Alexander Rojavin ’20, Law & Public Policy Scholar
On August 20th, the same day that de facto leader of the Russian opposition Aleksei Navalny was poisoned, Russian satirist (and arguably the last remaining clear-eyed social commentator left within Russia’s borders) Viktor Shenderovich yet again correctly characterized the current inhabitants of the Kremlin as “a criminal band” (link in Russian). “They are felons,” he wrote. “And they’re idiots, naturally, if they believe that it’s possible to halt the flow of history through felony.” And because they are a specific, post-Soviet corruption-culture brand of criminals, they are predictable. The Kremlin’s playbook is limited, unimaginative, and—because it is predictable—negatable.
Every so often, something of particular note happens in Russia, which causes droves of columnists to suddenly transform into experts on Russia generally and Putin specifically. In 2014, following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, myriad op-eds discussing Putin’s seventeen-dimensional chess play began cropping up on front pages like bunnies in heat: “Putin is a brilliant long-term strategist!” “No, he is an accomplished short-term tactician!” Discussing Putin’s supposed political and foreign policy acumen becomes quite fashionable every time the Kremlin causes another geopolitical flashpoint.
Putin has demonstrated over twenty years of plutocratic rule that he is neither an accomplished tactician nor an exceptional strategist. Rather, his moves are governed by the instinctual ruthlessness and disregard for decency with which one becomes inculcated through KGB training. He is a base, unimaginative brute whose primary concern is his own pocketbook and his hold on power—interests that are conceptually synonymous to plutocrats.
As a reminder, here is an inexhaustive list of two decades’ worth of the Kremlin’s crimes that anyone familiar with post-Soviet Russian history should be able to recite by heart: the 2000 abandonment of the submarine Kursk and the condemnation of all 118 people onboard to death; the Second Chechen War; the 2002 Nord-Ost hostage massacre; the 2004 Beslan school massacre; the murders of journalist and politician Yuri Shchekochikhin (poisoned, 2003), journalist and activist Anna Politkovskaya (shot, 2006), FSB defector Alexander Litvinenko (poisoned, 2006), and the last prominent leader of the Russian opposition Boris Nemtsov (shot, 2015), to name a few; the invasions of Georgia in 2008 and Ukraine in 2014; and the enablement and support of violent dictators in Syria and Venezuela.
Throughout all this, Putin has clung to power not because of his political deftness, but because of a base, predatorial instinct. When he senses what he perceives as weakness—such as obeisance to international treaties—he strikes. Seeing that scapegoating allows him to assassinate one opposition figure after another, he comfortably resorts to murder—and often not as a last resort. Realizing that he would not be punished militarily for attacking Georgia, he invades Ukraine. Observing the feckless international response to his invasion and destabilization of Ukraine, he sends troops into Syria. Having ascertained repeatedly that Russia’s citizenry is incapable of organizing en masse, he simply changes the country’s malleable little constitution, thereby allowing himself to “formally” remain in power for the better part of another two decades. Having yet to face international or domestic punishment that he himself would perceive as truly crippling, he continues to give free rein to his essential aggressiveness.
But none of this qualifies as grand strategy or even coherent tactical maneuvering—Putin has no conception of long- or short-term geopolitical objectives extending beyond the perpetuation of his personal wealth and power. Instead, the aggressive undertakings of the Putin regime are no more than the mere instinctual actions of a narrow-minded predator who has no place in a civilized international community, but who has yet to be firmly put in his place either by said community or by Russia’s own people.
Yes, Putin is a predator with a keen predator’s instinct. But because he is governed by instinct, predicting the types of actions he will take should be a straightforward exercise. His playbook is a limited one. Assassination. Invasion. Proxy and hybrid warfare. Denial and redirection of accusations. Information warfare and electoral interference. Cyberattacks, possibly with kinetic effects, as in Georgia in 2008 and Ukraine in 2015. Increasingly draconian domestic criminal law. None of this is new, and none of it should be surprising.
To the Kremlin junta, few things are sacred. The welfare of its citizens—let alone the global welfare—isn’t. International law isn’t. Domestic Russian law, which is as mutable as cookie dough, sure isn’t. And human life definitely isn’t. Only money and power—again, synonymous in this plutocratic context—have value.
Shenderovich has a favorite aphorism made by Polish writer Jerzy Lec: “It is impolite to have doubts when you are quite certain of something.” Our certainty in the criminality of the regime that has taken Russia hostage should be unshakeable. And our treatment of it should be no less assured. Nothing that the Kremlin does should come as a surprise. The junta is criminal, and it is predictable. It would therefore be impolite—no, it would be irresponsible—to have any doubts about its playbook.