergo a degree of state consolidation and economic recovery under President Putin. The President’s intentions with regard to the reassertion of a greater degree of central control over the regions are clear in, for example, his proposal to create seven new super-regions in Russia and to reform the upper house of the Russian parliament to remove regional governors and thereby deprive them of their immunity from prosecution. Although this is a highly contentious question, preliminary indications (and not least the approval of the relevant legislation by the lower house) are that Putin will prevail.3 As for the second, there is already clear indication of a degree of economic recovery, associated not least with rising oil revenue. HEGEMONY AND RUSSIAN FOREIGN POLICY The basic proposition in realist international relations theory is that, having to rely on self-help for security, states use their power in order to control areas of potential threat and to expand access to the sources of power. Stronger states seek to secure influence over, if not control of, weaker states. Preponderant states in a region generally seek to exercise a degree of control over the lesser states around them. However, a quick historical and comparative analysis of cases of regional preponderance (e.g. the USA in the Americas, India in south Asia, South Africa in southern Africa, and Russia in the CIS) suggests considerable variation within the general category. In the first place, the degree of control sought by the powerful over the weaker varies. It can be loose, as with US influence over Canada and western Europe, or tight as in the control exercised by the USSR over eastern Europe during the Cold War. The extreme variant here is empire. This is in turn related to a second point: the degree to which the dominant state relies on cooperation and consent as opposed to coercion and imposition varies historically and regionally. This is related to the extent to which the preponderant state is able to generate public goods (stability, economic welfare) for its weaker neighbours. Thirdly, the means that hegemonic states employ to secure control vary. The principal instruments may be economic or military, or, for that matter, ideational and normative. On this basis, one can identify a range of possible patterns of behaviour between two extremes: one consent based, cooperative and non-militarized and the other coercive, militarized, intensive and intrusive. There are several possible ways to explain this variation. One set of hypotheses is external to the state in question. Here the suggestion is that the general environment in which a state finds itself is likely to affect its policy choices substantially. For example, if the larger environment in which a regionally dominant state exists is perceived to be threatening, this may intensify its perceived need for control over its immediate

RUSSIAN POLICY IN THE CIS UNDER PUTIN 119

surroundings. If, in contrast, the strategic environment of the hegemon is more permissive, then the dominant state’s strategy is likely to be more benign. The capacity of a hegemon to dominate its region is also affected by the existence of balancing options for weaker states in the region. Where such options exist and are credible, the weaker parties can resist the preponderant state’s effort to control the space in question through informal or formal alliance relationships with third parties. Where such options are not available, this means of protection is ineffective. A second external variable that may be useful in explaining the behaviour of regionally dominant powers is the capacity of neighbouring states to manage their own affairs in such a way as to prevent or to minimize negative spillovers (e.g. political instability, military conflict, smuggling and other criminal activity) affecting the hegemon. Where a weaker state is incapable of managing such issues itself, and where the effects on the dominant power are damaging, this invites intervention. The example of US interventions in Panama in 1989 and in Haiti in 1994 are cases in point, as was, arguably, the Indian intervention in the civil war in then East Pakistan in 1971–72. At the level of the state, several issues arise. Most notably, it has been suggested that democratic states are less likely to go to war than are nondemocratic ones, for both institutional and normative reasons.4 Although this may hold for consolidated democracies, some scholars have argued that states undergoing processes of democratization may, in contrast, be more war prone than either democratic or non-democratic states. Elites threatened by the widening of popular participation in politics may employ nationalist mobilizational and legitimizing strategies that involve the evocation of external enemies.5 A second-unit-level consideration related to the first is that of identity. Does the state in question have a messianic self-understanding? How deep and valued is the state’s (and culture’s) military tradition? To what extent is ‘greatness’ a characteristic value of the political culture? How introverted or extroverted is the state’s political history and culture? Do political actors and the constituencies they represent believe that they have special rights and responsibilities in their neighbourhood (e.g. the Monroe Doctrine)? To what extent is the cohesion of political society threatened by internal ethnic or national differences? What are the relative weights of conflictual versus cooperative understandings of international relations in the cognitive frameworks of political elites? The answers to these questions may strongly inform the responses of hegemonic states to the challenges they face in their region. A third consideration here is that the behaviour of a dominant state within its own region is likely to depend strongly on its capacity to define and to marshal the resources to implement it. Weak, incoherent and

120 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

underfunded state structures and divided polities in a dominant state impede efforts to implement a regional agenda effectively and encourage other states in the region to explore extra-regional balancing options. RUSSIAN POLICY IN THE CIS Where does Russia fit in this analytical framework and what does this imply about Russian policy in the CIS region? First, and focusing on systemic factors, the strategic environment surrounding the Russian Federation framework is widely perceived to be hostile and potentially threatening. Russia has important security concerns at stake in neighbouring states. These induce Russian engagement in the affairs of its neighbours. One set of concerns arises from the negative externalities of regional instability. These include the spillover of conflict (e.g. refugees from Georgia in North Ossetia and Krasnodar), broader migration associated with the economic collapse of Caucasian and central Asian states, terrorism, and the possibility that trends in central Asia may destabilize particular regions of Russia (e.g. the impact of the Islamic revival in central Asia on the Muslim populations of the Volga Basin).6 Russia’s neighbours are weak states; they display little capacity to prevent negative spillovers. They tend towards instability and have considerable difficulty controlling their own territory. Not surprisingly in this context, one of the early leitmotivs of Putin’s policy in the region is a renewed effort at security cooperation in central Asia and focusing on countering terrorism and criminality. Moreover, the CIS states serve as a buffer for the Russian Federation with regard to NATO enlargement. NATO enlargement may favour a Russian policy of regional consolidation in the western CIS. This effect is arguably at work in the evolving Russian-Belarussian military relationship. The same effect may result from the apparent trend within the EU to give that organization a meaningful security and defence identity and policy. Russia’s neighbours to the south serve as buffers with respect to Islamic radicalism. In a more prosaic sense, it bears mention that the borders between Russia and its fellow CIS members are largely undefended. The effective borders of the Russian Federation remain to an important degree the outer borders of the USSR, with their associated border control and air defence infrastructure. The immediate region also exercises an attractive force on Russian policy as a source of potential profit. This concerns the presence and the development of natural resources, notably in the Caspian Basin. Russia seeks to share in and influence the development process in such a way as to profit from it and to limit the extent to which decisions about such issues as pipeline infrastructure enhance the independence of the smaller Caspian Basin states. The extent to which this is becoming a more significant preoccupation of Russian policy makers is evident in, for example, the

RUSSIAN POLICY IN THE CIS UNDER PUTIN 121

spoiler role that Putin is playing with regard to the proposed transcaspian gas pipeline from Turkmenistan.7 Russian assertion in the region is facilitated by an important permissive condition. There are few serious external challengers to Russia’s efforts to dominate the region. The western states have never attempted to interfere seriously with Russian military policy in the region.8 Some have suggested that this may be changing as a result of the growing interest of the West in Caspian Basin energy reserves. Both in Russia and elsewhere in the region, the possibility of an active NATO role in the Caucasus and central Asia has been discussed. There is little if any evidence that NATO would seriously contemplate enlargement to or basing options in the Caucasus and central Asia. The policies of potential regional competitors such as Iran or Turkey display considerable caution in the effort to expand their influence in the region. Consequently, balancing options for the smaller states of the CIS are limited. The ‘Great Game’, in other words, is not so great.9 In summary, Russia faces strong negative and positive impulses from its surrounding environment that favour a forward regional policy. If we now turn to the unit level of analysis, and deal first of all with the character of the political system, Russia is usually considered to be engaged in a political transition to democracy, although the arrival of Putin may delay or reverse this trend. If the hypothesis that democratizing states are more prone to war is correct, the strains that democratization places on the political system favour an assertive foreign policy in the region. The dynamic predicted in the literature on the subject appeared to have been operating in President Putin’s selling of the Chechen war and may also have some bearing on the development of a forward security policy in central Asia and the southern Caucasus. An assertive and coercive strategy in the region is also favoured by the identity considerations mentioned above. Russia’s political heritage is one of force rather than persuasion, coercion rather than consent. There is an apparently strong aspiration within elements of the foreign policy and political elites to restore Russian power and to ensure its recognition both regionally and globally. The conflictual and competitive perception of the international system and belief in the hostility of the West predominate in traditional and current cognitive frameworks of many Russian policy makers. There is a clear tendency—inherited from the Yeltsin era—to claim special rights and responsibilities in the region. One of the more consistent aspects of Russian foreign policy since 1992 has been the insistence that the Russian Federation enjoys a droit de regard in what is perceived to be Russia’s ‘backyard’. This is related not only to a lingering post-Soviet nostalgia, but also to a deeper strain of mission in Russian nationalist thought and the place of ‘Eurasia’ in this thinking.10 On the other hand, it bears stressing that Russia remains lacking in state capacity to implement a hegemonic policy in the CIS. The capacity of the

122 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

state to extract revenue in order to finance a more ambitious foreign policy has shrunk considerably and the balance of power between the centre and the regions has shifted to the detriment of the authorities in charge of foreign policy. The Russian military is tied down in Chechnya and has suffered greatly over the past decade of halting reform and fiscal stringency. The various bureaucracies involved in the design and implementation of foreign policy in the CIS have had difficulty in coordinating their actions and in controlling the activities of groups within them. Russia’s capacity to rely on economic relations as a source of power and influence has diminished considerably as the Russian economy itself has declined and as Russia’s ties with the other CIS states have weakened. These limitations, however, proved to be less of a constraint under Putin. SUMMARY On balance, the analysis indicates that the Russian Federation will remain substantially engaged in a quest for influence in the CIS region. Given the systemic, state, economic, societal and cultural aspects just discussed, the engagement is likely to tend towards the more intrusive, militarized, intensive and intrusive end of the spectrum of preponderance. Given the capacity problem, the effort might be expected to be ineffective in attaining Russian objectives. The result, given the region’s unresolved conflicts and substantial remaining conflict potential as well as the worsening economic conditions of much of the population and the stagnation of political and economic transition, is likely to be persisting regional disorder. On the other hand, if Russia does restore a more effective state apparatus while escaping an authoritarian solution, and if the economy recovers, this may create the basis for a more public goods-oriented, consent-based and mutually beneficial form of regional preponderance in the CIS. NOTES 1. International Herald Tribune, 29 and 23 March 2000. 2. I am treating the CIS primarily as a geographical space, rather than as an institution. 3. See, for example, the comments of Alain Rousso, the Director of the Moscow Carnegie Center, as reported in Reuters, 9 June 2000. 4. For a comprehensive treatment of this proposition, see the collection of articles gathered in Michael Brown et al., Debating the Democratic Peace (Cambridge, MA, 1997). 5. See J.Snyder and Barnett R.Rubin, Post-Soviet Political Order. Conflict and State-Building (London 1998). 6. For a discussion of ‘uncontrolled’ migration, ‘international terrorism’ and conflict in the vicinity of the borders of the Russian Federation as threats to

RUSSIAN POLICY IN THE CIS UNDER PUTIN 123

7.

8.

9. 10.

Russia’s security, see ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsiia’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 1, 14–20 January 2000. See also the most recent version of the Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation, Nezavismoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 15, 28 April–11 May 2000. President Putin reactivated Russian pipeline diplomacy in the region in May 2000, reversing previous Russian uncooperativeness on Turkmen gas exports and agreeing to increase Russian purchases of Turkmen gas by 10 billion cubic metres every year until total purchases reached 50–60 billion cubic metres (Reuters, 10 June 2000). Indeed, there were repeated instances of Western expression of support for Russian efforts to maintain stability in the area, not least the 1994 acceptance by the UN Security Council of Resolution 937 that authorized the CIS peacekeeping force in Georgia. Anatol Lieven, The (not so) Great Game’, National Interest, no. 58, Winter 1999/2000. For a more extensive discussion, see S.Neil MacFarlane, ‘Russian Conceptions of Europe’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 10, no. 3, July–September 1994.

12 The Security Dimension of Russia’s Policy in South Central Asia LENA JONSON

The purpose of this chapter is twofold: (1) to identify main elements of Russian policy with regard to south central Asia in order to find the determining factors behind the policy shift during Vladimir Putin’s rise to power; and (2) to identify dilemmas for Russian policy in the region and discuss whether these dilemmas may lead to further revisions in Russian policy. The analysis concentrates on Russian policy with regard to Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan. Together they constitute a nest of instability and a severe challenge to regional security. SHIFTS IN RUSSIAN POLICY After Vladimir Putin became Prime Minister in August 1999, Russian policy observably shifted to a stronger emphasis on relations with central Asia in general and certain central Asian states in particular. This new focus can be regarded a radical shift by comparison both with Moscow’s initial lack of interest in central Asian affairs (except for Tajikistan) immediately after the break-up of the Soviet Union and with the ambivalent Russian interest during the following years.1 The events in Dagestan in August 1999 when Chechen rebels invaded Dagestani territory and the Russian military campaign against Chechnya that followed, brought the struggle against international terrorism and religious extremism to the agenda of the Russian leadership. The August 1999 attacks by Islamic terrorists in southern Kyrgyzstan contributed to make the anti-terrorist struggle a central factor in Russian policy towards the central Asian states and provided the Russian government with a platform for proposing closer military and security cooperation with these countries. As Russia was searching for a policy to counter its waning influence in central Asia, anti-terrorism seemed to be the issue around which the central Asian leaders could rally. Uzbek President Islam Karimov responded positively to the Russian government’s proposals, and the triangle of Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan became key states for Russia’s policy in the region.

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 125

The new importance given to central Asian affairs was reflected in visits and in statements by Prime Minister Putin during the autumn of 1999. His first foreign trip as Prime Minister was to Tajikistan, in November 1999, just before the Tajik presidential election, and demonstrated continued Russian support for its ally. The weighty Russian delegation included the Defence Minister, Igor Sergeev, and also the Minister for CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) Affairs and the director of the Russian Federal Border Guard Service.2 The visit to Uzbekistan which followed in December was no less important, and a series of bilateral agreements on security and military-technical cooperation were signed. The Russian government also became more active with regard to issues connected with the energy export from central Asia. Discussions with Turkmenistan initiated in autumn 1999 resulted in an agreement on renewal of Turkmen gas exports to Russia and indicated a willingness to allow the transit of larger quantities of Turkmen gas in the future. The discussions reflected Russian efforts to counter plans to build a transcaspian pipeline for the export of Turkmen gas to Turkey. However, it was the issue of international terrorism and extremism that produced the shift in Russian policy. Putin’s address to Russia’s Federation Council on 22 December 1999 signalled this new emphasis on policy towards central Asia in general and Uzbekistan in particular. Putin mentioned three levels of ‘integration’ between Russia and CIS countries. He placed relations with Belarus on the first level, relations with the countries of the CIS Customs Union, which besides Russia and Belarus includes Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, on the second level, and Russia’s relations with Uzbekistan on the third.3 With regard to the latter, Putin not only described the bilateral treaty on military and military-technical cooperation of 11–12 December 1999, as a ‘turn for the better’ but described Russian-Uzbek relations as a’strategic partnership’. He even suggested that the bilateral agreement ‘in its scope and in terms of integration processes…is more significant than the Collective Security Treaty’ of CIS states of 1992, from which Uzbekistan withdrew in April 1999. That the Russian government ranked relations with Uzbekistan so high could be regarded as sensational. Uzbekistan is the potential regional power in central Asia, with the largest population and the strongest army, and is therefore of great interest for Russia. However, from the mid-1990s it developed an independent foreign policy, with the aim of reducing dependence on Russia and developing relations with other states, and kept cooperation with the CIS and Russia to a minimum. In April 1999, Uzbekistan left the Collective Security Treaty and joined the GUUAM (consisting of Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova). It actively participated in the NATO Partnership for Peace (PfP) programme and developed its contacts with the USA.

126 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Putin’s concern for Tajikistan was expected since the country is not only Russia’s closest ally in the region but also the weakest state as a result of its five-year-long civil war. The civil war ended in June 1997, when a peace agreement was signed, but the peace process that followed remains fragile. President Imomali Rahmonov, who has been in power since late 1992 and was re-elected in 1999, is completely dependent on Russian military, economic and material support. Russia has regarded stabilizing Tajikistan and guarding its border with war-ridden Afghanistan as being in its national security interest. Putin, when inspecting the Russian border troops stationed along the Tajik-Afghan border in November 1999, reaffirmed that these troops ensured the forward defence of Russia itself.4 A NEW PUSH FOR MILITARY AND SECURITY COOPERATION? After Uzbek Islamists advanced into the Batken district in Kyrgyzstan on 22 August 1999 and took hostages in an effort to force their way from Tajikistan into Uzbekistan through Kyrgyz territory, the Kyrgyz government pleaded for Russian and CIS assistance. The Russian government responded to the Kyrgyz request with military-technical assistance, including weaponry, ammunition and other military supplies. Defence Minister Sergeev declared that the central Asian states themselves had to play the leading role in eliminating the terrorist groups. Russia’s assistance included generals and officers in the conflict zone of the Osh region, analysing the situation, working out proposals and participating in planning.5 Sergeev, however, made it clear that ‘the question of sending Russian ground units to the theatre of combat operations is not being discussed’.6 As Russia had no soldiers or aircraft in the conflict territory in Kyrgyzstan, Uzbek soldiers and aircraft played the critical role in defeating the Islamists. Russia delivered attack helicopters to Uzbekistan which were used in fighting the extremists. A wave of Russian activity was initiated with the purpose not only of responding to the new threat but also of finding a new basis for future security and military cooperation. The December 1999 Russian-Uzbek agreement referred directly to the common struggle against this new threat. ‘We are ready by joint efforts to put a barrier to the spread of terrorism and extremism’, said Putin after talks with Uzbekistan’s President Karimov. ‘We are convinced that Russia’s help and presence in the region will allow us to repel the rampant expansion of extremism and terrorism’, said Karimov.7 The agreement envisaged cooperation between the two countries’ defence ministries and armed forces on questions of strengthening military security, developing and producing military equipment and armaments, training military personnel, and the joint struggle against international terrorism.8

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 127

At an emergency session of the CIS Council of Defence Ministers in Moscow on 15 September 1999 (Russia, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Armenia and Belarus), Putin announced the establishment of an anti-criminal coalition in order to handle extremists ‘everywhere from the Caucasus to the Pamir’.9 At the CIS summit on 25 January 2000 it was decided to work out an interstate programme of joint measures to combat extremism, terrorism and organized crime.10 At a meeting of the interior ministers of the CIS countries, in March 2000, Russia suggested the creation of an anti-terrorist centre, to operate on the basis of the special units of the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB), and, in early April, Russia, Kazakhstan and Tajikistan agreed to create such a centre.11 The Secretary of the Russian Security Council, Sergei Ivanov, asked CIS member states to adopt national legislation that would authorize Russian special units to operate on the countries’ territories.12 Russia thus suggested coordinated efforts to meet a terrorist threat, but the central Asian states remained reluctant to commit themselves to the creation of permanent structures under Russian leadership. Consequently, they did not agree to the establishment of ‘joint rapid-deployment anti-terrorist forces’ under the Collective Security Treaty as Russian official representatives had suggested in November 1999.13 Operational military cooperation intensified between Russia and the three central Asian members of the Collective Security Treaty plus Uzbekistan. A joint command-and-staff exercise, CIS Southern Shield 99, was conducted in late October and early November with troops from Russia, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. The scenario envisaged a resolution by CIS heads of states as the legal basis’ for a collective decision by defence ministers to launch a joint military operation. The mission of the operation outlined was similar to the events in Kyrgyzstan in August, and was summed up as liquidation of bandit-terrorist gangs penetrating from nearby states into Kyrgyzstan’s Osh Region and Uzbekistan’s Ferghana Region or forming in those territories’.14 This exercise was followed up in early April 2000 by a larger exercise, CIS Southern Shield 2000, which aimed at preventing probable military incursion by Afghan extremists into countries of central Asia. Troops from all member states of the CIS Collective Security Treaty plus Uzbekistan participated for the first time in combat training.15 Not only the armed forces but other security ministries—security services, frontier troops, interior troops, etc.—participated.16 Russian Defence Minister Sergeev described the scenario for the exercise as a situation in which religious nationalist extremism had resulted in attempts to declare territories independent, infringing the constitutions of the countries concerned and constituting ‘a significant threat to the national security of our countries’.17 Visits of high-ranking Russian military officials became more frequent after the events in Kyrgyzstan. The anti-terrorist emphasis also added new

128 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

impetus to general military cooperation. Although Uzbekistan had not joined the CIS multilateral agreement on air defence, it participated in a major air defence exercise held in April 2000 based on the scenario of an aircraft hijacking. Both Uzbekistan and Tajikistan agreed to take a more active role in ‘anti-aircraft defence initiatives’ and Kyrgyzstan joined the joint combat anti-aircraft defence duty of CIS member states. Thus Russia seemed to be successful in revitalizing military security cooperation with central Asian states. The Russian paper Vedomosti commented: ‘It seems that Russia is ready to take revenge in central Asia for what it loses in the Caucasus.’18 Statements by individual Russian official representatives reflected that a more activist and militant approach was gaining support within the Russian leadership. Defence Minister Sergeev declared in April 2000 that Russia had to increase its presence in central Asia since events in the Caucasus and central Asia bore witness to the fact that religious and nationalist terrorism posed a major threat to the treaty’s member states.19 At the Summit of Secretaries of the Security Councils of the members of the CIS Collective Security Treaty (Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Armenia and Tajikistan), the Secretary of the Russian Security Council Sergei Ivanov did not rule out ‘pre-emptive strikes’ against terrorist groups in Afghanistan.20 The main factors that explain the latest shift in Russian policy towards central Asia are concerns about: (1) the security situation, (2) the strategic situation, and (3) local dynamics. The following sections look more closely at each of these. RUSSIAN SECURITY CONCERNS What Putin was now referring to as ‘international terrorism’ had previously been called ‘religious extremism’ by the Russian government. In May 1998, Russia had entered a political coalition with Uzbekistan and Tajikistan with the purpose of preventing ‘the spread of aggressive fundamentalism and extremism in the region’. The agreement addressed what has come to be perceived by the Russian and central Asian governments as a main threat to central Asian security—that of Islamic extremism. Since the break-up of the Soviet Union, Russia has followed the development of Islam closely, and the threat of Islamic extremism was mentioned indirectly in the draft Russian Military Doctrine of May 1992.21 It referred to local conflicts as a major threat to Russian security— especially those fanned by ‘an aggressive nationalism or religious intolerance’. The document identified as a central task of the Russian military to actively assist in localizing ‘the source of tension and stopping hostilities as early as possible’. When, in September 1993, Russia and three

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 129

central Asian states decided on the deployment of a CIS Collective Peacekeeping Force in Tajikistan, the threat of Islam was referred to as ‘external aggression’. The 1994 report by the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) and its then director Evgenii Primakov, was more explicit in describing the threat posed by Islamic extremism. The report mentioned as one possible scenario for the future development of the CIS that the position of ‘Islamic extremists in CIS states with a Muslim population’ was expected to become stronger, thereby posing a security threat to Russia and the other CIS states. A fear of Islamic extremism spreading from Tajikistan to the rest of central Asia had been reflected in Russian support of the Tajik government against its adversary, the United Tajik Opposition (UTO), during the Tajik civil war. Nevertheless, Primakov, who had spelled out the Islamic threat in the 1994 report, in 1996 introduced the distinction between fundamentalism and extremism in government statements. He was also in charge of the 1996 turn of Russian policy in Tajikistan, which resulted in the signing of a peace agreement between the conflicting parties in June 1997.22 Radical Islam had been a limited phenomenon in central Asia but spread during the 1990s as part of the general process of Islamization in these societies. Islam became politicized and was exploited by the political leadership as well as by the opposition in central Asian states.23 This was especially evident in Uzbekistan, where radical Islam had a stronghold in the densely populated Ferghana Valley. The May 1998 coalition to prevent ‘aggressive fundamentalism and aggression’ was followed in October 1998 by a declaration on mutual assistance in the event of aggression, which included a clause on military assistance.24 In July 1999, further documents on cooperation were signed calling for regular trilateral contacts to counter ‘aggressive religious and other extremists, terrorists, criminal border infiltrators and drug and arms traffickers’.25 No practical measures of cooperation followed, however. The coalition was not a strong enough reason to keep Uzbekistan in the Collective Security Treaty after it expired in April 1999, and not even the terrorist bombs against government buildings in Tashkent in February 1999 made Uzbekistan more willing to stay. It was the offensive by Islamic extremists in Kyrgyzstan in August 1999 that provided Russia with a strong argument with which to persuade Uzbekistan of the benefits of cooperating with Russia. The elusiveness of the borders is a serious problem to the states of the region. The borders between the central Asian states are not yet functioning as state borders and there is no proper border control; they are therefore open to illegal trespassing. The Russian presence at the outer central Asian borders was radically reduced during the late 1990s. By January 2000, Russian border troops had been withdrawn from

130 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Turkmenistan and Kyrgyzstan and replaced by national border guard services of the countries concerned. Russian border guards remain only in Tajikistan; however, the numbers were reduced between 1997 and 1999 from 16,000 to 11,000.26 RUSSIA’S STRATEGIC CONCERNS A process of strategic reconfiguration in central Asia was stepped up during the second half of the 1990s when Russian economic and military withdrawal intensified. At the end of 1999, of the central Asian states only Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan remained members of the CIS Collective Security Treaty. Russian troops were withdrawn from all states except Tajikistan. Russia’s role and influence were reduced and the states of the region had started to reorient their foreign policy away from Russia. Turkmenistan adopted an independent course, declared a policy of neutrality and had its status as a neutral state recognized by the UN General Assembly in 1995. It never joined the Collective Security Treaty, avoided signing multilateral CIS military agreements and reduced its bilateral military cooperation with Russia. During the first half of the 1990s, Uzbekistan seemed to be developing into a close military ally of Russia. It cooperated with Russia to bring Rahmonov to power in Tajikistan in 1992. After 1995, however, Uzbekistan distanced itself more and more from Russia, seeking assistance and investors from the West and the USA, and ceased to participate in multilateral CIS structures on both military and economic issues. As has been mentioned, in April 1999, Uzbekistan did not extend its membership in the Collective Security Treaty. Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, however, needed the assistance of Russia. The Russian retreat opened the way for investors from other countries. Trade increased between central Asian states and China, Iran, Turkey, the EU and the USA, among others.27 New prospects for the exploitation of the energy resources of the Caspian Sea raised the interest and stakes of external powers. Prospects and plans for the construction of oil and gas pipelines circumventing Russian territory threatened Russia’s future role and influence in the region. The 1994 report by the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service had warned that the West in general and the USA in particular were hindering Russian efforts to integrate the CIS and to restore its former ‘great power’ position.28 The report also gave a good deal of attention to what its authors considered to be involvement in central Asia by Western and Muslim states, Iran and Turkey being especially mentioned among the latter. However, at the time the report was published it did not fully reflect government policy. In his 1996 address to the parliament on national security, President Yeltsin, when describing the changing strategic scene on CIS territory,

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 131

called ‘actions by states and their alliances…to undermine Russia’s relations with former Soviet republics’ a threat to Russia’s national security.29 The draft of Yeltsin’s address, which was prepared by his security adviser Iurii Baturin and published separately, more explicitly pointed to a general trend of disintegration on former Soviet territory and of Russia’s loss of influence. The draft was also more specific with regard to developments in the Caucasus and central Asia.30 The central Asian states were described as being incapable of following an independent policy and therefore of increasingly being targets for foreign influence. Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, the USA and NATO were mentioned as the main external actors. The draft warned that in a worst-case scenario a new buffer zone could be created to the south-east on former Soviet territory by states unfriendly to Russia. During the following years Russia watched with concern how central Asian states discussed with Western partners plans and projects for the construction of oil and gas pipelines from the Caspian Sea region along routes that would avoid Russian territory. Security and military issues also became a topic for cooperation between central Asian states and Western states. All the states of the region, except Tajikistan, joined the NATO PfP programme in 1994 and demonstrated their interest in further developing such cooperation. Joint military manoeuvres of the central Asian peacekeeping battalion were carried out within the framework of the PfP involving NATO soldiers in exercises on central Asian territory. The new Russian Military Doctrine of April 2000 and the new National Security Concept of February 2000 reflected the Russian reaction to the changing strategic scene.31 Vladimir Putin participated in the finalizing of these documents from April 1999 when he became a secretary of the Russian National Security Council. The documents demonstrated Russian concern with an ongoing strategic reconfiguration taking place on former Soviet territory and in the world. The new keywords of ‘multipolarity’ and ‘unipolarity’ provided these documents with a conceptual basis for criticism of US policy and for the creation of tactical alliances with states in order to counter the USA and the West. Special attention was given to the increasing engagement by the West (mainly the USA and NATO) in the Caucasus and central Asia. Russia’s national interests in the international arena were said to be threatened by ‘attempts of other states’ to prevent it from asserting its national interests ‘in Europe, the Middle East, the Caucasus, central Asia and the Asia-Pacific region’.32 Thus, Russian and central Asian leaders diverged drastically in their understanding of security and the developments in the region. From the Russian perspective, the engagement of external powers constituted an external threat to Russian as well as to central Asian national and strategic interests. To central Asian leaders, greater involvement on the part of the USA, Turkey, Iran or China offered instead a guarantee of independence

132 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

and a promise of future economic development, and foreign investors were welcome. Threats were perceived by central Asian leaders as emanating mainly from within society—from economic underdevelopment—and Russia had little to offer in this regard. Until 1999, central Asian leaders (except the Tajik President) did not respond with enthusiasm to Russian proposals for military cooperation. Events outside central Asia made Russia more concerned by the processes in the Caucasus and central Asia. Russia reacted strongly to NATO’s 1994 decision to enlarge the alliance, and again when the enlargement took place in 1999. The April 1999 NATO Strategic Concept providing for out-of-area operations and the bombing of Kosovo and Serbia in spring 1999 left Russia extremely frustrated. This culminated in autumn 1999 in the West’s criticism of Russia’s military offensive against Chechnya. CONCERNS WITH UZBEKISTAN AND LOCAL DYNAMICS Uzbekistan’s role in the local dynamics of the area adds to Russian concerns.33 With large Uzbek diasporas in neighbouring countries Uzbekistan influences the domestic life of these states. Growing tensions within Uzbek society between the regime and its critics, first and foremost radical Islamists, add a source of tension to an area with a large potential for conflict. Uzbekistan also constitutes a challenge to Russia as it has a potential to become a regional power. As long as Uzbekistan remained an ally of Russia, Russia accepted Uzbek involvement in neighbouring countries. When Uzbekistan became more independent from Russia, it threatened to shift the balance in the region, and Russia tried to restrain Uzbek influence. There is a risk that conflicts will spread across the state borders of central Asian states. With an ethnically complex population, regional differences, harsh socioeconomic conditions and an ongoing Islamic revival, there is a breeding ground for conflicts and extremism. Large diasporas, particularly of Tajiks and Uzbeks, constitute an additional source of conflict. The Uzbek population of Tajikistan, which constitutes 24 per cent of the total population, lives mainly in the north and along the border with Uzbekistan. A large Uzbek diaspora can also be found in border areas of Kyrgyzstan (16 per cent), Turkmenistan (9 per cent) and Kazakhstan (2 per cent) and in the north of Afghanistan.34 The severe social and economic situation of these countries and widespread corruption there create conditions in which social discontent and political speculation with regard to national, regional or religious affiliation flourish. Fear of Islamist extremists led the Uzbek authorities to intervene in the neighbouring countries in spring and summer 1999. Uzbek security services

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 133

were ordered onto the territories of Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan to pursue ethnic Uzbek Wahhabites there.35 After the 1999 bombings in Tashkent, Uzbekistan closed the Tajik-Uzbek border and the authorities referred to reports of a Tajik connection in the bombings.36 During the events in the Batken district in southern Kyrgyzstan in August 1999, Uzbekistan took an active role in fighting the terrorists. Uzbek aircraft bombed the area, with permission from the Kyrgyz authorities, but also bombed villages on the Tajik side of the border, which led to protests from the Tajik government.37 Uzbekistan’s President Karimov criticized the Kyrgyz authorities for not demonstrating greater urgency and ‘resolution’ in resisting the militants.38 The events in Kyrgyzstan created tension in relations between the central Asian states. The internal problems of Uzbekistan thus constitute a factor of instability for its neighbours. The Russian approach to Uzbekistan has been ambivalent. On the one hand Russia has tried to counter Uzbek influence in the neighbouring countries. The Uzbek intervention in Kyrgyzstan in autumn 1999 to fight terrorism once more demonstrated the potential and determination of Uzbekistan to become the dominant power in the region. On the other hand, Russia has tried to find a common ground for cooperation with Uzbekistan. The struggle against religious extremism and international terrorism offered a common denominator. DILEMMAS FOR RUSSIA’S SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA POLICY Russian policy towards south central Asia as it is taking shape under Putin demonstrates a shift of emphasis. This shift is apparently an effort to counter the trend of Russia’s decreasing influence in the region as well as a response to new security challenges. The effects of this policy, however, seem instead to increase the ambiguities and contradictions in Russian policy, thereby creating several dilemmas. The new situation may therefore pave the way for a more drastic policy revision in the future. First, there is the dilemma created by Russia’s emphasis on the struggle against ‘international terrorism’ as a main theme for developing security cooperation with the states of the region. The label of ‘international terrorism’ indicates a very narrow aspect of a much wider problem and gives too strong an emphasis to the military means to respond to the challenge. (At the CIS summit of January 2000 this issue was indeed transferred to the Ministries of Defence.) While Russia makes commitments to provide assistance in this kind of situation, it is not certain that it is capable of living up to its commitments. The defeat of the Uzbek Islamists’ incursion into Kyrgyzstan under Juma Namangani in late October 1999 was used in the Russian media to illustrate Russia’s capacity to provide military security assistance in the

134 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

event of a crisis in central Asia. The USA, NATO and international organizations were described as incapable of providing any assistance in this kind of situation. This is probably correct, even if the visit by US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright to central Asia in April 2000 indicated a greater engagement in this kind of issue. The question remains, however, whether Russia itself would be capable of assisting if a serious conflict erupted in the region. The restraint on future Russian military assistance was reflected in the statement by Russian Defence Minister Sergeev in September 1999 that the central Asian states had to cooperate in order to solve the crisis in Kyrgyzstan mainly by themselves. In this way he indicated that Russia is not prepared to take on the burden and the responsibility as it once did in Tajikistan in the early 1990s. During the crisis in Kyrgyzstan, Russia therefore offered only military-technical assistance and equipment but no troops. Russian military forces and border troops have already been withdrawn from Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan and Kyrgyzstan and somewhat reduced in Tajikistan. Russian elite troops are concentrated in the northern Caucasus in order to secure control over Chechen territory, and will probably have to remain there for a long time; they cannot be sent to central Asia. Russia therefore seems to be able to provide assistance only in minor crises in some low-intensity conflicts in the region. Several Russian commentators fear that fighting will start again. It seems evident that if a serious crisis developed in central Asia, Russia would be neither willing nor able to send troops. Russia would not be prepared to engage in a central Asian ‘Chechnya scenario’. A second dilemma is created by Russia’s emphasis on ‘strategic partnership’ with Uzbekistan: Russia can hardly expect a longlasting alliance with the country. As has been pointed out by some Russian commentators, Uzbekistan’s cooperation with Russia is tactical and Uzbekistan is hardly interested in revising its foreign policy or in damaging its relations with the West. For Russia it may be politically dangerous to rely on Uzbekistan and to be involved with Uzbekistan on such issues as ‘religious extremism’ and ‘international terrorism’. There are several reasons for this, the first being that Uzbekistan is an authoritarian regime which does not allow political opposition. President Karimov has initiated an offensive against his domestic opposition and has labelled more or less all the Uzbek opposition ‘extremists’. There could be negative consequences if Russia were to become too involved with this repressive regime. Repression and severe socioeconomic conditions in Uzbekistan are fertile ground for the flourishing of Islamist groups. Repression may prepare the conditions for a complicated and turbulent transfer of power after Karimov. The second reason is the possible backlash from Russia’s own large Muslim populations if Russia

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 135

becomes too involved in fighting radical Islam. Reactions during the war in Chechnya have already indicated such a reaction. The third dilemma concerns the regional consequences if Russia supports Uzbekistan and is therefore bound to accept Uzbek involvement in the domestic affairs of neighbouring countries. This may be the most important factor that produces negative consequences for Russia’s position in the region. The incursion by Islamic extremists into Kyrgyzstan seriously aggravated relations between Tashkent, Dushanbe and Bishkek. Russian press reports have warned that a ‘Dagestani scenario’ may follow on the events in the Batken district of Kyrgyzstan in the sense that Uzbek forces would march into Tajikistan to destroy bases and camps assisted by artillery and air raids.39 Karimov severely criticized the Kyrgyz authorities for passivity and lack of capacity to handle the situation during the crisis. He declared that Uzbekistan was ‘quite within its rights’ to conduct an operation against terrorists in Tajikistan. He believed the terrorists had crossed the Kyrgyz border not in August 1999 but two years earlier. ‘Hence all these criminal raids and the tons of explosives we discovered in the cities of Kokand, Andizhan and Namangan. It was all brought there through the territory of Kyrgyzstan’, he said.40 During spring and summer 1999, when the Uzbek secret service were pursuing Islamists on Kyrgyz territory, Kyrgyz President Akaev and the Kyrgyz government tried to play down the Islamic threat. Akaev commented in summer 1999 on Uzbek behaviour more or less to the effect that a small country could not do much when a larger neighbour behaved as the Uzbek security service did in Kyrgyzstan.41 His words reflected concern with the Uzbek involvement. Neighbouring Tajikistan is utterly vulnerable to Uzbek involvement and influence and has accused Uzbekistan of supporting anti-government forces in Tajikistan. If Russian policy prioritizes Uzbekistan it will be more difficult for Russia to restrain Uzbek influence in Tajikistan. A close partnership between Russia and Uzbekistan may therefore weaken the constraints on Uzbek power and influence and trigger a development in the region and a reaction from Uzbekistan’s neighbours, which may turn out to be detrimental to Russian influence in the region. It is therefore a tricky balancing act for Russia to support Uzbekistan in a partnership relationship and at the same time counter Uzbekistan’s growing influence. The fourth dilemma stems from the problem of maintaining stability in Tajikistan, which is crucial to regional security. Most Russian politicians and commentators believe that a continued Russian military presence in Tajikistan is necessary. Still there are arguments and proponents in favour of reducing that presence. A long-term troop reduction and reorganization of the remaining troops have already started with regard to the Russian border troops. In order to prepare for withdrawals of Russian troops, Russia has built up and trained the Tajik national army and contributed to the creation of a national border troop service. Russian border troops have

136 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

also transferred tasks along a limited part of the Tajik-Afghan border to Tajik national border troops. In the long run, national Tajik forces may be capable of taking over border defence and national security, but for the moment this is far from being realized. The ranks of the Russian 201st Division have been filled by Tajik nationals. Since 1998, the Tajik ethnic component in the officer staff has also increased. In an effort to secure a Russian military presence in the future, an agreement has been signed for reorganizing the 201st Division into a military base with a smaller number of soldiers for a duration of 25 years. In this way the Russian government is able to secure control of Tajikistan and its border with Afghanistan, for which a strong presence is necessary. On the other hand, a military presence may not be economically defensible in the long run, and a future Tajik government may not favour a Russian military presence in the country. As long as war in Afghanistan continues, the situation in Tajikistan will remain unstable. Since the Tajik government is not yet capable of controlling Tajik territory, the country remains a black hole in the sense that it offers transit routes for drug trafficking, arms smuggling and all manner of illegal trespassing. If Russia reduces its presence, Uzbekistan may fill the vacuum. The fifth dilemma stems from the threat of Taliban forces advancing into northern Afghanistan and the border of the central Asian states. The antiTaliban Northern Alliance, which is led by the ethnic Tajik Ahmad Shah Masud, and the ethnic Uzbek Abdul Rashid Dostum, and is supported by Russia, has been pushed back by the Taliban and now controls the territory close to the border to Tajikistan. Since 1998 the Taliban have tried to take control of the northern provinces of Kunduz and Takhar and thereby cut the supply channels of military and other assistance to the Northern Alliance. They managed to oust Dostum and press Masud up to the border of Tajikistan. This has prompted different suggestions in the Russian debate as to how the Russian government might best respond to the situation. One alternative would be to increase support by Russia and the central Asian states for the Northern Alliance in its struggle against the Taliban.42 A completely opposite policy recommends diplomatic recognition of the Taliban government and the restoration of diplomatic relations, an approach that has been suggested by some Russian analysts. This would make it possible to come to agreement with the Taliban government on common problems.43 Turkmenistan already follows the latter recommendation. In contrast to Russia and other central Asian states, Turkmenistan already has consular relations with the Taliban regime. Trade is developing between the two countries and there are plans for Turkmenistan to provide the Afghan border regions with electricity.44 The Russian government excludes diplomatic recognition. If Russia instead chooses to continue its support for the Northern Alliance, it needs the support of Uzbekistan.

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 137

PROSPECTS FOR THE FUTURE The new emphasis on strategic concerns regarding developments in south central Asia, as reflected in Russian government policy under Vladimir Putin, has resulted in several policy dilemmas. Russia’s present policy in the region is both ambiguous and contradictory and may be counterproductive in the sense that it helps to speed up the weakening of Russia’s position and influence. As this chapter has pointed out, giving priority to Uzbekistan in Russian policy may have negative consequences for regional dynamics. Russia has come to a crossroads in its policy towards central Asia. Its new focus on the struggle against ‘international terrorism’ and ‘religious extremism’ may create illusions both in Russia and in south central Asia that these kinds of problem can be solved by military means and force. The complex situation in south central Asia and the potential for violent conflict in the area together with the ambiguities and contradictions in present Russian policy may pave the way for a revision of Russian policy in the future. Either Russia has to engage more actively in providing military security guarantees and assistance in situations of domestic crisis in Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan or it has to initiate a policy in favour of close cooperation with both international organizations and external powers in the region in a joint effort to respond to security challenges. Russia has to give priority either to its concern with the intensified strategic competition with other external powers engaging in the region or to its concern with the security of the region. Against the background of the great potential for conflict in central Asia, the overall Russian resource base will hardly be sufficient for a competitive situation, or for providing military assistance if a serious violent conflict erupts. Central Asia is a region with a great potential for conflict. No single external power can take on the task and the burden of acting as a security guarantor. International cooperation may be the only option if conflicts are to be prevented. There has been growing interest among central Asian states as well as external powers in creating and participating in security arrangements, so far mainly of a non-military character. Ultimately the cooperative option for Russian policy may therefore be the best option, and one which will prove to be the most realistic response not only to the security challenges of the region but also to the challenge of Russia’s own national security. NOTES 1. Lena Jonson, Russia and Central Asia: A New Web of Relations (London, 1998); Lena Jonson, ‘Russia and Central Asia’, in Lena Jonson and Roy Allison (eds), Central Asian Security Dynamics: The New International Context (Washington, DC, 2001).

138 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

2. Nadezhda Alekseeva, ‘Vizit rossiiskogo premera v Tadzhikistan’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 17 November 1999, p. 1. 3. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 4, 6 January 2000. 4. Russian TV, in BBC Monitoring Service, Inside Central Asia, no. 301, 15–21 November 1999. 5. Leonid Ivashov (Main Directorate for International Cooperation of the Defence Ministry), ‘Rol’ Rossii v uregulirovanii konfliktov usilivaetsia’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 15 September 1999, p. 3. 6. Leonid Panin, Yuri Stepanov and Igor Shestakov, ‘Uzbek Servicemen Armed with Russian Weapons to Conduct Operations in Kyrgyzstan’, Kommersant Daily, no. 4, 2 September 1999. 7. Jane’s Defence Weekly, 22 December 1999. 8. Itar-Tass news agency, Moscow, in Russian, 1126 GMT, 11 December 1999; and BBC Worldwide Monitoring, 11 December 1999. 9. Iurii Golotiuk, ‘Rossiia ne toropitsia otkryvat’ “novyi front”’, Izvestya, 22 September 1999, p. 3. 10. Ostankino Radio Mayak, Moscow, 26 January 2000/BBC Monitoring Service, International Reports, 26 January 2000. 11. Segodnya, 4 April 2000/Reuters, 7 April 2000. 12. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 51, 13 March 2000. 13. Itar-Tass in Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 5, no. 206, 5 November 1999. 14. Ibid. 15. Troops from five states participated, including 13,000 servicemen, 40 armoured personnel carriers, including tanks, a few missile systems, about 20 battle helicopters and about 30 fighter aircraft. (In the 1999 exercise, there was no combat firing and troops exercised mainly on the territories of their own states, with the exception of the Tajik unit, which marched across the territory of Uzbekistan.) Both Armenia and Belarus participated in April 2000. 16. On 1 April the combat stage proper started on the Tigrovaia Balka test area in Tajikistan and near the town of Termez in Uzbekistan. According to the plan for the exercises, an armed incursion from Afghanistan was to be suppressed by anti-terrorist military detachments of treaty countries and Uzbekistan. Uzbek ground detachments and aviation were to be deployed near Termez and interact with the main anti-terrorist headquarters located in Dushanbe. Vladimir Georgiev, ‘Voiska treniruiutsia’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 4 April 2000, p. 5. 17. Segodnya, 4 April 2000, p. 4/Reuters, 5 April 2000. 18. Vedomosti, 6 April 2000/Reuters, 10 April 2000. On 5 April, the CIS antiaircraft defence system held unprecedented headquarters command training exercises. Over 50 planes took off in Belarus, Armenia, Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Ukraine. It was the first time that cooperation between the operating control of the anti-aircraft defence systems of these countries had been practised in a situation requiring the application of national strength and resources to detain hijacked planes. About 20,000 servicemen took part in the exercises. Kommersant Daily, 6 April 2000/ Reuters, 7 April 2000.

SECURITY POLICY IN SOUTH CENTRAL ASIA 139

19. BBC Monitoring Service, Central Asia, 3 April 2000/Reuters, 3 April 2000. 20. IPR Strategic Business Information Database, 11 April 2000/Reuters, 11 April 2000. 21. Flemming Splidsboel-Hansen, The Official Russian Concept of Contemporary Central Asian Islam: The Security Dimension’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 49, no. 8, 1997, pp. 1501–17. 22. Lena Jonson, The Tajik War: A Challenge to Russian Policy (London, 1998). 23. Aleksei Malashenko, ‘Islam and Politics in Central Asian States’, in Lena Jonson and Murad Esenov (eds), Political Islam and Conflicts in Russia and Central Asia, Swedish Institute of International Affairs, Conference Papers 24, 1999. 24. Iurii Golotiuk, ‘Russia is Joining the Union of the Three’, Izvestya, 13 October 1998, p. 1/Former Soviet Union 15 Nations: Policy and Security (Moscow), October 1998, p. 41. 25. ‘SNG: Khronika Sobytii iyun’-iyul’ 1999’, Sodruzhestvo NG, no. 7, July 1999. 26. According to their commander, Major-General Aleksandr Markin. Interfax, 22 July 1999/BBC Monitoring Service, Inside Central Asia, no. 284, 19–25 July 1999, p. 2. Patrolling functions along parts of the Tajik-Afghan border were transferred in 1999 to the Tajik national border guard service. 27. Richard Pomfret, Central Asia Turns South? Trade Relations in Transition (London, 1999). 28. ‘Rossiia i SNG: Nuzhdaetsia li v korrektirovke pozitsiia zapada?’, Rossiiskaia gazeta, 22 September 1994. 29. ‘O natsional’noi bezopasnosti: Poslanie Prezidenta RF Federal’nomu Sobraniiu’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 14 June 1996, p. 7. 30. The concept was drafted by Iurii Baturin, adviser to Yeltsin. ‘Politika natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii (1996–2000)’, NG-Stsenarii, no. 2 (May 1996). 31. ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii. Proekt’, Krasnaia zvezda, 9 October 1999; final version published in Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 15, 28 April–11 May 2000; and ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, ibid., no. 1, 14–20 January 2000. 32. ‘Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’. 33. For an analysis of Russia and Central Asian security dynamics of the Uzbek, Tajik and Afghan factors, see Jonson, ‘Russia and Central Asia’. 34. Note from Anara Tabyshalieva, The Challenge of Regional Cooperation in Central Asia: Preventing Ethnic Conflict in the Ferghana Valley (Washington, DC, 1999). Tabyshalieva mentions the figure of 45,000 Tajik refugees in Kyrgyzstan. 35. Similar problems along the Uzbek-Kazakh border led the authorities of a border region of Kazakhstan, the Makhtaral’skii region, to request that a military unit be deployed there. Igor Rotar, ‘Mezhdu otvergnutym proshlym i tumannym budushchim’, Sodruzhestvo NG, no. 7, July 1999. See also Vladimir Georgiev, ‘Moskva obrela novogo soiuznika’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 17 April 1999, pp. 1 and 5.

140 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

36. Gulfira Gayeva and Yuri Chubchenko, ‘Russia Names its Principal Ally in Central Asia’, Kommersant Daily, 26 February 1999, p. 3; Former Soviet Union 15 Nations: Policy and Security, February 1999, p. 85. 37. BBC Monitoring Service, Inside Central Asia, no. 294, 27 September–3 October 1999. 38. Uzbek President Karimov said: ‘These things are happening because of the weak policy carried out by the Kyrgyz government. This kind of humane attitude towards terrorists will lead to this kind of incident.’ However, Kyrgyz National Security Minister Tashtemir Aitbaev responded that Kyrgyzstan had taken ‘very correct steps’. ‘We did not let them drag us into a long drawn-out war.’ BBC Monitoring Service, Inside Central Asia, no. 301, 15–21 November 1999. 39. Gafarli Mekhman, ‘Narkobiznes i islamskii ekstremizm’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 23 October 1999, p. 5. 40. Ibid. 41. Igor Rotar, ‘Neprostoe sosedstvo’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 2 July 1999, p. 5. 42. This was suggested by Colonel Valerii Popov, chief of the operational department of the Russian border troops in Tajikistan, as late as February 2000. Valerii Popov, ‘Ukhodit’ iz Tadzhikistana nel’zia’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 5, 11–17 February 2000, p. 2. 43. See articles by Aleksandr Umnov in Nezavisimaia gazeta already in 1998. In 1998, the central Asian leaders had started to discuss the possibility of recognizing the Taliban government. On the eve of the summit of the Central Asian Economic Union in August 1998, the question of recognition was considered but left for discussions by Russia and the five central Asian countries. See Vladimir Mukhin, Professor of the Russian Academy of Military Sciences, ‘Extension of the Zone of Taliban’s Influence May Significantly Infringe upon Russia’s Interests in Central Asia’, Former Soviet Union 15 Nations: Policy and Security, August 1998, pp. 18–23. See also Mikhail Pereplesnin, ‘Taliby pytaiutsia poluchit’ priznanie mira’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 18 February 2000, p. 6. As these analysts point out, diplomatic relations with Kabul would have prevented situations like the one which arose in January 2000, when the Taliban government recognized the independence of Chechnya. 44. Pereplesnin, ‘Taliby pytaiutsia poluchit’ priznanie mira’.

13 The Role of Islam in Russia’s Relations with Central Asia1 YAACOV RO’I

Islam came to be perceived as a threat to the stability of the Soviet state following the Islamic revolution in Iran in 1978–79 and the formation of an active Islamic opposition to the Marxist regime in Afghanistan in the same period. This perception persisted into the Gorbachev period of glasnost’ and perestroika, and, indeed, into the post-Soviet era of Boris Yeltsin and Vladimir Putin. It is not clear to what extent Russia’s new rulers—or their Soviet predecessors—really believed that Islam’s politicization might jeopardize the country’s stability. To some observers it appeared rather that the theoretical possibility of such a threat was elaborated in order to provide a pretext for repression of what Moscow termed Islamic extremism or fundamentalism. Certainly, it was a card, which, if cleverly played, might be expected to rally Russian public opinion behind government policy and to win support for that policy in the USA and western Europe to boot. The issues at stake were not solely those of foreign policy—relations with the ‘near abroad’, as the newly independent successor states of the former USSR have been dubbed, and with the Muslim world outside and the West. There was a clear relevance for domestic policy as well, the Russian Federation having a considerable Muslim population of its own, primarily the Volga Tatars, who comprised the second largest ethnic group after the Russians, but also the Bashkirs and the various north Caucasian ethnicities. The link between the enhanced national awareness of the Soviet Union’s numerous nationalities in the last decade or so of its existence and their traditional ‘national’ religions was likely to be a factor conducive to inter-ethnic tension within the Federation after independence. In fact, religion seemed to have a role in some of the inter-ethnic conflicts which broke out in Russia in the 1990s: apart from the obvious case of Chechnya, there was the strife between Ossets and Ingush. Moreover, there were manifest instances of strain between Russians and Tatars which sometimes centred on their religious differences. As in some of the north Caucasian republics, so too in Tatarstan the eponymous population sought to restrict the confessional activity of the Russians. Similarly, from time to time in certain ‘Russian’ regions, Muslims expressed their disgruntlement

142 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

at the insufficient attention paid by officialdom to their religious needs and looked upon government policy, particularly in the sphere of education, as one of Christianization.2 In this context it was inevitable that Russia would show an interest in developments within Islam not only inside its own borders, particularly in the northern Caucasus, but also in the near abroad. This meant first and foremost central Asia, where about two-thirds of the Muslims of the CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) resided. Trends that surfaced and developed there would almost certainly have an effect on Russia’s Muslims. Moreover, it was likely that statements by Russian politicians and military leaders about Russia’s struggle with Islamic fundamentalism’ in Tajikistan would encourage inter-faith and inter-ethnic antagonisms in Russia.3 The leaders of the newly independent states of central Asia, four out of five of whom were former republican Communist Party first secretaries, have, for their part, assimilated the CPSU (Communist Party of the Soviet Union) leadership’s understanding of the Islamic threat. The president of the most populous of these states, Islam Karimov of Uzbekistan, has made Islam synonymous with turbulence and opposition: all believers who come together in any form of Islamic association not under the direct control of his government have been branded opponents of the regime. In this way, Karimov sought to distinguish between the increasingly manifest and ubiquitous practice of Islam, on the one hand, and Islamic official organizations and institutions, which he isolated and delegitimized, on the other.4 Undoubtedly, at certain stages it appeared as if the common interest of the governments of Russia and of central Asia in suppressing, or preventing the rise of, ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ was one of the major components of Russia’s rapprochement with Karimov’s Uzbekistan and Imomali Rahmonov’s Tajikistan. Throughout 1992, Karimov kept up a ‘relentless barrage of propaganda’ concerning the threat to all of central Asia and Russia from a chain reaction sparked by Tajikistan’s Islamists. And Moscow heard similar stories from Tajikistan’s own hardliners.5 Indeed, commentators saw in this the raison d’être of Russia’s considerable military involvement in Tajikistan’s civil war even prior to Rahmonov’s becoming President. They interpreted this direct involvement as a reaction to the participation of the Islamic Renaissance Party of Tajikistan in the coalition government, which ruled that country from May to November 1992.6 Be this as it may, members of the Yeltsin administration, who were reformers within Russia, joined up with hardliners in their Islamophobia. Some people in Moscow seemed to think that the sovereignty of the former union republics, especially the Muslim ones, could and should be subordinated to Russia’s alleged security interests. In this context they insisted that no

ROLE OF ISLAM IN RELATIONS WITH CENTRAL ASIA 143

foreign, i.e. Afghan, Iranian or Pakistani, interference in Tajikistan’s affairs would be tolerated.7 According to one scholar, the considerable disagreement in Moscow itself over the direction that Russia’s role in the Tajik civil war should take, was a necessary projection of conflicting opinions among the Russian political elite on the issue of Russia’s relations with central Asia and the Caucasus and its position regarding ‘the Islamic threat’. On the one hand were the conservative centrists—Foreign Ministry officials and some leaders of the Communist Party. They were the heirs of the Russian imperial and Soviet view of central Asia as a legitimate sphere of influence, which was historically combined with anxiety at a possible Islamic threat and a belief in the feasibility of cooperation between the Russian Orthodox Church and traditional Islam. Moreover, they feared the total alienation of the Muslim areas of the CIS, rejected the idea of opposition and hostility towards the Islamic world, and had no desire for an alliance with Washington in a struggle against Islam.8 There was, in their view, neither rhyme nor reason for Russia to be drawn into the West’s hostile relationship with the Muslim world. They opted rather for friendly relations with the countries of the Middle East, especially Iran and Turkey, the traditional southern flank. To achieve this they were, moreover, interested in employing the good services of the central Asian states, notably Kazakhstan.9 Against these ‘neo-Eurasians’ were the ‘Euro-Atlantists’, who took ‘a much more ideological and cultural view of the Islamic factor, advocating a significantly more thorough and sustained containment policy’. This view, favoured by Yeltsin, drew ‘heavily from the predominantly Western, secular and modernist views of Islam as a geo-cultural threat, with serious potential for political challenge to Russia’s interests’. It therefore meant allocating to Russia ‘an activist role in the Islamic containment’, indeed indicating that Russia would ‘provide the “front line” of defence’ against Islamic fundamentalism. It also enhanced Moscow’s ability to justify and obtain support from the West for ‘an ever-expanding political-military intervention in Tajikistan’, where Russia became, in essence, the sole guarantor of the Rahmonov regime. Yeltsin’s first Foreign Minister, Andrei Kozyrev, sought to demonstrate that Russia would be instrumental in bringing the central Asian states closer to the West, since all of them, as well as Azerbaijan, had gone on record in expressing their concern over the Islamic threat.10 (A somewhat different assessment of the Russian internal debate points out that the Islamic factor has been most vigorously exploited both by Russian or Slavic-Orthodox nationalists and by the proWestern Atlanticists.11) It was thus entirely logical that Russia maintained an armed presence in Tajikistan during and after the civil war. These forces consisted of border guards—comprising a small central Asian contingent from other regional

144 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

states of the CIS—and the Russian army’s 201st Motorized Rifle Division, deployed in Tajikistan since the Soviet period. Russian and Uzbekistani troops helped the hardliners in their final drive on Dushanbe in late 1992, and military, KGB and police personnel from both states remained in the country to help the new government crush all opposition. By autumn 1993 there were 15,000 Russian troops in Tajikistan, and this number grew by the middle of the decade to 20,000.12 Among the explanations that Moscow gave for its participation in the ongoing fighting in Tajikistan were the alleged participation of Afghans and Tajiks in attacks on Russian troops and, above all, Russia’s strategic interest in combating Islamic fundamentalism.13 In the words of one Western analyst, The painful associations of [the war in] Afghanistan for many Russians and other citizens of the former Soviet Union’ enabled ‘the combination of the civil war in Tajikistan and the rise of the Taliban in Afghanistan’ to stimulate ‘repeated alarms, often based on unsubstantiated or falsified information, of an Islamic fundamentalist drive northward, first into Tajikistan, then into other Central Asian states’, finally reaching Russia itself.14 While Russia’s policy towards Afghanistan is extraneous to the theme of our discussion, it is clear that Moscow’s genuine or apparent apprehensions regarding the instability that might easily spill over from that country into neighbouring CIS states have focused, among others, on Islam. (The other main source of concern has been drug trafficking.) In the second half of the 1990s, however, Uzbekistan’s special relationship with Moscow seemed to weaken, although both continued to see in a politicized Islam a threat to their internal stability and to exploit this real or imaginary danger to justify anti-democratic procedures in their respective territories. Karimov’s Uzbekistan on the Threshold of the Twenty-first Century devotes an entire chapter to ‘great power chauvinism’, in which the author’s main concern is the persistence of Russian imperialism.15 In addition to its strictly security implications, the issue under review— the role of Islam in Russia’s relations with the near abroad—has an important emotional aspect. For Russia, Islam represents, as it were, the vestiges of the traditional antagonism between East and West, legitimizing Russia’s historical role as the defender of Christendom and Western civilization against the primitive and sinister aggressiveness of its Asiatic neighbours, which in many ways provided the apologia for its great power status. For the newly independent states of central Asia, in contrast, despite their official secularism, Islam is an integral part of the national heritage and culture. They therefore differentiate between ‘moderate’ or establishment Islam and attempts at Islamic organization or consolidation beyond the orbit of government control.16 Since even autocratic regimes have to beware of totally antagonizing their populations, they have found

ROLE OF ISLAM IN RELATIONS WITH CENTRAL ASIA 145

themselves walking a rather difficult tightrope and giving considerable publicity to the dangers that Islamic ‘extremism’ poses to social and political stability inside their countries. The dilemma of the central Asian states emanates from their lack of an effective security apparatus capable of meeting any serious domestic opposition let alone a significant external menace. The perils inherent in the region as a result of a possible spillover of the protracted Afghan civil war made them all, and particularly Afghanistan’s immediate neighbours Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, manifestly dependent on Russia’s goodwill and even concrete military assistance. (Turkmenistan also has a common border with Afghanistan, but President Sapurmurad Niyazov has persistently distanced himself from the regional politics of both Russia and his central Asian neighbours.) Indeed, the threat of a spillover highlighted the sharing by the regional states and Russia of a common cause of concern. Many observers perceived the civil war in Tajikistan and the continued instability there after the war’s termination in 1996 as a projection of developments in Afghanistan. (Part of the air force of Ahmad Shah Masud, one of the leaders of the anti-Taliban coalition, was said to be stationed in Kulob in Tajikistan, and the family of President Birhanuddin Rabbani to have evacuated to Dushanbe.) Tajikistan’s two central Asian neighbours Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, as well as Kazakhstan, have all proclaimed their support for decisive action to preserve that country’s territorial integrity.17 Russia, for its part, is interested in constraining and localizing conflict to the distant periphery of the CIS and keeping it as far away as possible from its own borders. Already concerned by the constant hazards of the north Caucasian situation, the Russian Federation certainly does not desire further Islamic influence in the south-east. The nightmare scenario from Moscow’s point of view would be a link between Islamic forces in central Asia and the Northern Caucasus,18 or between Islamic forces in Afghanistan and in central Asia, either of which could turn into an anti-Russian jihad. The situation became more complex as of 1998. Despite Karimov’s reservations regarding Russia’s great power chauvinism, Moscow, Tashkent and Dushanbe concluded a triple alliance in May 1998 to coordinate efforts in the struggle against extremist tendencies in Islam. The Uzbek President said specifically that ‘the threat…coming to us from the south’ was aimed at both Uzbekistan and Russia. He also told Russian Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin that Russia and Uzbekistan faced a common enemy in Wahhabism, which, he claimed, provided the ideological underpinning of nationalists in the northern Caucasus and of the opposition in Tajikistan.19 In August 1999, however, bringing Karimov’s reservations regarding Russian great power chauvinism to their logical conclusion, Uzbekistan pulled out of the CIS collective security pact and joined GUAM, the association of Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan and

146 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Moldova that was designed to constrain Russian imperialism. Yet, in the very same month, members of the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan moved into the Batken region of Kyrgyzstan from the Karategin Valley in eastern Tajikistan, inducing Kyrgyzstan to approach Moscow for further security cooperation. Russian Defence Minister Igor Sergeev thereupon visited Tashkent, where he stated that Russia would send weapons, ammunition and other equipment, though not troops, to Kyrgyzstan to resolve the crisis. Indeed, following Putin’s appointment as Prime Minister, relations between Russia and Uzbekistan seemed to have improved, and by December 1999 Russia, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan and Tajikistan were actively backing the anti-Taliban alliance in Afghanistan in a bid to keep the radical Sunni militia away from their borders. In January 2000, the last three countries together with Kyrgyzstan took part in a meeting with Putin in which they emphasized that their primary concern was combating terrorists and extremists. Karimov and Kazakhstan President Nursultan Nazarbaev reportedly proposed a programme for fighting terrorism and religious extremism across the CIS.20 After being elected President in March 2000, Putin continued in the same vein. In mid-April the police and security chiefs of the Shanghai Five— Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan—agreed that the Taliban constituted a meaningful threat to regional stability. They decided to consolidate ‘military ties for joint strikes against nationalist separatism and religious extremism, internationalist terrorism and the protection of regional security and stability’. Russia began establishing an air defence network in central Asia to duplicate Western uses of air power for punitive measures in Afghanistan in 1998 and in Kosovo in 1999. In May, Russian Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov asserted that ‘acts of terror and other actions which could damage the interests of Russia and its partners in central Asia are being prepared on the territory of Afghanistan’. At the same time a Kremlin spokesman highlighted an agreement allegedly reached between representatives of the Taliban and of Chechen President Aslan Maskhadov, the international terrorist Osama bin Laden and Juma Namangani, head of the outlawed IMU. While Karimov and Nazarbaev expressed reservations concerning a Russian pre-emptive strike against Afghanistan as suggested by Moscow, they did not rule out the bombing of that country in retaliation of an Islamic military offensive; Kyrgyzstan President Askar Akaev even favoured a pre-emptive strike.21 Karimov’s doubts evidently emanated from fears that Uzbekistan would be the direct victim of the Taliban’s countermeasures to Russian aggression.22 In summer 2000, the IMU struck again. This time, the fighting began in the mountainous region of Surkhandarya in southern Uzbekistan and soon spread into neighbouring Kyrgyzstan, taking on the form of a regional crisis.23 The IMU deployed different tactics from those of the previous year: rather than mounting a major offensive, they now chose to launch

ROLE OF ISLAM IN RELATIONS WITH CENTRAL ASIA 147

small-scale incursions and to attack villages and military posts over a larger area. On 14 August 2000, the IMU announced, a list of demands to the Uzbek government, including the release of all IMU members imprisoned in Uzbekistan, the reopening of all mosques shut down by the Uzbek government, the imposition of Shari’a law and the sanctioning of Muslim dress. On the same day the Uzbek, Kyrgyz and Tajik governments formed a joint headquarters in the Leninabad/Sugd region of Tajikistan to coordinate their response to the new offensive. Russia quickly became involved, and on 20 August the leaders of these three states met with Kazakh President Nazarbaev and Russian Security Council Secretary Sergei Ivanov. All five parties pledged the commitment of their governments to take decisive measures to crush ‘terrorist action’.24 The Russians claimed that the insurgents were being successful owing to the poor coordination of the military efforts of Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Presumably, this contention was designed to justify Russia’s role in solving the crisis. Karimov, for his part, and to some extent also Akaev, sought to internationalize the crisis in order to establish themselves, in both Russian and Western eyes, as the last barricade preventing militant Islam from marching westwards. The secretary of Kyrgyzstan’s Security Council claimed that the IMU was backed by international terrorist organizations, including Osama bin Laden’s al-Qaeda, and that its aim was to destabilize central Asia and increase drug trafficking from Afghanistan. Karimov also insinuated that a direct link existed between Caucasian Islamic radicals and the IMU. Karimov’s theory of Uzbekistan as a wall preventing the spillover of radical Islam into Russia was intended to encourage Russian and Western aid. It in no way indicated that he ceased fearing a scenario in which Russia would use the Islamic factor as a pretext to regain a tight grip on central Asian and Uzbek politics. Following 11 September 2001, the US government embarked on an operation to ‘uproot’ international terrorism. Initially, the Russian administration expressed its support for the USA and offered to cooperate in the task of combating terror, but as soon as speculation started about Afghanistan being the target of the upcoming American attack, the Russian government began stating reservations concerning American military involvement in central Asia. On 14 September 2001, Russian Defence Minister Sergei Ivanov pointed out that ‘central Asia is within the zone of competence of the CIS Collective Security Treaty. I see no reason whatsoever, even hypothetical, for any suppositions about conducting NATO operations from territories of central Asian countries, members of the CIS.’25 Putin, dreading the possibility of the Americans gaining influence in a historically Russian-dominated zone, dispatched Security Council Secretary Vladimir Rushailo to discuss with the central

148 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Asian leaders the issue of granting Washington bases, overflight rights and intelligence sharing. As the dust began to settle, the Russian administration began to search for ways to use the new international situation to its advantage. Moscow’s main goal was to depict the Chechen as part of an international terrorist conspiracy.26 The Russians also tried to coordinate the global war on terror through the UN and thus deprive NATO of its leading role in the campaign. Putin and Foreign Minister Ivanov realized that in order to achieve these objectives, it behoved them to mitigate their approach on the issue of American military deployment in central Asia. On 19 September, Ivanov said that every member country of the CIS had the right to decide for itself whether to allow other countries or alliances to make use of military bases on its territory.27 On 24 September, Putin declared that Moscow would send weapons to opposition forces fighting the Taliban in Afghanistan and would open its airspace to humanitarian flights by the USled anti-terrorist coalition, and hinted that Moscow would not object to the USA using air bases in central Asia.28 Although Condoleeza Rice, US National Security Adviser, stated on 15 October 2001 that Washington did not intend reducing Russian influence in central Asia through its military operations against Afghanistan, the Russians appreciated that they had to loosen their grip on central Asia so as not to be alienated from the international anti-terror campaign. For the central Asian leaders, the American-led campaign against the Taliban regime created new political opportunities. In addition to being conducive to the letting up of pressure regarding their abuses of human rights, Karimov’s and Akaev’s pleas to the West for aid in their ‘war on terror’ were now answered with American aid.29 The possibility of a military alliance with the Americans would also provide an alternative for the central Asian governments who had been strongly dependent on the Russo-Chinese-dominated Shanghai Cooperation Organization (the Shanghai Five changed its name when Uzbekistan joined the pact in June 2001).30 In conclusion, then, Islam has been an important component in Russia’s relations with the new central Asian states. Whether we accept or reject the rhetoric that has accompanied the recurrent joining of forces between the governments of Russia and central Asia in order to counter the ‘threat of Islamic extremism’, there is no way of denying that Islam played a central role in creating a pretext, if not a reason, for a continued Russian presence in central Asia. To quote one scholar: ‘the use of labels like “fundamentalist” and “Wahhabi” and playing on unpleasant memories of the war in Afghanistan are a significant factor in encouraging uncritical alarmism about the purported Muslim menace’ and goad Russia into playing a more confrontational role not only in the northern Caucasus but also in central Asia.31 It provided a common language for Russia, as it

ROLE OF ISLAM IN RELATIONS WITH CENTRAL ASIA 149

forged its policy towards the near abroad, and the local, central Asian regimes, particularly Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, where the Islamic threat’ is deemed most real. The central Asian states, as they seek to consolidate themselves and adopt the form of government they consider most viable politically, all consider their stability to be endangered by developments in Afghanistan. And until September 2001 only Russia seemed likely, in their view, to be able to save them from any such menace. Moscow, for its part, was only too keen to encourage and build up this image. In summer 2002 the question is whether and how Russia will recover its leadership role if and when the US lets up its newly won position in central Asia. NOTES 1. This chapter relates only to Russia’s relations with the new states of former Soviet central Asia. 2. V.V.Naumkin, ‘Rossiia i Islam’, in Sovremennyi islam: kul’tura i politika (Moscow, 1994), p. 156. 3. Ibid., p. 157. 4. Gregory Gleason, ‘Uzbekistan: The Politics of National Independence’, in Ian Bremmer and Roy Taras (eds), New States, New Politics: Building the PostSoviet Nations (Cambridge, 1997), p. 590; and Islam Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold of the Twenty-first Century (Richmond, Surrey, 1997), pp. 22–6. 5. Muriel Atkin, ‘Islam as Faith, Politics and Bogeyman in Tajikistan’, in Michael Bourdeaux (ed.), The Politics of Religion in Russia and the New States of Eurasia (London, 1995), p. 261. 6. The party’s participation in government was the outcome of the compromise reached between President Rahmon Nabiev—another former republican first secretary (1982–85)—and the opposition in spring 1992. 7. Atkin, ‘Islam as faith, politics and bogeyman’, pp. 262–3. 8. Mohiaddin Mesbahi, ‘Tajikistan, Iran and the International Politics of the “Islamic Factor”’, Central Asian Survey, vol. 16, no. 2, 1997, pp. 146–7. 9. Mohiaddin Mesbahi, ‘Russian Foreign Policy and Security in Central Asia and the Caucasus’, Central Asian Survey, vol. 12, no. 2, 1993, p. 190. 10. Mesbahi, ‘Tajikistan, Iran and the International Politics of the “Islamic Factor”’, p. 147. Also Lena Jonson, ‘Politika Rossii v Tsentral’noi Azii na primere Tadzhikistana’, Tsentral’naia Aziia, vol. 2, no. 8, 1998, p. 87. For details of Russia’s involvement in Tajikistan, see Muriel Atkin, ‘Tajikistan: Reform, Reaction, and Civil War’, in Ian Bremmer and Roy Taras (eds), New States, New Politics: Building the Post-Soviet Nations (Cambridge, 1997), p. 613; and The Rhetoric of Islamophobia’, Central Asia and the Caucasus, no. 1, 2000, p. 124. 11. Irina Zviagelskaia, The Russian Policy Debate on Central Asia (London, 1995), pp. 10–12.

150 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

12. Kadir Alimov, ‘Uzbekistan’s Foreign Policy: in Search of a Strategy’, in Roald Z.Sagdeev and Susan Eisenhower (eds), Central Asia: Conflict, Resolution and Change (Chevy Chase, MD, 1995), p. 193. 13. Atkin, ‘Islam as Faith, Politics and Bogeyman’, p. 263. 14. Atkin, ‘The Rhetoric of Islamophobia’, p. 127. Two veterans of the Afghan war, Defence Minister Pavel Grachev and Aleksandr Lebed’, were among the proponents of this position. 15. Karimov, Uzbekistan on the Threshold, ch. 4, esp. pp. 34–9. 16. For Karimov’s position, see above. 17. Viacheslav Nikonov, ‘Politika Rossii v Tsentral’noi Azii’, Tsentral’naia Aziia, vol. 2, no. 8, 1997, p. 57. 18. In the early 1990s, hundreds of young Chechens and Dagestanis were said to have studied in underground medreses in the town of Namangan in the Ferghana Valley, some of whom, such as Salman Raduev, later became ‘rebel’ field commanders. See Sodruzhestvo NG, vol. 6, no. 7, 1998, p. 11. 19. Atkin, ‘ZThe Rhetoric of Islamophobia’, pp. 127, 129. Wahhabism is an epithet widely used in Moscow and elsewhere to depict Islamic extremism. The accuracy of the term is irrelevant to our study. 20. Radio Free Europe (hereafter RFE), 31 August, 1 and 3 September and 10 December 1999 and 26 January 2000. 21. Theodore Karasik, ‘Russian Threat to Strike Afghanistan Tests Central Asian Partners’, Turkistan Newsletter, vol. 4, no. 125, 22 June 2000. 22. Steve LeVine and Owen Matthews, ‘Is Putin Picking a Fight with Afghanistan?’, Newsweek, 5 June 2000. 23. Yaacov Ro’i, Islam in the CIS: A Threat to Stability? (London, 2001) p. 78. Western news agencies reported that Putin placed a telephone call to President Bush on 12 September 2002 offering him assistance in the fight against terror and instructed his staff to assist the Americans. See RFE/Radio Liberty (hereafter RL), Newsline, 13 September, 2001. 24. Ro’i, Islam in the CIS, pp. 79–80. 25. Vladimir Socor, Wall Street Journal Europe, 21 September, 2001, as quoted in Turkistan Newsletter, 24 September 2001. See also RFE/RL, Newsline, 17 September, 2001. 26. According to Russian sources, the Russian security services claimed to have information proving that one of the terrorists involved in the 11 September bombings in the USA had participated in the Chechen war. They also contended that Chechen militants were linked to Arab finance and had ties to bin Laden. See RFE/RL, Newsline, 20 September, 2001. 27. Ibid. 28. RFE/RL Weekday Magazine, 28 September 2001. 29. Uzbekistan, for example, was to receive US$160 million in 2002, an increase of US$100 million from previous years. RFE/RL Weekday Magazine, 31 January 2002. 30. Kyrgyzstan’s agreed to grant the USA access to an airbase near Bishkek in order to assist anti-terrorist operations. The agreement followed a declaration of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization several months before that called for the establishment of an anti-terrorist centre in Bishkek to host a joint Sino-Russian military force. The establishment of the US base in Bishkek,

ROLE OF ISLAM IN RELATIONS WITH CENTRAL ASIA 151

along with other US military cooperation agreements with central Asian states, blocks the establishment of a Sino-Russian condominium in central Asia. Central Asia-Caucasus Analyst, biweekly briefing, 27 February 2002. 31. Atkin, The Rhetoric of Islamophobia’, p. 132.

14 Russia in the Middle East: The Yeltsin Era and Beyond1 ODED ERAN

In his address to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Russia on 12 May 1998, President Boris Yeltsin argued that Russia had inherited from the Soviet Union a ‘unidimensional power’ namely, ‘a military might placed on a not very solid economic foundation’. The task of Russian foreign policy, said Yeltsin, was to remedy this disproportion, adding that ‘economic diplomacy is coming to the fore in our foreign policy’ and that Russia should enter the world market where it can be most competitive: the armaments market.2 While this statement is quite revealing as to the Russian conduct towards the Middle East (and for that matter other regions of the world) in the last decade of the century, it is certainly not the whole story. Prioritizing economic imperatives over strategic goals is just one of two notable reversals of the Soviet Cold War perspective regarding that area. The other one has to do with ethnogeography: post-Soviet Russia shifted much of its attention and inputs from the Arab-Israeli zone and refocused them on two countries that had not been Soviet allies during the years of Soviet-American confrontation: Turkey and Iran. One might argue that there is nothing new in Russia’s perception of Turkey and Iran as the two most essential countries in the region. Historically speaking, the tsarist empire, as well as the pre-Second-WorldWar Soviet Union, had concentrated their political, diplomatic and, at times, military pressures on these two states, viewing them as the gatekeepers to the area. The Soviet’s leap-frogging over them into the Arab world, as of the mid-1950s, resulted not only from the rising opportunities within the Arab nationalist regimes but also from the uninviting political circumstances in these two nations. Turkey has been a constant member of NATO and a founding member of the regional anti-Soviet military alliance. The Shah of Iran, for his part, before he was overthrown by the Islamic revolution, had been a strategic ally of the USA, while the revolutionary regime that followed him showed, maybe for the first time during the Cold War, that breaking with Washington did not mean an automatic affinity with Moscow. To be precise, in the last 20 years of its existence, while the Soviet Union had been working hard—and with some degree of success—to improve its relationship with Ankara and Teheran,

RUSSIA IN THE MIDDLE EAST 153

the strategic relationship with the Arab client states nonetheless remained, all along, the focal point of Soviet conduct in the region. This pattern vanished together with the Cold War. Turkey and Iran have re-emerged as the centre of Russian regional attention, although not necessarily for the old historical motives. Post-Soviet Russia values these newly found regional acquaintances for reasons of economics and politics. To begin with, Turkey and Iran are its largest and most lucrative trading partners in the area, capable of servicing their commercial debts, not to mention granting Russia convenient lines of credit. In the reality of a cashstarved Russian economy and the imperative to keep industries—the defence industries included—going, this must be an overwhelming consideration. In 1997, the volume of Russian-Turkish trade reached US $10 billion. In 1998, Moscow and Ankara signed a US$20 billion agreement to supply Russian natural gas to Turkey. A 750-mile pipeline, named Blue Stream, is being laid on the Black Sea bed (construction started in February 2000) Blue Stream will link the southern Russian town of Izobil’noe to Ankara and increase the sale of Russian natural gas from 7 billion cubic metres a year to 30 billion by 2010. Ankara, for its part, has provided Russia with hundreds of millions of dollars of loans in order to boost Turkish exports, primarily textile products, to Russia.3 Turkey has also become the first member of NATO to purchase some Russian military hardware.4 Likewise, the Iranian economy has become a fountainhead of hard currency for Russia, and probably for individual Russians. The Russian military industry has in recent years supplied to Iran four Kilo-type submarines, and the Russian civilian nuclear industry has already completed the construction of an US$800 million nuclear reactor in Busher and signed agreements for three more, for US$4 billion. Russia continues to covet the Iranian conventional arms market, and the opportunities that it offers seem irresistible to Russian economic planners. In November 2000, Russia informed the US government that it had decided to withdraw from a secret understanding, from 1995, between Vice-President Al Gore and Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin to stop conventional arms sales to Iran (implementation of existing contracts was excluded). Reportedly, Russia is willing now to go ahead with a lucrative deal, allowing the Iranians to assemble, under licence, MIG-29 combat airplanes and T-72C tanks, risking US sanctions.5 What is less clear is the nature and volume of Russian involvement in the lucrative Iranian military, nuclear and ballistic missile, projects. US and Israeli sources claim that there is a constant flow of technology and technological know-how from the Russian military industrial complex and scientific establishment to the Iranian military projects, which could significantly shorten the time that Iran would need to acquire weapon-usable fissile material. Furthermore, Iran is reportedly working hard on the development of long-range ballistic missiles, not to

154 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

mention that twice, in 2000, Iran tested the Shehab-3 medium-range missile. The Russian government claims that it has done its best to curb that flow, which allegedly is unauthorized and peddled by private and individual interests. If measures were indeed taken, they do not seem to have been effective. The Iran Nonproliferation Act of 2000, signed by US President Bill Clinton on 15 March, allowed the administration to impose sanctions on ten Russian firms and their scientists who are, allegedly, top providers of sophisticated weapon technology and material to Iran.6 Nonetheless, its effectiveness remains doubtful as we are dealing with an extremely profitable business. Of course, the volume of trade and cash flow do not tell the whole story. Russia regards Turkey and Iran as priority countries not the least because their interests and its own are intertwined in an area and issues that extend beyond the scope of this chapter: the politics and oil economics of central Asia and the Caucasus. The economic perceptions and considerations of these two nations regarding that regional context are often not agreeable to Moscow. Also, these two Muslim neighbours are potentially contenders as well as possible collaborators with Russia in the competition for influence in the ethnic/religious mix of central Asia and the Caucasus. It should be borne in mind that Russia has strongly pursued its claim to include these former Soviet territories in the realm of its security and political interests. Thus far, however, no serious conflict has developed between Russia and these two nations related to that geographic web. With the exception of some limited Turkish political involvement in Azerbaijan and intrinsic sensitivity towards the Chechen crises, no major political drive into these lands was evident on the part of Ankara. On the other hand, some degree of Iranian acquiescence, if not collaboration, with Russian interests was manifest, particularly in the case of Tajikistan.7 The conspicuous shift in Russian priorities towards Turkey and Iran is concomitant with overtures towards other countries of the region which have no recent record of any significant relationship with the Soviet Union but may, nevertheless, offer Russia lucrative trade opportunities. Russian defence industries have been shopping for markets in the Gulf States, but unlike in the case of Turkey and Iran, only with limited success. As Kuwait cannot be regarded as a novice to Russian armaments, Russia’s only real achievement is with the United Arab Emirates, where it managed to conclude a US$3 billion deal.8 Israel is another case in point, though for diversified reasons. The volume of trade between the two countries has never reached the levels of that with Turkey or Iran. Thus far, it has ranged between US$300 and US $700 million annually, though the potential of the Israeli economy continues to attract attention in Russia.9 As a veteran Russian expert on the Middle East said recently: ‘We want commercial relations with Israel, as its economy is bigger than the economies of Egypt, Jordan, Syria and

RUSSIA IN THE MIDDLE EAST 155

Lebanon put together.’10 More essential to the relationship between Moscow and Jerusalem are the 1 million former Soviet citizens who have emigrated to Israel in the past 30 years. This mass of Russian-speaking emigrants has become the largest ex-Soviet diaspora in the world. Furthermore, they have become, in a sense, a power broker in Israeli electoral politics. This vibrant and still growing community is actively contributing to thriving and multifaceted relations between Russia and Israel.11 Russia attains two main political benefits from the newly discovered acquaintance with Israel: one is regional, reinforcing Russia’s claim to be a legitimate party to the peace process; the other goes beyond that and is more elusive. Having experienced the role of Israel, and of the American-Jewish community, on the issue of freedom of emigration for Soviet Jewry during the Cold War, Russian leaders appear to perceive Israel as capable of influencing the US government and Congress. While the demise of the Soviet Union led the new Russia to reprioritize its bilateral relations with the countries of the region, leaning primarily towards Turkey and Iran, it would be wrong to argue that Moscow lost its interest either in the Arab world in general or in the Arab-Israeli dispute in particular. What Russia actually lost is the political and military leverage previously enjoyed by the Soviet Union in that part of the Middle East. The contraction of Moscow’s empire, with the concomitant shrinkage of the Russian power projection and political influence capabilities, has created a vacuum. The volume of diverse Soviet activities and military presence is almost all gone, certainly dwarfed in comparison with the pre-1992 levels. Nonetheless, by discarding regional confrontation with the USA, Russia has not given up its long-harboured claim to the status of a Middle Eastern power. The Russian navy has kept its access contract to the port facilities of Tartus in Syria (the only other ‘foreign base’ that it still contracts is in the Cam Rahn Bay in Vietnam).12 In February 2000, Russia sent another signal of interest by dispatching an intelligence ship, the Kildin, from its Black Sea naval base of Sevastopol, with the mission of monitoring the situation in the Mediterranean and the Gulf.13 Notwithstanding, since 1992, Russia’s conduct, particularly towards the Arab and Arab-Israeli zone of the Middle East, has been epitomized by fairly unsuccessful attempts to rebuild its leverage on regional politics, as well as by exercises in redefining the legitimacy of its claim. Generally speaking, since 1992 we have seen two versions of Russian behaviour in that zone of the Middle East. To be precise, the first one had appeared in the last years of the Soviet Union and lasted for about two years after the implosion. It was embodied by open, if somewhat reluctant support, for American regional policies. This line was initiated by the team of President Mikhail Gorbachev and Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze and culminated with the Russian vote in the UN Security Council to authorize the military measures against Iraq. The team of

156 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Yeltsin and Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev continued along the same path, giving its blessing to the US-sponsored efforts to resolve the Palestinian-Israeli dispute and terminate the formal state of war between Israel and Jordan. Despite the weakening of Russia’s regional muscles, its ceremonial participation in the peace process was acceptable to all the pertinent partners: the US government, Israel, Jordan and the Palestinians. By bringing Russia in, Washington probably had in mind encouraging the Yeltsin regime to continue along the path of economic reforms and strengthening him against his—and Kozyrev’s—domestic critics. By then, the latter was already perceived by the opposition as the epitome of humility before the West. A more regional perspective may have been to get Russia to subscribe to political arrangements that it might otherwise challenge in the unforeseeable future. Nevertheless, Russian participation in the signing ceremonies of the Oslo Accord between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization in September 1993, and later in the peace treaty between Israel and Jordan in Aqaba in October 1994, was somewhat pathetic, which did not go unnoticed at home. At that time the nationalist and communist opponents of the President were vexing Kozyrev on a whole range of foreign policy issues. In view of the growing criticism to the effect that a submissive Russia was trying to please the USA, it was becoming harder and harder to cling to the ‘pro-American’ line. Furthermore, popular resentment against the liberal economic reforms, combined with the prospect of the parliamentary elections scheduled for December 1995, dictated the need for more vigorous international behaviour. These domestic pressures started to show in Yeltsin’s policies on a variety of subjects. Actually, the story of Russian foreign conduct since then cannot be conveyed without appreciating the interaction between internal political constraints and external needs. In the Middle East the change became evident in 1994. For the first time, Russia called for the lifting of the international sanctions against Baghdad and denounced the American bombing of Iraq that year. Almost simultaneously it called for the termination of the sanctions against Libya. In addition to its inherent disdain towards American muscle-flexing in the Gulf, Russia has an obvious economic interest in abolishing the UN sanctions against these two countries, enabling them to resume arms purchases from Moscow, not to mention service their debts from the Soviet period, estimated at US$7 billion in the case of Iraq and US$3 billion in the case of Libya.14 (The sanctions against Libya were indeed cancelled in 1999.) The new look of Russian foreign policy, which was obvious in a spectrum far broader than the Middle East, was of little political help to Yeltsin as the December 1995 elections resulted in a communist-dominated Duma. Yeltsin, who had no intention of reversing the reform line as demanded by the communists, made one significant concession to the ‘red brown’ majority in the Duma:

RUSSIA IN THE MIDDLE EAST 157

he replaced Kozyrev with Evgenii Primakov as Russia’s Foreign Minister. In a way, the compensation for not withdrawing from the path of reforms was found in a more independent-minded foreign policy which catered to nationalist sentiments. Primakov’s ascendancy was felt immediately across the board. In the Middle East, Russia’s strong and explicit opposition to unilateral American military measures against Iraq, which had first emerged in 1994, became constant, manifesting itself in October 1997, in early 1998 and again in 1999. This stance gave Russia, and Primakov personally, a kind of mediator status, which enabled him, at least in 1998, to claim the credit for playing a pivotal role in delaying a military showdown with Iraq. However, there was another dimension to his conduct towards the area, which did not pay off as well: it was the pretence that Russia was still a superpower with good leverage on regional politics, as if statements of intention, a show of activity and much diplomatic motion would suffice to bring business back to usual. Primakov lost no time in projecting the image of renewed Russian activism in the Arab-Israeli space, impressing upon observers that Moscow could still pull some strings. The two years following his appointment as Foreign Minister witnessed an increased volume of Russian diplomatic activity in this zone. Primakov arrived in the area twice, in November 1996 and October 1997, visiting Israel, the Palestinian Authority and the neighbouring countries. Reportedly, in the latter visit, he transmitted messages between Israeli Prime Minister Binyamin Netanyahu and Syrian President Hafez Al-Assad, displaying his ability to provide good services on the basis of real or imaginary Russian leverage over Syria.15 On a different occasion, in May 1997, he was reported to have intervened in the Lebanese crisis, trying to persuade Syria and Iran to terminate their support for the Hizballah.16 In November of that year, Primakov appointed the late Viktor Posuvaliuk as special envoy to the Middle East, matching the American emissary Dennis Ross. Primakov organized 1997 as a year of pilgrimage by senior Middle Eastern dignitaries to Moscow: Chairman Yasser Arafat, Prime Minister Netanyahu, the Lebanese Premier, the Syrian Foreign Minister, Crown Prince Hassan of Jordan and Egyptian President Husni Mubarak all arrived in the Russian capital. The limits to this ‘photo-op’ policy were particularly evident in the case of President Assad’s visit to Moscow in July 1999, which took place after Primakov’s brief term as Prime Minister (from September 1998 to his dismissal by Yeltsin on 12 May 1999). This was the first visit of the Syrian President to the Russian capital since the collapse of the Soviet Union, and at first it seemed as if the old friendship between Moscow and Damascus had been fully restored. A US$2 billion arms deal was discussed between the sides. Nonetheless, as soon as it became clear to the Syrians that Russia was no longer prepared to provide the generous credit for the Syrian purchase that had been customary during the Soviet

158 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

period, the euphoria dissipated.17 Furthermore, if a Syrian-Israeli peace agreement is concluded in the foreseeable future, Syria will probably be inclined to switch alliances and turn to the USA for arming its military forces. As Syrian debt to Russia is estimated at US$10–13 billion,18 it does not seem that the Russian economy will receive significant cash injections from trading with Syria. Primakov’s predilection for trumpeting an imminent Russian comeback to the Middle East and his fondness for making hollow statements, disregarding the fact that Russian ability to influence political developments in the area had sunk to its lowest ebb since the mid-1950s, did not enhance Moscow’s regional stature. Neither intense diplomatic activity nor even Primakov’s personal skills at statesmanship could have transformed Russia’s current predicament. Adapting an Arab proverb: Primakov’s tongue was by far longer than his hands. Primakov’s dismissal as Prime Minister had no effect on Russia’s interest in the Arab world in general or in the Arab-Israeli dispute in particular. To be sure, Primakov’s fanfare style has gone, but Russia’s basic claim to be involved in regional politics remains. To cite just one example, during the visit to Moscow of Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak shortly after his election, President Yeltsin indicated to him that Russia was interested in a central role in the peace process, offering again his good services in promoting the Israeli-Syrian negotiations.19 It goes without saying that Yeltsin’s resignation from the presidency in December 1999 hardly changed this pattern. In February 2000, Moscow co-hosted the multilateral Middle East talks and, later that month, Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov telephoned the Foreign Ministers of Israel, Egypt and Syria to discuss with them the troubled peace process. During the violent events that took place between Israel and the Palestinian Authority in October and November 2000, Ivanov twice arrived in the region, visiting Syria, Lebanon, Israel and the Palestinian areas, looking for some role for Russia in the diplomatic efforts to reinstate the peace process.20 Russia remains consistent in pursuing its historical claim while acknowledging that its leverage in the area is greatly reduced. The concept of historical claim suggests continuity, and, indeed, the long and almost uninterrupted sequence of Russian interest in the Middle East since the nineteenth century is obvious. Tsarist Russia claimed strategic and religious concerns, while the Soviet Union emphasized strategic and ideological considerations. Although similarities to the past can be discerned in the way that the new Russia is making its case for the Middle East, an element of innovation is apparent as well. Naturally, since postcommunist Russia has discarded its global confrontation with the West, it can no longer argue in the name of anti-imperialism. Those who seek some sense of mission, which had been so evident in Tsarist and Soviet foreign policies, might perceive Yeltsin’s visit to Jerusalem to celebrate the

RUSSIA IN THE MIDDLE EAST 159

Orthodox Christmas, several days after his resignation from the presidency, as signalling a renewed religious attachment and interest of Russia in the Holy Land. Nevertheless, while being reminiscent of nineteenth-century Russian claims, the argument of religious affinity cannot be as effective a policy tool at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Perhaps the best way to understand current Russian conceptions on a variety of international issues is to consult the official materials. In July 2000, Vladimir Putin’s government published its newly approved Foreign Policy Concept, outlining Russian objectives in the international arena in general and in the Middle East in particular. This document became available just a few days after President Putin’s address to the Federal Assembly in Moscow.21 Both texts are quite instructive of the new perspective guiding current Russian thinking on the outside world. Putin makes it clear that the Concept ‘stipulates the supremacy of internal objectives over external ones…[and] that this policy is based on pragmatism, economic efficiency and priority of national objectives’. He singles out ‘international terrorism and the direct attempt to move this threat inside the country’ as a major challenge to Russia’s ‘state sovereignty, territorial integrity’. Consequently, what emerges from the text of the Concept, in general terms, is that, in our times, Russia is an inwardly looking country, interested in curing its ailing economy and worried about external instability. Relating specifically to the Middle East, what transpires is that Russia’s top objective in that geographical space is political stabilization for the purpose of forestalling the spillover of political and military crises endemic to the region into the volatile areas of central Asia and the Caucasus, inside Russia and out, in its ‘near abroad’. Adding to that goal Russian economic interest in the richness of that area, presumably, first and foremost, in its richer countries, the Concept presents a regional approach profoundly different from the past Soviet perspective. Although there had always been some economic angle to Soviet courting of the Arab nations, this is a glaring departure from the solidarity with the Arab ‘revolutionary’ regimes. The focus is no longer on the nature of the polity in a specific country but on purely commercial considerations. How would this perspective affect the future conduct of Russia in the Arab Middle East? There is no reason to believe that Russia will revert to the tamed policies of the Gorbachev-Shevardnadze or the Yeltsin-Kozyrev teams, either in this area or anywhere else in the world. In all likelihood Russia will continue to conduct itself according to its distinct interests, conflicting occasionally with the interests of other Western nations (such as competition for the area’s arms markets) and manifesting its disdain towards any show of force on the part of the USA. Having said that, the daunting economic crisis facing Russia, as well as the volatile religious/ ethnic web inside Russia and within its defence perimeter in central Asia

160 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

and the Caucasus, augur strong Russian interest in a politically stable Middle East. Unlike its predecessor the Soviet Union, which made its inroads into the Arab world by challenging the existing Western-oriented political order and supporting the revolutionary trend, the new Russia is more likely to seek an alliance with the existing order, shying away from extremism. While the imperatives of the Russian economy dictate prioritizing relations with the oil-wealthy Arab countries, the agenda of preserving its integrity as one nation-state, as well as maintaining its influence in the newly independent southern republics, portends strong antipathy towards Muslim extremism. Samuel Huntington projected a more conflictual relationship between the (Russian-led) Orthodox and the Muslim civilizations in the twenty-first century.22 Soviet and Russian experiences with assertive Islamic orientations have been rather traumatic. Afghanistan is not just a bitter memory of the Soviet defeat. A very real threat to the stability in central Asia, from fundamental extremists, is still emanating from this country, not to mention Chechnya, which is likely to remain a ‘bleeding wound’ for a long time to come. (Russia’s interest in stability in the core of the Muslim world may be analogous to tsarist interest in maintaining the conservative order in Europe throughout the nineteenth century, when any revolutionary wind was perceived as a threat to its autocratic regime.) In sum, then, the new leadership of Russia will continue to take an active interest in the Middle East but is not likely soon to regain the leverage on regional politics enjoyed by the Soviet Union. Furthermore, economic ailments and intermittent threats to the territorial integrity of the motherland, and to its ability to project influence into the southern ‘near abroad’, portend the supremacy of the domestic perspective in Russian decision making towards the Middle East in the foreseeable future. NOTES 1. The preparation of this article was made possible by a grant from the Memorial Foundation for Jewish Culture. 2. ‘President Yeltsin’s address to Russian diplomats’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 3, 1998, pp. 1–6. 3. Agence France-Press (hereafter AFP), Turkey, 27 August 1998; Reuters, Istanbul, 25 August 1998; AFP, Moscow, 18 August 1999; AFP, Turkey, 23 October 2000. 4. Robert H.Donaldson and Joseph L.Nogee, The Foreign Policy of Russia: Changing Systems, Enduring Patterns (New York, 1998), pp. 254–6. 5. Reuters, Moscow, 25 November 1998 and 2 February 1999; Reuters, Washington, 28 November 2000; Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (hereafter RFE/RL), Moscow, 28 November 2000. See also Shai Feldman,

RUSSIA IN THE MIDDLE EAST 161

6.

7.

8. 9.

10. 11. 12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17.

18.

19. 20. 21.

22.

The Return of the Russian Bear’, Strategic Assessment, Jaffee Centre for Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University, April 1998, pp. 1, 12–16. Reuters, Washington, 17 December 1998; AFP, Teheran, 10 Decmber 1998; Reuters, Washington, 5 February 1999; Reuters, Moscow, 3 August 1999; New York Times, 3 August 1999; Ha’aretz, 13 September 1999; Reuters, Washington, 6 October 2000 (including a statement by American Secretary for Nonproliferation Robert Einhorn). Najam Abbas, ‘A Marriage of Convenience: The Emerging Tactical Alliance Between Iran and Russia’, Analysis of Current Events, vol. 2, no. 5/6, 1999, pp. 10–12. Donaldson and Nogee, The Foreign Policy of Russia, p. 261. Robert O.Freedman, ‘Russia and Israel under Yeltsin’, Israel Studies, vol. 3, no. 1, Spring 1998, pp. 140–69; Russian Ambassador to Israel, Ha’aretz, 15 November 2000. Alexei Vasilev, ‘Brown Bag’ lunch presentation, The Middle Eastern Institute, Columbia University, April 1999. Oded Eran, ‘Russian Immigrants, Russia, and the Elections in Israel’, Analysis of Current Events, vol. 2, no. 5/6, 1999, pp. 13–15. Interview with Vice-Admiral Victor Patrushev, Itar-Tass, Moscow, 10 August 1999. Reuters, Kiev, 16 February 2000, and Moscow, 5 February 2000. ‘Russia and the States of the Middle East/Political Economic Relations’ (in Hebrew), (unpublished ms) Israeli Foreign Ministry, Research Department, 22 March 1998. Feldman, The Return of the Russian Bear’, pp. 1, 12–16. Ibid. Ha’aretz, 29 January, 8 February, 7 and 10 July 1999; AFP, Moscow, 20 July 1999; Reuters, Moscow, 8 July 1999; Ma’ariv, 23 July 1999; Russian ambassador to Israel, Ha’aretz, 15 November 2000. ‘Russia and the States of the Middle East’; Ha’aretz, 29 January and 17 July 1999; Reuters, Damascus, 11 June 1998; Russian ambassador to Israel, Ha’aretz, 15 November 2000. Ha’aretz, 3 August 1999; New York Times, 3 August 1999. Reuters, Moscow, 23 February 2000; Reuters, 10 October 2000; Russian Ambassador to Israel, Ha’aretz, 15 November 2000. The discussion is based on the following documents: ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation’, translation from IRA Novosti, Johnson’s Russia List, 14 July 2000; ‘Russian President’s Address to Federal Assembly’, BBC Monitoring Service, reprinted in Johnson’s Russia List, 9 July 2000; AFP, Moscow, 10 July 2000. Samuel P.Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of the World Order (New York, 1997).

Part V: Rethinking the Far East

15 Russia between Europe and Asia: Some Aspects of Russia’s Asian Policy MIKHAIL G.NOSOV

One of Russia’s problems is that of identity, or, to be more precise, how that identity is perceived by the outside world. Many consider Russia to be a European country, while others think it is a part of Asia. In September 1999, a poll conducted by Moscow radio revealed that 79 per cent of Russians consider Russia to be a European country, while 21 per cent identify themselves with Asia. This reflects the situation in which the majority of the population belongs, or considers itself as belonging, to the Slavs, who by language, culture and mentality belong to Europe. However, the European part of Russia is also inhabited by Tatars, the second largest nationality in Russia, as well as by Chyvashes, Bashkirs and many other nationalities which by their origin, culture and religion are Asian. In the Asian part of Russia, where only about 21 per cent of the Russian population live, the majority are Slavs, although the percentage of Asians is higher there than in the European part of the country. Historically, Russia passed through a long period of evolution from a system of state and economic management that was purely of Asian origin towards the basic principles of European state structure. As the father of Russian Marxism Georgii Plekhanov said in 1889, ‘when Peter the Great opened a window on Europe he attached European hands to Russia’s Asian body’. More than a century later the process of Russia’s ‘Europeanization’ is still under way. At present the concept of Europeanization no longer carries the connotation of detachment from Asian traditions, but rather follows the Japanese definition of internationalization. Russia in that sense is making attempts to correlate its state structure in accordance with universal ethics and principles. Thus, for Russia, Japanese management would be considered Europeanization regardless of Japan’s geographical location. It is quite obvious that Russia will pursue its orientation towards European culture, which itself is contending with a blend of Asian, African and Latin American cultures. In Russia the prevalence of European culture is intimately connected with the obvious domination of Orthodox Slavic culture which leans strongly towards Europe. At the same time,

164 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Russia, by virtue of its unique geographical position and ethnic peculiarities, has a real chance to become the spiritual and economic bridge connecting Europe and Asia. This is not only because Russia can promote a greater understanding of Asia in Europe and Europe in Asia, but mainly because of Russia’s participation in the integration processes taking place on both continents and the creation of the preconditions for their broad interaction. This development is first and foremost important for Russia itself. It is vital to create conditions in which not only Russia will be interested in expanding its interaction with the external world, but the world too will seek partnership with Russia. Europe and Asia have been trying for a long time to institutionalize a process of cultural and economic interaction. These efforts are taking place through the channels of bilateral ties and by the means of a new organization ASEM (Asia-Europe Meeting), which is devoted to enhancing the dialogue between the two continents. Unfortunately, Russia does not participate in the activity of ASEM, although, by virtue of its geographical and ethnic characteristics, it could play an important role in it. In many respects this lack of involvement is the result of the persistent Eurocentric orientation of Russian policy. The dualism of Russia’s Eurasian stance strongly influences its foreign policy. Since 1992, Russian policy has been oriented towards the West. Despite some successes in its relations with China and Japan, Russia’s diplomatic efforts were mainly aimed at Europe and America. In a situation in which the economic factor can adversely affect the level of relations between countries, Russia’s trade with Asian countries is less than 10 per cent of its turnover, while Russia’s share of Asian trade does not exceed 1 per cent. What is the driving force behind Russia’s Eurocentrism? Obviously Asia is still far from becoming a high priority issue in Russian foreign policy. Russia’s prime goal is an unceasing attempt to bring the USA and European countries to take the interests of Russia into consideration. In economic terms it is associated with Russia’s efforts to seek integration into the global, specifically European, market. In political and military terms, it means enhancing relations with the USA and Europe as well as opposing NATO’s enlargement accordingly. This process runs against a background of Russia’s gradual loss of its economic and political leverage. Those objectives barely touch on Russia’s economic relations with Asia. In fact there are no Asian countries on the list of its principal creditors. Having acquired formal membership in regional organizations, Russia lacks the will to legitimize its position. In view of its strong defence posture on the Far East, the Russian government has little concern for the problems of regional security. The threat posed by NATO’s extension in the West is far more acute. All these circumstances combine to downgrade the Asian element of Russian foreign policy.

RUSSIA BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA 165

However, it is obvious that a stable balance between the ‘European’ and ‘Asian’ policies should be achieved. This does not mean having to choose between London and Beijing, or Tokyo and Berlin—diplomatic initiatives should be promoted in both directions. Therefore, if Russia were to become a bridge connecting Europe and Asia, this would facilitate a balance of political priorities. Such a bridge evidently requires a firm economic basis. Transportation and communication could become key elements of such a policy. Russia’s assets include a developed transportation network, advanced means of space communication and a vast territory. The shortest route from Europe to Asia lies through Russia, which could control the conveyance of goods all the way from producers to recipients. The benefit of a transport bridge is beyond doubt: transit deliveries account for more than 40 per cent of the total amount of service export in the Netherlands. The shortest route between the two continents—the Great Northern Route—may thus be an important element of a Eurasian bridge. Unfortunately, conveyance by the Trans-Siberian Railway has dropped more than sevenfold compared with 1991, contributing to the deterioration of the situation in the Russian Far East. Russia’s collaboration on the Eurasian bridge project would galvanize the economy of the regions housing the transport arteries and increase trade between Russia, especially the Russian Far East, and the Asia-Pacific region. An upswing in trade would further Russia’s political and cultural ties with both Europe and Asia. It might help the Russian economy, now at a low ebb following a lengthy period of poorly planned reforms which have particularly affected the Russian Far East, to recuperate. Table 15.1 Changes in economic indicators of four Pacific countries, 1990–97

Source: Calculated on the basis of B. Bolotin ‘International Comparison: 1990–1997’, Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia, no. 10, 1998, pp. 118–19, 122–3, 126–7.

16 Putin’s Foreign Policy: Transforming ‘the East’ RICHARD SAKWA

INTRODUCTION The debate over Russian foreign policy in the 1990s tended to focus on a single stark polarity: Atlanticism versus Eurasianism. This in turn was a debate over the attitude towards and meaning of ‘West’ and ‘East’. The West was susceptible to a number of geographical and ideological interpretations: geographically, there was a tension between the American and the European versions; while the ideological ambiguity of the West was reflected above all in the tension between perceptions of the West as a military (primarily NATO) identity or as a zone of capitalist prosperity. The identity and perception of the East was no less multilayered. At least three Easts can be identified. The first saw the East as a zone of geopolitical contestation and affirmation. While the West may have been dominated by America, in the East, Russia could reaffirm itself as a great power. The main actor here was China, and the rhetoric of a Sino-Russian ‘strategic partnership’ was an attempt to establish a counter-balance to an increasingly fraught relationship with the West. A second interpretation of the East focused more on geo-economics, with recognition that the Pacific Rim had overtaken the Atlantic basin as the centre of global economic activity and increasing prosperity. Despite the economic crisis in the region in the late 1990s, the economic success of the ‘Asian tigers’ stood in stark contrast to Russia’s continued struggle to come to terms with modernity and modernization. The chronic under-development of the Russian Far East would require investment from Asian countries, above all Japan, as would the effective exploitation of the energy reserves on Sakhalin.1 The third East is a geo-ideological one in which the East represents not only a spiritual alternative to Western materialism but a broader alternative to the West in general. Although India would play a role in such a version of the East, it was Russia itself that sought to become emblematic of this tendency. With the accession of Vladimir Putin to the acting presidency in December 1999, however, the conceptualization of both East and West

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 167

began to be rethought. While Russian foreign policy under the stewardship of Evgenii Primakov (Foreign Minister between January 1996 and September 1998, and then Prime Minister from September 1998 to May 1999) can be characterized by the notion of pragmatism, under Putin a’new realism’ emerged. It will be recalled that Primakov, both as Foreign Minister and as Prime Minister, repeatedly stressed his non-partisan approach to issues. The slogan of the Primakov government, like his period in office as Foreign Minister, was pragmatism. While suggesting a nonideological approach, pragmatism is itself deeply embedded in an ideologized practice. A pragmatic strategy in economics assumes an active role for the state, while in foreign policy it suggested that the aims were clear and only the means were to be regulated by the much-vaunted pragmatism. Although Primakov’s pragmatism in practice was relatively flexible and continued many features of the allegedly super-liberal era of Russian foreign policy management under Andrei Kozyrev (1990–96), those elements that were distinctively Primakovian harked back to an earlier Soviet era. Equally, while many of the elements of Putin’s new realism were already in motion under Primakov and even earlier, in particular under Kozyrev, with Putin’s accession to the leadership there was a much sharper recognition of the limits of Russian power, grounded above all in economic weakness. This did not mean giving up aspirations to global influence, but it did mean the pursuit of a far more conscious attempt to match ambitions to resources. THE NEW REALISM: A THIRD WAY BEYOND EAST AND WEST? It is conventional to talk of a battle between two Russias. The first Russia is the liberal one, inalienably part of Europe,2 what Alexander Yanov has called Decembrist Russia.3 The second Russia is one where geopolitical considerations rule supreme and trample the development of civil society; it is one based on the striving to achieve the restoration of territories like the Crimea and Sevastopol, confrontation with the West and autarchic economic policies. This is the Russia that Yanov dubs Slavophile. A third way in foreign policy began to emerge. At its base was an attempt to negotiate a new path between Gorbachev’s and Kozyrev’s perceived uncritical Westernism, and the sullen rejectionism offered by the communist opposition and its rather more urbane but equally ineffective ‘pragmatic’ variant offered by Primakov. A blueprint for the new ‘third wayism’ was offered by Sergei Karaganov’s Council for Foreign and Defence Policy in a document, the fruit of 14 months of discussion between numerous working groups encompassing some 100 individuals, in April

168 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

2000. The document talked in terms of a more focused foreign policy and ‘selective engagement’.4 At the base of Russian foreign policy already under Yeltsin but far more pronounced under Putin there lay a specific attempt to reforge ‘the East’. The concept of ‘the East’ encompasses both the actual East, however defined, but perhaps more importantly tries to theorize the idea of an East that was not West but at the same time that was not opposed to the West. The end of the Cold War was followed by the unalloyed supremacy, indeed triumphalism, of ‘the West’. Endless Russian and Chinese talk about the need to restore a multipolar world reflected concern about the unbalanced world system that had emerged as a result of the disintegration of the USSR. However, while we had become accustomed in the past to talk in terms of the East-West conflict, the new self-conceptualization of ‘the East’ that is emerging brings together a number of themes that are not necessarily in conflict with the West. Instead, the East, in so far as we can conceptualize Putin’s nascent foreign policy, emerges as a distinctive value system that does not necessarily undermine the universal principles of human rights and democracy but provides a way to make the universal agenda a genuinely universal project. The tension between universalism and particularism has been apparent throughout Russia’s often disastrous engagement with modernity and modernization, and the post-communist experience was only the latest stage in this ambivalent relationship between Russia and the West, between tradition and modernity. In the past, Russia’s messianism took the form of the espousal of communism as an alternative route to modernity; today, one strand of Russian foreign policy casts the country as a victim of globalization, a Third-Worldist perspective espousing multipolarity and resistance to American dominance. It should be noted that ‘multipolarism’ reflects an ‘orientalist’ strain in Russian foreign policy, promoted in particular by the Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR), headed between 1991 and 1996 by the specialist on the Middle East, the ‘orientalist’ Primakov and then by another orientalist, Viacheslav Trubnikov. From this perspective, Russia appears to have achieved a transition from the Second to the Third World. Associated with this approach is Russia’s implicit adoption of the ‘Asian values’ agenda, where democracy and human rights are subordinated to developmental tasks and where priority is granted to order and discipline rather than to individual liberty. The second Chechen war, beginning in September 1999, allowed the rhetoric about the ‘terrorist’ threat to overshadow and even to threaten democratic consolidation. Russia, indeed, did face a grave threat from the Chechen insurgency, but the federal response endangered the tenuous and hardfought liberties of Russian citizens, not least in the Caucasus itself. However, as with so many developments under Putin, the evidence is mixed. For example, the appointment of Sergei Lebedev in May 2000 to

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 169

head the SVR put an end to the rule of the orientalists. Lebedev had become known to Putin while working in Germany, and his experience was of the West alone. It was likely that the SVR, whose role in foreign policy formation had by 1998 probably exceeded that of the Foreign Ministry itself, would now diminish, and thus that some of Russia’s aggressive posturing on NATO enlargement, Iran, Iraq and Serbia, could be modified. It was in this context that various terms were employed to describe the multifaceted reality that was Putin’s early foreign policy. Some talked in terms of engaged isolationism. I argue that some notion of a new Easternism perhaps captures the reality more effectively. The new East in this understanding is complementary and not in conflict with the West, and thus a distinctive third way would open up between, on the one hand, the traditional Cold War confrontation between East and West and, on the other, the unabashed reduction of modernization to Westernization. This is the potential of the ‘new realism’; it may, of course, not be fulfilled. Any number of factors could derail Russia’s attempts to forge a new relationship with its Western and Eastern neighbours while at the same time rethinking the priorities of its own national identity. While East-West relations as a distinctive subject may have gone, ‘the West’ remains a relatively coherent subject of international politics while ‘the East’ has fragmented. At the base of the geo-ideological conception of Putinism is an attempt to re-create something larger than Russia alone, a new Eastern pole in a multipolar world, while allowing Russia autonomy to develop as a state and economy. THE NEW REALISM AND THE THREE EASTS Each of the three Easts identified above—geopolitical, geo-economic and geo-ideological—in turn sustains Russia’s own developing understanding of itself as the exemplar and representative of an Eastern pole, in contrast (although, as stressed above, not necessarily in conflict), with the West. The new conception of the East as the site of complex interactions in which Russia should be involved takes many forms and involves many aspects. Let us take a look at the three identified above. Geo-ideology There is no shortage of Russian thinkers who have tried to set Russia up as the representative of an Eastern world. For example, the philosopher A.S.Panarin examined recent Russian history in the framework of the main trends of world development. Panarin argued that world history had swung from a Western phase of development to an Eastern one, representing a shift from an emphasis on technological change towards spiritual revival,

170 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

towards a post-economic and post-material period. With the exhaustion of socialism and liberalism the West has no new idea to offer the world. In its search for a new way, Russia, he argued, was redefining its values and its response to the Western challenge.5 This was no longer an Easternism that was provoked by the failure to become Western, but an attempt to forge an alternative to Western modernity in its entirety. It also represented a move beyond the ‘bridge’ metaphor of Russia linking East and West to an affirmation that Russia was a destination in itself. After all, a bridge is designed to be trampled on. As Andrei Zagorskii had noted several years earlier, the Eurasianist notion of Russia between East and West was a bridge leading nowhere.6 Under Putin, it was the geo-ideological aspect of the East that became more prominent. The geopolitical element, and in particular the idea of a strategic partnership with China, was swiftly deemphasized (see below).7 Amid much speculation that Putin’s first visit abroad following his inauguration on 7 May 2000 would be to an Asian country, the symbolism of his journey to London via Minsk and returning via Kiev was lost on no one. The fact that Putin’s first foreign visit was to London suggested that if there were to be a strategic partnership with anyone, it would be with Britain. The contrast with Gorbachev’s continued idealism is striking. During perestroika, Gorbachev had repeatedly argued that the capitalist and socialist worlds could transcend their rivalry yet remain distinct and continue to develop in parallel. Echoes of this parallelism resound in the concept of the new Easternism, whose code words are multipolarity, multilateralism, and the like, yet Putin did not allow the conceptualization to get in the way of pragmatic deal making. The difference between Gorbachev and Putin was that the latter well understood the national subject with which he was concerned: Russia, with a defined (although evolving) set of national interests. Gorbachev, on the other hand, by about 1989, had lost all sense of the USSR as a subject of history with any real national interests of its own, and hence became increasingly reactive and concessionary in foreign policy. Towards a Russian third way and the transformation of the East Viktor Sheinis argued that victory in the December 1999 Duma elections went to the ‘quasi-centre’.8 The basic policy orientation of this quasicentre, in so far as it has one, is right-wing economics and left-wing politics: economic liberalism accompanied by statist great power politics. This suggested not only a continuation of privatization and other economic reforms, but also the continued iron grip of the bureaucracy over the ‘market’. According to Sheinis, the elections revealed ‘the minimal movement towards a self-sustaining civil society’ and ‘the separation of the

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 171

political class from the deep layers of society’. This gulf between the power system and society was something noted by many other commentators. This is why Sheinis’ notion of a quasi-centre is so suggestive. It does not come from a historical convergence on the centre ground of policy, but from the opportunistic cooptation of politics to ensure regime survival. A genuine third way, in the manner of Giddens,9 is derived not simply from the repudiation of idealized notions of left and right, reflected in traditional class politics, but from attempts to create a genuinely radical politics of the centre. This is not a trivial political project, although much of the writing and commentary about the subject is indeed trite. The argument here can be reduced to the following. While the third way in the West is an attempt to come to terms with the apparent exhaustion of traditional social democracy and represents an attempt to renew it, Russia’s third way, or genuine politics of the centre, is drawn from an older tradition: liberal conservatism. Writers like Peter Struve and Semen Frank are drawn on to sustain the emerging consensus over a Russian third way based on support for the reconstitution of state authority while continuing market reforms and international economic integration. This is the basis of the new Easternism. The manifesto presented by Vladimir Putin in the last days of 1999 reflected the old theme of liberal conservatism but in a dramatically modern idiom—both in form and content, with the document first appearing on the internet.10 Putin talked frankly about Russia’s comparative economic backwardness and condemned not only the faults of the Soviet system but challenged its very status as a modernizing regime. He stressed that an enormous effort would have to be undertaken to put Russia back in the front rank of developed powers, but insisted that Russia would have to do this in its own way. The nature of the increased role of the state in the economy remained unspecified, but the need for a new industrial policy to develop key branches of the economy and to stamp out corruption was stressed. As for politics, the manifesto emphasized the traditional role of the state in Russian life but insisted that this was complementary to the development of democracy and human rights. In his manifesto and in later speeches Putin was evidently trying to move beyond traditional amorphous definitions of centrism towards a more radical future-oriented model. How different this was from Primakov’s centrism is a matter of dispute. Putin in the Duma elections sought to present himself as a symbol of confidence and stability, promising to maintain Russia’s system of power and property while radically renovating the state system and giving political and legal reform a great boost within the framework of the existing constitutional settlement. Putin’s policies were characterized by contradictory formulations. His policies focused on an unstable mix of statist market-oriented moderate centrism combining a commitment to democracy with the appeal to strong leadership while

172 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

drawing on both Slavophile and Westernizing ideas. Good relations with the West were to be based on genuine partnership rather than Russian kowtowing to Washington. The essence of Putinism as a political programme was the attempt to construct a dynamic and future-oriented politics of the centre. By definition, such a programme was in danger of becoming amorphous to the point of meaninglessness; but it also had the potential to transcend traditional divisions and to lead the country on to a balanced developmental path conforming to native traditions while encouraging integration into the international community. Although Ludwig von Mises always argued that there was no third way or third system between the Soviet and the American forms of social organization, today, with the end of the Cold War and the ideological confrontation between East and West, the possibility of testing out a variety of paths is more relevant than ever. We do not need to think in terms of only a third way, since there is no reason (as Lord Dahrendorf has stressed) not to think in terms of a fourth, fifth and ever more ways. However, in my conception the notion of a third way is specific to the attempt to overcome the traditionally polarized nature of Russian politics between socialism and capitalism, between market and non-market, between individualistic and collectivist approaches to social development, between Slavophilism and Westernism, and above all between Atlanticism and Eurasianism. In that sense, a third way represents not an abstraction but a specific response to Russia’s self-identity and problems of development today. This was already apparent in the December 1999 parliamentary elections. The election marked a turning point in Russian politics in that, for the first time in a decade, there appeared to be a near universal consensus (as reflected in the various manifestos and programmes) in support of a distinctively Russian path of development. The extremes of left and right were rejected but the actual content of Russia’s third way remained vague. In economics, a post-Washington consensus had emerged, what we may call a Moscow consensus. The Washington consensus, the term coined by John Williamson to describe the neoliberal policies adopted by a number of Latin American states in the mid-1980s, focused on fiscal and monetary discipline, currency convertibility, price and trade liberalization and the privatization of state enterprises.11 These policies were then adopted to varying degrees by India and other countries that had pursued socialist-inclined developmental strategies. Economies were opened up to international influences and domestic monopolies broken up and privatized. In the post-communist countries this was accompanied by great falls in economic activity, with Russian GNP halving by 1995 and then hovering between recession and growth until plunged into renewed crisis in August 1998 and then recovering on the back of a fourfold ruble

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 173

depreciation that made imports expensive hence encouraging import substitution. In economic terms, the Moscow consensus modifies the Washington consensus but means continued engagement with the international economic system and financial organizations, attempts to service the debt and reach a negotiated way of dealing with it, the attempt to maintain macroeconomic stability by harsh fiscal measures, and in general a retreat from threats of renationalization, unilateral actions and virulent protectionism. The Moscow consensus now stretched from the liberals through to the Communist Party of the Russian Federation (CPRF), whose economic programme for the parliamentary elections was framed by the well-known critic of Yeltsinite economic policies, Sergei Glaz’ev. The only serious organizations stepping beyond the bounds of this consensus were the nationalists (for example, the Congress of Russian Communities [KRO], headed by Dmitrii Rogozin) and the radical left. Rogozin went on to head the Third Duma’s Foreign Affairs Committee and adopted a robustly patriotic approach to international affairs. The radical rejectionists of market-oriented reform had been marginalized, and the main issues in the centre of policy debate had become questions of tactics and not of strategy. This is a measure of the degree to which the 1990s had been a harsh learning experience for many of the Russian political elite; the majority understood that any attempt to achieve quick fixes outside the constraints of the emerging consensus would have unpredictable and probably dire consequences. The main modifications of the Washington consensus focus on a more active social policy, a stronger state role in establishing a more friendly investment climate to achieve the recapitalization of the economy, and less tolerance of official corruption. Geopolitics In foreign policy the traditional centre of the Russian national security debate in the 1990s had been occupied by the ‘statist’ views reflected in the concept of Eurasianism. The National Security Concept of December 1997 had insisted that the greatest threats to Russia’s security came not from the international system but from various internal threats. This liberalism, however, was tempered by the continuing insistence that Russia was not a subordinate member of the international community but a major player without whose active participation no political, economic or security problem could be resolved. The document acknowledged the threat posed by NATO enlargement but insisted that effective multilateral means for cooperation remained, like the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), in which Russia remained central as the only truly Eurasian power.12

174 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

The new National Security Concept signed into law by Putin’s decree of 10 January 2000, however, was less sanguine about the external environment.13 The use of NATO with an unclear UN mandate to enforce attempts to stop Serbia’s violation of Kosovan human and political rights, together with NATO enlargement, the aftershock of the August 1998 economic crash that revealed Russia’s vulnerability to speculative international financial markets, strategic arms control tensions and renewed war in Chechnya, all conspired to a rethinking of the international environment. The new document expanded the list of external threats to Russia’s security, noting in particular the weakening of the OSCE, the UN and the CIS. The tension between the emergence of a multipolar world, in which relations are based on international law and an acceptance of a significant role for Russia, and the attempt by the USA and its allies to carve out a unipolar world outside of international law, was stressed. There was no longer talk of partnership with the West but instead an emphasis on more limited ‘cooperation’. As in many official documents of the Putin era, the search for international recognition of Russia’s rightful place in the world was a dominant theme: Russia is perceived to be one of the largest countries in the world with a long history and a rich cultural tradition. As a result of its significant economic, scientific-technological and military potential, Russia continues to hold a unique strategic position on the Eurasian continent irrespective of the complex international situation and difficulties of an internal character. Objectively, it is asserted, Russia continues to play an important role in world affairs.14 The main problem in Russia’s relations with NATO, as Putin noted, was that ‘we do not feel ourselves to be full-blooded participants in the process’.15 The new Military Doctrine (replacing the 1993 version) that was approved by presidential decree on 21 April 2000 represented years of interdepartmental wrangling, but it also revealed many of Russia’s underlying concerns. It noted the ‘attempts to weaken (ignore) existing mechanisms for ensuring international security (above all the UNO and OSCE)’, and ‘the use of coercive military actions as means of “humanitarian intervention” without the sanction of the UN Security Council, regardless of generally accepted principles and norms of international law’.16 Russia’s search for recognition was reflected in the comment that one of the main external threats was ‘the attempt to ignore (infringe) the Russian Federation’s interests in the resolution of problems of international security, and to oppose its strengthening as one of the influential centres of a multipolar world’.17 It should be noted that, in March 2000, the Security Council adopted a draft version of a new Foreign Policy Doctrine. In the words of Foreign

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 175

Minister Igor Ivanov, it was ‘significantly broader, more realistic and closer to the needs of the country’ than the previous version.18 At the same meeting of the Security Council on 24 March, Putin had once again stressed that the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was to be the main coordinator of foreign policy; and he then went on to give the Security Council, headed by Putin’s long-time colleague Sergei Ivanov, a far higher profile. The new Doctrine, however, for long remained unpublished. It appeared to have stressed the need for Russia to win new markets in ‘third countries’ (i.e. not Western), and reflected the significant input of Russia’s multitudinous security agencies. The East as a counterhegemonic formation Speaking at a conference on the Middle East in Moscow on 1 February 2000, Putin argued that ‘it is unacceptable to cancel such basic principles of international law as national sovereignty and territorial integrity under the slogan of so-called humanitarian intervention’.19 Russia appeared now to stand as the champion of an anti-universalistic agenda. Opposition to the idea that the international community had a right to intervene when governments were guilty of abusing their own population entailed a repudiation of much of the drift in international politics since the Second World War. On this and other occasions, Putin insisted that the principles of territorial integrity and national sovereignty should take priority over humanitarian intervention. The complement to Russia’s anti-universalism was its espousal of what it sought to portray as a rational consensus based on international law and multilateral institutions, above all the UN. The concept of a multipolar world as espoused by Russia had a somewhat confrontational edge. While Russia’s earlier attempts to use the CIS as the basis for a counterEuropean project had met with ignominious failure, anti-humanitarianism appeared a more viable basis on which to try to build a counterhegemonic bloc. While the former focused on opposition to NATO enlargement, and thus was a largely negative phenomenon, anti-humanitarianism could be seen to be a more generalized defence of the rights of states. Under these circumstances Russia was in danger of being perceived as the friend of ‘pariah states’, like Iraq under Saddam Hussein and Serbia under Slobodan Milosevic. The Western response to the visit of the indicted war criminal, the Yugoslav Defence Minister Dragoljub Ojdanic, to Moscow in late May 2000 obviously took Russia by surprise, and the visit was later explained, unconvincingly, as the result of a mix up.20 The fact that Russia found it necessary to distance itself from the visit suggested a responsiveness to the concerns of the West and a realistic appreciation of the political costs Russia would incur if it stepped too far out of line with the US-dominated ‘hegemonic consensus’. More broadly, Russia’s long-held commitment to

176 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

multilateral institutions like the OSCE became rather less apparent after the Istanbul summit of that body in November 1999. Russia was severely castigated for the behaviour of federal forces in Chechnya. Consequently, Russia’s earlier advocacy of the creation of a European Security Council was shelved. It must once again be stressed that the attempt to create ‘the East’ as the core of this counterhegemony based on a rational consensus, antiuniversalism and multilateralism does not necessarily have to take an antiWestern form. Putin repeatedly emphasized his aspirations for good relations with the West. The East was conceptualized as an alternative but complementary modernity. This was the way that Gorbachev had conceived of his renewed socialism, and it remains to be seen whether this new variant on the old theme of the third way will be any more successful. Representations of the East meet the real East Russia repeatedly stated the view that its presence in Asia was a ‘factor for regional stability’. For most of the late 1990s, Russian diplomacy sought to forge an Indian-Chinese-Russian triangle as a counterbalance to the US and NATO.21 The Indian link in this chain was always the weakest, but even the Chinese one was beset with contradictions. While I shall emphasize here the geopolitical element, it should be noted that the success of China’s ‘four modernizations’, launched by Deng Xiaoping in 1979, especially in contrast with Russia’s travails in the 1990s, meant that the Chinese path of modernization in which the Communist Party acted as the instrument of capitalist restoration, appeared attractive to many in Russia.22 However, the exaggerated shift towards close relations with China, something encouraged by Primakov, was largely a reaction to NATO enlargement and a way of ‘cocking a snook’ at the West. As Jonathan Steele pointed out, ‘Russia needs good relations with its largest Asian neighbour, but to make them a lever for solving problems in other regions is dangerous.’23 Meeting with the Chinese Foreign Minister Tang Jiaxuan, in Moscow on 1 March 2000, Putin declared that relations between Moscow and Beijing ‘resolve the problem of stability in the world on a global scale as much as they do in bilateral relations’.24 At that time there was much speculation over whether Putin would make his first official visit to China, Japan or India, and the fact that these three eastern countries were at the top of a very long list was significant. At the very time that Putin was meeting in Moscow with the Chinese Foreign Minister, a high-powered Russian delegation was in China headed by Deputy Prime Minister Il’ia Klebanov, responsible for Russia’s defence industrial complex, and including the Minister of Atomic Energy Evgenii Adamov, the Minister of Trade Mikhail Fradkov, the Minister of Fuel and Energy Viktor Kaliuzhnyi, as well as the head of the Russian space agency Iurii Koptev. These five vividly reflected

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 177

the main spheres of Russia’s civilian economic relations with China. Klebanov actively discussed the issue of arms sales with top Chinese officials. There were even suggestions that military-technical cooperation had deepened significantly following the war in Kosovo, with up to 2,000 Russian specialists working in Chinese laboratories on advanced weapons projects.25 With both Russia and China emphasizing the need for a multipolar world and a mutual commitment to the territorial integrity of states (that is, Chinese support for Russia’s war in Chechnya and Russia’s support for the ‘one-China’ policy that claims Chinese sovereignty over Taiwan), there were plenty of points in common in the Russian and Chinese view of the world. The Russo-Chinese link was built on a number of shared concerns: the struggle against unipolar hegemonism; against humanitarian interventionism (the principle of non-interference in internal affairs);26 Islamic secessionism (Chechnya, Kosova, Xinxiang); arms sales; opposition to NATO enlargement; basic economic links; some mutual acceptance of Russia’s hegemony as a guarantor of order in Eurasia. However, Primakovian talk of a strategic alliance with China reflected a basic lack of understanding of the way that China conducts its foreign policy; its refusal to enter into multilateral alliances. In addition, despite a long shared border, trade between Russia and China remains low, totalling only US$6 billion in 1999 and putting Russia in ninth place as a trading partner, far below the US$66 billion between China and Japan and the US$62 billion between China and the USA. In a broader context, Russian GNP represented only 1.4 per cent of the world total, and without Western support it was unlikely to improve significantly. The concept of a strategic partnership suggests mutual unconditional support, something that neither China nor Russia was ready to commit to.27 Moreover, there were many points of tension in the relationship. The territorial issue concerning three islands on the Rivers Argun’ and Khabarovska had not yet been resolved. There were rumours that Putin had signed a secret decree suspending the transfer of sensitive military technology and know-how to China. Moscow was concerned that China was buying Russian military technology and know-how while avoiding the purchase of large ready-made stocks of military hardware.28 Already, one of the world’s most advanced fighter planes, the SU-27, was being assembled in China. In other words, the perception in Moscow was that China sought to achieve technology transfer to develop its own defence production capabilities while lessening its dependence on Moscow. It was clear that sections of the Russian military and political elite harboured concern over a potential military threat from China. Putin’s attempts to mend relations with NATO was obviously not greeted with enthusiasm in Beijing and could provoke a downswing in Sino-Russian relations. While China had earlier enthusiastically joined with Russia in condemning NATO,

178 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

there was no immediate cause for the Chinese to be alarmed by Russia’s engagement with NATO, although Russia’s membership in that body, as suggested by Putin in his interview with David Frost (albeit ‘as equals’),29 would be another question. It would also make NATO another type of organization, one that had become more of a political and less of a military organization, and there was no evidence that the existing members wished to see such a transformation in NATO’s role. Already during the visit of the Chinese Foreign Minister mentioned above, there had been a noticeable shift in the rhetoric away from overblown Primakovian talk of a strategic partnership between Moscow and Beijing towards a more modest and far more realistic emphasis on technical and economic ties between the two countries.30 The shift in rhetoric marked a change in Russia’s foreign policy priorities vis-à-vis China. American plans for a National Missile Defence (NMD) scheme to protect the USA from missile attacks together with plans for the deployment of a theatre missile defence (TMD) system in the western Pacific provoked China into adopting a US$10 billion package for strengthening its nuclear capabilities. Moscow had long supported China’s opposition to the proposed US-Japanese TMD system in Asia, while Beijing supported Moscow’s opposition to any weakening of the ABM treaty. At present, China has only some two dozen strategic missiles capable of hitting the North American mainland, making them vulnerable to even a limited NMD system. The Chinese build-up affected not only the USA but also Russia. China’s predominance in conventional weaponry is offset by Russia’s nuclear strength, but this could be eroded. Fears about the vulnerability of Russia’s vast but underpopulated Russian Far East neighbouring China’s land-hungry population endowed the psychological climate with anxiety. Russia’s membership of G8, moreover, and China’s continued exclusion could not but add a hint of bitterness to the relationship. It should be noted that China has signed 17 international conventions and protocols on human rights, and thus any attempt to use China as a battering ram against the emerging universalist consensus on the value of a human rights regime is at the very least ambivalent. It was not the principles of universalism, as such, that China criticized, but their selective and instrumental application by the world’s hegemonic powers. Above all, the whole notion of a multipolar world, according to Karaganov, head of the Council for Foreign and Defence Policy, suited Chinese rather than Russian interests since it drew Russia into the stand-off between China and the USA. He urged Russia to give up the superpower-style politics that led Russia into confrontation with the rest of the world and to recognize that in promoting multipolarism Russia ‘was only an instrument wielded by China’.31

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 179

Traditional ties between Moscow and Hanoi were renewed as part of the modification of Russia’s alleged earlier obsession with Atlantic relations. On his visit to Hanoi in February 2000 Igor Ivanov, Primakov’s successor as Foreign Minister, talked about the need for the two countries once again to raise their relations to the level of a strategic partnership.32 This was only the second time a Russian Foreign Minister had visited Vietnam since the fall of communism in 1991; the first had been by Andrei Kozyrev in 1995. The 25-year lease on the former US base at Cam Ranh Bay was due to end in 2004, and Russia was concerned to maintain a presence there, although perhaps on a lower level. The Vietnamese debt to Russia of some US$17 billion was the subject of some anxiety on both sides. As for South Korea, the latter sought Moscow’s help in normalizing relations with Pyongyang. Moscow, however, primarily saw South Korea as a potentially lucrative arms market, in part to offset Russia’s US$1.8 billion Gorbachev-era debt. As so often in Russia’s attempts to enter new markets, the US sought to protect its own markets by a mix of economic and diplomatic coercion.33 Russia’s attempts to restore its international influence under Putin could, however, allow it to play a greater mediating role in the affairs of the peninsula. The real test for Putin’s relations in Asia would be his ability to normalize relations with Japan. Japan had invested considerable efforts in building up a constructive relationship with Yeltsin, and now it was faced with the challenge of starting anew with Putin. However, there were advantages that had not been available earlier—above all, a more reliable interlocutor with a stronger domestic base. There was also the personal factor. A telephone conversation of early March 2000 reported by the Japanese media between the then Japanese Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi, and Putin ran as follows: Obuchi: ‘Please wear your judo black belt when you come to Japan’. Putin: ‘I’ve been practising judo for the last 20 years and I can’t help but love Japan. I can’t help but love Japanese culture and philosophy. The relationship between Japan and me, if I may describe it in a Russian way, is not something that was established in a minute.’34 Whether Russia and Japan would be able to sign the much-awaited bilateral treaty by the end of 2000, as promised by Yeltsin and the then Japanese Prime Minister Ryutaro Hashimoto in 1997, remained very much in doubt. The fundamental obstacle to the improvement of bilateral ties remained: the status of the Kurile Islands. It was clear that Japanese Prime Minister Obuchi was anxious to improve relations with Russia, as evidenced by the apparent reversal of Japan’s earlier condemnation of Russian actions in Chechnya during the visit of Ivanov to Tokyo in February 2000.35 The meeting between Putin and the new Japanese Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori, in St Petersburg on 29 April 2000, helped lay the foundations for further discussions towards the conclusion of a formal peace treaty ending the Second World War. The resolution of the

180 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

territorial issue, however, could only be achieved by concessions on both sides. The revenge of geopolitics It was clear that Eurasianism had died, both intellectually and geopolitically. It was unable to sustain a coherent foreign policy. However, just at the time that Russia began to reject the logic of geopolitics, the USA appeared resolutely to advance it. While Russia had become a partisan of geopolitical pluralism, the USA was perceived by many to have developed ever more layers to its hegemonic ambitions.36 It appeared that the postCold War world had been unable to sustain the Helsinki approach to international order and instead there appeared to be a trend towards a return to the politics of Yalta: small countries appeared not to matter. This was the great failure of the post-Cold War world. Of course, depending on the circumstances, small countries do matter. The institutional marginalization of the OSCE in the post-Cold War era reflected a larger failure to sustain the politics of Helsinki. The great strategic problem facing Russia was the challenge of foreign policy diversification by its former brother Soviet states. As noted, it was clear that the CIS had failed to become the great counter-European institution that some in Moscow had hoped it would. In September 1995, for instance, Moscow had tried to transform the CIS into a security body to rival NATO, in response to the enlargement of the latter, but the vociferous opposition of most other CIS states meant that the CIS could not become the kernel of a new Eastern project. Instead, Russia concentrated on bilateral relations with former Soviet states, above all forging ever closer links with Belarus. The CIS as an institution, despite periodic attempts to revive it, atrophied.37 On Russia’s southern flank the emergence of the GUUAM organization in 1998, bringing together Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova (Uzbekistan joined in April 1999), was an implicitly anti-Russian alliance. At one time it looked as if, with American support, GUUAM would be able to push back Russian influence in the region. However, the relative failure of GUUAM, with almost no achievements to its credit other than resisting Moscow’s attempts to revise the Treaty on Conventional Forces in Europe, showed how central Moscow was to the region. Uzbekistan by early 2000 had clearly cooled towards the body, wanting Russian assistance in its struggle against ‘Islamic extremism’, while Moldova feared antagonizing Russia, suffering from multiple vulnerabilities.38 A rump GAU (Georgia, Azerbaijan and Ukraine) would probably provoke more problems than it would be able to resolve. It should be noted that the USA had strongly supported the GUUAM initiative as part of its two-prong strategy of supporting Moscow verbally

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 181

at the state level while doing all in its power politically to isolate Russia and to push it out of its traditional sphere of influence in the Caucasus and central Asia. Ukraine was a willing accomplice, and indeed instrument, of this strategy. Some went so far as to suggest that American policy had given hope to the secessionists in Chechnya, and hence had to bear some of the responsibility for the tragic outcome. It is unclear whether the USA favoured the disintegration of Russia or not; an ambiguity that in the Byzantine politics of the Caucasus would not remain unexploited for long. The EU’s TRACECA (Transport Corridor Europe-Caucasus-Asia) project was another implicitly anti-Russian scheme. The EU’s aim was to establish an East-West transport corridor that would by-pass Russia. In response, Russia in March 2000 outlined its own plans in this area, provisionally named Transcam, that would link China, Japan and the Russian Far East with the Near East and the Transcaucasus through Russian territory.39 Geo-economics On the eve of Igor Ivanov’s visit to Japan, Deputy Foreign Minister Grigorii Karasin outlined Russia’s three strategic objectives vis-à-vis the Far East. First, Moscow sought ‘maximum participation in [international] security structures’ to help ensure ‘stability and predictability’ in that region. Secondly, it aimed to ensure the security of its borders and the implentation of long-term confidence-building measures. And third, it sought to establish political and economic relations with countries in the region that could help the development of Russia’s Far East, above all dealing with the energy, transport and high-technology sectors.40 The third element was clearly crucial. There has been much discussion of the ‘commercialization’ of foreign policy under Putin, noting an instrumental approach to foreign relations where grandiose ambitions were subordinated to Russia’s developmental (and hard currency) needs. A case in point was the decision in May 2000 to relax restrictions on the export of Russian nuclear materials and technologies, which would allow Moscow to sell nuclear technologies to countries not subject to the oversight of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) based in Vienna.41 It appeared that the desire to exploit one of Russia’s few high-technology assets overrode Russia’s own earlier qualms (Yeltsin in 1992 had banned such sales to countries not subject to full-scale international monitoring) and international opinion. Putin’s decision would allow Russia to build two nuclear reactors in India. It indicated a more independent foreign policy approach, perhaps in part conditioned by America’s attempts to modify the 1972 ABM treaty to allow the development of its nuclear shield. International non-proliferation efforts appeared to be crumbling in the face of Congressional intransigence (as in its refusal to ratify the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty) and Russian assertiveness.

182 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

In a manner reminiscent of Catherine the Great’s famous edict that ‘Russia is a European country’, Putin on several occasions stressed that Russia was a European state. At the base of the European orientation of Putin’s foreign policy were the ever closer economic links between Russia and the EU. Some 40 per cent of Russia’s exports went to the EU, and 38 per cent of its imports came from there. The importance of the relationship for both sides was confirmed by the EU-Russia summit of 29 May 2000. The EU delegation was headed by Romano Prodi, President of the European Commission, and included Javier Solana, responsible for the development of the EU’s second pillar, a common foreign and security policy in the framework of ESDI (European Security and Defence Identity). The summit discussed the prospects for Russian economic reform, the future of Russia— EU relations in the light of EU enlargement to encompass former Soviet states, and European concerns over the conduct of the Chechen war. While Solana sought to highlight the latter, Prodi’s approach, which continued the Blairite line of constructive engagement, focused on economic and general political issues.42 CONCLUSION: ‘THIRDISM’ AND THE NEW EASTERNISM Jowitt has argued that, in the context of the strong ‘Leninist legacies’ in eastern Europe, traditional attempts to strike a balance between economic development and democratic participation may not be effective. Liberal authoritarianism may well be a more ‘desirable alternative’ and a ‘more practical response than the utopian wish for immediate mass democracy in Eastern Europe’.43 It is precisely this tension between the authoritarian reimposition of order and democratic anarchism that Putin sought to finesse. Putin provides a new approach to the problem of institutionalizing order between the old-fashioned establishment of a repressive order and the anarchization of social relations that so characterized post-communist Russia. The key point was precisely the institutionalizing of order, to make it something not external but vital to the operation of the system. In short, the aim was to achieve the internalization of authority where power moved from being despotic and arbitrary to infrastructural and legitimate. The aim was to shift from power to authority. Between radical liberalism and restorationist authoritarianism there lay a third way, and this was now sought by Putin. German Gref, the head of the Centre for Strategic Development whose task it was to devise a plan for Russia’s development in the early part of the millennium, argued that ‘“the West” as some sort of definition does not mean much in particular’.44 It was not ‘the West’ as such that would do this or the other, but concrete investors. Thus Gref reflected one of the characteristic features of the new conception of geo-ideological space: the

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 183

disaggregation of the West from a monolithic unitary actor into a more dynamic conception of the West as the site of conflicts, divergent interests and dynamism. Putin’s own roots lay in St Petersburg, the city created by Peter the Great as a ‘window on the West’, and the symbolism of his receiving the first two foreign leaders to visit Russia following his accession to the presidency, British Prime Minister Tony Blair and Japanese Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori, in that city was lost on none. There was even talk that the capital could move to the northern city, although it is probable that, at most, some ministries and part of the legislature could move there. What was already clear, however, was that Putin’s elevation of St Petersburg reflected his calls for close ties with Europe. Russia has traditionally appeared to be particularly prone to pathophysic approaches (based on the science of imagining solutions). A new ‘Third Worldism’ emerged with Russia at its head. This was clearly an opportunistic response to the failure of having made the First World, and would in all likelihood be dropped if the economy improved sufficiently to bring Russia into the First World. Neither Russia nor China recognizes itself as a lesser developed country. In a unipolar world, the aim was to create a second pole. The concept of the East was an attempt to recuperate an alternative. However, the new conceptualization of the East was not envisaged as an alternative to the West but as its complement. In broad political terms, Russia sought to be recognized as a serious actor able to resume the role of a great power and defend its national interests in the international arena.45 Putin’s attempts to improve relations with the West and to place relations with the East on a new basis have yet to bear fruit, but he demonstrated an awareness that the legacy of Primakov’s so-called pragmatism in foreign policy had been disastrous for Russia, alienating its friends and confirming the hostility of those traditionally suspicious of Russian intentions. Russian foreign policy in the late 1990s was built on fake history and mythopoeic representations of traditional alliances. Putin found himself in a position remarkably reminiscent of that facing Gorbachev when he came to power in 1985: surrounded by sullen neighbours and increasingly robust foes. If nothing else, Putin was forced to launch a charm offensive, and this he did. In foreign policy it is clear that Putin devised his own policies to overcome Russia’s isolation and to establish good relations with the West, China and the world. This he has done by seeking a third way between the humiliating subservience to the West that characterized Russian policy from the late 1980s and the mindless great-powerism that predominated in the late 1990s. This new way would be based on overcoming Russia’s traditional idealized view of the world and recognizing a few hard realities: Russia’s economy could no longer maintain any aspirations to superpower status; NATO was here to stay and increasing numbers of Russia’s

184 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

neighbours wanted to join it, including (perhaps most humiliatingly for ‘pragmatists’ of Primakov’s ilk) Ukraine; and the CIS could not be used as an instrument of policy but would have to be based on genuine partnerships or it would wither away. At the same time, Russia was too big and too distinct simply to become part of the West; for geo-ideological, geopolitical and geo-economic reasons it would always be part of the East. The main choice facing the country, therefore, was how to define this East. The great challenge facing Putin has been to transform the East while remaining engaged with the West, and this he began to do. NOTES 1. The broad outlines of the notion of two Easts was suggested by Natasha Kuhrt, ‘NATO Expansion as a Factor in Russo-Chinese Relations’, paper prepared for the PSA Specialist Group conference, SSEES, University of London, 5 February 2000. 2. The view defended by Norman Davies, Europe: A History (Oxford, 1996). 3. Alexander Yanov, ‘Open Letter to Colleagues in the West’, Johnson’s Russia List, no. 3410, 26 July 1999. 4. Sergei Karaganov et al., Strategy for Russia: Agenda for President—2000 (Moscow, 2000). 5. A.S.Panarin, Rossiia v tsiklakh mirovoi istorii (Moscow, 1999). 6. Andrei Zagorskii et al., The Commonwealth of Independent States: Developments and Prospects (Moscow, 1992). 7. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 72, 11 April 2000. 8. Viktor Sheinis, ‘Posle bitvy: itogi parlamentskikh vyborov i novaia Gosudarstvennaia Duma’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 29 December 1999, p. 8. 9. Anthony Giddens, The Third Way. The Renewal of Social Democracy (Cambridge, 1998). 10. Vladimir Putin, ‘Rossiia na rubezhe tysiacheletii’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 30 December 1999, p. 4, available at www.pravitelstvo.gov.ru 11. John Williamson, The Political Economy of Policy Reform (Washington, DC, 1994), pp. 17, 20–8. 12. Celeste A.Wallander, Russian National Security Policy in 2000, Davis Center for Russian Studies, Harvard University, Program on New Approaches to Russian Security, Policy Memo Series no. 102, p. 1. 13. ‘Kontseptsiia national’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, no. 1, 14–20 January 2000, available at http:// www.scrf.gov.ru/ Documents/Decree/2000/24–1.html 14. Ibid. 15. N.Gevorkiian et al., Ot pervogo litsa: razgovory s Vladimirom Putinym (Moscow, 2000), p. 156. 16. ‘Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, paragraph I.3, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 22 April 2000, available at www.scrf.gov.ru/Documents/Decree/2000/ 706–l.html 17. Ibid., paragraph I.5.

TRANSFORMING ‘THE EAST’ 185

18. Valeriia Sycheva, ‘V ekonomike stanet bol’she vneshnei politiki’, Segodnia, 25 March 2000, p. 2. 19. Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (hereafter RFE/RL), Newsline, 2 February 2000; Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 23, 2 February 2000. 20. Russian Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov in talks with NATO Foreign Ministers in Florence on 24 May 2000 reportedly apologized for Ojdanic’s visit. See Jamestown Foundation, Fortnight in Review, vol. 6, no. 11, 26 May 2000. 21. For a useful discussion of the issues, see Gennady Chufrin (ed.), Russia and Asia: The Emerging Security Agenda (Stockholm, 1999). 22. One of the most detailed and balanced Russian analyses was published to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the establishment of the People’s Republic of China: M.L.Titarenko (ed.), Kitai na puti modernizatsii i reform: 1949–1999 (Moscow, 1999). 23. Jonathan Steele, ‘Empty Encounters’, Guardian, 2 June 2000, p. 24. 24. Il’ia Kedrov, Dmitrii Kosyrev, ‘Pervyi vizit Putina—v Kitai?’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 2 March 2000, p. 1. 25. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 52, 14 March 2000. 26. See, for example, Andrei Komarov, ‘Rossiia i kitai kritikuiut gumanitarnoe vmeshatel’stvo’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 16 March 2000, p. 6. The interview reported here was with Oleg Mironov, the Russian Human Rights Commissioner, on a visit to China where he shared Russian experience. 27. For a highly sceptical analysis see the interview with the Moscow University Sinologist, Vil’ Gel’bras, by Natal’ia Airapetova, ‘Nado li Rossii opasat’sia Kitaia?’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 3 March 2000, p. 8. 28. Times of India, 13 March 2000, in Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 52, 14 March 2000. 29. ‘Interv’iu programma ‘Zavtrak s Frostom’ (telekanal Bi-Bi-Si)’, available at www.putin2000.ru/02/13.html 30. Segodnia, 2 March 2000. 31. Segodnia, 4 April 2000; RFE/RL, Newsline, 5 April 2000. 32. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 32, 15 February 2000. 33. Kommersant-Daily, 17 May 2000. 34. My thanks to Hugo Dobson for providing me with the transcript of the conversation. 35. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, 15 February 2000. 36. The great ‘theorists’ of such an approach were Zbigniew Brzezinski, The Grand Chessboard: American Primacy and its Geostrategic Imperatives (Boulder, CO, 1998), and from a peculiarly geo-cultural perspective, Samuel P. Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations?’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 72, no. 3 (Summer 1993), pp. 22–49, and his The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York, 1996). 37. See Richard Sakwa and Mark Webber, The Commonwealth of Independent States, 1991–1998: Stagnation and Survival’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 51, no. 3 (May 1999), pp. 379–415. 38. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 50, 10 March 2000. 39. Nezavisimaia gazeta, 7 March 2000; RFE/RL, Newsline, 8 March 2000. 40. RFE/RL, Newsline, 8 February 2000. 41. Jamestown Foundation, Monitor, vol. 6, no. 108, 2 June 2000.

186 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

42. Ibid., vol. 6, no. 106, 31 May 2000. 43. Ken Jowitt, New World Disorder: The Leninist Extinction (Berkeley, CA, 1992). 44. Interview with Sergei Parkhomenko, ‘Sostavitel’ kontrakta’, Itogi, 8 February 2000, p. 24. 45. This was something recognized by Henry Kissinger, ‘Clinton Must Lay the Groundwork for a New Relationship with Russia’, Washington Post, 15 May 2000. As far as Kissinger was concerned, the last thing Russia needed was yet more admonitions about its economy or Caucasian policy; it simply needed recognition that it was an independent actor in world politics whose views were legitimate and to be respected. The West, in his view, was to stop acting as if it were part of Russia’s domestic politics. At the same time, he urged President Clinton to ‘stress—against all his inclinations—that geopolitics has not been abolished’.

Notes on Contributors

Alexei G.Arbatov is Deputy Chairman of the Russian Duma and Deputy Chairman of its Defence Committee. He has published vastly on Russian security policies. Recent publications include the edited book Managing Conflict in the Former Soviet Union: Russian and American Perspectives (1997) and ‘The Transformation of Russian Military Doctrine: Lessons Learned from Kosovo and Chechnya’, Marshall Center Papers, No. 2. Pavel Baev is Senior Researcher at the Peace Research Institute, Oslo (PRIO). He has published numerous articles concerning Russian security issues, including: ‘Collecting Revolutions: Academic Rigour with Style’, Security Dialogue 32(2)(2001); The Russian Armed Forces: Failed Reform Attempts and Creeping Regionalisation’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 17(1)(2001); ‘Does History Inform Russia’s Policy in the Great Anti-Terrorist Game?’, Asia and the Caucasus, 1(13), (2002), and ‘Russia as a Security Disaster Area: Possible Conflicts and Interventions in 2015’, Korean Journal of Defense Analysis 14(1) (2002). Alyson J.K.Bailes is the Ambassador of the United Kingdom to Finland and former Political Director of the Western European Union in Brussels. Ambassador Bailes has published numerous articles on European security, among them ‘Europe’s Defense Challenge’, Foreign Affairs, 76 (1997). Oded Eran is an associate member of the Curiel Center for International Studies, Tel Aviv University. He was formerly a member of the Israeli Foreign Ministry and is author of a textbook on Russian Foreign Policy in Hebrew under the title Soviet Foreign Policy from Lenin to Gorbachev (1991). Gabriel Gorodetsky holds the Rubin Chair for Russian Studies, Tel Aviv University. His most recent publications include Grand Delusion: Stalin and the German Invasion of Russia (2000, also published in German in 2001, and in France in 2000) and, co-edited with W.Weidenfeld, Regional Security in the Wake of the Collapse of the Soviet Union: Europe and the Middle East (2002).

188 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Lena Jonson is senior scientific employee of the Swedish Institute of International Affairs (Stockholm, Sweden). She is author of Russia in Central Asia: A New Web of Relations (1998) and editor, with Roy Allison, of Central Asian Security: The New International Context (2001). Lev Klepatskii is General Consul of the Russian Federation in Munich. He is the former deputy director of the Foreign Policy Planning Staff of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation. Margot light is Professor of International Relations at the London School of Economics and Chair of the Steering Committee, Centre for International Studies. She is author of The Soviet Theory of International Relations (1988) and co-editor, with Karen E.Smith, of Ethics and Foreign Policy (2001). Bobo Lo is a fellow of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, London, and a former Australian diplomat. He is the author of Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era (2002) and Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy (2003). John Löwenhardt is Director of the Institute of Central and East European Studies, University of Glasgow. Has been writing on Russia and European Security. Among his latest articles, ‘A Wider Europe: The View from Minsk and Chisinau’, International Affairs, 77/3 (July 2001), and ‘Russian Perspectives on European Security’, European Foreign Affairs Review, 5/4 (2000). S.Neil MacFarlane is Lester B. Pearson Professor of International Relations at the University of Oxford, a fellow of St Anne’s College, and Director of Oxford’s Centre for International Studies. He is author of Western Engagement in the Caucasus and Central Asia (1999) and editor, with Rosemary Foot, of US Hegemony and International Organizations (2003). Mikhail Nosov is First Deputy Director, USA and Canada Institute, Russian Academy of Science, Moscow. Among his numerous publications concerning Russia and Asia is ‘Challenges for the Future’, China Review (February 2001). Ingmar Oldberg is a Senior Researcher at the Swedish Defence Research Agency. He has published widely on Soviet and Russian policies in the Baltic area, most recently ‘Kaliningrad between Moscow and Brussels’, Russian Working Papers, 2002. Alex Pravda is Lecturer in Russian and East European Politics at St Antony’s College, Oxford. He is editor, with Jan Zielonka, Democratic Consolidation in Eastern Europe: International and Transnational Factors (2001) and is currently completing a monograph on Gorbachev’s foreign policy.

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS 189

Yaacov Ro’i is Professor of History, Cummings Center for Russian and East European Studies, Tel Aviv University. Among his most recent publications are Islam and the Soviet Union (2000), Islam in the CIS: A Threat to Stability (2001) and Democracy and Pluralism in the Muslim Regions of the Former Soviet Union (2003, forthcoming) The late Alvin Rubinstein was a Professor of Political Science at Pennsylvania University. His latest edited volume was America’s National Interests in a Post-Cold War (1994). Richard Sakwa is Head of the Department of Politics and International Relations and Professor of Russian and European Politics at the University of Kent. Recent publications are The Rise and Fall of the Soviet Union: 1917–1991 (Sources in History) (1999), and, co-edited with Anne Stevens, Contemporary Europe (2000) and Postcommunism: Concepts in the Social Sciences (1999). Dmitri Trenin is Deputy Director, Foreign and Security Policy Program, Carnegie Moscow Center. Recent publications include The End of Eurasia: Russia on the Border between Geopolitics and Globalization (2000), Russia and European Security Institutions: Entering the 21st Century (2001) and The Baltic Chance: The Baltic States, Russia and the West in the Emerging Greater Europe (1997). Stephen White is Professor of International Politics, University of Glasgow. His most recent publications are After Gorbachev (1994) and Russia’s New Politics (1999).

Index

201st Division (Russian) 135, 143 ABM treaty 1972 14, 30, 38–2, 44, 45, 48, 50, 88, 177, 181 Adamov, Evgenii 176 Adriatic Sea xii Afghan civil war 144 Afghanistan xviii, 40–4, 77, 125, 126, 127, 132, 135–5, 140, 143, 144, 145– 5, 147, 148, 159 Africa 9 aid: financial/economic xv–xvi; military 41 Akaev, Askar 134, 146, 147 Al-Assad, Hafez 156, 157 Al-Qaeda network 44–8, 146 Åland Islands 104 Albanians 86, 87 Albright, Madeleine 74, 133 Amsterdam, treaty of 56 Ankara 152, 153 anti-Americanism 7–8 anti-humanitarianism 174–4 anti-missile defence treaty (1972) xviii anti-terrorism, in south central Asia 123–3, 125–8, 132, 133, 134, 135–5 anti-universalism 174 Arab world 151–68; see also specific countries Arab-Israeli dispute xix, 85, 151, 154, 155, 156, 157–6 Arafat, Yasser 157 Arbatov, Aleksei 84 Arbatov, Alexei xi, 26–30 Argun River 177 Arkhangelsk 93, 99

armaments, Russian sale of: to China 176, 177; to the Middle East 151, 152–2, 156, 157; see also military-industrial complex Armenia 126, 127 arms control, and NATO expansion 83–84 ASEAN (Association of South East Asian Nations) 5, 9 Asia 4, 9, 26, 80, 163–3; see also central Asia; Eurasia; south central Asia; specific countries Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM) 163 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) Shanghai summit 40 Asia-Pacific region 4 Asian monetary fund 5 Atlantic Alliance x Atlanticization 94, 95 Austria 77 authority 182 Azerbaijan 87–4, 142, 153; see also GUUAM Baghdad 50–4, 155 Balkan states x, xvii, 21, 26–28, 33, 38, 43, 59, 88, 94, 95, 105; see also specific countries ballistic missiles xviii, xix, 14, 44, 153; see also National Missile Defence Baltic Charter 85, 95 Baltic Fleet (Russian) 99

190

INDEX 191

Baltic Sea Cooperation Council 92 Baltic Sea region xvii, 75, 103–12 Baltic states xvii; economic successes 36; ethnic disputes 106–15; and the EU 104, 106, 111, 112; and NATO 35, 42, 43, 59, 81, 104, 106, 107, 111, 112; and Russian economic interests 110– 20; and Russian political interests 106; and Russian security interests 104– 13; see also Estonia Latvia; Lithuania Barak, Ehud 157 Baranovsky, Vladimir 21 Barents Euro-Active Initiative 92, 93, 98 Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC) 107 Barents region 75, 106 Bashkir people 140, 163 Batken region, Kyrgyzstan 145 Baturin, Iurii 130 Beijing 33, 86, 176, 177 Belarus 92, 97, 119, 124, 126, 127, 180 Berger, Samuel R. xv Berlin 85 bin Laden, Osama 145, 146 biological weapons ix bipolarity 2–3 Bishkek 41 Black Sea Economic Cooperation 75 Black Sea fleet xii Black Sea region x, xvii, 152 Blair, Tony 36, 51, 182 Blue Stream pipeline 152 Bosnia 39, 85–2, 95 Brezhnev era 95 Britain 76, 99, 169; see also United Kingdom Brussels 42, 70 Bulgaria 56 Bush administration 23, 44

Bush, George W. xiv, xix, 36, 38–2, 49, 95; ‘axis of evil’ speech 50, 51 C3I systems 28 Camdessus, Michel xv Canada 70, 117 Caspian Sea region 35; energy resources xii, 13, 17, 18, 120, 129, 130 Castro, Fidel 82 Catherine the Great 11, 181 Caucasus x, xvii, xix, 27, 39, 105, 117, 119, 127, 130, 131, 133, 168, 180; Islamic destabilization of 40, 45, 142; and the Middle East 153, 158, 159; and NATO 120; natural resources xii; and Russian economization of power 18; US bases in 48, 50; see also northern Caucasus; specific countries CEE countries 62 central Asia xii, 18, 27, 39, 44, 87, 117, 119, 180; Afghan campaign 41–5; and Islam 40, 45, 119, 140–57; and the Middle East 153, 158, 159; and NATO 41–5, 120; US bases in 48, 50; see also Commonwealth of Independent States; south central Asia; specific countries central Europe 103 Chechen wars 14, 20, 23, 87, 99, 140; First (1994–96) 56, 153; Second (1999) xi, xvi, 59, 98, 100, 120, 121, 123, 131, 133, 134, 153, 159, 168, 173, 175; and the Baltic states 96; and China 176; effects of September 11 on 44–8, 49; and the EU 94, 182; and Japan 179;

192 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

and Russian exploitation of the Islamic factor 147; and the Russian Military Doctrine 26–30; and Russian-northern European relations 104, 105, 107; and US policy 180 Chechnya: fundamentalist Iranian influence on xix; and the OSCE 15; and the Taliban 145; see also Chechen wars chemical weapons ix Chernomyrdin, Viktor 20, 145, 152 Chiang Mai meeting 5 China xvii, 22, 32, 33, 38, 40, 77, 83, 86, 163, 165, 167, 169, 180, 183; as economic pole 6; Indian-Chinese-Russian triangle 175; and Islam 145; modernization of 175–5; and NATO enlargement 85, 87; Russian arms sales to (1990s) 18; share of gross world production 5; Sino-Russian relations 10, 11, 18, 175–7; and south central Asia 129, 131 Chinese Embassy, Belgrade 86 Chyvashe people 163 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) x, xix, 8–9, 20, 56, 63–64, 77, 173, 175, 180; and the Afghan campaign 41; call for genuine Russian partnership with 183; Collective Security Treaty 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 145, 147; and Islam 142, 143, 144, 145, 147; and Kyrgyzstan 125, 127; NATO’s involvement in 41–5; Putin and 13, 14, 18, 117–30; Russian integration with 33, 124, 130; and Russian security issues 142, 143, 144, 145, 147; Southern Tier states 117–30;

summit, January 2000 126, 133; trade 108; and Uzbekistan 124 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) Collective Peacekeeping Force 128 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) Council of Defence Ministers 126 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) Customs Union 124 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) Southern Shield 92 126 CIS (Commonwealth of Independent States) Southern Shield 2000 126–6 Clinton, Bill 7, 22, 58, 85, 86, 87, 88, 153 coal 5 Cohen, William 86 Cold War x, xi, xiii, xv, xix, xx, 2, 2, 17, 18, 36, 64, 80, 83, 105, 117, 152, 154, 167, 168, 171 Cologne European Council 62 Common European Security and Defence Policy (CESDP) (EU) 62, 63– 65; as supplement to NATO 63–64, 65; as wedge between Europe and USA 63, 65 Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) (EU) 14–15, 16, 62, 65 Common Strategy on Russia 1999 (EU) 56, 65, 72, 75 communism ix Communist Party (Chinese) 175 Communist Party of the Russian Federation (CPRF) 172 Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) 141 Congress (US) 154 Contact Group 39 Conventional Forces in Europe, treaty on 180 Council of Baltic Sea States (CBSS) 107 Council of Economic Assistance (SEV) 8 Council for Foreign and Defence Policy 167

INDEX 193

Council for Mutual Economic Assistance 76 criminality 119, 126 Cuba 82 Cyprus 56, 70, 85 Czech Republic: and the EU 61, 82; and NATO xviii, 56, 58, 81, 86, 94, 95 Dagestan xviii, xix, 123 Dahrendorf, Lord 171 Damascus 157 Dayton Accords 1995 86 defence see securitization; security issues democratic states 118 democratization xv–xvi, 3, 6, 118, 120 Denmark 103, 105, 109 derzhavnost’ xii Dostum, Abdul Rashid 136 Duma (Russian parliament) xvi, 28, 47, 83, 84, 106, 110, 156, 170, 171, 172; elections (1999) 170, 171–1 Dushanbe 41, 143, 144 East: as counterhegemonic formation 174–4; division with the West xvi; geo-economic 165, 168, 183; geo-ideological 165–5, 168, 169, 182, 183; geopolitical 165, 168, 173–3, 179– 90, 183; identity 165–5; reforging of the concept of 7, 167, 168, 169, 182–2; representations of and the real 175– 8 east Asia 80 eastern Europe 117 ‘Eastern Problem’ (German) 82–9 economic issues: Asian crisis 4; geo-economics 165, 168, 181–1;

and the imposition of external ideas on Russia xv–xvi; integration 3–5, 7, 13, 47; Moscow consensus 172; multipolarity 3–5; prioritization 151; recovery 34–7, 117; ruble crash, August 1998 32, 92, 109, 111, 172, 173; Russia and the EU 61, 62; Russian debt 32, 43; Russian defence budgets 27, 32; Russian gross domestic product xx, 5, 32, 172, 177; Russian interests in northern Europe 108–20; Russian share of world trade 5, 21; Russian weakness 17, 37, 46–47, 59, 92, 109, 165, 166, 170, 183; Russian-Asian relations 163, 164; Russian-Middle Eastern relations 152–2, 156, 157, 158–8; Russia’s debtors 156, 157, 178; Russia’s federal budget 32; see also trade economic ‘poles’ 3–4, 5, 6, 8 economization 12–13, 17–18, 46, 181 Egypt 157 elites: and the economy 172; and EU enlargement 60–7, 62, 63; and Islam 142; and NATO enlargement 58–5; Putin’s angering of 37, 47, 48–2, 96 energy resources xix, 5, 124, 165; Caspian Sea region xii, 13, 17, 18, 120, 129, 130; see also natural gas; oil Estonia xvii, 103; border questions 106; ethnic disputes 106–15; and the EU 56, 64; and NATO 85; and Russian economic interests 110 Eurasia xvi, 87, 121; see also specific countries

194 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) 56 ‘Euro-Atlantists’ 142 Eurocentrism 20–5, 163–3, 182 Europe xiii, xvii, 4, 103; dual expansion of and the exclusion of Russia 56–66; regional organizations 9; Russia as bridge between Asia and 163, 164; and Russia in the era of securitization 20–5; and Russian strategic uncertainty and American tactical intrusiveness 80–88; Russia’s place in the defence of 69– 77; Russia’s road into 54–88; and US strategic interests 80, 81; see also eastern Europe; northern Europe; western Europe European Commission 56, 60 European Council 56, 56, 61 European Environment Agency 75 European Missile Defence Initiative 14 European Monetary Union (EMU) 108 European Security Council 175 European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) 181 European Union (EU) 4, 15, 88, 97; accession states 56, 61, 62, 63; anti-Americanism of 8; and the Baltic states 104, 106, 107, 111, 112; and cooperation 66; defence issues 5, 62, 63–65, 70–7, 72–75, 76–3; enlargement 16, 34, 56, 56, 57, 60– 64, 74, 75, 111; and the former Soviet bloc countries 56, 56; and Germany 82; Headline Goal 71; Helsinki summit, 1999 94; ‘insiders-outsiders dichotomy’ 56, 56; and Kosovo 94;

militarization 5, 74–1; and the Nordic—Baltic region 92, 93–2, 95, 100; pre-in states 56, 61; Rapid Reaction Force 14–15, 16; Russia—EU Partnership and Cooperation Agreement 13, 63; Russian collaboration with 8; Russian integration with 34, 181–1; and Russian trade 21, 61, 75–2, 77, 181; and Russian-northern European relations 108–20; and Russia’s identity crisis 33; Russia’s turn to following September 11 51–5; securitization of 75; share of gross world production 5; and the single currency 5; and south central Asia 129; subservience to NATO 59; summit, May 2000 181–1; TRACECA (Transport Corridor Europe-Caucasus-Asia) 180 Europeanization 163–2 Far East xi, xviii, 161–92 Federal Assembly 13, 47, 158 Federal Security Service (FSS) 19, 126 Ferghana region, Uzbekistan 126, 128 Finland 93, 103; and the EU 108; and Russian economic interests 108– 17, 110; and Russian political interests 106; and Russian security interests 104, 105 First World War 80 fishing industry 109–18 Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) 19, 128, 130, 167, 168 Foreign Policy Concept 2000 11, 13, 58, 64, 158–7, 174 foreign policy establishments: and EU enlargement 60–7, 62, 63; and NATO enlargement 58–5; Putin’s angering of 48

INDEX 195

former Soviet bloc 117; EU membership 56, 56; financial debt to Russia 17; NATO membership 56; Russian collaboration with 8; see also specific countries Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security Between NATO and the Russian Federation 1997 26, 39, 56, 58, 94 Fradkov, Mikhail 176 France 22, 82, 85, 95, 108 Frank, Semen 170 free-market economy xv, 46 free-trade areas 77 Frost, David 56, 177 fundamentalist nationalists 57, 58, 59 G8 countries 6, 178; summit, July 2000 44, 51 Gazprom xv, xix Genoa 38 geo-economics 32, 165, 168, 181–1, 183 geo-ideology 165–5, 168, 169, 182, 183 geopolitical issues xiii; reversal of trends 32; under Putin 12, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 166, 173–3, 175, 179–90, 183; under Yeltsin 13; US 179 Georgia 18, 48, 50, 87–4; see also GUUAM Germany xv, xvi, 22, 85, 88, 95, 111; ‘Eastern Problem’ 82–9; nationalism 83; and NATO enlargement 82–84; Nazi 83; unification of xvii Giddens, Anthony 170 glasnost 140 Glaz’ev, Sergei 172 globalization xi, xii, xx–52; and the East-West divide 7;

and Putin’s foreign policy after September 11 36–52; Russia and the New World Order 2– 9; and Russian international relations 3; and Russian Military Doctrine after Kosovo and Chechnya 26–30; and Russian national interests 2, 3; and securitization of Russian foreign policy 10–23; as unilateralism xiv Gorbachev era 42, 43, 140 Gorbachev, Mikhail xii, xvi–xvii, 39, 66, 81, 155, 159, 166, 169, 175, 183 Gorbenko, Leonid 111 Gore, Al 152 Gotland 104 Grant, Charles 75 Great Northern Route 164 Greece 85 Gulf states 153–2 Gulf War xix GUUAM (Georgia, Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Moldova) 33, 125, 145, 180 Haiti 118 Hanoi 178 Hashimoto, Ryutaro 179 Hassan, Crown Prince of Jordan 157 hegemony 6, 9; patterns of 117–8; Russian 121; US xiii, xix, 5, 22, 38, 80, 81, 82, 84, 86, 87, 117, 165, 167, 179 Helsinki European Council 62 Hizballah 156 House Committee on National Security 84 humanitarian intervention, devaluation 174–4 Hungary 31–8, 56, 58, 81, 86, 94, 95 Hunter, Robert 87–4 Huntington, Samuel 159 Hussein, Saddam 87, 175

196 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Iakovlev, Vladimir 97 Iceland 75, 103, 108, 109 IKEA 108 Ikle’, Fred C. 84 India 77, 83, 118, 166, 172, 176, 181; as economic pole 6; and NATO enlargement 85; Russian arms sales to (1990s) 18; Russia’s attempt to forge relationship with 10, 11; Western qualities of 7 Indian-Chinese-Russian triangle 175 Ingush people 141 integration: economic 3–5, 7, 13, 47; Russian-CIS 33, 124, 130; Russian-European 20–5, 34–8, 107, 163–2, 181–1 intelligence, Russian-US provision after September 11 40 Interior Ministry 19 International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) 181 international identity 31–8 International Monetary Fund (IMF) xvi, 33 International Monetary Union (IMU) 145, 146 international relations: democratization 6; and globalization 3; hegemony in 6, 9; and multipolarity 2, 5, 6, 8, 9; realist theory 117 investment 97 Iran x–xi, xviii, xix, 50–4, 77, 85, 87, 120, 142, 151–64; fundamentalism xix; Islamic revolution 79 140; Russian nuclear cooperation with 18, 51, 83, 152; and south central Asia 129, 130, 131 Iran Nonproliferation Act, 2000 153 Iran, Shah of 151–60 Iraq x–xi, xvi, xviii, xix, 10, 50–4, 87, 155, 175 Isfahan xix

Islamic extremism xii, 11, 40, 44–8, 180; destabilization of the Caucasus 40, 45, 142; destabilization of central Asia 119; role in Russia’s relations with central Asia 140–57; Russian antipathy towards 159; in south central Asia 123–3, 125–8, 131–1, 133, 134, 135–5 Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan 145 Islamic Renaissance Party 141–1 Islamic terrorism: role in Russia’s relations with central Asia 145, 146–6; in south central Asia 123–3, 125–8, 132, 133, 134, 135–5; see also September 9, Islamophobia 142 Israel xix, 70, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157– 6; Arab-Israeli dispute xviii, 85, 151, 154, 155, 156, 157–6 Ivanov, Igor 19, 48, 145, 147, 157–6, 174, 178, 179, 181 Ivanov, Sergei 19, 40, 41, 48, 50, 126, 127, 146, 147, 174 Ivashov, Leonid 66 Izobil’noe, Russia 152 Jackson-Vanik Agreement 51 Japan xvi, xvii, 5, 7, 32, 108, 163, 163, 165, 176–90 Jerusalem 154, 158 Jiaxuan, Tang 176 Jordan 155 Jowitt, Ken 182 Kabul 41 Kaliningrad 16, 61, 75, 93, 95, 97, 104, 106, 109, 111; visa regime 52, 111 Kaliuzhnyi, Viktor 176 Karaganov, Sergei 167, 178 Karasin, Grigorii 181 Karelia 93, 109, 110

INDEX 197

Karimov, Islam 41, 124, 125–5, 132, 134, 141, 143, 144–5, 147 Kazakhstan 124, 126, 127, 129, 142, 144, 145; Uzbek population 132 Kazan 57 Kennan, George 81 KGB 96, 97, 143 Khabarovska river 177 Kildin (Russian intelligence ship) 154 Klaipeda region 106 Klebanov, Il’ia 176 Kola Peninsula 97–6, 103–12, 109 Koptev, Iurii 176 Kosovo xi–xii, xvi, xvii, xviii, 8, 10, 14, 15, 16, 22, 32–5, 39, 58–5, 70, 73, 84, 86–3, 88, 94–3, 105, 131, 145, 173, 176; Russian Military Doctrine after 26– 30 Kosovo Force (KFOR) (NATO) 94 Kostunica, Vojislav 88 Kozyrev, Andrei 2, 57, 142, 155, 156, 159, 166, 178 Kremlin 39, 46, 52; and the Chechen crisis 20; fear of isolation xvi; and globalization xiv; Islamic threat to 145; and the Kosovan situation xi; modus operandi xvii; multipolarity xiv; response to 11 September 37, 40, 43, 45, 47, 48, 50–4; and Russia’s admission to the G8 group 51; under Putin 15, 19,20 Kurile Islands xvii, 179 Kursk tragedy 98, 99 Kuwait 154 Kyrgyzstan 41; Islamist threat to 125, 126, 127, 129, 133, 134, 144, 145, 146; and Russian security policy 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 133, 134, 136, 144, 145, 146; Uzbek population 132

Latin America 4, 6, 9, 172 Latvia xvii, 56, 93, 103, 106–15, 110– 19 Lebanon 156, 158 Lebedev, Sergei 168 Leningrad 27, 109; see also St Petersburg liberal conservatism 170 liberal Westernizers 57, 59 liberalism 37, 46–47, 57, 59, 166, 170 Libya 85, 156 Lithuania 56, 103, 104, 106, 110–19 Ljubljana 38 Lokoil xv–xvi Madrid 86 Malaysia 7 Malta 56, 70 Mandelbaum, Michael 85 Margelov, Mikhail 48 marginalization 33, 35, 56 Maskhadov, Aslan 145 Masud, Ahmad Shah 135–5, 144 Medium-term Strategy (2000–10) (Russian) 61–8, 63 Menatep xvi Middle East xviii–xix, 80, 142, 151–68; see also specific countries Military Doctrine 1992 (draft) 128 Military Doctrine 2000 63, 64, 130, 174; after Kosovo and Chechnya 26–30; main tasks of defence policy 27; new defence priorities 28–1; new look at 27–28; and Russia’s identity crisis 33 military establishment, Putin’s angering of 48 military-industrial complex 18; see also armaments Milosevic, Slobodan 87, 88, 175 Ministry of Defence (Russian) 19 modernity 167 Moldova 180; see also GUUAM monetary multipolarity 5 Mori, Yoshiro 179, 182

198 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Moscow x, xii–xiii, 22, 27, 51, 52, 57, 109, 126, 153, 174, 175; and arms control 84; and Chechnya xi; and China 176, 177; and the CIS 180; collaboration with the West 10; consensus 172; double-edged nature of Western aid xv; economization of security issues 17, 18; and the ‘Eurasian triangle’ 33; and the Far East 181; fear of isolation xvi; identity of 163; Islamic threat to 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 147; and Israel 154; and Kosovo xi–xii, 32–5; and the Middle East 152, 154, 156, 157, 158; and National Missile Defence 35; and NATO xviii, 16, 41–5, 43, 51, 82, 84, 88; and the Nordic—Baltic region 95; and nuclear power 98; and Putin 97; response to September 11 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 49, 50; scaling down of foreign policy goals 34; securitization 12, 13, 14–15, 16, 19, 20, 23, 30; and south central Asia 123; and South Korea 178; summit, May 2002 49, 50; and Swedish trade 108; and the Tajik civil war 142, 143; and Turkey 152 Mubarak, Husni 157 multinationals 3 multipolarity xiv, 3–9, 11, 14, 18, 38, 64, 167, 173, 174, 176, 178; economic 3–5; and the EU 74;

and international relations 2, 5, 6, 8, 9; lack of consensus regarding 2–2; monetary 5; as official Russian policy 2; as realistic perspective 2, 9; regional scale 4; and Russian national interests 2, 3, 8; see also pluralism Murmansk 93, 99, 109 Namangani, Juma 133, 145 nation-building xv national identity ix, xi, xiii, xv, 76 national interests x, xvii, xx; and globalization xiv, 2, 3; and multipolarity 2, 3, 8; Putin’s support of 169 National Missile Defence (NMD) 13– 14, 35, 50, 84, 88, 105, 177–7 National Security Blueprint 2000 62–9, 84 National Security Concept 1997 13, 173 National Security Concept 2000 2, 11, 13, 27, 28, 29, 33, 130 National Security Council (Russian) xix, 27, 48, 130 national sovereignty 174 NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) xii, xviii, 13, 14, 51, 52, 76, 165; 50th anniversary summit 58; and the Baltic states 35, 104, 106, 107, 111, 112; calls for transformation from defensive to political alliance 51, 177; and the Caucasus 120; and central Asia 120; CESDP as supplement to 63–64, 65; and cooperation 65–2; and European security concerns 62, 63–64, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74; and the exclusion of Russia 81–8, 87–4;

INDEX 199

and former Soviet bloc countries 56; ‘insiders-outsiders dichotomy’ 56–2; as instrument of US foreign policy xviii, 59, 64; Islamic threat to 147; Kosovo Force (KFOR) 94; Madrid summit, 1997 56; Partnership for Peace 56, 57, 87–4, 98, 125, 130; Putin and 15, 16; Russian acceptance of CIS influence 41–5; Russian inclusion xiv; and Russian nuclear capability 99; and Russia’s identity crisis 33; and south central Asia 130, 131, 133; Strategic Concept 1999 131; and Turkey 151, 152; and Yugoslavia 26, 27–28, 33; see also NATO enlargement NATO enlargement xviii, 10, 16, 22, 27–29, 30, 34, 38–2, 41–6, 56–6, 63, 80–88, 131, 163, 164, 173, 175, 183; and the CIS 119, 180; and the destruction of international stability 80–8, 85–3; effect on arms control negotiations 83–84; effect on Germany 82–9; effect on Russian security interests 87; and the Nordic—Baltic region 92, 94–4; perceived as universal threat 85; and Sino-Russian relations 176; and US—Russian estrangement 82; and northern Europe 103–13; weakening effect on the Alliance 84– 1 NATO-Russia Founding Act 1997 26, 39, 56, 58, 94 NATO-Russia Joint Council xviii, 58, 65 NATO-Russian Partnership for Peace 30 natural gas xix, 5, 13, 18, 77, 108, 124, 152

Nazarbaev, Nursultan 145, 146 Nazi Germany 83 ‘near abroad’ x, xvii, xviii–xix, 117, 140, 143, 148, 158, 159; see also specific countries Near East 18 neo-Eurasians 142 Netanyahu, Binyamin 156, 157 Netherlands, The 164 New Delhi 33 New World Order ix, xi, xvi; new Russia and 2–9; open to question 2; Russia’s role in xv New York 38 Nikitin, Vladimir 109 Niyazov, Sapurmurad 144 non-governmental organizations 3 Nordic Council 103 Nordic—Baltic region xii, 92–100; demilitarisation 92, 95, 97; and the EU 92, 93–2, 100; institutional frameworks 92–2; and NATO enlargement 92, 94–4; Putin and 92, 96–5; and Russian nuclear capability 92, 97–7, 100; security issues 92–100, 104–13; underdevelopment of military-tomilitary contacts 92, 98 North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) 56 North Korea 44, 51; see also Republic of Korea Northern Alliance 41, 49, 135–5 northern Caucasus 140, 141, 144, 145, 148 Northern Dimension programme 75, 93–2, 97, 108 northern Europe xi, 103–22; and NATO 103–13; Russian disarmament in 104, 105; Russia’s economic interests in 108– 20; Russia’s military-strategic interests in 103–13; Russia’s political interests in 106–16; see also specific countries

200 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

Northern Fleet (Russian) 98, 99, 109 Norway 75, 103, 105, 106, 107, 108– 17 Novgorod oblast 93, 97 nuclear technology ix, xix, 18, 83, 103– 12, 109; deterrence strategies 27, 28–1; ‘first use’ doctrine 84; following September 11 50; human factor 98–7; Russian sales of 18, 51, 83, 152, 181; Russia’s maintenance failures in the Nordic—Baltic region 92, 97–7, 100; warhead reduction 50 Obuchi, Keizo 179 oil xix, 5, 77, 108, 110 Ojdanic, Dragoljub 175 Oldberg, Ingmar 93 oligarchies xv–xvi Oneximbank xvi Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) 108, 109 Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) 9, 26, 64, 72, 107, 173, 174, 179; Istanbul summit, December 1999 97; Istanbul summit, November 1999 175; NATO’s desire for equality with/ supremacy over 28; Putin and 15 orientalism 167, 168 Osh region, Kyrgyzstan 125, 126 Oslo Accord 155 Osset people 141 Pakistan 118, 130 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) 155 Palestine/Palestinians xix, 85, 155, 158 Palestinian Authority 156, 157–6 Panama 118 Panarin, A.S. 169

Pankisi Gorge 50 Paris Club debt 13 Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) 56 Partnership for Peace (PfP) 56, 57, 87–4, 98, 125, 130 Patten, Chris 63, 65 Pechenga 106 perestroika xvii, 140, 169 Permanent Joint Council 58, 94 Peter the Great 163, 182 ‘Petersberg tasks’ 71 pipelines xix, 120, 124, 152 Plekhanov, Georgii 163 pluralism 32; see also multipolarity Poland 35–8, 103, 105, 109, 111; and the EU 61, 82; and NATO xviii, 56, 57, 58, 81, 86, 94, 95, 104 pollution 109 Posuvaliuk, Viktor 156–5 power: and authority 182; projection of 17, 18 pragmatism 37, 42–47, 166, 167, 183 pragmatic nationalists 57, 59 Prikhodko, Sergei 48 Primakov, Evgenii xix, 19, 32–5, 96, 128, 156–5, 166, 167, 171, 176, 178, 183 Principle Guidance on the Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation 1993 27 Prishcina xii Prodi, Romano 181–1 Prusak, Mikhail 97 public arena: and EU enlargement 60; and NATO enlargement 58 ‘Putin factor’ 92, 96–5 Putin, Vladimir xii, xiv, xv, 33; angering of the elites 37, 47, 48–2, 96; and the CIS 117–30; competitive nature of 16–17, 37; contradictory policies of 171;

INDEX 201

differences between declared and actual policies of 11, 13; and economization 17–18; and Europe 20–5, 56–2, 88, 96; and the Far East 165–92; foreign policy after September 11 36–52; lack of distinct philosophy/ worldview xiii, 10–11; meetings with Bush 38–2; and the Middle East 158; and the Military Doctrine 27; and the National Security Blueprint 84; and NATO 66, 94–3; and the Nordic—Baltic region 92, 92, 96–5, 99–8; and northern Europe 110, 112; as realist 37, 42–47, 166–91; reasoned acquiescence of 43; on Russian EU membership 56–2; and the Russian navy 98; on Russia’s status as a great power 37; and securitization 10–23; and south central Asia 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130, 132, 136; speeches of 13; and the threat of Islam 140, 145, 147; and the timber industry 110 Pyonyang 44 Qaddafi, Moamar al 85 Rabbani, Birhanuddin 144 Rahmonov, Imomali 125, 129, 141, 142 Rambouillet 86–3 Rapid Reaction Force (RRF) 14–15, 16 Reagan administration 84 realism 37, 42–47, 117, 166–91 regional organizations 3, 9 Republic of Korea 5; see also North Korea Rice, Condoleeza 147 Riga 95–4

Robertson, Lord 16, 73 Rogozin, Dmitrii 172 Romania 56, 81, 86 Roosevelt, Theodore 16 Ross, Dennis 157 ruble crash, August 1998 32, 92, 109, 111, 172, 173 Rushailo, Vladimir 147 Russia ix–xx; and Asia 163–3; Asian value system of 167–7; as bridge between East and West 163, 164, 169; and central Asia 123–46, 140–57; and the CIS 33, 117–30, 124, 130; as ‘competition state’ 38, 46, 47, 52; containment of 35; contrast with the West xiii; Decembrists 166; differences between declared and actual policies of 11, 13, 39; domestic issues xvii, 13–14, 27, 29; as economic pole 6; and European defence 69–77; and European integration 20–5, 21, 34–8, 107, 163–2, 181–1; exclusion from the dual expansion of Europe 56–66; exploitation of the Islamic factor 142–2, 146, 147; and the Far East 165–92; globalist self-vision of 21–4; great power status of 37, 45, 47, 143–4; hegemony in the CIS 121; identity ix, xi, xiii, xv, 31–8, 76, 163–2, 181; and Islam 140–57; isolation of xvi, 32, 35, 56, 61, 95, 100, 180; liberalism in 37, 46–47, 57, 59, 166, 170; marginalization of 33, 35, 56; Medium-term Strategy (2000–2010) 61–8, 63; in the Middle East 151–68; Military Doctrine after Kosovo and Chechnya 26–30;

202 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

modus operandi xvii, xx; and new Easternism 168; and the New World Order 2–9; and the Nordic—Baltic region 92– 100; and northern Europe 103–22; phoenix legend 31, 32, 36; policy for peace 6; political myth-making 11, 13; Putin’s policy after September 11 36–52; Putin’s policy in the CIS 117–30; quasi-centre 170; quest for international recognition 173; as second-rank power 46, 47; securitization 10–23, 46; self-concentration 34, 36; self-limiting assertiveness 39, 43; Slavophile 166; and south central Asia 123–46; spatial vastness xi; strategic uncertainty and US tactical intrusiveness 80–88; superpower status 31; ‘third way’ of 170–81, 175, 182–2; as Third World nation ix, 167–7, 183; Tsarist 158, 159; Tsarist and Soviet legacies of x, xi, xiii, xvii–xviii; see also United States-Russian relations ‘Russia fatigue’ 35 Russia—EU Partnership and Cooperation Agreement 1994 13, 63 Russia—NATO Joint Council xviii, 58, 65 Russian army 143 Russian Empire 26 Russian Federation xi, xii, 13, 64, 65, 174; and the CIS 119, 121; Islamic threat to 140, 144; Muslim population 140; and the National Security Blueprint 2000 84 Russian Federation Council 124

Russian navy 98–7, 154; mutiny 99 Russian Orthodox Church 142 Russian Security Council 126, 174 Russian-North Atlantic Council 51 Russian-Uzbek agreement 125 Russo-Japanese war 1904–05 99 St Petersburg 93, 96, 97, 179, 182; see also Leningrad Sakhalin energy reserves 165 Saudi Arabia 130 SBS-Agro xvi Schengen visa regime 16, 61, 109, 111 Schroeder, Gerhard xv Second World War 80, 103, 106 securitization, of Russian foreign policy 10–23, 46; changing face of 12, 15–17; and economization 12, 17–18, 46; and Eurocentrism 20–5; four dimensions of 12–20; policy management 12, 19–2; primacy of security priorities and concepts 12–15 security issues 5; in the CIS 142, 143, 144, 145, 147; European 14–15, 16, 62–65, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 81; hard xii, 12, 13, 46, 97; National Security Blueprint 2000 62–9, 84; in the Nordic—Baltic region 92–92, 94–4, 97–7, 100, 104–13; Russian defence budgets 27, 32; as Russian priority xi–xii; Russia’s place in the defence of Europe 69–77; soft xii, 46; in south central Asia 123–46, 141– 5, 148; Western devolutionary tendencies 14–15; see also Military Doctrine 2000; National Security Concepts, 1997, 2000; securitization

INDEX 203

Senate (US), Oct./Nov. 1997 hearings 81–8 September 11, 2001 ix, xiii, xiv, 21, 22, 30, 82, 96, 146, 148; Putin’s foreign policy after 36–52 Serbia 58, 59, 64, 86–3, 88, 105, 131, 173, 175 Sergeev, Igor 19, 27, 124, 125, 127, 133, 145 Sergounin, Alexander 109 Shanghai Five (Shanghai Cooperation Organization) 145, 147 Sheinis, Viktor 170 Shevardnadze, Eduard 88, 155, 159 Shevtsova, Lilia 36 Silk Road 13 Slavs 163, 163 Slovakia 56, 81 Slovenia 56, 81, 86, 95 Solana, Javier 63, 65, 73, 74, 83–84, 88, 181–1 south central Asia: border transparency 129; Russian security policy in 123–46; see also specific countries South Korea 178 Southern Tier states xviii–xix; and Putin 117–30; see also Far East; specific countries sovereignty 76, 174 Soviet Special Forces xii Soviet Union ix, 26, 80, 103, 104, 106, 112, 154, 167, 169; and eastern Europe 117; irresponsible nature of the collapse of xvi–xvii; legacy 151; and the Middle East 152, 155, 158, 159; see also USSR Spain 85, 86 Spitzbergen 105, 106 Stability and Growth Pact initiative 1997 (EU) 75 Stalin, Josef 88, 106 START (Strategic Arms Reduction Talks) agreements 30, 103;

START II negotiations 83, 84; START III negotiations 84 state xi, xiii–xiv, 96–5; and economic integration 4; identity 118, 120–30; role in Russia 170–80 Steele, Jonathan 176 Stern, Fritz 83 Stockholm 97, 108 Strategy for the Development of Relations between the Russian Federation and the European Union (2000–10) 56 Struve, Peter 170 Suez crisis 1956 85 Sunni Islam 145 Surkhandarya region, Uzbekistan 146 Sweden 103, 104, 105, 107, 108–17, 110 Syria xix, 154, 156, 157–6 Szczecin, Poland 105 Taiwan 176 Tajik civil war 128, 141, 142, 143, 144 Tajik-Afghan border 135 Tajikistan 41, 45, 153; Islamic threat to 141–2, 144, 145, 146, 148; and Russian security policy 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 130, 133, 134–5, 141–2, 144, 145, 146, 148; Uzbek population 132 Talbott, Strobe xv, 85 Taliban 40, 41, 44, 45, 135–5, 143, 145, 146, 147 Tallinn 95–4 Tashkent 41, 144, 145 Tatar people 140, 141, 163 Tbilisi 88 Teheran 152 territorial integrity 174, 176 terrorism 11; in central Asia 119, 145, 146–6; domestic Russian 13–14; in south central Asia 123–3, 125–8, 132, 133, 134, 135–5;

204 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

war against xiv, xviii, 29, 36, 38, 40, 44–8; see also September 11 2001 Theatre Missile Defence (TMD) 177 Third World 40 TRACECA (Transport Corridor Europe-Caucasus-Asia) 180 trade 8; Russia and the EU 21, 61, 75–2, 77, 181; Russian-Asian 163; Russian-Middle Eastern 152–2; Sino-Russian 176 Trans-Siberian Railway 164 Transcam 180 transcaspian gas pipeline 120, 124 Transcaucasus 27, 87, 180 transportation 164 Trenin, Dmitri 60 Trubnikov, Viacheslav 167 Tsarist Russia 158, 159 Turkey xviii, xix, 75, 85, 87, 120, 124, 142, 151, 152, 153, 154; and NATO 151, 152; and south central Asia 129, 130, 131 Turkmenistan 120, 128, 132, 136, 144 Ukraine xvii, 18, 35, 59, 70, 77, 103, 183; see also GUUAM unipolarity 64, 173 United Arab Emirates 154 United Kingdom 82, 95; see also Britain United Nations Charter 8, 26, 71, 74 United Nations General Assembly 129 United Nations Security Council 28, 58, 64, 86, 161, 174 United Nations (UN) xi–xii, 7, 9, 26, 28, 64, 87, 107, 147, 173, 174 United States (USA) xi, xvii, 2, 7, 76, 77, 175, 178; and Bosnia 86; and central Asia 148; and China 176; dollar 5;

decreased role in Europe 15; and European security concerns 62, 63, 65, 73; geopolitics 179; and Germany 82, 83; and globalization xiv; and GUUAM 180; hegemony xiii, xix, 5, 22, 38, 80, 81, 82, 84, 86, 87, 117, 165, 167, 179; and Iran 152; bombing of Iraq xviii; and Islamic extremism/terrorism 140, 146–6, 148; and the Middle East 152–1, 155–5; and National Missile Defence 13– 14, 35, 84, 105, 177–7, 181; and NATO 59, 64, 80–8, 84–1; and nuclear disarmament 109; and oil/gas prices 108; share of gross world production 4, 5; and south central Asia 129, 130–40, 133; unipolarity 64, 173; and Uzbekistan 125; see also United States-Russian relations United States-Russian relations: as corner stone of Russian foreign policy x, 163; deterioration in 10, 26, 30, 82, 84, 87; effect of Israeli-Russian relations on 154; and Kosovo 33; and National Missile Defence 35; and NATO xviii, 82, 84, 87; under Putin 11, 88; Russian calls for reciprocity 37–1, 39–3, 44, 45, 47–4, 171; and Russian collaboration 7–8; and Russian-Arab armaments sales 152–1; following September 11 36–52, 96; and the START agreements 103; and US tactical intrusiveness xvi, 80–88

INDEX 205

United Tajik Opposition (UTO) 128 universalism 178 Ural-Volga military district 27 US-Baltic Charter 85 USSR 8; see also Soviet Union Uzbekistan 41, 45; and the Islamic threat 125–5, 127, 128–8, 141, 144–4, 146, 148, 180; and Russian security issues 123, 124–5, 127, 128–8, 131–1, 133–4, 136, 143, 144–4, 146, 148; see also GUUAM Vardö space radar station 105 Ventspils, Latvia 110 Vietnam 154, 178 Vilnius 95–4 von Clausewitz, Carl 87 von Mises, Ludwig 171 Wahhabis 132, 145, 148 Walesa, Lech 57 Warsaw 57 Washington 15, 21, 22, 44, 86, 155; and the Afghan campaign 40–4; and ballistic missile defence 84; EU’s influence on 52; and Iran 152; and the NATO 50th-anniversary summit 58; and NATO enlargement 80, 81, 84; Russian calls for reciprocity 37, 40, 44, 45, 47, 49, 50, 51, 171; and terrorism 38, 142, 147; US-Baltic Charter 85 Washington Consensus 172 West 32; and the Caspian Basin energy reserves 120; deterioration in Russian relations 26, 30; division with the East xvi; identity 165, 168, 182; and the Islamic threat 142, 146, 147; and the Nordic—Baltic region 92;

and Putin 183; re-examination of the concept of 7; Russian resentment towards 10; and south central Asia 130–40; triumphalism of 167; see also western Europe West European Union (WEU) 16, 62, 69–6, 71–8, 73 West European Union Council 72 West European Union Institute of Security Studies 72 West European Union Satellite Centre 72 western Europe: and Bosnia 86; devolutionary security tendencies 14–15; and the Islamic threat 140; Putin and 14–15; and Russian gas exports 18; Russian integration into 34–8; Russia’s turn to following September 11 51–5; subservience to NATO 59; US control over 117 Western European Armaments Group (WEAG) 72 Williamson, John 172 World Trade Organization (WTO) 13, 45, 51, 52 Xiaoping, Deng 175 Yanov, Alexander 166 Yastrzhembskii, Sergei 48 Yeltsin administration 142 Yeltsin, Boris xi, 33, 39, 41, 96, 97; and the CIS 130; contrast with Putin’s leadership 10, 12, 13, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 23; and disarmament in northern Europe 104, 105; and the Far East 167, 179; and the Middle East 151, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159; and the Military Doctrine 27; and NATO 27, 57, 58, 82;

206 RUSSIA BETWEEN EAST AND WEST

and northern Europe 104, 105, 107, 108; and nuclear technology sales 181; and the threat of Islam 140, 142 Yeltsin era 36, 38, 42, 43, 47, 121 Yugoslavia xi, 26, 27–28, 29, 33, 39, 58, 85–2, 88, 94; see also Bosnia; Serbia; Slovenia Zagorskii, Andrei 169 zero-sum politics 15, 63