• Geopolitics
• Economics
• Russia

Nowhere is this more visible than the United States. For nearly 80 years—through the Cold War, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the fragile new order that followed—the United States viewed Russia as a rival to be contained, not courted. But in the first few months of U.S. President Donald Trump’s second term, Washington has turned its back on its historic democratic allies and pivoted toward Moscow.

Having falsely claimed that Ukraine started the ongoing war with Russia, the Trump administration is now trying to force Kyiv into signing a peace deal that would cede its territory and sovereignty and prohibit it from joining NATO—something that Moscow has wanted for decades. That the United States would pursue a rapprochement with Russia now marks a stunning rupture of its postwar creed.

It’s also a turn of fortune for Russian President Vladimir Putin, considering the state that Russia was in when he took power 25 years ago: with a shattered economy, a weakened military, and few allies. Once an obscure KGB lieutenant colonel, Putin now portrays himself as a geopolitical grand master, shrewdly moving pieces on the world’s chess board. Yet the Russian leader is not executing a master plan but improvising in pursuit of a single goal: staying in power.

Putin’s approach hinges on exploiting Western disunity, capitalizing on moments of retreat, and relying on disruption rather than durable influence. Though these maneuvers have often yielded immediate gains, they have not made Russia an indispensable or trusted partner on the world stage. With Europe rearming amid Russia’s continued aggression, Putin’s opportunism has led him into a long-term strategic dead end.

A postcard in the Soviet Union in 1964 shows a little boy and girl marching in front of a television showing a May Day demonstration. Igor Golovniov/Universal Images Group via Getty Images

But in the 1980s, when Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev scaled back state repression and lifted information controls under glasnost, the ideological bubble burst. Suddenly, no one believed that the Bolshevik Revolution was the climax of human history or Vladimir Lenin’s notion that Marxist doctrine was “omnipotent” because it was “true.” As Russians like to say, no matter how far the rope snakes, the end always comes.

Throughout the Soviet Union’s history, the aims of the Kremlin’s international propaganda have largely mirrored its domestic ones. During the Cold War, Moscow sought to expand its influence by promoting communist movements abroad and discrediting capitalism as exploitative and morally bankrupt. To do so, it undertook what the Soviet security services called “active measures”: covert operations aimed at destabilizing adversaries through subversion, falsehoods, and psychological manipulation.

These measures were carried out not only by intelligence services like the KGB, but also by state-controlled media and propaganda institutions. The Novosti Press Agency, established in 1961, was key to these efforts; it distributed foreign-language articles that subtly advanced Soviet interests through a global network of news organizations. Intelligence services undertook disinformation campaigns, ranging from 1964’s Operation Neptune that falsely linked Western politicians with Nazi collaborators to the KGB’s 1984 effort to derail then-U.S. President Ronald Reagan’s reelection.

The collapse of the Soviet Union temporarily halted these efforts, as Boris Yeltsin, Russia’s first post-Soviet president, saw the West not as an adversary but as a potential partner. But when Putin succeeded Yeltsin, propaganda and active measures returned—not to advance ideology, now that Russia had embraced capitalism, but to consolidate personal power.

In 1999, under the banner of fighting Islamic terrorism following a series of apartment bombings in Russian cities—some of which were later suspected to have been facilitated by the country’s own security services—Putin launched the Second Chechen War, which anchored his ascent from a politically appointed prime minister to president. Television coverage of the war on state-owned stations was crucial to this effort, casting Putin as a defender of national stability.

Similar tactics aimed at a foreign audience soon followed. In 2005, the Kremlin launched Russia Today (RT), a television network aimed at offering a “more complete” picture of life in Russia to global audiences. In practice, RT became a platform for flattering the Kremlin and exporting its increasingly illiberal worldview.

This information push—or agitation, to use Soviet parlance—coincided with a deeper strategic shift. Convinced that the West was behind so-called color revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine and searching for a viable post-Soviet ideology, Putin began recasting Russia’s identity as a counterweight to Western “hegemony,” a message that he delivered forcefully at the 2007 Munich Security Conference. As Putin’s relationship with the West frayed, RT’s tone grew more adversarial to polarize societies over political and cultural issues in the United States, Europe, and beyond.

Putin’s meddling in the West is not an end in itself; it is a way to eliminate threats to his regime. After the 2014 EuroMaidan Revolution, Putin—steeped in the KGB worldview—saw Ukrainians’ desire to integrate with Europe not as democratic aspiration but as foreign subversion. This wasn’t just a geopolitical loss; that a sitting president of a post-Soviet state could be removed by popular revolt set a dangerous precedent.

A crowd waving Russian flags celebrates news of Crimea’s secession from Ukraine in Sevastopol on March 6, 2014.Sean Gallup/Getty Images

Putin escalated by annexing Crimea and retaliated against subsequent Western sanctions with hybrid warfare, using new tools to carry out old KGB tactics. The Internet Research Agency, a state-backed troll farm set up in 2013, played a central role in disinformation campaigns around Brexit, the 2016 U.S. election, and other key democratic processes—weaponizing Western openness in order to undermine it.

As Putin clung to power by means of increasingly dubious legitimacy—first by swapping seats with his prime minister, then by rewriting Russia’s constitution—he needed to project strength. Meddling in the West offered ways of doing so: backing anti-establishment parties, orchestrating ransomware attacks, and deploying military or proxy forces to tip the fates of regional conflicts.

Putin’s meddling also allowed him to assume the mantle of traditionalism pitched against the decadence of Western liberalism. These narratives took hold over time, and the West again became the anti-Russia, as it was during the Cold War. The full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 fit into this story: a crusade against the pro-Ukraine West, the archenemy bent on Russia’s destruction. Russia’s invasion was expansionism, but also something familiar: a survival strategy for a regime built on aggression, manipulation, and enforced unity.

What seems to underpin Putin’s rule is not confidence but fear. He governs from a place of deep insecurity about his regime’s legitimacy, its economic footing, and the loyalty of elites. Putin’s approval ratings may be high, but in Russia adulation can curdle into revolt without warning. That’s why he surrounds himself with bunkers, reshuffles loyalists to prevent anyone from gaining too much power, and invests heavily in surveillance and state media.

Foreign aggression is not realpolitik. It is a manifestation of and a shield for domestic fragility. Through this lens, Putin’s foreign policy can be understood as not just expansionism for its own sake, but insulation.

Russian President Vladimir Putin delivers a speech in Munich on Feb. 9, 2007. Oliver Lang/AFP via Getty Images

Western Europe is undergoing a military and industrial resurgence, directly spurred by the threat that Putin hoped would paralyze it. Finland and Sweden have joined NATO. France, Germany, and the United Kingdom are revamping their defense, and there is growing support for joint deterrence. Even nuclear guarantees, once unthinkable in postwar Europe, are reentering the strategic conversation.

Russia’s attack on Ukraine has galvanized a continent of exceptionally stable, democratic states. With deep institutional roots, strong civil societies, and integrated defense and economic frameworks, Europe is built to absorb political shocks that would weaken autocracies like Russia. These countries will push back against an expansionist Russia if threatened. Even without U.S. involvement, Europe’s military and economic strength far outweighs that of Russia. This leaves Putin with few options beyond intimidation and disruption.

With Europe holding its ground and Russia’s conventional leverage strained by years of war, Putin’s reliance on global partnerships has become more important but also more precarious. Russia’s key allies—Iran and North Korea—are economically weak, repressive regimes with limited strategic weight. And China, Russia’s economic lifeline, is unlikely to be of help.

Russia has provided valuable natural resources to Chinese President Xi Jinping’s political and economic ambitions, and China has provided limited and often symbolic support of Russia’s war effort in return. But exploiting the interests of the United States and China is a task beyond Putin’s capacity.

Though Russia and China share a common interest in counterbalancing U.S. hegemony, Beijing’s strategic priorities remain fundamentally self-interested. China is cautious about supporting actions that could further destabilize markets or undermine its own economic trajectory—especially now, as the escalating tariff war raises the stakes of the U.S.-China standoff. Faced with growing economic pressure at home, China is unlikely to gamble its financial stability on Putin’s ambitions abroad.

Read More

Why Does Russia Propose Cease-Fires It Won’t Uphold?

Kremlin rhetoric aims to shape narratives at home and abroad.

Analysis

|

Tetiana Kotelnykova

Russia Has Started Losing the War in Ukraine

The military tide may have turned against Putin.

Argument

|

Michael Kimmage

The Price of a Bad Peace

The West is tired. Putin is not.

Argument

|

Anastasia Edel

Even Putin’s admirer in Washington appears to be wavering. Trump has hinted that Putin may not want the war to end and has even floated the possibility of siding with Ukraine. It may be that Putin’s tactical disruptions in the West have bought him time and headlines, but not lasting leverage. The recently signed U.S.-Ukraine critical minerals deal delivered a strategic blow to the Kremlin, as it laid groundwork for Ukraine’s integration into Western industrial and economic systems.

Meanwhile, Trump’s recent red-carpet reception and billion-dollar dealmaking in the Middle East highlighted a deeper truth: Russia doesn’t have much to offer. Gulf states and Russia compete directly as major oil suppliers, but unlike Russia—whose revenues rely on higher breakeven and discounted crude—the Gulf can sustain production profitably even if oil falls to $40 per barrel, thanks to lower extraction costs and fiscal buffers. Those states are also positioning themselves as hubs for future-facing industries, from artificial intelligence to green technology, from which Russia is increasingly excluded. If the Gulf states succeed, Russia’s role will be to obstruct, not shape, the global order.

Putin cannot expand beyond tactical maneuvering because he lacks a stable economic foundation. Russia’s recent GDP growth is driven almost entirely by military spending; end the war, and the engine sputters. With few exports beyond raw materials and weapons, and with fluctuating oil prices, even Russia’s most opportunistic trade partners are becoming cautious. Some are delaying deals, pushing for deeper discounts, or quietly exploring alternatives. Inflation is rising, and Russia’s economy is overheating. Widespread corruption, restricted social mobility, and persistent brain drain stifle innovation and suppress the human capital needed for Russia’s longer-term economic vitality. A shrinking, aging population—exacerbated by war casualties and emigration—further erodes Russia’s labor force and fiscal resilience. The result is a system built for extraction, not renewal: short-termist and benefiting only a small inner circle.

Hospital workers grieve in front of an improvised memorial on the ruins of the Okhmatdyt children’s hospital destroyed by a rocket explosion in Kyiv on July 12, 2024. Anatolii Stepanov/AFP via Getty Images

But Putin’s gamesmanship overlooks that real power requires real foundations—economic depth, stable alliances, and ideological appeal. A feeble kleptocratic empire cannot outlast the ongoing economic realignment, security partnerships, and technological revolutions that are reshaping global power.

Culturally, Russia today has little to offer the world. It is even a diminished version of its Soviet past when—despite repression—plenty of people perceived Moscow as a champion of progress and justice. Now, Russia is just another authoritarian state with no clear vision of the future.

It is also a nation marred by war crimes and seemingly unprepared to reckon with this fact. Many Russians today believe that they are fighting “Ukrainian Nazis,” not bombing schools and hospitals. When the awakening comes, it will be even harsher than the one triggered by Gorbachev’s glasnost. This time, Russians will have to behold atrocities committed in their name.

The politics of great leaders outlive them, yet Putin’s stratagems will likely end with him. He is the epitome of personalized power, with no institutions, coherent ideology, or successor class capable of sustaining his model without him.

Whether the final blow comes from a new U.S. administration, an ascendant China, or a resurgent Europe, Putin’s strategic game is already lost. The only question is who will recognize the limits of his position—and respond accordingly. Perhaps Europe is finally getting ready to do it.