In the 20 or so days since Russia went to war with Georgia, we have heard much about how the world has changed. We are told the Kremlin is newly strong and assertive and a new strategic confrontation--if not a new Cold War--is emerging between Moscow and Washington.
But the novelty of these and other observations is questionable. Russia's military might, backed up by a mammoth if decrepit army and nuclear arsenal, has never seriously been in doubt. And its economic clout has been unmistakable for several years. Meanwhile, the threat of confrontation has been high since long before Vladimir Putin delivered his tirade against American hegemony in Munich in February 2007. Remember Russia's support for socialist party leader Slobodan Milosevic during the 1999 Kosovo campaign, before anyone in the West had even heard of Putin?
There are, however, at least three lessons we can take from the current crisis in Georgia, in which Russia's troops, tanks and aviation--alleging genocide that appears to have been about as real as Iraqi weapons of mass destruction--pounded its troublesome neighbor to the south, occupied strategic cities and pulled out very, very slowly, leaving the Georgian military in tatters.
For one, we have learned how little has changed in Russia with the arrival of the country's new president, Dmitry Medvedev. Former president Vladimir Putin remains in charge, now as prime minister. But the finer touch that many in the West had expected from Medvedev has not come to light. As much abroad as at home, the Kremlin continues to favor a ham fist in an iron glove, backed up by implausible propaganda and no sign of domestic or international accountability.
Second, we learned the weakness of Russia's non-military foreign policy tools. The power of Russia's big stick is evident, but Moscow has forgotten the art of speaking softly. In this, of course, they resemble their Western--particularly their American--counterparts, who have preferred military force to robust diplomacy in recent years. But while new leadership in Washington may rely on decades of good relations with allies to rebuild burnt bridges, Moscow's legacy is far less favorable.
For those worrying about the danger posed by a belligerent Kremlin, however, Moscow's relative weakness should not be seen as good news. Russia is eyeing a number of perceived threats to its national interests, including further NATO and E.U. expansion, the installation of American anti-missile systems in central Europe and intense competition with China and the U.S. for influence in central Asia. Moscow's inability to achieve its goals through the force of persuasion may increase the temptation to use the force of arms.
Finally, we have learned the breadth and depth of the ideological chasm separating Russia from the West. It is not so much a values gap, as Western governments are more than capable of cynical and hypocritical behavior. But Moscow's lack of concern for how its actions are perceived reveals more than overconfidence. The Kremlin has a fundamentally different understanding of how the world works, one that's grounded in an extreme realpolitik that views international relations as a zero-sum game. In this view, trust is a worthless commodity, compromise can bring no added value and a premium is placed on tactical victories.
The new chill is thus distinct from the old Cold War, for Moscow no longer seeks to impose its system of government on the world. Instead, it believes that what is good for Europe and America is inherently and inevitably bad for Russia; it feels compelled to resist and obstruct at every opportunity.
As tempting as it might be to show Moscow the West's strength and solidarity, jumping headlong into confrontation would be a bad idea. While the West must defend its values and interests, it will be up to American and European leaders to show we can gain more from partnership than from a renewed standoff. As the world struggles to deal with climate change, terrorism, poverty and migration, a new arms race and competition for spheres of influence would be highly counterproductive.
What the West perceives as Moscow's hubris is in fact a deep-seated belief that Western governments see the world the same way and act accordingly. Russia's humiliation in the '90s is taken as proof of this assumption; Bush's misadventures in Iraq provide further evidence. Only principled and level-headed intolerance of such behavior by Western countries, especially from within the governments' own ranks, will convince Russia otherwise.
Sam Greene is a political analyst at the Moscow Center of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace
Posts
