In the nineteenth century, ideas of nationality became increasingly popular across Europe. Before that, people more often identified themselves by their religion, region, local community, or allegiance to a monarch and ruling dynasty than by belonging to a nation in the modern sense. As nationalist ideas spread, governments, intellectuals, political movements, and foreign powers began to participate in the process of defining who belonged to which nation, what language they should speak, what history they should remember, and even what they should call themselves.

The lands of the former Rus’ became one of the most important arenas of this process. Throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, competing political forces sought to shape identities across these territories through schools, churches, newspapers, museums, universities, administrative institutions, and state policy. In the most consequential cases, these efforts were not local in origin. They were designed, financed, and directed by outside powers pursuing their own geopolitical objectives against Russia.

This article examines how these processes unfolded from Austrian Galicia to German-occupied Ober Ost, from the First World War and Brest-Litovsk to Soviet korenizatsiya and Ukrainization. Drawing on official documents, memoirs, government correspondence, newspapers, census data, and contemporary accounts, it explores how language, education, historical narratives, and political institutions became instruments in the construction of new national identities across the western borderlands of the former Russian Empire.

German Geopolitics and the Fragmentation of Russia

Among the German states, new geopolitical concepts such as Mitteleuropa emerged, envisioning the creation of a German-centered continental empire united with Austro-Hungary and extending into territories of the Russian Empire.[1] This vision was closely connected to the Berlin-Baghdad-Basra railway project, which aimed to establish a direct corridor from Central Europe to the Near East under German leadership.[2]

German ambitions extended far beyond securing the Baghdad Railway. By the early twentieth century, many German strategists had concluded that Russia’s rapid population growth, accelerating industrialization, expanding railway network, and ongoing military modernization would eventually shift the balance of power in Europe against Germany.[3] Rather than accommodate the rise of a stronger Russia, influential circles in Berlin increasingly sought to contain and weaken it.

The fragmentation of the Russian Empire into a series of smaller national and regional entities was viewed by many German policymakers as a means of permanently weakening Russia and securing German predominance in Eastern Europe. German Randstaatenpolitik envisioned a belt of politically and economically dependent buffer states stretching from Finland and the Baltic lands to Poland and Ukraine.[4]

“The future belongs to Russia which grows and grows and becomes an even greater nightmare to us.”

Bethmann-Hollweg (German Chancellor, July 7, 1914)

By 1905, the German General Staff was already preparing for a large pan-European war. The main obstacle to German continental dominance was the simultaneous existence of France in the west and the Russian Empire in the east. Under these conditions, Chief of the German General Staff Alfred von Schlieffen developed the plan that bears his name. Its objective was not defense but the overturn of the existing European balance of power and its replacement with a German-dominated continental order.[6]

The plan rested on one key assumption: that Russia would be slow to mobilize. Germany planned to knock France out of the war within weeks, then turn east. The plan would prove wrong on that assumption — and the consequences would force Germany to find other ways to deal with Russia.

By the end of the nineteenth century, the “national question” had already become one of the central tools of this broader strategy. If Germany envisioned the fragmentation of the Russian Empire into smaller buffer states, Austro-Hungary was already experimenting with identical methods inside its own borderlands. The empire understood that language, religion, and identity could be used to divide as well as to unite. Nowhere would this policy become more consequential than in Galicia, a historical land of Rus’, where Vienna increasingly viewed the local Russian population as both a geopolitical danger and a potential instrument in the larger struggle against Russia itself.

Galicia: From the World of Rus' to the Habsburg Frontier

Ukraine as a political project began in the late nineteenth century on territories of the Austro-Hungarian Empire whose population largely identified as Russian and was commonly referred to as Rusyns.

Before becoming part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, these lands had been incorporated into the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. For centuries, the local Russian population was subjected to sustained religious, cultural, and political persecution aimed at eroding its Orthodox and Russian identity and weakening its connection to the wider Russian world.[10]

Although Polonization had a noticeable influence on parts of the Rusyn population, until 1848 the Rusyns themselves, along with Poles, Austrians, and other neighboring groups, generally regarded them as part of the broader Russian (Rus’) people. One example can be found in the educational materials prepared for the Rusyn population by Ivan Mohylnytsky, one of the pioneers of Rusyn education in Galicia. His Bukvar yazyka russkago (”Primer of the Russian Language”) explicitly identified the language as Russian.[17] At the same time, German-language publications and Austrian administrative documents often referred to the same language and population as Ruthenian, a Latin-derived term historically used for Rus’ and its people.

The self-identification of Galicia’s Rusyn population as part of the broader Russian people was not a matter of scholarly inference. It was stated openly, in print, by the Rusyns themselves. The first issue of Zoria Galitskaia (”Galician Dawn”), published in Lvov on May 15, 1848 by the Stauropegion Institute, opened with a direct address to its readership: “We, Galician Rusyns, belong to the great Russian people, which speaks one language and numbers 15 million, of whom one and a half million inhabit the Galician land.”[49] The newspaper was printed in Church Slavonic-inflected Russian script at the Stauropegion Institute — the same institution that Vienna would later work systematically to neutralize. In 1848, it spoke for a population that had no doubt about what it was.

Six decades of sustained institutional pressure had not changed the answer. In 1907, Nikolai Antonevich, a serving deputy of both the Galician Sejm and the Austrian Imperial Parliament, recorded the reaction of Galician voters when a young agitator attempted to promote the Ukrainian identity among them. The response was unambiguous: 'We are not Ukrainians, we are Russian Rusyns. We were Russians and we will die Russians.' Antonevich's own analysis was equally direct: 'Ukraine means only the border. The Ukraine can be considered a geographical term, not an ethnographic one. Therefore, to call all Malorossians Ukrainians is pure absurdity. There was never an Ukraine in Galicia, and Galicia never belonged to Ukraine.'[65] The agitator fell silent. This was the reaction of a population that did not recognize itself in one being constructed for it.

This enduring sense of belonging to the wider world of Rus’ increasingly concerned the authorities in Vienna. For the Austro-Hungarian Empire, this posed a serious problem, as strong pro-Russian sentiment and aspirations for cultural and political unity with Russia persisted among parts of the local population. At the same time, the Austro-Hungarian Empire was an extraordinarily complex multinational state that included not only Germans and Hungarians, but also large Slavic populations such as Poles, Czechs, Croats, Slovaks, Serbs, and Rusyns. As a result, the “Slavic Question” became one of the most sensitive geopolitical challenges facing the empire. Vienna feared both Slavic separatism and the growing influence of Russia, which had emerged as the largest sovereign Slavic power.[8]

Consequently, Austro-Hungarian policy increasingly focused on fragmenting the Slavic world and redirecting smaller Slavic groups away from Russia and toward loyalty to Vienna. In Bosnia-Herzegovina, which was annexed by Austro-Hungary in 1908, Benjamin Kállay sought to create a distinct Bosnian identity (Bošnjastvo) through state institutions and administrative policy, aiming to weaken competing Serbian and Croatian national loyalties and bind the population more closely to Vienna.[9]

Two instruments proved particularly important in Galicia: religion and language. The Greek Catholic Church preserved Eastern rites while recognizing papal authority, creating an institutional bridge through which political influence could operate.[11] This framework would later become one of the principal instruments used in the broader struggle over identity.

Language worked alongside religion. Polish political circles in Galicia maintained that “the Ruthenians were simply Poles of the Uniate rite” and that the language of Galicia’s Ruthenians was merely a dialect of Polish.[12] During the centuries of Polish rule, the Rusyn population faced increasing pressure to use Polish in public and administrative life, contributing to the gradual marginalization of the traditional Rus’ written language.[13]

Similar policies continued under Austro-Hungarian rule. Vienna increasingly supported and funded those currents within Rusyn society that emphasized a separate identity distinct from Russia. One of the principal channels through which this policy operated was the Greek Catholic Church, which enjoyed state support and played a central role in education and cultural life.

The roots of the project to detach the Malorossian population from the broader Russian world lay in the policies of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Vatican. The Union of Brest in 1596, engineered through the combined pressure of the Polish crown and Rome, had created the Greek Catholic Church as a mechanism for redirecting the Orthodox population away from the Russian ecclesiastical and cultural world while preserving enough Eastern ritual to make the transition acceptable. For centuries, the Polish nobility and Catholic clergy worked in tandem to reshape the identity of the population they governed. The schools in which this identity was formed were Catholic institutions. It was precisely in these schools — in Berdychiv, Uman, and similar towns of the Kievan gubernia — that Franciszek Duchinski (1816–1893) received his education, the son of a minor Polish szlachta family.

Before turning to scholarship, Duchinski worked in the British military mission during the Crimean War (1853–1855), helping recruit forces against Russia, and attempted to organize an illegal anti-Russian press operation in Turkey. Only after this operational phase did he return to Paris, where he produced his three-volume Foundations of the History of Poland, Other Slavic Nations, and Muscovy (1858–1860). His framework drew on the racial theory of Count Joseph Arthur de Gobineau, who had proposed dividing humanity into superior Aryan and inferior Turanian races — a framework later adopted, in modified form, by German National Socialism.[67] Duchinski applied it with a specific political purpose. All Europeans, including Slavs, were classified as Aryan. Russians were excluded entirely. “Muscovites are neither Slavs nor Christians in the spirit of Slavs and other Indo-European Christians,” he wrote. “They remained nomads to this day and will remain nomads forever.” Malorossians, by contrast, were classified as Eastern Poles — Aryans temporarily separated from their natural political home. The boundary Duchinski drew between the Aryan and Turanian worlds corresponded with remarkable precision to the borders of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth as they had stood in 1772. The racial map was a territorial claim in scientific dress. The binary he constructed was total: Europeans represented civilization, Asians barbarism; Europeans were free, Turanians were natural slaves; Aryan intellectual individualists against Turanian collectivist savages. “Moscow constitutes close unity with Central Asia,” he concluded, while “the land of Poland will never cease to belong to the European system, and the land of Moscow to the Asian system.” The factual basis for these claims was nonexistent. Duchinski’s theory “offered ways to overcome the intellectual difficulties” faced by Ukrainian separatists, who needed arguments against “the established view of the close kinship of Russians and Ukrainians, rooted in the common heritage of Ancient Rus’.” The theory was adopted not because it was true but because it was useful.

The political program that followed was articulated with equal directness by Count Stanislaw Tarnowski in 1887. Writing in Ksiadz Waleryan Kalinka, Tarnowski acknowledged what Polish strategists had long understood: that Malorossians had not become Poles, that they shared language and faith with Russia, and that their natural gravitational pull was toward the Russian world. “All Malorossians are subject to the moral influence of Russia, which speaks a similar language and professes the same faith,” he wrote.[68] The conclusion he drew was not accommodation but escalation. “It is necessary to pour a new soul into the Malorossian — that is the main task of the Poles. Let this soul come from the West. Let the Malorossians unite their soul with the West and only externally, through church rite, with the East.” The instrument was stated without ambiguity: “not only must Poles not hinder the national development of an independent Ukraine, but on the contrary, they must in every way support Ukrainian separatism and strengthen among the Malorossians the church union with Rome.” The goal required no interpretation: “A thousand times better a self-sufficient Malorossia than a Russian Malorossia. If Grits cannot be mine, let him be neither mine nor yours.” This was not a statement of Ukrainian national aspirations. It was a Polish geopolitical calculation, written three years before the New Era agreement of 1890. It was the Austro-Hungarian administration in Galicia that transformed this centuries-old Polish project into a modern state policy. Through universities, schools, the press, and government-funded cultural organizations, ideas that had previously circulated among sections of the Polish elite acquired institutional backing and reached a much wider population.

This policy also found expression in education. In 1816, a society of Greek Catholic priests associated with figures such as Ivan Mohylnytsky, Josyf Levytsky, and Josyp Lozynsky was established in Przemyśl. The organization promoted education among the population and produced textbooks in the local Rus' language.[14] While many of its members continued to regard the local population as part of the wider world of Rus', their publications also reflected substantial Polish linguistic influence. For example, Josyf Levytsky's grammar frequently explained linguistic features through comparisons with Polish.[15]

Contemporary Galician Russian activists repeatedly complained that schools operated primarily in Polish or German, that pupils were not taught Russian letters, and that government offices and official correspondence functioned almost exclusively in Polish or German, creating powerful incentives for linguistic and cultural assimilation.[16]

The Russophile movement in Galicia had a distinctly popular character. Figures such as Ivan Naumovich worked not through state institutions but directly among the peasant population, promoting literacy, the Russian literary language, and Orthodox religious identity at the village level. This was a movement from below, rooted in the existing self-identification of the Rusyn peasantry. The Ukrainian project that would eventually displace it moved in the opposite direction: from above, through universities, administrative institutions, and state-funded cultural organizations.

During the Revolutions of 1848, which shook Europe and threatened the stability of the Habsburg monarchy, Galicia’s Russian population became increasingly active in public and political life. In the same year, the Sobor Ruskykh Uchenykh (Council of Russian Scholars) convened in Lvov. Its participants discussed education, language policy, the reduction of Polish influence in the local language, and the future of Galicia’s Russian population. Institutions such as the Stauropegion Institute and the People’s House in Lvov later continued to promote these ideas, openly advocating the cultural unity of Great Russians, Little Russians, and Belarusians while supporting the use of the Russian literary language.

Vienna viewed these developments with growing concern. The authorities feared that the spread of the Russian literary language would strengthen Galicia’s cultural ties with the Russian Empire and weaken local loyalty to Austria. Resistance was particularly strong within the Polish administration of Galicia, which sought to preserve its dominant position in the province. One of the most influential representatives of this policy was Count Agenor Gołuchowski, the Polish governor of Galicia. Under his administration, efforts were made to separate the Rusyn population from the broader Russian cultural tradition and limit the influence of the Russian language.

For the Polish political elite, the growth of a Russian-oriented movement in Galicia posed a double threat. It challenged both Polish dominance within the province and the broader Polish national project, which viewed Galicia as a future center of Polish political and cultural influence. As a result, many Polish officials regarded the spread of Russian literary language and identity among the Rusyn population as contrary to their own political interests.

The Invention of Galicia

Despite decades of religious, linguistic, and educational pressure, direct attempts to detach Galicia's Rusyn population from the broader Russian cultural sphere produced only limited results. As a consequence, a more ambitious strategy gradually emerged. Rather than simply suppressing existing identities, imperial authorities increasingly sought to cultivate a new political and cultural space: Galicia itself.

As historian Larry Wolff has noted, Galicia was largely an invented province of the Habsburg monarchy, and only then began to accumulate cultural meanings over the course of its provincial history in the context of the empire.[18] The very name illustrates the point. The Habsburgs took the Latinized form of Halych — a single medieval city — and rendered it as "Galicia," a name that conveniently echoed the ancient Spanish region of Galicia on the Iberian Peninsula, lending an air of historical depth to what was in fact a freshly drawn administrative boundary. The territory itself had a name of its own: it was part of the historical lands of Rus', and as late as 1253 its ruler Daniel of Galicia was crowned Rex Rusiae — King of Rus' — by papal legates. The Habsburgs erased that name and replaced it with one borrowed from a local city and given a Latin form. Education, language, historical scholarship, and cultural organizations became central instruments in the construction of what followed.

Even the figure of Taras Shevchenko, who today is often presented as a symbol of an already fully formed separate Ukrainian nation and an ancient independent Ukrainian language, in reality demonstrates just how late and artificiallythe modern Ukrainian national project began to take shape. Shevchenko died in 1861, during a period when a standardized Ukrainian language in its modern form simply did not yet exist. There was no unified literary norm, no standardized orthography, and no widely recognized Ukrainian nation separate from the broader Russian people. What is especially revealing is the very title of his famous textbook: not “Ukrainian Primer,” but Bukvar Yuzhnorusskiy (”South Russian Primer”).[19]

Moreover, a significant portion of Shevchenko’s correspondence, diaries, and many of his writings were composed in the Russian literary language, which was the natural cultural and linguistic environment of the educated population of Malorossia in the nineteenth century. If a separate ancient Ukrainian nation with its own distinct language had already fully existed, one of its central symbols would not have published a “South Russian Primer” and written extensively in Russian.

The policy deepened under Count Agenor Goluchowski, who served as Governor of Galicia from 1851 to 1859. As Monchalovsky documented, it was during his tenure that the Russian language was removed from schools and Russian public figures placed under police surveillance.[23] The 1859 Alphabet War, in which Austrian authorities attempted to replace the traditional Cyrillic script with a Polish-based Latin alphabet, met with widespread resistance from the Rusyn intelligentsia and ultimately failed. Direct suppression had reached its limits.

“Count A. Goluchowski served earlier as Governor of Galicia, namely from 1851 to 1859, and it was during that time that the Russian language was removed from schools and all Russian public figures were placed under police surveillance.”

— O.A. Monchalovsky, The Life and Activity of Ivan Naumovich (Austro-Hungery, 1899) [23]

The founding of the Ukrainophile newspaper Meta in Lvov in 1863 marked the shift toward a different strategy. Its first act was publishing “Shche ne vmerla Ukrainy” (“Ukraine Has Not Yet Perished”), a text consciously modeled on the Polish national anthem “Jeszcze Polska nie zginęła” (”Poland Has Not Yet Perished”), establishing in print the ideological continuity between the Polish national movement and the emerging Ukrainophile press in Galicia.[27] By 1863, the project of constructing a separate Galician identity had acquired its own political infrastructure, its own press, and direct organizational ties to Polish nationalist interests.

Exporting the Ukrainian Project Into Russia

By this point, the Ukrainian project was no longer developing merely as a local Galician phenomenon. Austro-Hungarian and Polish political circles increasingly viewed it as a geopolitical instrument that could be projected directly into the Russian Empire itself. Vienna’s calculations were explicit: the Austrian government planned to use the Ukrainian movement to weaken Russia’s role as the Slavic arbiter of Europe while simultaneously creating a counterweight to Polish influence on the empire’s eastern frontier.[22] The goal was not simply the preservation of regional dialects or traditions, but the gradual construction of a separate identity capable of weakening the unity of the broader Russian people from within.

The practical expansion of the movement into the Russian Empire had begun in 1861, when the journal “Osnova” was launched with the goal of popularizing Ukrainophile ideas, though it was shut down already in 1862 due to financial difficulties. The growing radicalism among certain Ukrainian and Polish intellectual circles, many of whom openly promoted separatist ideas and maintained ideological connections with Austro-Hungarian political interests, eventually led the Russian government to impose restrictions on Ukrainian-language publications inside the empire. Concerned by the spread of South Russian separatist ideas disguised as peasant educational and literary activity, and increasingly viewing the movement as politically connected to foreign anti-Russian interests, the Russian government issued the Valuev Circular in 1863. The decree restricted the promotion of separatist and identity-based propaganda through educational and religious publications in the Little Russian dialect, while still allowing works of fiction and literature. The circular stated:

“With regard to the printing of books in the Little Russian language, instructions should be issued through the censorship authorities so that only works belonging to the sphere of belles-lettres may be permitted for publication in this language; while the publication of books in the Little Russian language concerning religious subjects, educational materials, and generally books intended for the elementary reading of the people should be suspended…”

By the 1870s, many of these restrictions were already being inconsistently enforced or had largely ceased to function in practice. The Valuev Circular was followed in 1876 by the Ems Ukaz, which expanded restrictions on the publication, importation, and public use of certain Ukrainian-language materials. Russian authorities increasingly viewed the Ukrainophile movement not as a purely literary phenomenon but as one connected to political separatism and influenced by developments in Austro-Hungarian Galicia. Austro-Hungarian propagandists immediately began spreading the narrative that the Russian Empire had “banned the Ukrainian language.” In reality, both the Valuev Circular and the Ems Ukaz were directed against educational, religious, and political activities associated with the emerging separatist movement, not against all use of the language. Works of fiction and belles-lettres continued to be permitted throughout.

The Ems Ukaz had an unintended consequence that Austrian and Polish strategists were quick to exploit. By restricting Ukrainophile activity inside the empire, Russia effectively transferred the organizational center of the Ukrainian movement to Galicia, where Austrian constitutional freedoms allowed what was forbidden in St. Petersburg. The financial record of 1881 documents how deliberately this opportunity was seized. Prince Czartoryski pledged 14,000 guilders and Prince Sapieha 6,000 guilders to relocate Panteleimon Kulish and his proposed newspaper Hutor to Lvov, while Galician Polish landowners offered to pay subscriptions for their Russian villages. The purpose was stated openly: to make Lvov the organizational center of the Ukrainian movement.[44] Kulish ultimately refused and left Galicia, but the logic of the project did not depend on any single individual.

That this freedom was selective is documented by the fate of those who tested its limits. Antonevich's account of Galician political life, in which he recorded voters openly rejecting the Ukrainian identity and a deputy of the Austrian parliament calling it 'pure absurdity,' was subsequently confiscated by Austro-Hungarian police.[66] Austro-Hungarian constitutional freedom extended to Ukrainian publications. It did not extend to those who rejected the identity being constructed for them.

By the 1880s and 1890s, Austro-Hungarian authorities intensified efforts to construct a separate Ukrainian literary language deliberately distanced from Russian. The writing system known as Kulishivka, developed by Panteleimon Kulish on the phonetic principle of "write as you hear," became the basis of the official orthography introduced in Austrian schools across Galicia, Bukovina, and Transcarpathia in 1892. It was further modified into Zhelekhivka, which incorporated additional Polish orthographic elements. Several traditional letters shared with Russian, including ы, э, and ъ, disappeared from the standard alphabet, while є, ї, and the apostrophe were standardized. Disillusioned by the way his system had been repurposed to deepen the linguistic divide between Galician Ruthenians and Russians, Kulish ultimately distanced himself from his own orthography.

The New Era agreement of 1890, coordinated in advance with Governor Badeni and Metropolitan Sembratovich and announced by Yulian Romanchuk at the Galician Diet on November 25, completed the political framework. Its core declaration, that Rusyns were a separate people distinct from both Poles and Russians, was the programmatic charter of an administratively engineered identity.[45] The consequences were immediate: Russian-language books were confiscated from the Lvov Theological Seminary, Russian student organizations were closed, and priests who refused the programme were stripped of their positions.[45]

A crucial turning point came in 1894, when Mykhailo Hrushevsky was appointed to the newly established chair of history at the University of Lemberg — a state institution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, funded and administered by Vienna. His appointment was not incidental: the chair itself was created by the Habsburg authorities as part of the broader institutional infrastructure through which a distinct Ukrainian identity was to be cultivated and propagated. He hoped to teach Ukrainian history to Galician Rusyn students whom he already envisioned as the Ukrainians of the twentieth century, and viewed Galicia as the foundation from which that project would grow.[20] In 1898, he began publishing his monumental ten-volume History of Ukraine-Rus', advancing the idea that Ukrainians constituted a distinct historical nation separate from Russians and that Ukraine-Rus' was the primary successor of ancient Rus'.[21] Through this reinterpretation of history, Hrushevsky provided the Ukrainian project with the historical legitimacy that administrative pressure and linguistic reform alone could not supply. By the end of the nineteenth century, Galicia had become one of the principal centers promoting the idea of the unification of Ukrainian lands as part of a broader geopolitical strategy aimed at weakening Russia from within.

As Paul Robert Magocsi, one of the foremost Western academic specialists on Galicia, has documented, by the turn of the twentieth century Ukrainian activists in both empires came to regard Galicia as ‘a Piedmont from which a future independent state on all-Ukrainian territory would grow.’[26] That this project was always intended to reach beyond Galicia into Russia itself was made explicit by the movement’s own participants. As early as 1910, a candidate of the Ukrainian party in Galicia publicly called upon Galicians to “organize an uprising of Little Russians in Russia, to break a window in the great prison of peoples” — the language of a geopolitical operation, not a cultural movement.

Austrian and German authorities provided substantial material support to Ukrainian-oriented publications and organizations. The Vienna journal “Ukrainische Rundschau” received 12,000 German marks in 1909 alone, while the Chernivtsi newspaper “Bukovyna” was allocated 24,000 Austrian crowns.[27] A special analytical department on Ukrainian affairs was organized within the German Foreign Ministry, while Austrian authorities in Galicia simultaneously engaged in identifying and suppressing pro-Russian elements among the population.

Prior to 1914, Austrian strategic planning treated Galicia not merely as a defensive borderland but as the intended core of a future Ukrainian political entity extending into the Malorossian territories of the Russian Empire. In his memoirs, Max Ronge describes the activities of the Bund zur Befreiung der Ukraine, which operated under Austrian patronage with the explicit aim of detaching Malorossia from Russia. Ronge’s own assessment was candid: despite its ambitions, “die damalige Ukraine überhaupt nicht befreien lassen wollte” — the Ukraine of that time had no desire to be liberated at all.[25] The Piedmont model suffered from a fundamental weakness. The population it was designed to mobilize did not recognize itself in the identity Galicia was meant to project eastward. As Vergun observed in 1915, Galicia’s importance to Vienna lay precisely in its potential to serve as a wedge between the Russian population and its historical identity— a role the Ukrainian movement had been cultivated to perform over several decades.[48]

The Militarization of the Ukrainian Movement

Simultaneously, Galicia became the center of a growing network of youth, cultural, and paramilitary organizations that combined national education with physical and military training. Among the most influential were the Sokil movement, the scouting organization Plast, and the Sich societies, whose members participated in military drills and patriotic instruction. These were not spontaneous civic associations. They operated within an institutional framework actively supported by Austrian authorities, and their ideological content was inseparable from the broader project of constructing an anti-Russian Ukrainian identity. The history that was rewritten in the universities, the language that was reformed in the schools, and the political program that was cultivated in the press: all of it found its organizational expression in these formations.

On the eve of the First World War, these organizations provided much of the personnel and ideological foundation for the Ukrainian Sich Riflemen, the volunteer formation that entered Austro-Hungarian service in 1914.[28] Directly before the outbreak of the war, during celebrations dedicated to Taras Shevchenko organized by the Sich movement, approximately 12,000 armed and trained participants were assembled. Many would later volunteer for service on the Russian front as part of the Austro-Hungarian Ukrainian Sich Riflemen Legion, created specifically for the coming conflict with Russia. The scale of this mobilization was not accidental. It was the result of decades of educational, linguistic, historical, and organizational work carried out under Austrian patronage, which gradually transformed Galicia into the principal center of the Ukrainian national movement.

The significance of these developments extended far beyond the First World War itself. By the beginning of the twentieth century, Galicia had been transformed into a fully developed ideological and organizational center of the Ukrainian national movement.[29] A new generation had grown up within a political and linguistic environment shaped by decades of educational reform, nationalist activism, and historical reinterpretation. It was from this milieu that the future leaders and ideologues of twentieth-century Ukrainian nationalism would emerge.

One figure illustrates this continuity with particular clarity. Stepan Bandera was born in 1909 in Austro-Hungarian Galicia, not in Russia, not in Ukraine as it would later be defined, but in the very province that had spent decades serving as the primary laboratory for the construction of an anti-Russian identity. By the time of his birth, Galicia already possessed a fully developed infrastructure of Ukrainian nationalist activity built with direct Austrian and Polish support as an instrument against Russia.

The cadres produced by these organizations did not disperse after the collapse of Austria-Hungary. Soviet intelligence documents establish the organizational continuity with precision. A July 1944 NKGB special report to People's Commissar Merkulov identified the commander of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA), operating under the alias "Klim Savur," as Dmitry Semyonovich Klyatkovsky — documented in a 1938 photograph as a member of the governing board of the Ukrainian nationalist sports organization Sokil in the city of Zbarazh.[63]

The same UPA formations under his command were responsible for the mass killing of Polish civilians in Volhynia in 1943, including the murder of approximately 2,000 Poles in Volodymyr-Volynsky on July 18, 1943, documented in a separate NKGB operational report.[64]

The ideological and organizational continuity between the Austro-Hungarian Galician project of the late nineteenth century and the radical Ukrainian nationalism of the mid-twentieth century, including its collaboration with Nazi Germany during the Second World War, was direct and unbroken.

Talerhof and the War Against Russian Identity

Russian culture in Galicia did not disappear under sustained political pressure. By the end of the 19th century, Russian cultural and educational societies, political organizations, 17 Russian-language newspapers, and approximately 50 Russian-language journals were operating in the region. The Rusyn population continued to identify as Russian in the broad cultural and historical sense that had defined their self-understanding for generations.

The response from Austro-Hungarian authorities and their Ukrainian political clients was systematic delegitimization. All Russophiles were branded “Muscovites” and “agents of Moscow,” accused of operating on Tsarist subsidy. Orthodox clergy and Russophile intellectuals became targets of continuous denunciation, frequently initiated by Uniate clergy themselves. These denunciations escalated into direct physical violence against Orthodox priests and peasants who refused conversion to the Union or Roman Catholicism. Among the figures caught in this campaign was Hryhoriy Hunkevych (1849–1924), Greek Catholic priest and member of the Austrian parliament, who converted to Orthodoxy and was subsequently arrested by Austrian authorities as a consequence of that conversion.

The repression that followed was not improvised. The Austro-Hungarian authorities established two internment facilities constructed specifically for Rusyns who refused identification with the Ukrainian national project being imposed from above. Talerhof, in Styria, functioned as a mass internment camp drawing from every layer of Galician and Bukovinian society: peasants, villagers, craftsmen, lower clergy, teachers, and community organizers — anyone whose Russian identity or Orthodox faith marked them as a political threat. Theresienstadt (Terezín), in Bohemia, held the intelligentsia, senior clergy, and political figures of the Russophile movement, among them Dmitry Markov and Vladimir Dudykevych, both serving members of the Austrian parliament, and Maxim Sandovich, an Orthodox priest subsequently executed by Austrian military authorities in September 1914. Survivor accounts and the documentary record compiled in the Talerhof Almanac describe conditions that contemporaries called a hell on earth. According to Sulyak, cited by Melnychuk, no fewer than 20,000 Galicians and Bukovinians passed through Talerhof's internment alone. Together, the two facilities were the institutional expression of a political conclusion the Habsburg administration had reached: that Russian identity in Galicia could not be argued away and would have to be physically destroyed.

Piłsudski and Prometheism

Here another extremely important figure appears, without whom it is impossible to understand how the idea of fragmenting Russia evolved from an Austro-Hungarian and German strategy into a full-fledged Polish state program. This figure was Józef Piłsudski, who today is presented as the “father of Polish independence,” although in reality he became one of the earliest twentieth-century politicians to actively seek cooperation with Russia's foreign rivals in support of separatist and nationalist movements inside the Russian Empire.

Although Piłsudski was born in the Russian Empire, his political and military career increasingly developed within Austro-Hungarian Galicia. By the years immediately preceding the First World War, his rifle organizations operated with the knowledge and support of Austro-Hungarian military authorities, who viewed Polish nationalist forces as a potentially useful instrument in a future conflict with Russia. Moreover, photographs of Piłsudski together with representatives of Austro-Hungarian military and intelligence circles have survived, circles within which he was effectively building his future anti-Russian structures. It was precisely on Austro-Hungarian territory that Piłsudski organized rifle associations and the future Polish Legions, which, with the outbreak of the First World War, would be deployed against the Russian Empire.

Already during the Russo-Japanese War in 1904, Piłsudski traveled to Tokyo as a representative of the Polish Socialist Party. There, he sought cooperation with Japanese authorities against the Russian Empire. In a memorandum presented to Japanese officials, he argued that the political objective of the PPS was the breakup of the Russian Empire into separate states and territories and proposed cooperation between Polish revolutionaries and Japan against Russia.[56] In practice, this implied support for nationalist and separatist movements within the empire. The discussions included intelligence activities, sabotage operations, and support for anti-Russian movements within the empire. Piłsudski described Poland as a potential ally capable of creating serious difficulties for Russia in the midst of the war.[30] In other words, while Russia was fighting in the Far East, a Polish revolutionary was traveling to Russia’s military enemy and effectively proposing that the national question be used as a weapon against the Russian Empire itself.

One detail appears almost symbolic. Piłsudski’s route to Japan passed through New York and San Francisco. Formally, this may simply have been a convenient route across the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Yet the geography of the trip itself reveals the scale of the geopolitical game. A Polish revolutionary from the Austro-Hungarian political environment traveled through the Anglo-American world to Japan in the middle of a war in order to propose a plan for weakening Russia from within.

Later, this logic would become known as “Prometheism,” a program aimed at supporting national movements inside Russia, and later inside the USSR, in order to detach Ukraine, Belarus, the Caucasus, Central Asia, Crimea, the Volga region, and other territories from the Russian center. His “Prometheism” rested on a core principle: Russia should not exist as a single great power. It had to be dismantled into manageable national fragments, while Poland would become the center of a new geopolitical order between Germany and Russia. That is why, for Piłsudski, the Ukrainian, Belarusian, Caucasian, and other “national questions” were never humanitarian causes, but geopolitical weapons.

Thus, Polish, Ukrainian, and other nationalist projects on the western borderlands of Russia were not developing separately from one another, but inside a single geopolitical logic. Piłsudski in 1904 had no Polish state behind him. He was a stateless revolutionary operating from Austro-Hungarian territory, proposing to Japan the same fragmentation of Russia that German strategists were simultaneously theorizing as Randstaatenpolitik and Mitteleuropa. The national question — Ukrainian, Polish, Belarusian, Caucasian — was in each case an instrument for the same objective: the permanent dismemberment of Russia as a unified great power.

Lenin, World War I, and the Collapse of the Empire

During the First World War, while living in exile in Switzerland, Lenin promoted ideas that directly served the fragmentation of the Russian state. In November 1914, during a public lecture in Zurich on the war and revolutionary social democracy, he attacked Tsarism and defended the slogan of Russia’s defeat. Lenin repeatedly praised German military successes and remarked: “It would not be bad at all if the Germans took Riga, Revel, and Helsingfors.”[31]

On June 7, 1917, Lenin declared: “We consider Ukraine and the other non-Great Russian lands to have been seized by the Russian tsars.”[32] This characterization was particularly striking in the case of Malorossia, whose territories formed part of the historic lands of Rus’. These lands had been annexed by Lithuania and later by the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Their incorporation back into the Russian state did not occur as the result of a Russian conquest but following the uprising of Bohdan Khmelnytsky against the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The Cossack Hetmanate sought the protection of the Russian Tsar and formally entered into allegiance to Moscow through the Pereiaslav Agreement of 1654. Lenin’s description stood in sharp contrast to these historical circumstances and echoed arguments long circulated in Austro-Hungarian and German political circles, where Ukraine was increasingly presented as a separate nation and Malorossia steadily recast as something other than a historic part of Russia.

Lenin also insisted that the defeat of the Russian army would represent “the lesser evil,” and stated: “It would be very good for all of us if the Germans took Warsaw and Tiflis… Russia must be amputated down to Kiev, Odessa, Riga, and Libava.”[33] Taken together, these statements placed Lenin’s wartime position in direct operational alignment with the strategic objectives of the Central Powers: the permanent territorial reduction of Russia and the separation of its borderlands.

On November 7, 1914, Lenin stood before an audience in Zurich and asked: “Warum sollen wir nicht Österreich-Ungarn als Befreierin betrachten?” — “Why should we not consider Austro-Hungary a liberator of the Slavic peoples?” He argued that Austro-Hungary provided Slavic nations with the cultural and linguistic freedom that Russia denied them, held it up as a model state for Slavic development, and declared Russia unworthy of the role of protector of the Slavic world.

All while Austro-Hungarian authorities were running concentration camps at Talerhof and Theresienstadt specifically for Galician Rusyns — Slavic people interned for the crime of identifying as Russian.[60]

When the Russian army entered Lvov in 1914 and Nicholas II personally visited the city in 1915, he was ceremonially welcomed by large crowds of the local population as a liberator.[34]

While Russian troops were being greeted in Galicia, Metropolitan Andrey Sheptytsky, a Polish count and former officer of the Austro-Hungarian army, was already preparing a very different future. His younger brother, Stanisław Sheptycki, was at the time a serving colonel in the Austro-Hungarian General Staff.

On 15 August 1914, Andrey Sheptytsky submitted a memorandum to the authorities in Vienna outlining his vision for the future administration of the Ukrainian territories of the Russian Empire. In this document, he proposed the creation of a Ukrainian Hetmanate under Austrian protection, the separation of the local Orthodox Church from the Russian Orthodox Church, and a broad campaign to cultivate a distinct Ukrainian national consciousness.[35]

What Austrian administrators initiated in 1848 by conditioning support on the public abandonment of Russian identity, Polish political circles systematized after 1863, and Vienna institutionalized through the "New Era" of 1890. By 1914 this project had acquired military-operational form, with Galicia positioned as the intended core of a Ukrainian political entity designed to absorb the Malorossian territories of the Russian Empire. Ronge himself acknowledged that the population this project was meant to mobilize had no desire to be liberated. The crowds that welcomed Nicholas II in Lvov confirmed the same. What followed was not the organic unfolding of a national awakening but the application of wartime force to a project that peacetime persuasion had failed to complete.

As German armies advanced into the western territories of the Russian Empire, they acquired an opportunity to apply the methods pioneered in Galicia across a much larger geographical space. The scale of the task was illustrated by the 1910 census of St. Petersburg: despite the presence of tens of thousands of residents originating from the Belarusian provinces, only 2,238 identified Belarusian as their native language, while nearly 890,000 identified Russian. A distinct Belarusian national identity, on the eve of the war, barely existed as a measurable social phenomenon.

When Germany occupied the western territories of the Russian Empire, capturing Poland, Lithuania, the Baltic territories, and parts of Belarus, reorganized into the administrative region known as Ober-Ost under direct German occupation, the occupation authorities began implementing policies closely resembling the earlier Galician model. It was precisely in this environment that the Belarusian project began taking shape.

German officials struggled to identify a clearly defined Belarusian nation. Erich Ludendorff, who directed the German military administration of Ober-Ost, later admitted that the Belarusians were initially “literally not to be found” and appeared instead as a dispersed rural population. Nevertheless, the occupation authorities proceeded to apply the same instruments previously used in Galicia: schools, museums, cultural societies, publications, language policy, and administrative support. The goal was to encourage the development of a distinct Belarusian identity separate from the broader Russian tradition and aligned with German geopolitical interests in Eastern Europe.[36]

Brest-Litovsk and the German Fragmentation Project

As the Russian state collapsed, Russia withdrew from the war after signing the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Under its terms, Russia transferred approximately 100 tons of gold to Germany and surrendered roughly one-third of the European territories of the former Russian Empire.

The treaty “established a new political structure for Eastern Europe, carving off huge sections of the Tsar’s empire to create German client states.” It transformed the territories occupied during the war into the foundation of a new political order under German influence.[37]

Under German occupation in 1918, a series of new political entities were proclaimed for the first time: the Belarusian People’s Republic; the Kingdom of Poland, formally independent but dependent on the Central Powers; the Kingdom of Lithuania; the United Baltic Duchy, an attempt to unite the Baltic territories under German influence; and the Duchy of Courland and Semigallia in present-day Latvia under Baltic German dominance.

German strategic objectives by 1918 reached far beyond Poland and Ukraine. Military planners sought to project German influence into Crimea, the Don and Kuban regions, the Caucasus, the Caspian basin, and even Turkestan. Alfred Rosenberg, the Baltic German ideologist who would later become one of the principal architects of Nazi eastern policy, recorded a proposal to unite the Crimean Tatars and German colonists under the principle of national self-determination and transform Crimea and the surrounding territories into a German colony.[5]

General Hoffmann bluntly informed the Russian delegation that Poland, Lithuania, and Courland had already decided to separate from Russia and would determine their future outside the Russian state. He justified this position by invoking the same principle of self-determination that the Bolsheviks themselves had proclaimed.[39] These territories were effectively viewed as agrarian and raw-material sources for Germany and reserves of cheap labor.

On Ukraine, Hoffmann was unambiguous. “In fact, the Ukraine was my suggestion, and my creation, and not a spontaneous wish of its inhabitants at all.” He added: “I created the Ukraine, to put it bluntly, merely in order to have a part of Russia to make peace with.” Austria-Hungary was facing severe food shortages, and “the Ukraine and the Treaty of Ukraine had willy-nilly to be manufactured” in order to sustain its ally. His private diaries confirm this was not retrospective justification. On 12 March 1918, he recorded: “the Central Rada has nothing behind it but our military assistance. The moment we withdraw our troops, the whole magnificent edifice collapses.”[40] When the Rada failed to guarantee stable grain deliveries, the German occupation authorities replaced it with the Hetmanate of Pavlo Skoropadsky. On 30 April 1918, Hoffmann noted approvingly that the new regime “stands on the basis of the Brest-Litovsk peace and all other agreements on grain deliveries.” Hoffmann dismissed the very idea of an independent Ukraine as “a rank absurdity” and “an absolutely artificial and temporary thing.”

“The difficulty in Ukraine lies in the fact that the Central Rada has nothing behind it but our military assistance. The moment we withdraw our troops, the whole magnificent edifice

––Max Hoffmann

Hoffmann was equally candid about Germany’s broader objectives in the East. Erich Ludendorff, Chief of the German General Staff and the principal architect of Germany’s military strategy in the East, had, according to Hoffmann, deliberately facilitated the spread of Leninism into Russia. His purpose was straightforward: “to paralyse Russia as a military Power and release the German armies from the east for the west front.”

Nor did Hoffmann conceal Germany’s economic ambitions. Reflecting on the collapse of the Russian state, he declared: “Russia is down.” He argued that the destruction of Russia’s “leaders and her intellectual classes” created a historic opportunity for “non-Russian Europe to step in and seize control of the whole of the Russian resources.” Germany, he suggested, possessed the technical expertise and manpower to exploit those resources and would even be willing to share the profits with the Entente if it supported such a project. “Now is the chance which may never occur again,”Hoffmann concluded.[39]

The Ukrainian People's Republic, the entity Hoffmann referred to in his interview, emerged on the territory of Russian Malorossia immediately after the revolution, with Mykhailo Hrushevsky serving as chairman of the Central Rada. That same year, Hrushevsky published the pamphlet Who Are the Ukrainians and What Do They Want?, arguing that Ukrainians constituted a separate nation, distinct from Russians, and should possess their own political institutions and national statehood. The pamphlet was the popular manifesto of the Ukrainian national movement at the moment when the Central Rada was attempting to transform these ideas into political reality. Following the signing of the Brest-Litovsk Treaty, the republic came under German control and was later transformed into the Ukrainian State under Hetman Pavlo Skoropadsky. In practice, it functioned as a German-backed political project primarily oriented toward supplying Germany with grain and raw materials.

Korenizatsiya and Soviet Nation-Building

In 1918 the Central Powers lost the war. The Brest-Litovsk Treaty was annulled, the Austro-Hungarian Empire dissolved, and the German-controlled order in Ober-Ost collapsed with it.

The Red Army regained control over part of the former imperial territories and proceeded to implement nationality policies that closely followed the same logic. The former Russian Empire was reorganized into union republics whose borders had never previously existed as state frontiers, drawn across territories that had historically belonged to a common political, economic, and cultural space. In several cases these borders closely resembled projects first drafted during the German occupation and the Brest-Litovsk period.

As the Bolsheviks consolidated control over the former imperial territories, the constitutional basis of the new union became the central question defining the future of the Russian state. In the autumn of 1922, Stalin, serving as General Secretary of the Russian Communist Party, drafted a resolution proposing what became known as the “autonomization”plan. Under this plan, the non-Russian Soviet republics, Ukraine, Belarus, Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, would enter the existing Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic as autonomous units within a single unified state. Cultural and linguistic autonomy would be preserved, but sovereignty, statehood, and the question of borders would remain internal matters of a single Russian-centered polity. There would be no separate republican constitutions, no separate state identity, and no right of secession.[50]

Lenin intervened directly. In a letter to Kamenev on September 26, 1922, the same day Stalin circulated his resolution, he rejected the autonomization plan and demanded a fundamentally different structure.[51] The constitutional dispute concerned something far more consequential than administrative arrangements: whether the former imperial borderlands would remain integral parts of a unified Russian state or be institutionally positioned for eventual separation.

Lenin’s counter-proposal was a union of formally equal and sovereign republics, each with its own constitutional identity and an explicit right of free withdrawal from the USSR. The ideological justification was anti-chauvinism and the right of nations to self-determination. Stalin privately called it “the national liberalism of Comrade Lenin.”[52] He was correct in his assessment of what it meant in practice. A union of autonomous republics within the RSFSR had no exit mechanism and no separate statehood. A union of sovereign republics with a constitutional right of secession did. The difference between the two plans was the difference between administrative decentralization and the institutional preparation of state dissolution.

The Declaration on the Formation of the USSR, signed on December 30, 1922, enshrined as its foundational principles “equal rights and voluntariness for consolidation, the right of the free withdrawal from the USSR.”[53] The Constitution of January 1924 formalized these principles as the supreme law of the union state.

The result was structurally determined. Stalin’s architecture would have made the fragmentation of the Russian state impossible. Lenin’s architecture made it inevitable. When the union collapsed in 1991, it did so precisely along the borders Lenin had drawn, through the constitutional mechanism Lenin had insisted upon, and into the national units whose identities had been cultivated by decades of the very korenizatsiya policies that followed directly from Lenin’s victory in this dispute. The careers of those who had built those identities under Habsburg and German patronage now found a second life inside the Soviet system itself.

Mykhailo Hrushevsky is the sharpest illustration of this continuity. Appointed to his chair at the University of Lemberg by Habsburg authorities, funded through Austro-Hungarian institutional channels, and dedicated to constructing a historical narrative designed to separate Ukraine from the broader Russian tradition, he had been arrested by Tsarist authorities in Kiev in 1914 as a direct threat to Russian state integrity. A decade later, the Soviet government invited him back. By 1929 he was a full member of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR, heading the historical-philological department of the All-Ukrainian Academy of Sciences and continuing to propagate the same historical framework from inside the Soviet institutional structure that his Austro-Hungarian patrons had originally built him to undermine.

The policy of Ukrainization formed part of the broader early Soviet policy of korenizatsiya ("indigenization"). The Soviet government retained political control over the former imperial borderlands while adopting methods similar to those previously employed by German authorities in Ober-Ost and by the German-sponsored regimes established after Brest-Litovsk. Schools, language reform, publishing, historical narratives, museums, and administrative institutions became tools for cultivating distinct national identities within the newly created Soviet republics across Ukraine, Belarus, Central Asia, and the Caucasus. Languages were standardized for the first time, literary norms codified, school curricula rewritten, and education, local administration, and official publications shifted to the language of the titular nationality of each republic. In some cases personal names and surnames were officially adapted to the new linguistic norms. A Soviet directive instructed administrative authorities to record surnames in Ukrainian transcription, resulting in forms such as "Nikolaev" becoming "Mykolaiev" and "Afanasenko" becoming "Opanasenko." New national elites were simultaneously cultivated by the state.

In Ukraine, complaints were recorded from residents who had spoken Russian throughout their lives but were now required to conduct official business in a language many barely understood. Party correspondence and citizen complaints reported difficulties with the new terminology, mandatory retraining courses, translation of documentation, and language examinations that increasingly became prerequisites for employment in state institutions.[41]

Stalin and the Reversal of Korenizatsiya

In 1924 Lenin died. The political struggle that followed brought Stalin to power and with it a gradual reversal of Lenin-era nationality policy. Korenizatsiya was curtailed due to growing concerns about Polish influence in the western regions, the danger of separatism, and increasing external pressure from Germany, Japan, and Poland. The Russian language became the common language of the entire country, and by 1938 Russian was a compulsory subject in all schools throughout the USSR.

The decision met resistance from within the Soviet leadership itself. Nadezhda Krupskaya, Lenin’s widow and Deputy People’s Commissar of Education, wrote to Stalin on March 7, 1938, objecting directly:

“We are introducing compulsory teaching of the Russian language throughout the USSR… I am deeply concerned about how this will be implemented. It seems to me that a bit of great-power chauvinism is beginning to show its horns. For example, I consider it harmful to introduce reading and writing in the first year of study not only in the native language but also in Russian, and harmful to introduce a single primer for all nationalities, a primer translated from Russian.”[42]

The letter was written by no ordinary official. Krupskaya had been Lenin's closest political partner and remained the most authoritative interpreter of his legacy. Her resistance to Stalin's language reform was a defense of the nationality architecture Lenin had built, from the person who had helped build it. The question of whether the USSR would function as a unified state or a federation of separate national identities was still being fought over in 1938.

Following the Second World War, Eastern Galicia became part of the Ukrainian SSR. Soviet authorities regarded the OUN (Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists), led by Stepan Bandera, the UPA (Ukrainian Insurgent Army), and the broader Galician nationalist movement as hostile political forces. The OUN had been founded by veterans of the Ukrainian Sich Riflemen and carried the organizational and ideological legacy of the Austro-Hungarian Galician project directly into the mid-twentieth century. At the outset of the German invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941, the OUN collaborated with Nazi Germany, viewing the Wehrmacht’s advance as an opportunity to establish an independent Ukrainian state under German protection. The UPA, formed in 1942, subsequently fought against Soviet forces throughout the late 1940s and into the early 1950s.

Soviet authorities carried out a large-scale campaign against the nationalist underground. Thousands of activists and supporters were arrested, imprisoned, or deported.

After Stalin’s death, many convicted nationalists were released during the Khrushchev era. The ideas that had been suppressed began re-emerging in public and cultural life, setting the stage for their full revival after 1991.

CIA and the Ukrainian Project: A Cold War Inheritance

The project did not end with the defeat of Nazi Germany or the dissolution of Austria-Hungary. It changed hands.

In 1953, the CIA launched Project AERODYNAMIC, approved by the Director of Central Intelligence on January 30, 1953, and expanded under Allen Dulles, who directed the CIA from 1953 to 1961. The stated purpose, in the agency’s own words, was “the exploitation and expansion of the Anti-Soviet Ukrainian resistance movement for cold war and hot war purposes.”[57] The organizations being utilized were the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA), the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN), and their affiliated structures in Western Europe and the United States — the direct organizational descendants of the Austro-Hungarian Galician project, which had collaborated with Nazi Germany during the Second World War. The budget for fiscal year 1953 was $95,900.

The operational tasks listed in the declassified documents included financial assistance to OUN-affiliated structures, support for sabotage and guerrilla warfare capabilities, agent infiltration into the Ukrainian SSR, and the establishment of a Ukrainian information bureau to be run “under CIA control” so that “the Ukrainian emigration will take a stand against the USSR which would be more consistent with American Foreign Policy.” The agency also planned a political cadre school for Ukrainian emigre youth, with a curriculum that included military science, underground techniques, and psychological warfare. Funding was to be presented to recipients as coming from “various private sources in the U.S. who are interested in the Ukrainian National Movement.”

The project was not a one-time Cold War improvisation. Declassified CIA documents show it ran continuously for over four decades under successive code names: AERODYNAMIC, then QRDYNAMIC, then QRPLUMB. A CIA synopsis covering the period 1946 to 1987 describes the same organizational core — Ukrainian emigre activists with direct roots in the OUN-UPA underground — operating without interruption through sabotage support, clandestine radio broadcasting, publications, and personal contact operations inside the Soviet Ukrainian SSR.[58]

The individual who stood at the center of this operation was Mykola Lebed, a wartime leader of OUN-B. In 1949, the CIA smuggled him into the United States and arranged his citizenship, despite the fact that U.S. officials had themselves described him as having a “Gestapo background.” He was never prosecuted. Under Project AERODYNAMIC, Lebed directed the Prolog Research Corporation — the CIA front organization based in New York and Munich that conducted what a classified 1968 memorandum to the Director of Central Intelligence described as “political, propaganda and intelligence activity directed against the Soviet Ukraine.” Budget for fiscal year 1969: $188,000, channeled through a Swiss bank account and presented externally as coming from unnamed private sources.[59]

The nine core collaborators of the Prolog operation were, in the CIA’s own words, “ex-members of the Ukrainian underground” who had worked together for over twenty-five years. Just as Operation Paperclip recycled Nazi scientists and the Gehlen Organization recycled Nazi intelligence networks, Project AERODYNAMIC recycled the ideological and organizational infrastructure of wartime Ukrainian nationalism and put it to work as a Cold War asset. The German Federal Intelligence Service, the BND, was aware of the Prolog operation throughout.

The operation also pioneered the use of the famine of 1932-33 as a geopolitical instrument. QRPLUMB published a book titled Famine in Ukraine 1932-33, produced and infiltrated into the Soviet Union the documentary film The Harvest of Despair, and used the Chernobyl disaster of 1986 as an additional propaganda vehicle, coordinating its response with Baltic dissident groups in an effort to tie Chernobyl to a similar nuclear plant in Lithuania. A CIA activity report from July 1988 confirms the operation was still running at full capacity, infiltrating camcorders to dissident groups inside Ukraine and developing new infiltration channels through Finland.[61]

The operation did not end with the Cold War. In 1983, the National Endowment for Democracy (NED) was established as a publicly funded organization taking over much of what the CIA had been doing covertly for decades. Its first president, Allen Weinstein, acknowledged as much in a 1991 interview with the Washington Post: "A lot of what we do today was done covertly 25 years ago by the CIA."[62] The NED today funds Globsec directly — €168,098 according to the Slovak Financial Administration's public register.[54] The operation became the establishment.

From Galicia to “Decolonization”

The idea of fragmenting Russia along national, linguistic, and regional lines never disappeared. The actors changed, the slogans changed, the institutional frameworks changed. The underlying logic did not. Austria-Hungary cultivated the Ukrainian project in Galicia as a geopolitical instrument against Russia. Germany during the First World War constructed buffer states on the ruins of the Russian Empire. Piłsudski promoted “Prometheism” as a doctrine for dismantling Russia through nationalist movements. The early Soviet policy of korenizatsiya continued many of the same nation-building mechanisms under a different ideological banner. And today, the same project reappears under the language of “decolonization,” “regionalization,” and the “post-Russian space.”

The financial architecture behind this contemporary iteration is documented in public records. The Slovak analytical center Globsec, whose annual forums have featured French President Emmanuel Macron, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen, and NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg, received £52,005 in 2023 and £225,000in 2024 from the British foundation New Generation Europe Foundation (NGEF), according to the UK register of legal entities.[43] The same Globsec financial statements, filed with the Slovak Financial Administration’s register of non-profit organizations, record direct funding from the Foundation to Promote Open Society (€1,182,355), the National Endowment for Democracy (NED)(€168,098), and the Taipei Representative Office in Bratislava (€200,000).[54] NGEF is directed by the daughter of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the former head of Yukos, whose foundation provided NGEF with $10 million in 2024. In autumn 2025, Khodorkovsky publicly declared himself a leader of the Russian opposition and endorsed the “decolonization” of Russia. Shortly thereafter, Globsec published an analytical report titled Building a True Russian Federation, prepared with NGEF support and authored by the president of the Free Buryatia Foundation, an organization openly advocating the separation of Buryatia from Russia.[55]

The document trail is straightforward. Money flows from Khodorkovsky's foundation through NGEF to Globsec. Globsec produces analytical reports on the territorial reorganization of Russia, including a report prepared with direct support from a foundation connected to Khodorkovsky and authored by the president of an organization openly calling for the separation of Buryatia from Russia. These activities were financed through publicly registered entities and hosted on the platforms of the Western foreign policy establishment.

The Return of the Fragmentation Narrative

A century ago, Piłsudski traveled to Russia’s enemies with a memorandum proposing the dismantlement of the Russian Empire through nationalist movements. Austria-Hungary built a Ukrainian identity in Galicia as an instrument against the broader Russian world. Germany constructed buffer states on the territory of the former Russian Empire and, in General Hoffmann’s own words, “created Ukraine” as a strategic necessity. The populations targeted by these projects — as Ronge acknowledged, as the crowds welcoming Nicholas II in Lvov confirmed — had no desire to be liberated.

The continuity across these episodes is not coincidental. The fragmentation of Russia into externally manageable national units has been a persistent objective of successive European great powers for more than a century, pursued through whatever institutional and ideological instruments the era made available: Habsburg administrative engineering, German military occupation, Wilsonian self-determination, Cold War nationalism, and now the language of decolonization and post-imperial transformation.

The history documented in this article does not support the interpretation of the current conflict as a spontaneous national awakening or a straightforward dispute between two neighboring states. The Ukrainian national project in Galicia was built as a geopolitical instrument from the outset. The borders of the Ukrainian SSR were drawn by a Soviet state implementing a constitutional architecture Lenin insisted upon against Stalin’s objections. The ideological traditions of Galician nationalism were cultivated under Habsburg and German patronage, suppressed under Soviet rule, and revived after 1991. And the analytical infrastructure now openly discussing the territorial reorganization of Russia is financed through the same Western foreign policy channels that have pursued the weakening of Russia as a strategic objective since the age of Mitteleuropa.

The documents speak for themselves.

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Bibliography:

1. Friedrich Naumann, Mitteleuropa (Berlin: Georg Reimer, 1915), esp. chapters 1–3

2. Murat Özyüksel, The Berlin-Baghdad Railway and the Ottoman Empire: Industrialization, Imperial Germany and the Middle East (London: I.B. Tauris, 2016), 55.

3. Kurt Riezler, Tagebücher, Aufsätze, Dokumente, ed. Karl Dietrich Erdmann (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1972), 183. [https://archive.org/details/tagebucheraufsat0048riez/page/182/mode/2up]

4. Fritz Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War (New York: W.W. Norton, 1967), 460. Available at: https://ia801305.us.archive.org/1/items/FischerFritzGermanysAimsInTheFirstWorldWar/Fischer%2C%20Fritz%20-%20Germany%E2%80%99s%20Aims%20in%20the%20First%20World%20War.pdf

5. Fritz Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War (New York: W.W. Norton, 1967), 550.

6. Alfred von Schlieffen’s “Great Memorandum” of 1905, Fritz Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War, trans. C. A. Macartney (New York: W. W. Norton, 1967), 21.

7. Osyp Monchalovsky, Ivan Naumovich (Lviv: Russkaia Rada, 1899), 59, 65. [https://malorus.ru/mnib/kniga/97/]

8. Count Berchtold identified the Monarchy’s Ruthenenpolitik as one of the principal obstacles to relations with Russia and noted Russian concerns that Austrian policy toward the Ruthenians could influence “30 million Russian Ruthenians” within the Russian Empire. Ludwig Bittner et al., eds., Österreich-Ungarns Aussenpolitik von der Bosnischen Krise 1908 bis zum Kriegsausbruch 1914, vol. 4 (Vienna and Leipzig: Österreichischer Bundesverlag, 1930), 256.

9. Robert J. Donia, “The Proximate Colony: Bosnia-Herzegovina under Austro-Hungarian Rule,” in Wechselwirkungen: Austria-Hungary, Bosnia-Herzegovina, and the Western Balkans, 1878-1918, ed. Clemens Ruthner and Tamara Scheer (Sarajevo: University of Sarajevo, 2007), 5.

10. Zakharia Kopystensky’s “Palinode” (1621)

11. Hypatius Pociej, Antirresis (1599); Articles of Union of Brest (1595) “We shall retain our rites and ceremonies entire and inviolate ... but we shall be under the obedience of the Holy Roman Pontiff.”

12. Ivan Naumovich, quoted in Osyp Monchalovsky, Ivan Naumovich (Lviv: Russkaia Rada, 1899), 62-63.

13. Shustova, Yulia E. Dokumenty L’vovskogo Uspenskogo Stavropigiyskogo Bratstva (1586–1788): Istochnikovedcheskoe Issledovanie. Moscow: Rukopisnye Pamyatniki Drevnei Rusi, 2009, 255.

Examining the archives of the Lvоv Brotherhood, Yulia Shustova found that correspondence with Orthodox clergy continued to be written in the local Ruthenian language, while communications with secular elites increasingly shifted to Polish. By the 1680s, even internal summaries of Brotherhood documents were being prepared in Polish, illustrating the gradual displacement of the traditional Ruthenian written language in urban Galicia.

14. Larry Wolff, The Idea of Galicia: History and Fantasy in Habsburg Political Culture (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010), 86-87.

15. Joseph Lewicki openly acknowledged the strong influence of Polish and German on the Ruthenian dialect of Galicia: “Nebstbey übt ja auf diesen Dialekt die polnische und die deutsche Sprache einen um so entschiedeneren Einfluss aus…” (”Moreover, the Polish and German languages exert an all the more decisive influence upon this dialect…”)

(Joseph Lewicki, Grammatik der ruthenischen oder klein russischen Sprache in Galizien [Przemyśl: Griechisch-katholische bischöfliche Buchdruckerei, 1834], p. X).

16. Monchalovsky, Zhitie i deyatelnost Ivana Naumovicha, Lviv, 1899, pp. 5, 27-33

17. Ivan Mohylnytsky, Bukvar yazyka russkago (Peremyshl: 1816).

18. Larry Wolff, The Idea of Galicia (Stanford University Press, 2010), p. 6

19. Taras Shevchenko, Bukvar Yuzhnorusskiy (St. Petersburg, 1861).

20. Larry Wolff, The Idea of Galicia: History and Fantasy in Habsburg Political Culture (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010), 287.

21. Hrushevsky, History of Ukraine-Rus’, vol. 1 (1898)

22. Barinov, I.I. “Ukrainskaya doktrina v politike Avstro-Vengrii i genezis ukrainskogo natsionalizma.” Istoriya i sovremennost’, No. 1, 2012, 83.

23. O.A. Monchalovsky, The Life and Activity of Ivan Naumovich (Lvov: Stauropegion Institute, 1899), p. 63.

24. Bohdan (Theophil) Dedytsky, Svoezhytevyi zapysky (memoirs), quoted in Martin Rohde, Ruthenische Intellektuelle und die Frage nationaler Eigenständigkeit in Galizien im Jahr 1848, p. 280.

25. Ronge, Maximilian. Kriegs- und Industrie-Spionage. Zwölf Jahre Kundschaftsdienst. Wien: Amalthea-Verlag, 1930

26. Paul Robert Magocsi, The Roots of Ukrainian Nationalism: Galicia as Ukraine’s Piedmont, University of Toronto Press, 2002, p. xii (Preface).

27. Shevchenko, Kirill F. From Galician Rus’ to Western Ukraine: Galician-Russian Figures on the Ukrainian Movement in Galicia in the 19th–Early 20th Century. Moscow: Russian State Social University, 2023.

28. Paul Robert Magocsi, A History of Ukraine, pp. 488-495.

29. Larry Wolff, The Idea of Galicia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2010), 287.

30. Andrzej Garlicki, Józef Piłsudski 1867-1935 (Warsaw: Czytelnik, 1989), pp. 121-124.

31. M. Kharitonov, “Iz vospominanii o doklade V. I. Lenina v Tsyurikhe v noyabre 1914 g.” in Leninizm i pamiat sovremennikov, available at Leninism.su; see also Leninskii sbornik, vol. XIV, pp. 138-145. [https://leninism.su/memory/3338-iz-vospominanij-haritonov.html]

32. V. I. Lenin, “Est li put k spravedlivomu miru?” [Is There a Road to a Just Peace?], Pravda, no. 75, June 20 (7), 1917. [https://stradnieki.org/lenin/32.html]

33. Г. Л. Шкловский, «Из воспоминаний о работе за границей в годы войны» // Пролетарская Революция, 1925, № 9 (44), стр. 83–84.

34. Lviv Center for Urban History, “Mass Events During the Russian Occupation of Lviv, 1914-1915,” Lviv Interactive, accessed June 4, 2026, [https://city-as-stage.lvivcenter.org/en/articles/mass-events-during-the-russian-occupation-of-lviv-1914-1915/.]

35. Andrei Sheptytsky, Memorandum to the Austro-Hungarian Government, 15 August 1914, in Bohdan R. Bociurkiw, “Sheptytsky’s Memorandum of 15 August 1914 to the Austro-Hungarian Government,” Bohoslovia, vol. XXXII (Rome, 1968).

36. Liulevicius, War Land on the Eastern Front, p. 121.

37. Liulevicius, War Land on the Eastern Front, p. 206.

38. Proceedings of the Brest-Litovsk Peace Conference. The Peace Negotiations between Russia and the Central Powers, 21 November 1917 – 3 March 1918. Washington: Government Printing Office, 1918, p. 45. [http://www.gwpda.org/1918/conf_brestlitovsk.pdf]

39. F. Sefton Delmer, “A German Boast. ‘I Made the Ukraine,’” The Maitland Daily Mercury, May 17, 1919. [https://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/123305344]

40. Hoffmann, Max. Die Aufzeichnungen des Generalmajors Max Hoffmann. Vol. 1. Berlin: Verlag für Kulturpolitik, 1929. Entry of 12 March 1918.

41. Українізація 1920–30-х років: передумови, здобутки, уроки. Київ, 2003

42. Letter to Stalin, March 7, 1938 — Izvestia TsK KPSS, 1989, No. 3, p. 179

43. New Generation Europe Foundation, Annual Report 2024, UK Register of Companies. Grants to Globsec: £225,000 (2024), £52,005 (2023).

44. Monchalovsky, O.A. Literary and Political Ukrainophilism [Literaturnoye i politicheskoye ukrainofil’stvo]. Lvov: Stauropegian Institute Press, 1898. pp. 79-80.

45. Monchalovsky, The Life and Activity of Ivan Naumovich, p. XX.

46. Magocsi, Paul Robert. The Roots of Ukrainian Nationalism: Galicia as Ukraine's Piedmont. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002, p. 58.

47. Magocsi, Paul Robert. The Roots of Ukrainian Nationalism: Galicia as Ukraine’s Piedmont. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002, pp. 31-34.

48. Vergun, Dmitry N. Chto takoe Galitsiia? Petrograd, 1915, p. 13.

49. Zoria Galitskaia [Галицька Зоря], No. 1, May 15, 1848, Lvov: Stauropegion Institute, p. 1. Available at: [https://web.archive.org/web/20210720163235/https://shron1.chtyvo.org.ua/Zoria_Halytska/1848_Chyslo_01.pdf]

    Original text: “Мы Русини Галицки належимо до великого рускогo народа, котрый одним говорить азиком й 15 милонов кыносить, зъ которого полтрета милона землю Галицке замишкуе.”

50. J. Stalin, "The Autonomization Resolution: On Relations Between the RSFSR and the Independent Republics," September 26, 1922. Cited in: Lenin's Final Fight: Speeches and Writings 1922-23, Pathfinder Press, 2010.

51. V.I. Lenin, "Letter to L.B. Kamenev for Members of the Politbureau," September 26, 1922. Available at: https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1922/sep/26.htm

52. Stalin, cited in introduction to Lenin's Final Fight, Pathfinder Press, 2010.

53. "Declaration and Treaty on the Formation of the USSR," December 30, 1922. First All-Union Congress of Soviets.

54. Globsec, Financial Statements 2023–2024, Slovak Financial Administration Non-Profit Register, IČO 50638262. Donors include: Foundation to Promote Open Society €1,182,355; National Endowment for Democracy €168,098; Taipei Representative Office Bratislava €200,000

55. Globsec, Building a True Russian Federation, 2025. Prepared with support of New Generation Europe Foundation.

56. Józef Piłsudski, Memorandum to the Japanese General Staff (1904)

57. CIA, Project AERODYNAMIC, FY 1953 Renewal, PP Portion. Approved by Director of Central Intelligence, January 30, 1953. Declassified under Nazi War Crimes Disclosure Act, 2007.

58. CIA, “A Synopsis of QRPLUMB Operations 1946–[1987],” Tab B. SECRET. Declassified under Nazi War Crimes Disclosure Act, 2007.

59. CIA, Memorandum for Director of Central Intelligence: “Political, Propaganda and Intelligence Project Targeted Against the Soviet Ukraine” (Prolog Research Corporation), December 6, 1968. SECRET EYES ONLY. Declassified 2007.

60. Arbeiter-Zeitung (Vienna), No. 309, November 7, 1914, p. 3: "Der Krieg und die russische Sozialdemokratie. Ein Vortrag Lenins."

61. CIA, QRPLUMB CA Highlights, July 1988. QRPLUMB Vol. 4 (Development and Plans, 1982-88). Declassified under Nazi War Crimes Disclosure Act, 2007. [https://www.cia.gov/readingroom/docs/QRPLUMB%20%20%20VOL.%204%20%20%28DEVELOPMENT%20AND%20PLANS%2C%201982-88%29_0018.pdf]

62. Allen Weinstein, quoted in David Ignatius, "Innocence Abroad: The New World of Spyless Coups," Washington Post, September 22, 1991. [https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/opinions/1991/09/22/innocence-abroad-the-new-world-of-spyless-coups/92bb989a-de6e-4bb8-99b9-462c76b59a16/]

63. NKGB USSR, 4th Directorate (Sudoplatov), Special Report to the People's Commissar of State Security of the USSR, Comrade Merkulov, July 12, 1944

    

    Nkgb Ussr, 4th Directorate (sudoplatov), Special Report To The People's Commissar Of State Security Of The Ussr, Comrade Merkulov, July 12, 1944

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64. NKGB USSR, 4th Directorate, Special Report to the Head of the 2nd Directorate of the NKGB USSR, Comrade Fedotov, August 4, 1943, Document No. 4/8/2133.

Nkgb Ussr, 4th Directorate, Special Report To The Head Of The 2nd Directorate Of The Nkgb Ussr, Comrade Fedotov, August 4, 1943, Document No

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Nkvd Ussr, Fourth Directorate, Report From The Olevsk District, Ukrainian Ssr,%22 16 February 1943, Received 14 February 1943, Hda Sbu

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65. Антоневич, Николай Иванович. Галицко-русская политика последних лет. Санкт-Петербург: Типография А. С. Суворина, 1911. Reproduced by CyberLeninka. CyberLeninka viewer

66. ibid.

67. Ducheński [Duchinski], Franciszek. Zasady Dziejów Polski, innych krajów słowiańskich i Moskwy. Część II: Zasady Dziejów Słowian i Moskali. Paris, 1859.

68. Tarnowski, Stanislaw. Ksiadz Waleryan Kalinka. Krakow, 1887, pp. 167–170.

During the 1930s, Prescott Bush served as a director of Union Banking Corporation (UBC), a New York bank connected to German industrialist Fritz Thyssen, one of Adolf Hitler’s earliest and most important financial backers. Thyssen himself later admitted that he had financially supported Hitler before the Nazi Party came to power.

UBC did not simply function as an ordinary commercial bank “holding accounts.” It operated as part of a broader financial network linked to German heavy industry, including coal and steel operations that later became central to German military rearmament. The significance of these ties became impossible to ignore during the war itself.

In 1942, after the United States had officially entered World War II, the U.S. government seized UBC assets under the Trading with the Enemy Act.

This point is important because the action was taken not by political opponents or foreign critics, but by the American government itself. Washington formally identified the bank’s operations as connected to enemy interests during wartime.

UBC had business connections with the Consolidated Silesian Steel Corporation, located in Silesia, a region of Czechoslovakia that was annexed by Poland in 1938 during the partition of the country following the Munich Agreement, when Czechoslovakia was effectively carved up with the approval of Britain and France.

This industrial region contained major steel plants, coal mines, and ore-processing facilities located near Auschwitz (Oswiecim). Historical records and postwar investigations provide overwhelming evidence that forced labor from the camps was used in these facilities. The labor was cheap, disposable, and brutally exploited, benefiting both the Nazi war machine and the foreign investors tied into the system, including those connected to Bush.

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One would expect that after World War II, such scandalous business connections would have been immediately severed and publicly exposed. That did not happen.

The Bush family’s ties to Nazi-linked industrial and financial structures quietly continued after the war and only began disappearing around 1951, when the issue became politically dangerous.

For years, almost nobody in mainstream American politics or media showed serious interest in investigating the story.

Only decades later did declassified U.S. records and archival material begin exposing the scale of these connections. But by then, it no longer threatened the political establishment. The Bush dynasty was already deeply rooted inside the American system, and the media had little appetite for reopening uncomfortable questions about Western corporate involvement with Nazi Germany.

So before Western countries lecture the rest of the world about “collaboration with Hitler,” perhaps the United States and Poland should take a closer look at the parts of their own history that rarely appear in school textbooks or mainstream documentaries.

Prescott Bush was not an isolated case. Throughout the 1930s, large segments of Western business and financial elites continued maintaining economic relationships with Germany. For many influential circles, Nazi Germany represented not only a profitable industrial partner, but also a potential geopolitical counterweight against the Soviet Union and the spread of communism in Europe.

Major corporations such as Ford Motor Company, General Motors, IBM, and Standard Oil have all been the subject of historical research concerning their business activities, technology transfers, industrial cooperation, or financial relationships involving Nazi Germany before and, in some cases, during the war years.

Henry Ford himself held a particularly unusual position in Nazi ideology. Adolf Hitler openly admired Ford, referenced him in, and in 1938 the Nazi government awarded Ford the Grand Cross of the German Eagle, one of its highest honors for foreign nationals.

At the political level, the pattern of accommodation was also visible. The Munich Agreement of 1938 allowed Germany to absorb strategically critical territories from under the banner of preserving peace in Europe. The result was not peace, but the rapid expansion of German industrial and military potential.

The broader historical picture complicates the simplified postwar narrative often presented in popular culture. Nazi Germany did not rise in total economic isolation. Its industrial growth and military expansion were intertwined with international trade, foreign investment, technological cooperation, and years of political tolerance from parts of the Western establishment.

Only decades later did declassified documents and investigative reporting begin drawing wider public attention to these relationships. By that point, many of the corporations and political dynasties connected to the era had already become firmly established within the postwar Western order.

Source:

Ben Aris and Duncan Campbell, “How Bush’s Grandfather Helped Hitler’s Rise to Power,” The Guardian, September 25, 2004, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2004/sep/25/usa.secondworldwar.

And yet, in 1917, everything collapsed. Why?

Not a “prison of nations,” not “Asiatic backwardness”, but a country torn by internal contradictions, and feared by powers that didn’t want Russia to grow beyond what they could control. In this post, however, we’ll focus on the internal issues.

Yes, Imperial Russia had problems - just like any fast-modernizing nation. But it wasn’t collapse or savagery, as simplistic Western narratives suggest. The problem wasn’t the people or even the Tsar himself, it was an elite that feared losing power but refused to think about the future of the country.

At the root: the legacy of serfdom

The system of serfdom, formalized under Peter the Great and entrenched throughout the 18th century, tied peasants to the land and to their landlords for generations.

Even the “enlightened” Catherine the Great refused to abolish it, fearing backlash from the nobility.

It basically turned millions of people into permanent dependents, stuck in place with no way up. Systems like this existed elsewhere: the U.S. didn’t abolish slavery until 1865, and feudal structures lingered in parts of Europe too.

For the elites, that system was gold: they got free labor, total control, and a built-in social hierarchy where they ruled as mini-kings. Serfs paid taxes, worked the land, and could even be sold while their owners lived off the profits without any real responsibility.

Only in 1861 did Tsar Alexander II take decisive action and abolish serfdom. But even then, the elite ensured that:

• peasants had to buy their land at inflated prices

• the commune system and taxes kept them dependent

• and the best land remained in the hands of the nobility

The nobility sabotaged the reform, not wanting to lose control over the village, the source of their wealth.

Modern parallels: barons then, BlackRock and Pfizer now. Today, Americans are “free citizens,” but chained to debt, mortgages, student loans, and $50,000 medical bills. Back then it was the landlord. Today it’s BlackRock and Pfizer.

Alexander III: the Tsar of the Elite

Alexander III tightened the screws, halted reforms, and returned comfort to the aristocracy. In doing so, he helped cultivate a useless, self-indulgent, and ultimately treacherous elite that lived in luxury and decadence.

Much like the American elite today:

• They control the government

• Own the courts, parties, and universities

• They keep getting richer, and everyone else just falls further behind.

And if a leader dares challenge the system…well, we’ve all seen what happens.

Nicholas II: the last to push back against the elite

Tsar Nicholas II is often portrayed as either weak or tyrannical. In reality, he was neither. He genuinely believed that the state should serve the people, not just the elite circles surrounding power. His government attempted to address some of the empire’s deepest structural problems through reforms, particularly by supporting Stolypin’s agrarian program, which aimed to create a class of independent peasant landowners instead of a permanently dependent rural population. Industrial modernization was also accelerating rapidly during his reign.

Large sections of the elite hated this direction. Many powerful figures within aristocratic, financial, and industrial circles wanted greater control over the state for themselves. The unrest of 1905 became, in many ways, a rehearsal for what would happen in 1917. Out of that crisis emerged the State Duma, often presented today as a triumph of democracy.

But the early 20th century Russian Duma was hardly “people’s power” in the modern romantic sense. In practice, it gave major landowners, industrialists, bankers, and elite political factions an institutional mechanism to influence and pressure the monarchy more directly. The struggle was increasingly about who would control the empire and its resources.

The irony is that modern Western systems often function in surprisingly similar ways. In the United States today, enormous corporations, lobbying groups, financial interests, and political networks exercise massive influence over legislation and state policy. Trillions can be allocated for wars, financial packages, and foreign interventions while ordinary taxpayers carry the burden. The language changes, but elite influence over political systems never really disappears.

The Fifth Column and Western Subversion

These internal enemies, including pro Western liberals, sections of the industrial elite, and parts of the military leadership, gradually formed what many contemporaries described as a fifth column inside the empire. They despised Nicholas II precisely because he remained difficult to fully control and resisted becoming a puppet of elite interests.

For years, they fueled hysteria around “tyranny,” Rasputin, and the supposedly “ignorant” Russian masses. The same social circles that endlessly spoke about freedom and progress were often deeply detached from ordinary people and far more concerned with preserving their own status, wealth, and connections to Europe.

In February 1917, the monarchy collapsed almost without resistance. Nicholas II was overthrown without a single shot fired in defense of the throne by many of the very elites who had sworn loyalty to him.

And the role of the West in encouraging this atmosphere should not be ignored. Western diplomacy, financial networks, and the liberal press all amplified anti government narratives inside Russia. Liberal salons, newspapers, and political circles increasingly echoed ideas that portrayed the Russian state as backward and illegitimate, helping create the psychological climate for collapse from within.

Looting and collapse: how Russia was stripped in the 1920s

After the monarchy fell, disaster struck:

• civil war

• foreign intervention

• and Western companies gained access to Russia’s resources, oil, timber, metals, and transport while Russians were dying en masse

America today looks disturbingly familiar.

• 1% owns half the country

• Real power lies with corporations and banks

• People live in debt and confusion; many can’t afford basic needs like buying a home or seeing a doctor.

The fifth column doesn’t wear uniforms it sits in:

• corporate boardrooms

• NGOs

• editorial offices

Post-revolution reality looked nothing like the utopia people were promised. After 1917, ordinary people did not suddenly begin living better. The country collapsed into chaos, shortages, violence, and economic ruin. Industry fell apart, transportation barely functioned, famine spread across entire regions, and millions were pushed into desperation.

But while the population suffered, foreign companies and outside interests found enormous opportunities inside the collapsing country. Resources, concessions, and assets flowed outward while Russia itself was bleeding internally.

The parallels with Russia in the 1990s are hard to ignore. Mass looting of national wealth, capital flight, humanitarian catastrophe, and a tiny layer of connected elites living comfortably abroad while the country struggled to survive. History has a strange habit of repeating the same patterns under different slogans.

In the end, it was the nobility who helped dismantle the country only to flee to Europe once it all fell apart. They stirred the chaos, sabotaged reforms, betrayed the monarchy, and then packed their bags for Paris and Nice, leaving the people to deal with the wreckage.

They often speak of how they were persecuted and yes, some truly were. But let’s be honest: most of them didn’t defend the country when it mattered. They didn’t stand with the people, didn’t protect the monarchy they claimed to serve. Instead, they watched the collapse unfold, stayed silent or helped it along and then fled abroad to write memoirs about the Russia they themselves helped destroy.

In the ’90s, those who sold out the country and cashed in on the backs of naive people became the new rich, the so-called “New Russians.”Many of them moved to Europe, taking their money to London, the Riviera, and Switzerland, chasing status, safety, and Western comfort while the country descended into chaos.

But leaving wasn’t just about lifestyle, it was also about protecting and legitimizing what they had taken. Much of their wealth came from shady privatization schemes, asset stripping, and outright theft. And once the money landed in Western banks, few questions were asked. Offshore accounts, luxury property deals, and “golden visa” programs made it easy to launder stolen wealth and rebrand themselves as respectable international investors.

In both cases, 1917 and the 1990s, the pattern was strikingly similar. The country was brought to its knees from within, its resources stripped, its people abandoned, and its future sold off to the highest bidder while those responsible (or used by the bigger players) fled with full pockets and clean reputations.

In other words, Russia didn’t collapse in 1917 because it was backward. It collapsed because it was developing too fast surrounded by a parasitic elite and hostile foreign powers who knew exactly how to exploit the moment.

The Tsar tried to save it. But internal betrayal and external pressure sealed his fate and the fate of the country.

Churchill argued that the Soviet Union was expanding its sphere of influence and that peace required containing it through strength and the spread of democracy. He rejected a mere balance of power. The Western world, he insisted, had to be decisively stronger.

Yet in 1946, the Soviet Union was exhausted - devastated by war, without nuclear weapons. Churchill had already had British planners develop contingency scenarios like Operation Unthinkable. The idea behind it was a surprise attack by British and American forces on Soviet troops in Europe in order to push the Red Army out of Eastern Europe. The draft even discussed using rearmed German units against the Soviets only weeks after the defeat of Adolf Hitler. The plan was eventually abandoned because British planners concluded the Soviet army in Europe was simply too strong and the war might be lost.

Across the Atlantic, the United States was developing its own scenario. In late 1945 American strategists produced Operation Totality. It envisioned atomic strikes on major Soviet cities, including Moscow, Leningrad, Kiev and others. The only reason this plan remained theoretical was technical. The United States still had too few atomic bombs to carry out a large–scale nuclear campaign.

These plans took shape against the background of a sudden political shift in Washington. During the war, Franklin D. Roosevelt had maintained relatively constructive relations with Joseph Stalin. At the Yalta Conference Roosevelt acknowledged the enormous Soviet sacrifices in the war and even discussed the possibility of a large American credit to support Soviet postwar reconstruction. The idea was to build a longer-term partnership rather than a confrontation.

Roosevelt had spoken about postwar cooperation and reconstruction. Yet the underlying strategic thinking in the West had never fully disappeared. As early as 1941, future U.S. president Harry Truman had bluntly stated that if Germany appeared to be winning the war, Washington should help the Soviet Union, and if the Soviet Union appeared to be winning, it should help Germany. The goal was to prevent either side from dominating the continent.

After Roosevelt’s death in April 1945 the tone changed sharply under Harry S. Truman. The United States abruptly ended Lend-Lease deliveries, presented the USSR with a large financial bill for wartime supplies, and took a far more confrontational political line. At the Potsdam Conference Truman hinted to Stalin about the new atomic weapon in what many observers later described as an attempt at nuclear intimidation.

From Stalin’s perspective, the change was sudden enough to raise suspicions. Franklin D. Roosevelt, the only U.S. president ever elected to four terms, was widely associated with a cooperative approach toward the Soviet Union. After his death the political direction in Washington reversed within months. Some in the Soviet leadership concluded that the wartime understanding between Roosevelt and Stalin had effectively died with Roosevelt himself.

Churchill’s Fulton speech made the shift public. It was Churchill who called for consolidation, militarization, and an Anglo-American strategic core. The core idea was what is permissible for the West is not permissible for the East. He spoke of the “special relationship” between English-speaking peoples – no longer cooperation among equals, but leadership of the Anglo-American world.

It took Stalin a few days to read the speech and respond, but he called it what he saw – another attempt to present Western exclusivity as global security.

Churchill’s language about Anglo-American stewardship, Stalin argued, echoed a dangerous hierarchy - the idea that certain nations are uniquely destined to guide the world. Hitler had claimed German superiority and now Churchill spoke of English-speaking guardianship.

The war was already over, but the final verdict was yet to be made - the Nuremberg Trials were still underway and the Allies were prosecuting the Nazi together. Yet, Churchill makes it clear that there’s no alliance any longer - the world is divided into the good guys and the bad guys.

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Then the famous phrase came that ended one era and started another. Churchill said “an Iron Curtain has descended…”. He listed Warsaw, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Budapest - cities that he now described as lying behind a dividing line. But what did he fail to mention?

Berlin and Vienna were governed jointly by four powers. The Soviet Union held only one quarter of authority there. Many Eastern European states before the war had been openly hostile to Moscow. Twice in a generation, invasions had come through those territories. For the USSR, buffers meant survival, but Western policymakers ignored the Soviet security concerns.

Greece, the only beacon of democracy in Churchill’s words, had been bombed to hell by the Allies - as usual, without any military necessity and with a view to brutally suppressing leftist resistance fighters, replacing them with West-aligned Nazi collaborators.

Meanwhile, Churchill had already been promoting the idea of a “United States of Europe”. In Western Europe, communist parties were being sidelined in France, Italy, and elsewhere. The Truman Doctrine and Marshall Plan were taking shape.

So who drew the line first? Was it Stalin who never even wanted a divided Germany let alone the whole world? Or was it Churchill who could not stand the formerly fascist states quickly lean towards communism? Fascism is more manageable than communism, especially if you take it for granted that some peoples are better than others because of the language they speak.

Nine days later Stalin answered. He returns to the same audience Churchill invoked at the beginning - the ordinary people, the workers, the millions who had just endured total war. And he answers with a warning:

“I do not know whether Mr. Churchill and his friends will succeed in organizing, after the Second World War, a new campaign against “Eastern Europe.” But if they do succeed - which is unlikely, for millions of “cottage men” stand guard over the cause of peace - one can say with confidence that they will be beaten just as they were beaten in the past, twenty-six years ago.”

From that moment on, the wartime alliance was gone. In its place stood a divided world: on one side, the self-appointed masters of the world, for whom everything is permitted. On the other side, the inconvenient ones — the ones against whom that power is meant to be used.

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Most accounts of Hitler’s rise to power in 1933 explain it primarily through internal German factors: economic depression, social fragmentation, and the punitive consequences of the Treaty of Versailles. While these conditions mattered, they do not provide a complete explanation.

Hitler’s ascent was also shaped by international financial, political, and social networks that formed well before he took power. Transatlantic elites in Germany, Britain, and the United States observed, evaluated, and in some cases facilitated his rise from an early stage.

To understand how a marginal political figure was able to transform into the leader of a state that would soon plunge the world into the deadliest conflict in human history, it is therefore necessary to examine who supported him at the beginning of his career.

In November of 1922, Captain Truman Smith of the United States Army, who at the time was an Assistant Military Attaché in Berlin, visited Munich and met Adolf Hitler for the first time. Hitler’s ability as an orator had such a profound effect on Captain Smith that he believed Hitler would be a significant political leader in Germany. Smith filed a report with Washington, describing Hitler as a “marvelous demagogue” and stated that Hitler could influence large crowds [1].

Through Smith’s visit, Hitler gained a contact that would change the course of his career. Ernst “Putzi” Hanfstaengl, a Harvard-educated cosmopolitan of German and American descent, was invited to attend a Nazi rally [2]. Hanfstaengl was impressed by Hitler’s charisma and potential. He soon became one of Hitler’s close confidants, helping financially and refining his public image. Not only did Hanfstaengl finance the Nazi newspaper Völkischer Beobachter in 1923, but he also introduced Hitler to high-society circles and, as he later claimed, arranged a meeting with Winston Churchill in 1932 [3]. Hanfstaengl also stated that he helped Hitler put on the Nazi rallies in a much more theatrical way, including using cheers similar to those used at Harvard University football games; developing fanfares to music based on the football song tradition at Harvard University; and popularizing the use of the phrase “Sieg Heil,” as well as assisting Hitler in learning how to create propaganda for the Nazi party [4].

Later, Hanfstaengl fell out with the Nazi inner circle and fled Germany. By 1942 he was in U.S. custody, working on President Roosevelt’s “S-Project”, where he provided intelligence on Nazi leaders and contributed to an OSS psychological profile of Hitler.

Right from the start, ties formed a key part in how Hitler climbed up — far from being solely homegrown. From the beginning, his ascent was observed — and at times quietly abetted — by transatlantic figures who recognized his potential long before he seized power.

Some question how much Western money backed Hitler’s rise. Dr. Yuri Rubtsov, a military historian, argues that Hitler “didn’t start World War II on credit from Berlin; the tab was picked up by the U.S. Federal Reserve and the Bank of England.” According to Rubtsov, American and British financial strategists pursued a clear objective: to gain control of Germany’s monetary system—because whoever controls the money controls the state—and, through Germany, to reshape Central Europe.

While Western authors often label such assessments “polemical,” the underlying evidence aligns with documented financial history. From 1919 onward, U.S. and U.K. banks, led by firms such as J. P. Morgan & Co. and the Bank of England, systematically reorganized German reparations and debts under the Dawes and Young Plans. These measures not only stabilized the Reichsmark but also tightened Anglo-American leverage over German industry and credit flows—a dynamic well recognized in both Western and Russian scholarship [5].

Establishing the Framework for U.S. Financial Influence

From 1919 to 1924, the United States quietly prepared the conditions for a massive inflow of American capital into Germany [6]. After the U.S. formally entered WWI, it loaned over $8.8 billion to the Allies—mostly Britain and France [7]. By 1921, America was owed more than $11 billion in war debt [8]. The Allies, however, were cash-strapped and struggling to pay. Their solution was to turn to Germany – the defeated foe – and extract crushing reparations to service the Allied debt [9]. In 1921, the reparations bill was fixed at 132 billion gold marks (about $31.5 billion) [10], far beyond Germany’s capacity. When Germany defaulted on deliveries in early 1923, France and Belgium sent tens of thousands troops to occupy the Ruhr – Germany’s industrial heartland – as “collateral” for unpaid reparations [11].

The Ruhr was the heart of Germany’s coal and steel industry. Right before the occupation, it produced about three quarters of the country’s coal and more than half of its steel, so losing it was a devastating blow [12]. The occupying forces took control of mines, railways, and factories, provoking fury across Germany. The German government declared a campaign of passive resistance: workers went on strike en masse, factories and railways ground to a halt, and even civil servants refused to follow orders from the occupiers.

Tensions soon escalated. On March 31, 1923, French soldiers opened fire on German workers protesting at the Krupp steel plant in Essen, killing about a dozen people and wounding many others [13]. A few weeks later, a nationalist ex-officer, Albert Leo Schlageter, carried out acts of sabotage against French rail lines. He was captured and executed by firing squad in May 1923, becoming a martyr for German ultranationalists.

French Overreach and Anglo-American Opportunism

The actions of France and the policy of Premier Raymond Poincaré (Prime Minister of France) to cut the Ruhr and Rhine regions off from Germany, just as France had done with the Saar mines, caused widespread concern [14]. British political leaders believed that Poincaré’s policy would effectively “detach German territory from Germany” and create an irrevocable division of the country.

In response to Poincaré’s decision to occupy the Ruhr, Britain flatly refused to support France in this endeavor. In reality, American and British leaders viewed France’s misstep(s) with quiet approval. As U.S. Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes noted in early 1923, it was wise for America to “wait for Europe to grow up so we can accept the American proposal” for financial help in resolving the matter.

The steps France took unknowingly provided a favorable position to U.S.-British interests at a future time. The Ruhr occupation ultimately turned out to be very damaging economically to France — draining both France’s treasury and causing international goodwill to erode — and by the end of 1923, Paris was seeking a way to save face and withdraw from the Ruhr occupation. At that point, Wall Street came forward with a “rescue plan” for Germany, but only on Wall Street’s terms.

As the Ruhr crisis continued to escalate, Germany’s economy rapidly fell apart. Because Germany could no longer afford to make reparations payments to France, and because Germany had to continue funding its passive resistance, the Weimar government began issuing large amounts of new money, and thus began the hyperinflation of 1923. Prices rose exponentially fast. By late November 1923, one United States dollar was valued at approximately 4.2 trillion German marks, and essentially, the value of the German mark was negligible. All savings were destroyed, wages lost value within hours, and the economy came to a near complete halt until the crisis was resolved in mid-November with the establishment of the Rentenmark — a new currency that provided temporary relief. [15]

Wall Street Rescues Germany – and Takes Control

With strong backing from Washington, an international committee led by American banker Charles G. Dawes put together a plan to stabilize Germany’s economy and reorganize its reparation payments. The resulting Dawes Plan (1924) was presented as a humanitarian rescue package, but in reality it amounted to a financial takeover of Germany’s economy [16].

The groundwork for the plan had been forming since the early 1920s, when German bankers such as Hjalmar Schacht argued that reparations must be revised and foreign capital attracted to restart production. Appointed President of the Reichsbank in December 1923, Schacht quickly became the key German representative in the international negotiations that followed. Though not formally part of the Dawes Committee, Bank of England Governor Montagu Norman played a decisive behind-the-scenes role. His personal friendship and professional alliance with Schacht helped to secure British and American confidence in Germany’s stabilization effort. Working alongside J. P. Morgan & Co., Norman kept a tight schedule, where Morgan Jr., at the helm of the firm, took on key roles across America—guiding how funds from the Dawes agreements moved primarily via British-controlled banks.

John Foster Dulles, who was then a Wall Street attorney and U.S. Delegation legal counsel, also had a significant part in defining how Western countries could handle the flow of money after World War II. He was involved with the development of the legal and economic framework that was developed for German reparations at the 1919 Paris Peace Conference. In addition to influencing the flow of capital, debts and credits for many years, the structures he designed were a basis for policy-making related to the Dawes and Young Plans [17].

These frameworks were not independent; They required private banking networks that could enforce their use across borders and throughout financial systems. The Warburg family is considered among the most powerful banking families in the world. On both sides of the Atlantic, they were represented by two brothers, Paul (a co-founder of the Federal Reserve System in America) and Max Warburg (the head of M.M. Warburg & Co., an investment firm located in Hamburg). Max Warburg advised successive Weimar government administrations on finance.

The Warburgs had a significant presence within the circles of power in both Europe and North America. Max Warburg operated internally within Germany’s stabilization apparatus and interacted with international creditors. Paul Warburg was situated in the U.S. financial world and associated with Morgan era financing; he therefore had an impact on the political and economic climate in the U.S. which would allow for massive scale lending to be feasible.

However, there was no “win-win” in this case. Germany received short-term stabilization but at the cost of long term dependency. The Dawes plan placed creditor priority above all else, and then presented it as the basis for reconstruction. All of the oversight and enforcement mechanisms under the Dawes plan were controlled by Anglo-Americans, who included individuals from the same social network as J.P. Morgan (i.e., Morgan associates) in some of the most important positions. For example, Owen D. Young, a Morgan associate, was one of the principals of the Dawes Plan. Additionally, S. Parker Gilbert, another individual who was part of that social network, was appointed as the Agent General for Reparations.

Schacht had long-standing ties with Max Warburg [14]. During the Weimar years, Warburg held a seat on the General Council of the Reichsbank from 1924 to 1933, serving during Hjalmar Schacht’s presidency. In this capacity, Warburg was closely involved in currency stabilization and foreign loan negotiations, operating within the same transnational financial networks that linked the Reichsbank to Anglo-American banking interests, particularly those associated with the Morgan group. From the late 1920s onward, Warburg also increasingly aligned himself with Zionist financial and organizational initiatives, reflecting a parallel engagement with projects that combined capital transfer, state-building, and international finance [42].

When the Dawes Plan was being designed, both Warburg brothers’ networks played decisive roles. The plan’s framework passed through bankers like Morgan, Dawes, and Schacht—but behind them stood long-established Warburg connections linking Hamburg, New York, and London. Through these channels, Wall Street gained control of Germany’s credit, currency, and industrial investment under the guise of “reconstruction.”

The Dawes Plan cut Germany’s reparations in half, but its real goal was to make Germany safe for U.S. investment. It included a $200 million loan—half from Morgan’s bank—in exchange for deep Anglo-American control over Germany’s currency, budget, and credit system [15]. Germany’s reparations gold didn’t stay in Europe; it made a round trip through Wall Street.

The gold Germany paid as reparations was quickly sold, pawned, or transferred to the U.S., where it was repackaged as “financial aid” under the Dawes Plan and sent back to Germany. Germany then passed it to Britain and France, who used it to pay off their war debts to the U.S. The U.S., now earning interest, would then re-lend it to Germany again.

The loan cycle was a vicious one and Germany was literally operating solely on borrowed money. Everybody knew if Wall Street cut off the flow of money to Germany it would be in ruins. In order to repay the loans, Germany gave up shares of many of its top companies to American investors.

In this way, U.S. capital quickly became an integral part of the German economy. By the end of the decade, Germany had become the second-largest industrial power in the world—but much of that industrial base was now in the hands of American financial and corporate elites.

By 1929, the Young Plan had replaced the Dawes Plan, tightening foreign control over Germany’s finances under the same Anglo-American supervision. Drafted by a committee led by Owen D. Young, founder of Radio Corporation of America (RCA) and associate of J.P. Morgan, it extended Germany’s reparations schedule and reaffirmed the role of private U.S. banks in managing payments through the newly established Bank for International Settlements. In essence, the Young Plan transformed the Dawes “rescue” into a permanent financial occupation—one that bound Germany’s economy to Wall Street and London just as the global crash approached.

Oil, Industry, and the Limits of Financial Control

By the end of the 1920s, control over Germany no longer relied only on credit and reparations. Financial leverage had expanded into currency management, sovereign debt, and direct ownership of industrial assets. At that point, the issue was no longer whether Germany could borrow, but whether its economy could physically function. Credit alone could not restart factories, move railways, or sustain heavy industry. Industrial recovery required secure access to strategic raw materials, above all energy. This was the moment when financial control translated into control over production itself.

That shift brought finance directly into the realm of resources. Oil became decisive. One of the clearest examples was Henri Deterding, a Dutch national and head of Royal Dutch Shell, an Anglo-Dutch corporation deeply embedded in Britain’s economic and political elite.

Deterding spent much of his time in Britain and maintained close ties with British power circles. By the interwar period, he had become one of the most influential energy figures in the world. A committed anti-Bolshevik, Deterding viewed Hitler as a necessary instrument for restoring order in Germany and blocking Soviet expansion [18]. His support was driven by strategic calculation rather than ideological affinity. Through Shell’s networks and his own political influence, Deterding helped ensure that German industry retained access to its industrial lifeblood at a moment when financial pressure alone could have brought it to a halt.

This shows an important omission from most of the mainstream histories about Hitler: the international support for Hitler did not stop with either banking or diplomatic support; it included the control of all the raw materials that would be required to recover Germany’s industrial base and create the ability to wage future wars. By the early 1930s, Hitler’s rise was supported by domestic forces, and the more abstract concept of credit alone; but also by a larger and more globalized convergence of finance and industrial interests that were willing to risk their bets on him as a tool of geopolitics.

These industrial and resource networks were not separate from one another; they merged through a central person that was able to integrate Germany back into the international finance arena at the same time as integrating it politically. Hjalmar Schacht as Germany’s connection to the dominant international banking network run by J.P. Morgan & Company and the Bank of England under Montagu Norman, with whom he maintained a long personal and professional relationship through the Bank for International Settlements [16]. Starting in 1931, Hjalmar Schacht joined the Harzburg Front, a bloc of nationalist and conservative elites. As he moved closer to Hitler’s movement, he helped funnel industrial money into the Nazi campaign through the Nationale Treuhand account he controlled [17].

Triggering a Financial Collapse to Pave the Way for Hitler’s Rise

When the Wall Street crash occurred in October 1929, American banks faced liquidity pressure at home and immediately recalled foreign loans to stabilize their own balance sheets. Germany, as the largest foreign debtor, was hit first and hardest. Once U.S. lending slowed and then stopped, German banks lost access to rollover credit. Depositors began withdrawing funds. International investors followed.

The U.S. Federal Reserve and Morgan’s bank abruptly cut off lending to Germany, triggering a financial collapse [20]. German production capacity remained, but the economy could no longer refinance itself.

British policy compounded the crisis. In 1931, Britain abandoned the gold standard, forcing an international monetary realignment. This move protected British finances but cut Germany off from stable currency anchors and access to foreign exchange. What remained of Germany’s financial oxygen was removed.

The economic collapse of 1931–1932 destroyed the remaining foundations of Germany’s political and financial order. Under these conditions, political elites did not seek to create a new ideologue or vision for the future; they wanted a figure who could restore stability, control the volatility of the time and stabilize a collapsing system. After being appointed chancellor in January 1933, Adolf Hitler inherited a system that was already operating under authoritarian controls established by conservative elites. Suspension of parliamentary authority, censorship, bans on other political parties and rule by emergency decrees were all already in existence. Liberal democratic principles of government had already been abandoned in practice. Thus, when Adolf Hitler became the leader of Germany, it was not to establish an authoritarian system, but to operate one that already existed, applying it in accordance with objectives defined by those who had put it in place. He was therefore elevated within this framework as a perceived solution to widespread instability and social breakdown. This causal connection was later acknowledged in the testimony of Hjalmar Schacht [19].

On January 4, 1933, a pivotal meeting took place at the Cologne home of banker Kurt von Schröder. Present were Hitler and Franz von Papen, then Vice Chancellor of the Weimar Republic. The meeting cleared Hitler’s path to power. Within weeks, on January 30, he was appointed Chancellor, with Papen as his deputy [21].

Schacht worked behind-the-scenes, to build alliances with Hitler’s movement by helping to financially support him through people such as Fritz Thyssen, and companies such as IG Farben, especially after the Nazis got an electoral foothold in 1930. Schacht also helped to link the big business with the Nazi party at a time when Germany was recovering from the economic collapse of 1929.

IG Farben became one of the largest industrial conglomerations in Europe by the late 1930s, and played a key part in the development of the German military-industrial complex. While it has been argued that the exact degree of American influence over the German banking system is unclear, it is agreed upon that the global finance industry (including both the United States and Great Britain) had a significant role in the construction of the German economy, and ultimately enabled the emergence of the Nazi government.

By the end of spring of 1933, while still heading up Germany’s central bank, Hjalmar Schacht made a visit to America. Only a few months had elapsed since Adolf Hitler came to national power as Germany’s leader. During this visit he met with President Franklin D. Roosevelt, United States Treasury Secretary William H. Woodin, and high-ranking individuals on Wall Street, including executives of both J. P. Morgan & Co., and Kuhn, Loeb & Co. [22] The stated reason for the visit was to “reassure international investors”, but the true reason was to obtain assurances from American finance that would continue to support the new German regime.

Schacht’s visit resulted in no formal agreement being published which is consistent with what typically occurred with high level diplomatic finance at that time; however, his visit can be interpreted by looking at official meetings he attended, what he later said about his visit and what policies came into effect as a result of the meetings. The focus of Schacht’s visits centered around stabilizing the value of the German currency, providing foreign capital with access to Germany, and assuring American investors that their investments would remain safe under the new German government. This visit represented the transition from the economic disaster that led to Hitler gaining national power to the acceptance of the new Nazi regime in the Western capitalist world. It also represented the start of a plan to incorporate the Third Reich into the same transnational financial network that created it.

Financial Cooperation and the Road to War

After 1933, international capital remained engaged. Western corporations and banks continued to work with Hitler’s government, sustaining the economic machinery of the Third Reich as it prepared for war. Foreign investment — whether in the form of money, energy, technology, or know-how — flowed directly into the sectors of the German economy that were critical to the development of Hitler’s war machine.

In effect, these foreign investments created the conditions for Nazi Germany’s rearmament. The rapid expansion of Nazi Germany’s military capabilities was therefore not accidental; it was the direct outcome of foreign capital financing rearmament, combined with the transfer of technologies that enabled large-scale war production. The Nazi war machine was already being developed prior to 1939, and that development involved the active participation of foreign nations and their corporations.

1. IG Farben and the Industrial Nexus
IG Farben was an industrial conglomerate that produced many goods for the Nazi economy in Germany. Executives from the company met with other industrialists on February 20, 1933, and agreed to give Hitler large amounts of money for his political campaign [23]. IG Farben received a great deal of business from the government as a result of this agreement; including the development of new types of synthetic fuels, synthetic rubber, and chemicals, which were all important to rearming Germany.

2. Standard Oil, Royal Dutch Shell, and the Transatlantic Energy Axis
Standard Oil, run by the Rockefeller network, had close ties to IG Farben both technically and commercially, before and after the Nazi party came into power. The companies used patent-sharing and joint-venture agreements to develop synthetic-fuels for Germany’s industrial and military needs.

It is important to note that this energy network was not based on American capital only. Royal Dutch Shell, an Anglo-Dutch company, embedded deep within British society, also provided Germany with access to oil and energy resources throughout the interwar period. As the head of Shell, Henri Deterding allowed Shell to be a “stabilizing factor” in Germany’s industry, at a time when the pressure from the financial crisis would have otherwise led to the collapse of the entire system.

These two systems worked together to ensure that Germany’s industrial base continued to receive access to fuel, technology, and raw materials while its financial position was precarious.

3. U.S. Corporate Involvement
Companies like General Motors, ITT, and Ford were able to maintain their operations inside of Germany throughout the 1930s and profit off of the Nazi economic recovery. The Wehrmacht was supplied with vehicles by Opel (a part of GM) and Ford’s operation in Germany contributed to the war effort. Businesses still earned money off of their operations inside of Germany after Hitler took over [24].

By 1941, total U.S. investments in Nazi Germany were estimated at over $475 million:

• Standard Oil – $120 million [25]

• General Motors – $35 million [26]

• ITT Corporation – $30 million [27]

• Ford Motor Company – $17.5 million [28]

4. The American–German Industrial Web
In 1929, The American IG Chemical Corp. was established as the U.S. affiliate of the German IG Farben to provide for continuous interaction between German industrialists and American financiers. General Electric had an interest in A.E.G., the Allgemeine Elektricitätsgesellschaft (General Electric Company), and ITT owned interests in German telecommunications companies and in Focke-Wulf, the German aircraft manufacturers [31]. From 1932 to 1939, GM invested approximately $30 million into German-based manufacturing sectors, generally through joint ventures with IG Farben [32].

5. Ford’s German Subsidiary, Volkswagen, and Ideological Sympathies
While Ford’s German subsidiary continued to be active through the entire 1930s, supporting growth of the industrial sector, Ford himself had written, spoken publicly about his sympathy with the ideology of the National Socialist (Nazi) movement - a fact that is documented [33], although an uncomfortable one.

6. The Anglo-German Transfer Agreement and MEFO Bills
In the summer of 1934 the state of Anglo-German relations in terms of trade had undergone considerable improvement under the terms of the Anglo-German Transfer Agreement. At that time, the Schröder Bank was acting on behalf of the banking interests of Germany in London. In addition, by the summer of 1934, Hjalmar Schacht, who was also serving concurrently as both the German Minister of Economics and the President of the Reichsbank, prepared a confidential document titled “The State of War Mobilization,” concerning the secret war plans of Germany for the next conflict [35].

To secretly finance its military re-armament, Schacht developed a scheme using “MEFO Bills.” These were off-budget promissory notes that were being used by a shell company, called MEFO GmbH. This allowed the government of Germany to fund the military without having the expenses reflected on their accounting statements. The spending could be hidden from view since no record existed that indicated anything different than what appeared.

7. The Bank for International Settlements: The Financial Bridge
One of the primary instruments for maintaining transatlantic financial coordination was the Bank for International Settlements (BIS), established in 1930 in Basel under the terms of the Young Plan [36]. Formally created to manage German reparations payments, the BIS quickly evolved into a hub for informal coordination among central banks, including those of Germany, Britain, and the United States.

Max Warburg represented the Reichsbank on the BIS Board of Directors, while Bank of England Governor Montagu Norman served as Britain’s principal representative. Although American private banks did not formally hold seats on the BIS board, U.S. financial interests, particularly those associated with J.P. Morgan & Co., were deeply intertwined with BIS operations through reparations management, international lending, and continuous informal coordination with European central bankers.

As political tensions intensified during the early 1930s, the BIS functioned as a neutral institutional space where relationships between national financial systems remained intact, allowing cooperation to persist above political and ideological divisions.

Zionist–Nazi Economic Cooperation: The Haavara Agreement

While cooperating with Anglo-American banks and corporations, Nazi Germany also entered into a formal economic partnership with Zionist organizations, institutionalized through the Haavara Agreement signed in August 1933 [37].

The agreement was made between the German government, the Zionist Federation of Germany, and the Anglo-Palestine Bank, which acted as the banking institution of the Jewish Agency under the British Mandate in Palestine. The purported objective was for the emigration of German Jews to Palestine while permitting a portion of their assets to be transferred outside of Germany where capital controls existed on an asset level.

The mechanism was clearly commercial; German Jews would deposit heir private assets in Reichsmarks into designated German Banks. Those funds were then utilized to acquire German industrial and agricultural goods that would be sent to Mandate Palestine. Upon sale within Palestine, the proceeds from those sales would be placed into the accounts of the emigrants in local currency [38].

For Germany, the Haavara Agreement worked as a state-approved export mechanism, bringing in foreign currency at a time of serious balance-of-payments strain and helping reduce the impact of the international anti-Nazi boycott launched in 1933. For the Zionist organizations, the agreement provided them with the necessary capital, equipment and tens of thousands of highly trained and skilled immigrant workers needed to develop the economy of the future state of Israel.

Crucially, not everyone was eligible to immigrate to Palestine.

Palestine was administered under the British Mandate, and immigration was strictly controlled by British authorities through a rigid quota system. Entry was determined almost exclusively by economic and administrative criteria, not humanitarian ones.

Most entry visas were granted to:

• individuals capable of investing or transferring capital to establish themselves in Palestine’s economy with at least £1,000 (approximately $100,000 – 120,000 today) [39]

• skilled professionals, such as engineers, medical doctors, agronomists, and technicians

• a limited number of young settlers to be sent to agricultural settlements, subject to quotas [40]

This framework inherently favored German Jews. On average, they were more educated, more urbanized, and possessed greater financial resources than their Eastern European counterparts. Many were therefore able to demonstrate the financial independence required by British authorities, particularly through the Haavara mechanism.

Polish Jewry, by contrast, found migration to Palestine nearly impossible. During the interwar period, the majority of Poland’s Jewish population lived in deep poverty and lacked both the capital and professional credentials demanded by the Mandate’s immigration regulations. Admission depended on economic self-sufficiency, technical expertise, and demonstrable usefulness to the colonial economy.

In practice, the system operated not as a humanitarian refuge but as a selective economic filter, admitting those who could generate capital while excluding those who could not.

By 1939, approximately sixty thousand German Jews had immigrated to Palestine, transferring an estimated 100 million Reichsmarks in assets (roughly $6 billion today). At the same time, Germany had become Palestine’s largest trading partner, underscoring the fundamentally economic character of this migration framework [38].

Money flowed into the Haavara Agreement (Haavara Scheme), utilizing channels established by Britain’s Imperial Economy. As Palestine was under British Mandate, all movement related to goods moving from Germany on ships, insurance for such movements, registering new settlers in colonies and currency exchange moved directly to firms in London, England. The approval process was also handled by banks acting as a part of the United Kingdom. Firms in London would insure against risk of loss when shipping goods from Germany globally.

At the same time, Zionist money operations had close ties to Wall Street, which brought in large sums of money, supported various projects in Palestine, as they channeled those funds through Jewish organizations in the United States [41] to create a Triangular Financial Corridor:

• Germany received revenue on exports, as well as foreign currency assistance.

• Zionist institutions received capital, settlers, and industrial equipment.

• British and American financial centers, primarily London and New York, handled clearing, insurance, shipping finance, and currency conversion.

The Young Plan, Bank for International Settlements operations, and corporate-industrial collaboration, just like the Dawes Plan, were not constrained by ideology. They were constrained by finance. What ultimately mattered were financial priorities: the construction of a new international financial structure and the groundwork for a new state in the Middle East. Ideology functioned as a secondary layer. Financial structure was decisive.

By the end of the 1930s, the foundations of a new world war had already been laid—not by ideology alone, but through coordinated financial and industrial cooperation that reached across the Atlantic.

Today in the west there has been a long-standing endeavor to revise the origin of World War II, depicting it as an epic battle of democracy versus tyranny while obliterating the role of elite Anglo-American leaders who provided financial backing for; traded with; and legitimacy for the Nazi Regime.

In reality, the road to war was paved not only by the ambitions of Berlin, but also by the profits of London and Wall Street. Those very same entities that financially backed the rise of Hitler would present themselves as the architects of peace.

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3. Annual Report of the Secretary of the Treasury (1921). https://archive.org/details/annualreportofse1921unit/page/n5/mode/2up

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6. ibid

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The political situations surrounding Nicholas II, the last Russian tsar, and Nicolás Maduro are strikingly similar. In both cases, the key factor is the betrayal of the ruling elite acting in its own interests.

The year 1917 is often presented as the result of a popular uprising or Bolshevik activity. In reality, at the moment of Nicholas II’s abdication, Lenin and Trotsky were still living in Europe and the United States and would return to Russia only about month and a half later.

Nicholas II was not overthrown by the people. The population as a whole did not demand the abolition of the monarchy. He was betrayed by his own upper circles: generals, liberal leaders of the State Duma, and high society. In essence, February 1917 was an elite coup [1]. The state lost its supreme authority not due to pressure from below, but because the ruling circles decided that this form of statehood no longer served their interests.

It is important to note that the formation of elite worldviews did not occur in a vacuum. The State Duma itself was created during the First Russian Revolution of 1905, which coincided with significant financial and political pressure on the Russian Empire, including the well-documented role of American banker Jacob Schiff in financing Japan during the Russo-Japanese War [2]. In addition, many members of the Russian elite openly belonged to Masonic lodges [3].

In tsarist Russia, the elites were dissatisfied with the strengthening of the peasantry as property owners. As a result, landowners and liberal elites were losing control over the countryside and over the emergence of an independent social stratum that did not fit into established systems of influence [4]. At the same time, the Russian state was increasing control over key industries, which conflicted with the interests of banking and commercial-industrial circles oriented toward Western markets.

It is also important to emphasize that elites are often transnational. The elites of a country frequently live outside it: they hold investments abroad, have financial interests dependent on geopolitical relations, and show little real interest in improving the lives of the population from which they derive their income.

A very similar process can be observed in the case of Maduro [5]. The Venezuelan elite largely lives outside the country; their money and families are located in the West. For these elites, the state itself is not a value. It is merely a territory that can be either exploited for profit or transferred to an external actor on favorable terms.

At the same time, both Nicholas II and Maduro enjoyed support from below, largely because both understood a simple but fundamental principle: the masses must be fed, and that requires resources. Control over resources is precisely what makes such governments irreconcilable to external centers of power, which already have their own plans for exploiting those resources.

In 1917, the elite seized power but made no attempt to save the country, since the state itself, and even more so its people, had never been central to its interests. In Venezuela, the attempt to return a pro-Western elite appears as a bid for the same scenario: redistribution of property, collapse of social mechanisms, civil war, millions of refugees, and the concentration of capital in the hands of a narrow group.

This model of elite-driven collapse, however, is not unique to Nicholas II or Maduro. Variations of it can be seen in the period of Ivan the Terrible and in the collapse of the Soviet Union. It is not limited by time or geography. For this reason, understanding the role of elites, which is often underreported in discussions of politics and geopolitics, is essential. History provides a key to understanding these recurring processes.

Footnotes:

1 – For the elite-driven nature of Nicholas II’s abdication and the decisive role played by military and parliamentary elites, see the contemporaneous telegrams and correspondence of the Stavka leadership, including M. V. Alekseyev and N. V. Ruzsky (Russian State Military-Historical Archive); memoirs and diaries of key political figures such as M. V. Rodzianko, The Collapse of the Empire, and A. I. Guchkov; the abdication act of Nicholas II and the manifesto of Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich; as well as scholarly analyses in Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy: The Russian Revolution 1891–1924 (London: Penguin, 1996); Dominic Lieven, Nicholas II: Emperor of All the Russias (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993); Richard Pipes, The Russian Revolution (New York: Knopf, 1990); and Alexander Rabinowitch, The Bolsheviks Come to Power (New York: W. W. Norton, 1976), all of which emphasize the absence of a mass-driven overthrow and the central role of elite decisions in February 1917.

2 – For Jacob Schiff’s role in weakening the Russian Empire during the Russo-Japanese War and his openly stated opposition to the tsarist regime, see Cyrus Adler, Jacob H. Schiff: His Life and Letters (New York: Doubleday, 1928); Naomi W. Cohen, Jacob H. Schiff: A Study in American Jewish Leadership (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 1999). While no direct documentary evidence shows Schiff financing the 1905 Revolution itself, multiple historians note that his organization of Japanese war loans and support for anti-autocratic pressures materially contributed to the political and economic conditions that culminated in the Revolution of 1905.

3 – On the presence of Freemasonry among segments of the late imperial Russian elite and its function as a transnational political network, see Boris Nikolaevsky, Russian Masonry and the Revolution (Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1955); as well as materials of the Russian Imperial Police and Department of Security preserved in the Russian State Historical Archive (RGIA) and the Hoover Institution Archives. Contemporary memoirs of liberal politicians and Duma deputies further confirm the role of Masonic lodges as informal spaces of political coordination rather than secret revolutionary command centers.

4 – On elite opposition to the emergence of an independent peasant proprietor class and the loss of traditional control over the countryside, see Teodor Shanin, The Awkward Class: Political Sociology of Peasantry in a Developing Society (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972); Peter Gatrell, Russia’s First World War: A Social and Economic History (Harlow: Pearson, 2005); and the stenographic records of the State Duma debates on agrarian reform, 1906–1911, which document landowner and liberal concerns over the political consequences of peasant landownership.

5 - Tsargrad, “Predatelʹstvo elit sneslo Maduro za 30 minut: Urok dlia russkikh. Diversiia gotovitsia tam, gde ne zhdali” [“Elite Betrayal Brought Down Maduro in 30 Minutes: A Lesson for Russians. Sabotage Is Prepared Where Least Expected”], Tsargrad, January 3, 2026, https://tsargrad.tv/articles/predatelstvo-jelit-sneslo-maduro-za-30-minut-urok-dlja-russkih-diversija-gotovitsja-tam-gde-ne-zhdali_1507282.

Is the contemporary international order entering a phase in which power alone determines rules and norms? If so, when did this transformation occur? Was it a recent development, a phenomenon of the last political cycle, or the result of longer intellectual processes extending over several decades?

This worldview is not without a name. It is commonly referred to as postmodernism. While the term is most frequently associated with developments in art, architecture, and cultural theory, it has also functioned as a broader intellectual framework. Within Western academic and political environments, postmodernism has long shaped approaches to knowledge, truth, and authority [1].

In broad terms, postmodernism emerged in the 1970s. As it entered the intellectual mainstream, one of its most influential claims was the rejection of objective truth as a stable and universal category. In its place, emphasis was placed on power relations. According to this interpretation, truth is not discovered through inquiry but produced within structures of dominance, whether cultural, political, or discursive [1].

Any serious engagement with this intellectual shift inevitably leads to the work of Michel Foucault. At this point, an important clarification is required. Foucault himself did not argue that truth does not exist. His scholarship was concerned with the ways societies produce, organize, and legitimize knowledge. He examined institutions such as prisons, hospitals, psychiatric systems, sexuality, and education in order to understand how certain statements come to be recognized as true within specific historical contexts [2][3][4]. His central analytical concept was not the absence of truth, but what he termed regimes of truth [2].

By regimes of truth, Foucault referred to the institutional and social mechanisms through which societies determine which statements qualify as knowledge, who is authorized to speak, which methods are considered legitimate, and how truth claims are circulated and enforced [2]. His approach was descriptive rather than normative. He sought to analyze power relations, not to endorse them.

However, as these ideas migrated beyond their original philosophical context, they were increasingly simplified. Historically grounded analysis was reduced to formulaic conclusions. The distinction between examining how truth functions and denying the existence of truth altogether gradually disappeared. In this process, complex theoretical insights were transformed into ideological slogans, a development sharply criticized by several philosophers working within the modern tradition [5].

As postmodernism became more widely adopted, it was no longer rigorously anchored in classical philosophical traditions. Instead, it functioned as an instrumental reading of theory, adapted to immediate cultural and political needs. At this stage, philosophy ceased to be a method of inquiry and became an ideological framework [5][6].

Shifts in ideology are typically reflected first in educational systems. During the 1960s and 1970s, the humanities within Western universities underwent substantial transformation. New disciplines emerged, including gender studies and media studies. Within curriculum theory itself, knowledge increasingly came to be understood as socially constructed and inseparable from power relations, rather than as a neutral reflection of objective reality [7]. In many academic contexts, this shift redirected emphasis away from truth as an epistemic goal toward discourse, identity, and power [1][6]. Gradually, responsibility toward truth weakened as a normative principle.

As a result, a conceptual substitution occurred. Knowledge came to be defined as entirely historical and context-dependent. If truth lacks objective status, then control over discourse becomes decisive. Under such conditions, empirical evidence loses priority, and assertion increasingly replaces demonstration, particularly within disciplines that lack strict verification criteria [6][8].

This dynamic is especially pronounced in the humanities, which are inherently less subject to empirical verification than the natural sciences. This structural feature creates space for extensive reinterpretation. Within such a framework, nearly any claim can be reconstructed or reframed, while methodological standards are lowered to the point where proof becomes optional and assertion sufficient [6].

For many observers, this position appears intellectually untenable. This assessment is not uncommon. Importantly, however, this framework is not merely theoretical. I encountered it directly in an academic setting during a conversation with a professor at New York University, where this argument was articulated explicitly. Notably, the professor was not affiliated with the humanities. This distinction matters, as even within the United States, scholars working in established humanistic disciplines often continue to distinguish between ideology and scientific inquiry [5][6].

Nevertheless, when considered within this broader intellectual environment, it becomes easier to understand how many Western intellectuals and political actors have been educated, or at least intellectually shaped, within this paradigm. It is a paradigm in which truth is relativized, power is elevated, and force acquires moral justification. Such an intellectual background inevitably influences political reasoning and decision-making [9].

When turning to geopolitics, where distinct civilizations, ideologies, and mentalities interact and conflict, this context becomes especially relevant. This is particularly true when analyzing contemporary Western hostility toward Russia. Russia must be examined within its own historical and cultural framework.

Historically, Russia developed as an Orthodox Christian civilization. Orthodox Christianity has profoundly shaped Russian worldview and mentality. Within Orthodox theology, truth is not understood as a product of discourse or historical consensus, but as an ontological reality grounded in divine being itself. Truth is something to be participated in rather than constructed, systematized, or negotiated.

While Catholic and Protestant traditions also affirm objective truth, they differ in their theological treatment of it. Catholicism emphasizes rational articulation and institutional guardianship of truth, while Protestantism places greater weight on individual interpretation. In contrast, Orthodox theology resists both juridical rationalization and interpretive relativization, preserving truth as an absolute reality independent of power, utility, or convenience [10][11].

An ideological framework in which truth is flexible, disposable, or subordinate to force is therefore fundamentally incompatible with the Russian civilizational model. Such a framework cannot be accepted either culturally or philosophically.

Viewed through this lens, the current political situation reveals a deeper structural conflict. What is unfolding is not merely a political disagreement, but a confrontation between two ideological paradigms. Two civilizational models that define truth, power, and legitimacy in fundamentally different ways [12][13].

And this confrontation is the result of long-term intellectual divergence rather than recent political events.

References:

1- Lyotard, Jean-François. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge.
Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984.

2 - Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972–1977.
New York: Pantheon Books, 1980.

3 - Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison.
New York: Vintage Books, 1977.

4 - Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1: An Introduction.
New York: Pantheon Books, 1978.

5 - Habermas, Jürgen. “Modernity versus Postmodernity.”
New German Critique, no. 22 (1981): 3–14.

6 - Sokal, Alan, and Jean Bricmont. Fashionable Nonsense: Postmodern Intellectuals’ Abuse of Science.
New York: Picador, 1998.

7 - Apple, Michael W. Ideology and Curriculum.

New York: Routledge, 2004.

8 - Snow, C. P. The Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959.

9 - MacIntyre, Alasdair. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory.
Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981.

10 - Florovsky, Georges. Ways of Russian Theology.
Belmont, MA: Nordland Publishing, 1979.

11 - Lossky, Vladimir. The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church.
Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1976.

12 - Huntington, Samuel P. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order.
New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996.

13 - Berlin, Isaiah. “The Pursuit of the Ideal.”
In The Crooked Timber of Humanity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990.

Born Israel Lazarevich Gelfand, he came from a Jewish family in the western territories of the Russian Empire, in what is now Belarus. Raised in Odessa, Parvus was forced to leave the city after clashes with Tsarist authorities, studied in Switzerland and Germany, and spent much of his life moving through Europe and the Ottoman Empire. A participant in the 1905 revolution, Parvus had, by 1915, positioned himself as a crucial intermediary between German officials and Russian émigré circles debating the empire’s future.

By the beginning of the twentieth century Parvus had already built a reputation far beyond the Russian émigré world. His work in European socialist circles brought him into contact with the future leaders of Russian revolutionary factions, though he never fully belonged to any of them. He contributed to Iskra, drifted toward the Mensheviks for a time, and maintained connections with various émigré figures without tying himself permanently to a single camp. His international stature frequently exceeded that of the younger activists around him. He once remarked that he was still searching for a country where a man could “buy a homeland without paying too high a price.”

Trotsky entered his orbit during the Munich years. The young exile lived for a time in Parvus’s apartment, absorbing his political worldview and borrowing heavily from his strategic theories. Trotsky later conceded that Parvus shaped his thinking more than anyone else, especially the notion that revolution must not stop after its first success but should continue to expand. Their shared outlook — built on disruption rather than reform — would later sharpen the fractures inside Russia.

When unrest erupted in Russia in 1905, Parvus and Trotsky rapidly moved to the forefront of the revolutionary stage. They championed the general strike as the most effective instrument of pressure on the autocracy and pushed openly for an organized political uprising. Both men promoted tactics that paralyzed industry and transport, deepening the country’s internal crisis rather than seeking reforms through legal channels. Parvus joined the leadership work of the second Petersburg Soviet, while Trotsky emerged as its most public voice. Both were arrested and held for months in the same prison, awaiting exile. Parvus escaped en route to Siberia — a break that not only saved him from years of banishment but also redirected his life toward the transnational political world in which he would operate for the next decade.

After leaving the empire, he settled in Constantinople, where he forged strong ties with the Young Turk leadership and advised them on financial and political matters. This was also the period when Parvus entered the space where political exiles, commercial interests, and foreign intelligence overlapped — a gray zone that would define his role for the next decade. During these years he amassed substantial wealth through commercial and state contracts, which expanded his influence and enabled him to support anti-Tsarist groups across Europe, maintaining contact with figures such as Christian Rakovsky.

Contemporary accounts portray him as an intermediary linking political exiles, radical networks, and governments seeking leverage against Russia. Their activities increasingly targeted the stability of the Russian state, providing ideological, financial, and organizational support to movements whose agendas aligned less with social progress and more with weakening the empire at a moment of growing external pressure.

As the war dragged into its second year, Berlin faced a front that consumed men and resources faster than they could be replaced. Conventional military pressure had stalled, and Germany began looking beyond the battlefield for ways to weaken the Russian Empire. Political networks operating abroad suddenly became attractive instruments. Various émigré factions were already pursuing their own agendas, and some German officials saw potential in quietly backing these circles to shape events inside Russia. In this climate, figures like Parvus — already skilled at moving between countries and capitalizing on political instability — found new openings. To Germany he was a convenient asset; to Russia, another force accelerating the breakdown of internal cohesion at a moment when the state could least withstand it.

Parvus and the First World War

As the First World War began, Parvus moved into a far more influential role. In early 1915 he drafted a detailed memorandum proposing that Germany use revolutionary agitation to destabilize the Russian Empire. The document reached senior officials in the Auswärtiges Amt and the German General Staff, who examined several of its recommendations.

By 1915 Parvus was living in Copenhagen, coordinating a sophisticated network built through trading firms, banks, and intermediaries in neutral countries such as Denmark and Sweden. Through these channels he helped transfer German funds earmarked for propaganda and subversion. Part of this money flowed into socialist émigré circles in Western Europe — including groups in Paris and Switzerland connected to Trotsky, Martov, and other figures of the Russian Social Democratic movement. The exact allocation of funds remains debated among scholars, but archival records in Germany and Denmark clearly document the flow.

Some of Parvus’s commercial firms even legally exported goods to Russia; their business operations created financial cover and, at times, opportunities for political influence. Historians estimate that Germany allocated several tens of millions of marks to destabilization measures between 1915 and 1917, and a significant share of these funds passed through networks linked to Parvus’s enterprises. How much of this he handled personally cannot be established with certainty.

To manage the information and political components of this activity, Parvus created a small analytical bureau in Copenhagen that communicated with agents, journalists, and intermediaries across Scandinavia and inside Russia. According to historian G. Katkov, this network contributed to the broader destabilization of the Russian state before the February Revolution, though the precise degree of influence remains difficult to quantify. Katkov notes that organizations active inside Russia — including the Interdistrict Committee later associated with M. Uritsky — operated within an environment shaped in part by financial and propaganda flows coordinated from abroad.

The Memorandum and Its Consequences

By early 1915 Germany had already received enough intelligence to realize that Russia’s internal cohesion was weakening. Strikes, transport failures, and political fragmentation created exploitable fractures inside the empire. Berlin did not yet have a coherent strategy, but officials understood that external pressure alone would not break Russia; the empire would have to be destabilized from within. This was the context in which Parvus appeared in Berlin — presenting not simply a set of theoretical ideas, but a practical roadmap for turning Russia’s domestic turmoil into a strategic advantage.

It was in this atmosphere that Parvus presented his memorandum. While in Berlin he reworked several sections, which accounts for the uneven pacing of the surviving text. The version he submitted in early March 1915 landed directly on the desks of the German Foreign Office and the Political Department of the General Staff. They approved the plan and allocated substantial funds. Parvus received an initial installment of one million rubles — a sum roughly equivalent to eighty million US dollars today.

Germany’s rationale was straightforward. The Eastern Front was consuming resources faster than Berlin could replace them. Conventional strategies had failed to push Russia toward a separate peace. Parvus offered something entirely different.

He outlined how political networks, economic pressure, and information channels could be synchronized to break the functioning of the Russian state.

In modern language, his memorandum resembled a hybrid coup d’état — not an armed assault on government buildings, but a coordinated strike against the state’s ability to operate. Strikes, transport paralysis, disinformation, public agitation, financial sabotage — all calibrated to make governance impossible.

This model is now standard in modern intelligence operations. Foreign-backed coups routinely rely on induced economic crises, international media pressure, underground political networks, isolation of the capital, disruption of supply lines, and systematic delegitimization of the authorities in power. Parvus described every component of that method in 1915.

Foreign Agitation

One section of the memorandum that rarely receives attention is Parvus’s focus on agitation abroad, especially within the large Jewish and Slavic immigrant communities in North America. He argued that these groups could shape American public opinion against the Tsar. Their press, cultural associations, and networks of recent emigrants were seen as highly receptive to anti-Tsarist messaging.

The imprint of that early campaign has lingered in historical memory.

From Zurich to Petrograd

By early 1917 the revolutionary underground inside Russia was guided largely from abroad. Lenin directed strategy from Zurich, while Karl Radek and Yakov Ganetsky handled communications, money transfers, and printed materials. Much of this flowed through neutral Scandinavia, the safest corridor into the empire.

Inside Petrograd, organizers like Alexander Shlyapnikov coordinated strikes and agitation. By February 1917 the situation in the capital aligned almost exactly with Parvus’s blueprint:
faltering railways, collapsing supply lines despite normal harvests, mutiny in the Petrograd garrison, the Duma in open opposition, and mass unrest at the Putilov Factory.

Russia wasn’t defeated on the battlefield. It came apart exactly where Parvus predicted it would — a blueprint that would later become a manual for modern political warfare.

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The Parvus Memorandum: Full English Translation

(No complete version of Parvus’s memorandum has ever been made publicly available. Only fragments survive in print, most of them copied from Soviet-era publications. The full twenty-page original remains in German archives and has not been digitized or released).

Preparation of a Mass Political Strike in Russia

By spring, preparations must begin in Russia for a mass political strike under the slogan “Freedom and Peace.”
The center of this movement will be Petrograd, and within Petrograd the key points will be the Obukhov, Putilov, and Baltic plants.

The strike must extend to:

• the railway line between Petrograd and Warsaw
• the Southwestern Railway

The railway strike will be carried out primarily in major centers with large concentrations of workers, railway workshops, and similar facilities.
To broaden the scope of the strike, railway bridges must be blown up wherever possible, just as during the strike movement of 1904–1905.

Conference of Russian Social Democratic Leaders

The plan can only be carried out under the leadership of the Russian Social Democrats.
The radical wing has already begun to act. But it is important for the moderate Menshevik faction to join them. Until recently, such unity was blocked only by the radicals.

Two weeks ago, however, Lenin himself raised the question of unification with the Mensheviks.
Unity can be achieved through a policy of compromise, relying on the weakened wartime administrative apparatus and thereby beginning active measures against absolutism.

It should be noted that the moderate group has always been strongly influenced by German Social Democracy. Through the personal authority of certain leaders in German and Austrian Social Democracy, much can still be achieved with their help.

After careful preliminary preparation, a congress of Russian Social Democratic leaders must be convened in Switzerland or another neutral country. Participants should include:

1. Bolshevik Social Democratic Party

2. Menshevik Party

3. Jewish Bund

4. Ukrainian organization Spilka

5. Polish Social Democratic Party

6. Social Democratic Party of Poland

7. Social Democratic Party of Lithuania

8. Finnish Social Democrats

The congress can take place only if full prior agreement is reached on the immediate launch of actions against Tsarism.

A preliminary meeting between the Mensheviks and Bolsheviks may precede the congress. Additional possible participants include:

9. Armenian party Dashnaktsutyun

10. Hnchak [The Armenian Social Democratic Party Hnchak, known as the Hnchakists, founded in 1887].

Aside from its enormous organizational significance, the congress would strongly influence public opinion in France and England.

Russian Socialist Revolutionaries

Separate negotiations must be conducted with the Socialist Revolutionary Party.
These people are most inclined toward nationalism, but their influence among workers is minimal. In Petrograd they have only small support, mainly at the Baltic shipyards.

On the question of a mass strike they can be excluded without harm.
Their sphere is the peasantry, where they exert significant influence through rural schoolteachers.

Local Movements

Alongside preparations for a mass strike, direct agitation must begin immediately.
Through Bulgaria and Romania, links can be established with:

• Odessa
• Nikolaev
• Sevastopol
• Rostov-on-Don
• Batum
• Baku

Workers in these regions advanced local and professional demands during the revolution. These were initially granted, then taken away. Their struggle did not stop: only two years ago there was a major strike of sailors and port workers, reviving earlier demands.

Agitation must target these demands while taking on a political character.

A general strike in the Black Sea region is unlikely due to unemployment, but partial strikes are possible in:

• Nikolaev
• Rostov-on-Don
• certain trades in Odessa

Such local strikes would have symptomatic significance, disrupting the calm that has replaced internal struggle since the war began.

To support this agitation, the organization of Russian sailors must be restored. It was previously based in Constantinople and then Alexandria. The new center must be Constanța or Galați [The commercial district of Constantinople].

Since wartime disruptions at sea will cause serious unrest in the Black Sea cities, these conditions will make them especially receptive to political agitation.

Special effort must ensure that revolutionary organizations in Odessa, relying on workers as in 1905, support city authorities in aiding the impoverished classes, who suffer severely during the war.
This would give new momentum to the wider revolutionary movement.

If an uprising breaks out in Odessa, it could be supported by the Turkish fleet.

Prospects for an uprising in the Black Sea Fleet can be determined after broader contacts with Sevastopol are established.

In Baku and the oil-producing region, a strike can be introduced without major difficulty. It must not be forgotten that most workers there are Tatars (Muslims). If a strike occurs, attempts will likely follow, as in 1905, to set fire to oil wells and storage facilities.

Strikes are also possible in the Donetsk mining region.
Conditions are especially favorable in the Urals, where the Bolshevik Party has strong supporters.
Political strikes among miners are easy to carry out with a small amount of money, since the population is extremely poor.

Siberia

Special attention must be given to Siberia.
In Europe it is known only as a place of exile, but along the great Siberian routes, near the railways and riverbanks, lives a strong peasant class, proud and independent, wishing to preserve its autonomy from central authority.

In the cities live energetic merchants and a layer of intelligentsia composed largely of political exiles who influence them. Siberian electoral districts send socialist representatives to the Duma. During the revolutionary movement of 1905, all administration was in the hands of revolutionary committees. The administrative apparatus is extremely weak. The armed forces have been reduced to a minimum, since there is a sense of calm and confidence regarding Japan.

These circumstances allow for the creation of several operational centers in Siberia.
At the same time, arrangements must be made for political exiles who want to return to European Russia. This is purely a financial matter. In this way, thousands of excellent agitators, well connected and respected, can be sent to the above-mentioned agitation centers and to Petrograd. The general rules must naturally be carried out by socialist organizations themselves, since they are best informed about which individuals can be used.

All of these actions will develop and interlink more rapidly as socialist organizations act more decisively and coordinate their activity more closely. At the same time, these actions—each of which must begin immediately—will push party centers toward unity.

Press Campaign

A simultaneous impulse must be given to the Russian Socialist Party by mentioning it in the press and in pamphlets, as well as directing attention to its activities. Russian-language pamphlets can be published in Switzerland. In Paris, the Russian newspaper Golos is published under the editorship of several leaders of the socialist Menshevik party. Despite the exceptional conditions of its publication, this newspaper has maintained an objective position toward the war. It cannot remain outside discussions of party tactics.

Swiss, Italian, Danish, Dutch, and Swedish socialist newspapers may also be referenced, as well as the socialist press of America.
German socialist leaders of international reputation will likewise be able to take part in this discussion without difficulty.

A campaign in the press would strongly influence the positions of neutral states, especially Italy, and this would in turn affect socialist circles in France and England. Even objective reporting on military events from socialist positions—something that reaches England and France only with great difficulty—would have significant value.

Influence can easily be exerted on the socialist press of Bulgaria and Romania to encourage a vigorous struggle against Tsarism. Since Romania will become the central point of revolutionary agitation in southern Russia, the position of the Romanian daily press has particular importance, quite apart from its role in shaping Romania’s stance toward the war. All major Romanian newspapers are currently in the service of the Russians.

Financial commitments must be structured so that they are difficult to break. It is easy to organize a group of recognized journalists to publish a major independent daily newspaper with a clear tendency toward early alignment with Germany. Since the Romanian press is oriented toward Russian victory, it has already lost much of its prestige due to the recent course of the war. A new newspaper will attract readers through objective reporting. As events develop, it will increasingly gather public opinion around itself and force the rest of the press to change its position.

Agitation in North America

Special attention must be paid to the United States.
Many Russian Jews and Slavs in the United States and Canada form a highly receptive audience for agitation against Tsarism. Russian Social Democracy and the Jewish Bund have been sent to tour these regions. Beyond their own public speeches, they can inspire local forces to take energetic action, strengthen organizations, reinforce the widely distributed Russian and Jewish press, and thereby achieve a flourishing of systematic activity.

The numerous ties to Russia among millions of recent Russian emigrants also hold great significance. A movement among Russian immigrants in America would influence the shaping of American public opinion. Moreover, agitators from these circles can be drawn back into Russia.

The German element must also become more active in the present war, where the future of the German nation is at stake. A strong movement among Russian (that is, Russian-Jewish) immigrants in America would strengthen German efforts. Several agitators from German and Austrian Social Democracy should be sent there.

Growth of the Revolutionary Movement

Agitation in neutral countries will exert a strong reciprocal influence on agitation in Russia, and vice versa. Further developments depend heavily on military events. The patriotic enthusiasm of the first days has waned. Tsarism needs quick victories, but receives bloody defeats. If the Russian army remains tied to its former positions through the winter, discord will spread throughout the country.

The planned agitation apparatus will use this discord, expanding and deepening it in all directions.
Strikes here and there, food riots, rising political agitation—these will confuse the Tsarist government.
If it resorts to repression, this will provoke growing indignation; if it shows tolerance, it will be perceived as weakness, which will increase the revolutionary movement. Experience from 1904–1905 is more than sufficient.

If, in the meantime, the Russian army suffers a major defeat, the movement against the regime may reach unprecedented proportions. In any case, if all forces act according to the developed plan, a mass political strike may occur in spring. If the strike becomes extensive, Tsarism will be forced to concentrate armed forces within the country, especially in Petrograd and Moscow.

The government will also need forces to protect railway communication. During the December strike of 1905, two regiments were used solely to defend the line between Petrograd and Moscow. Only in this way was it possible to counter repeated attempts to blow up bridges near Tver and elsewhere, and to transfer guard units to Moscow to suppress the uprising.

If the main pressure in the coming strike is directed at the western railways, strikes can be triggered everywhere. Even if not everywhere successful, the Tsarist government will still be forced to use large military contingents to guard bridges, stations, and similar points. At the same time, the administrative apparatus will fall into confusion, hastening its collapse.

Peasant Movement and Ukraine

Alongside these events, the peasant movement—just as in 1905—remains an important accompanying factor. Conditions for peasants have not improved, but worsened. For the Russian peasant, the entire issue comes down to land. They will again seize land for ploughing and threaten landlords.

Land protection forms the basis of the peasant question, but its solution is also tied to the formation of cooperatives, cheap credit, schooling, taxation, and general administration.

In Ukraine these problems boil down to the demand for autonomy.
As long as Tsarism persists—its policy in Ukraine consisting of granting land to Moscow nobles and protecting these landlords from Ukrainian peasants—peasants have no choice but to revolt whenever the pressure of government authority weakens.

One of the main tasks of a Ukrainian government would be the establishment of law and order in place of the anarchy created by Moscow’s rule. With the support of the Ukrainian people, it would accomplish this easily. The formation of an independent Ukraine can be seen both as liberation from the Tsarist regime and as a solution to the peasant question.

If peasant uprisings arise in Central Russia—and Great Russian peasants will not remain calm under any circumstances—and if Ukrainian peasant protest increases, the Socialist Revolutionary Party will inevitably become active. Through schoolteachers, the SRs wield significant influence among Great Russian peasants and are authoritative within the Duma faction of the Trudoviks, the peasant people’s party. The position of Russian Social Democracy on peasant uprisings follows logically from its determination to act against Tsarism.

Movement in Finland

Important steps can also be taken in Finland as part of the broader movement. Finnish parties are in a difficult position because significant Russian military forces are stationed there.

Finns do not simply want to be annexed by Sweden, and Sweden does not seek to annex Finland. Sweden wants to make it a buffer state, that is, independent. The Swedish party in Finland is a small minority.

Therefore, an agreement must be reached between the Swedish government and the stronger Finnish parties, the most influential of which is the Social Democratic Party. Such an agreement is possible if Sweden guarantees Finland the fullest autonomy and gives it the right to choose which state group it wishes to join. Once such an agreement is achieved, preparation for a general uprising in Finland can begin calmly and systematically.

Finnish Social Democrats have at their disposal excellent organizations comparable to the German ones. The entire Finnish population has been trained through long resistance to Tsarist despotism, accustomed to silence and passive cooperation, reinforced by language differences.

All preparation for revolution must remain secret until a broad wave of strikes sweeps Russia. Then part of the concentrated troops will be withdrawn to Petrograd. This will become the signal for a general uprising in Finland.

Due to Finland’s large territory, the Tsarist government will be forced either to divide its forces into numerous small independent units or to concentrate them in the most important strategic and administrative centers, thereby leaving much of the country to the rebels. This was the Tsarist strategy in 1905. Numerous small and large expeditionary forces were formed and granted full military and administrative authority. The revolutionary movement’s executive power was considered in the planning of this commission, but could not overturn it.

Even so, the Tsarist government required the entire strength of the army and two years to suppress the uprising. If it follows the same course now, the Swedish army will have to intervene to defend Finnish independence. While effective for suppressing rebellion, this strategy leaves the army utterly vulnerable to foreign intervention.

Therefore, the Tsarist government will likely take another path and withdraw forces to the administrative centers, that is, to the coast and the railway running along it. In this case, even railway lines connecting to Sweden may be destroyed. Russian control will then effectively remain only along the Gulf of Bothnia.

Left to themselves, the rebels will form a national guard, as in 1904–1905, and take protective measures.
The entry of Swedish troops may be hampered by the destruction of the railway system.

Much depends on developments in Petrograd. Finns can assist Russian revolutionaries even before a general strike. They can report on:

• the number, location, and movement of Russian troops in Finland
• the movement of the Russian fleet
• create signaling systems for aircraft (the Finnish custom of painting houses, especially roofs, red could be used: an unpainted portion of the roof could serve as a signal)

Radio-telegraph stations can be created, bridges and buildings prepared for demolition. Most importantly, Finns can facilitate communication between Russian revolutionaries and Petrograd. Because the country is large, close to Petrograd, and connected by regular transport, they could organize information and transport services despite military occupation.
Weapons, explosives, and similar materials can be stored throughout Petrograd.

Caucasus

During the revolution, the Tsarist government practically ignored the Caucasus. Since it faced no external threat there, it allowed local events to unfold on their own. Matters went so far that the government permitted governors who openly cooperated with revolutionary committees to remain at the head of the administration. The government was confident that once its power in Russia was firmly reestablished, it would be able to bring the Caucasus back under control again. In this it proved correct.

This time, however, because of the war with Turkey, the situation is entirely different. There is a real possibility that the Caucasus may break away, and the importance of an uprising in the rear of the fighting armies can hardly be overestimated. In contrast to Finland, where a well-organized general uprising is possible, any movement in the Caucasus will always depend on national divisions and party struggles. The most active participants in the revolutionary years were the Georgians.

With the support of small property owners, they gained complete control over the administration in Kutaisi, establishing their own government, courts, and so on. Yet this movement was led not by separatists, but by Social Democrats. Some Armenians were found among the Social Democrats, while others grouped themselves around Armenian nationalist parties that had long since moved away from separatist aims.

It must be borne in mind, however, that after disappointment in the revolution and against the backdrop of war, separatist tendencies naturally gained new popularity. Tatar workers also took part in strikes, though the Tatar population as a whole played a reactionary role. Government agents from Petrograd turned them against the Armenians, which led to bloody clashes.

After the proclamation of the holy war, the Tsarist government will no longer be able to rely openly on Muslim support. Secretly, however, it will continue to inflame religious hatred and keep Armenians in fear of jihad. It is therefore important that Turkey make it clear to the Caucasian Muslims that achieving the goals of the holy war requires close cooperation with their Christian neighbors in the struggle against Tsarism. At the same time, an alliance must be concluded with the Young Turks and the Armenian parties in Turkey, which are essentially the same as those in Russia.

The detailed implementation of this operation, which must overcome various difficulties, lies beyond the scope of this memorandum. It should only be indicated that decisive action by Russian Social Democracy would strongly influence Armenian and Georgian activity in the Caucasus. It is likely that the Social Democrats could take control of the entire movement and thereby channel the energy of the national parties.

This is yet another serious argument in favor of convening a conference of Russian Social Democratic leaders.

The holy war, which aims to stir up vast masses in Persia, Egypt, North Africa, and so on, is unlikely to have a noticeable impact in Russia. The Tatars along the Volga and the Kama will certainly not move. They are extremely peaceful and completely submissive peasants who, in that case, would have to confront the resistance of a numerically dominant Russian population.

The situation in the Caucasus is somewhat different, but there the Tatars have long been pacified. The memory of their heroic struggle for independence has faded, and Muslims are not sufficiently educated to participate in a modern revolutionary movement. The old conflict between the Caucasian mountaineers and the Russians was simply a struggle against any centralized state. Since then, the tribes have disintegrated; their former leaders have become landowners with almost no contact with the masses.

The people have lost their sense of independence. Since Muslims feel themselves economically and culturally inferior to Christians, they turn for protection to the government that holds real power. They would indeed prefer a Muslim government, but such a government would first have to prove its ability to overthrow Tsarist rule.

The Turkish army will be welcomed, but it will have to face the full strength of the Russians. This does not rule out the possibility of organizing isolated rebel groups, especially along the Persian border.

A large-scale Muslim partisan war in the Caucasus is unrealistic. An uprising of the Kuban Cossacks is entirely possible; in this case, Ukrainian propaganda would be useful.

Completion of the Movement

The growth of the revolutionary movement in the Tsarist Empire will, among other things, lead to general unrest. In addition to the overall course of military operations, special measures can be taken to intensify this instability. For several reasons, the Black Sea basin and the Caucasus are especially suitable for this.

Particular attention should be paid to the city of Nikolaev, where two large warships are being prepared for launching in a very tense atmosphere. A strike must be organized there among the workers, not necessarily on political grounds, but simply on the basis of economic demands.

It can be argued that the Tsarist government needs quick victories in order to hold on. If it manages to survive until spring, even the current situation, in which the Russian army is systematically and fruitlessly worn down, may lead to revolution. The obstacles facing the revolutionary movement must not be underestimated.

The most important of these is mobilization, which has deprived the country of its most active and youngest citizens. The rise of national consciousness, which contributed to the outbreak of war, must also be taken into account. Against the backdrop of a losing war, this feeling must be transformed into discontent and directed against Tsarism. It must be clearly understood that, unlike the Ukrainian and Finnish Social Democratic organizations, the Russian Social Democratic Party will never adopt an openly hostile stance toward the Russian Empire as such.

Already during the 1905 revolution, this party counted more than one million workers in its ranks, and since then its influence has grown so much that the government was twice forced to change the electoral law to prevent the Duma from being flooded with Social Democratic deputies.

Such a party truly represents the interests and moods of the masses, who do not want the war but are forced to participate in it. Russian Social Democracy is decisively opposed to the unlimited external power to which Tsarist diplomacy aspires. It sees this as a major obstacle to the internal development of the nations that make up the empire, including the Russian nation itself. It holds the Tsarist government responsible for the war. It will call the government to account for the futility and failure of the war. Its demands are: the overthrow of the government and the rapid conclusion of peace.

If the revolutionary movement reaches a certain scale (even if the Tsarist government retains control of Petrograd), a Provisional Government may be formed and can then raise the question of ending hostilities and beginning diplomatic negotiations for a peace treaty.

If the Tsarist government is forced to conclude an armistice before a Provisional Government appears, the revolutionary movement will develop all the more decisively the more thoroughly it has been prepared. Even if Tsarism manages to hold on during the war, it will never survive if peace is dictated from outside. The unprecedented centralization represented by the combined armies on the one hand and by the revolutionary movement in Russia on the other, embodied by Tsarism, will remain a danger to the whole world as long as it exists. With its fall, the high fortress of political reaction in Europe will also collapse.

Siberia

[From this point begins a separate second section of the Memorandum, typed later on a different typewriter and containing Gelfand-Parvus’s revisions and additions]

Special attention must be paid to Siberia for another reason: the enormous deliveries of artillery and other types of weapons from the United States to Russia will most likely pass through Siberia. For this reason, the Siberian project must be considered separately from the others.

Several energetic, cautious, and well-equipped agents must be sent to Siberia with a specific mission to blow up railway bridges. They will find enough helpers among political exiles. Explosives can be supplied from the Ural mining plants, and smaller quantities from Finland. The technical instructions for this can be developed here.

Press Campaign

The assumptions about Romania and Bulgaria were confirmed after work on this memorandum was completed and the revolutionary movement began to develop. The Bulgarian press is now almost entirely pro-German, and a noticeable shift has taken place in the Romanian press. The measures we have taken will soon produce even more tangible results. It is especially important to intensify work now.

The following steps should be taken:

1. Financial support for the Bolshevik Social Democratic faction, which is using all available means to continue the struggle against the Tsarist government. Contacts must be established with its leaders in Switzerland.

2. Establish direct contacts with revolutionary organizations in Odessa and Nikolaev through Bucharest and Iași.

3. Establish contacts with organizations of Russian sailors. One such contact already exists through a certain gentleman in Sofia. Other links are possible through Amsterdam.

4. Support the activities of the Jewish socialist organization Bund (not the Zionists).

5. Establish contacts with authoritative figures of Russian Social Democracy and with Russian Socialist Revolutionaries in Switzerland, Italy, Copenhagen, and Stockholm, and support their efforts aimed at immediate and decisive measures against Tsarism.

6. Support those Russian revolutionary writers who participate in the struggle against Tsarism even under wartime conditions.

7. Maintain ties with Finnish Social Democracy.

8. Organize congresses of Russian revolutionaries.

9. Influence public opinion in neutral countries, especially the position of the socialist press and socialist organizations in the struggle against Tsarism and in favor of alignment with the Central Powers.
   In Bulgaria and Romania this work is already underway; it must be continued in Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Switzerland, and Italy.

10. Equip an expedition to Siberia with the specific task of blowing up key railway bridges and thereby hindering the transportation of weapons from America to Russia. The expedition must also be provided with substantial funds to organize the transfer of a certain number of political exiles back to the center of the country.

11. Technical preparation for an uprising in Russia, including:
    a) providing accurate maps of Russian railway lines, indicating the most important bridges whose destruction would paralyze transportation, and marking key administrative buildings, arsenals, and workshops that should receive maximum attention;
    b) precise indications of the quantities of explosives required in each individual case, taking into account material shortages and the difficult conditions under which actions will be carried out;
    c) clear and accessible instructions for handling explosives when destroying bridges and large buildings;
    d) simple formulas for manufacturing explosives;
    e) the development of a plan for street resistance in Petrograd, with particular attention to working-class districts: the defense of houses and streets, protection against cavalry and infantry.

The Jewish socialist Bund in Russia is a revolutionary organization rooted in the working masses. It already played a significant role in 1904. It stands in opposition to the Zionists, from whom nothing can be expected for the following reasons:

1. their party membership is unstable;

2. since the beginning of the war, Russian patriotic sentiment has become popular in their ranks;

3. after the Balkan War, the core of their leadership actively sought favor from British and Russian diplomatic circles, though this did not prevent them from also cooperating with the German government.

As a result, they are in no position to carry out any serious political actions.

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Source for the memorandum (not the introductory analysis):

Elizabeth Heresch, The Purchased Revolution: The Secret File of Parvus, trans. I. G. Bineva (Moscow, 2005), pp. 21–27.

* This document is kept in the archives of the German Foreign Office: Auswärtiges Amt, Weltkrieg, 11 c secr. Band 5, A 8629. The memorandum itself is undated, but it was recorded in the Ministry’s registry on 9 March 1915.

In other words, Britain’s leader saw Hitler’s regime as a bulwark alongside Britain in maintaining order and stopping Soviet communism. This mindset sheds light on why Britain and France excluded the USSR and Czechoslovakia from the Munich talks – their priority was not saving Czechoslovakia, but giving Hitler a free hand in Central/Eastern Europe. As one analysis of Chamberlain’s policy concludes, the appeasers actively encouraged Hitler’s expansion in the East, gambling that Nazi Germany would clash with Stalin while the West stayed out. Chamberlain was “certain that Germany would end up declaring war against the Soviet Union” and, “motivated by anti-communism, he chose” to let Hitler expand eastward [2].

Czechoslovakia’s Sacrifice: Feeding Hitler’s War Machine

The immediate result of Munich was the dismantling of a democratic nation – Czechoslovakia – and the transfer of its rich industrial base to Nazi control. Far from merely shifting borders, this “gift” of Czechoslovakia massively strengthened Hitler’s military capacity. Czechoslovakia was a highly industrialized state with significant arms production (holding 40% of the world’s arms exports before the crisis).

When Hitler occupied the Sudetenland in October 1938 – and soon after, in March 1939, the rest of Czech lands – he seized enormous quantities of modern armaments and armament factories. German records indicate that the Nazis took 469 tanks from Czechoslovakia’s army, including almost 350 of the latest LT-34 and LT-35 models – tanks superior in armor and armament to Germany’s own light Panzer I and II at the time [3]. Hitler boasted that Germany also acquired 43,876 machine guns, 501 anti-aircraft guns, 1,589 aircraft, and other heavy weapons from the Czech takeover. The famed Škoda works and other Czech factories were absorbed into the Nazi war industry. Importantly, these Czech-made weapons did not sit idle – they were quickly turned against Hitler’s next victims.

Hitler’s army put Czechoslovakia’s armaments to use almost immediately. When Germany invaded Poland in September 1939, roughly 15–20% of its 2,700 tanks were Czech-made, designated Panzer 35(t) and Panzer 38(t) [4]. Although many of the “tanks” fielded by Germany in 1939 were small Panzer I models armed only with machine guns, the Czech 35(t) and 38(t) were true tanks—equipped with 37 mm cannons and superior armor compared to any pre-war German design.

By the invasion of France in May 1940, this reliance on Czech armor had grown even greater. Entire Panzer divisions, such as the 7th Panzer Division, were outfitted with Czech 38(t) tanks. According to one detailed study, three out of ten German Panzer divisions in the 1940 campaign incorporated Czech tanks, and “every third tank which attacked France [in 1940] was Czech-built” [5].

In short, Hitler was handed a first-class arms industry and arsenal at Munich, which he promptly turned against the very Western democracies that had sought to appease him. As the American historian William Shirer observed, the Czech tanks and guns taken in 1938–39 were “used to shoot British and French soldiers a year later.” The “Peace for our time”gained at Munich thus armed Nazi Germany to wage war on Europe.

The Western Business Connection: Banks, Steel, and the Nazi War Machine

While politicians in London and Paris played chess with maps, another game unfolded behind closed boardrooms. American and British financiers weren’t simply appeasing Hitler — they were investing in him.

Archival evidence shows that Union Banking Corporation (UBC), a New York investment bank incorporated in 1924, was heavily tied to German industrialist Fritz Thyssen, one of Hitler’s earliest and most generous financial backers [10]. In 1941, the New York Journal-American reported that U.S. authorities had frozen $3 million belonging to Thyssen, held in UBC, which had been “formed … to look after U.S. interests” and whose board included E. R. Harriman, H. D. Pennington, and Prescott S. Bush [11].

A year later, the U.S. Alien Property Custodian issued Vesting Order No. 248 (20 Oct 1942), formally seizing UBC’s assets under the Trading with the Enemy Act. The order stated that since 1939 these corporate properties “have been in possession of and have been operated by the German government and have undoubtedly been of considerable assistance to that country’s war effort” [12]. This was no conspiracy theory — it was a federal document acknowledging that American capital had been intertwined with the Nazi industrial base.

As later detailed by The Guardian (“How Bush’s grandfather helped Hitler’s rise to power,” 25 Sept 2004) [13], the Thyssen-Bush network extended through UBC’s affiliates, the Silesian-American and Consolidated Silesian Steel Corporations, which operated in Upper Silesia — the very industrial zone surrounding Auschwitz (Oswiecim). Those same facilities later relied on forced labour from concentration-camp prisoners, supplying cheap steel and coal to the Nazi war machine.

In other words, the same Western system that sacrificed Czechoslovakia to Hitler also financed his rearmament base. The Czech factories “gifted” at Munich were absorbed into a trans-Atlantic industrial network in which Western investors held silent stakes, often through neutral intermediaries in the Netherlands and Switzerland.

It was not an aberration but the economic underside of appeasement — a partnership born of anti-communism and profit. The West’s elite saw in Hitler not a menace but a weapon: a brutal tool to contain the Soviet Union while preserving their capital. By the time these assets were finally dissolved in 1951, Auschwitz was already a graveyard, and the families behind the deals had become political dynasties.

Poland’s Opportunism: The “Hyena of Europe”

Another uncomfortable fact often omitted from popular World War II narratives is Poland’s collaboration in the dismemberment of Czechoslovakia. At the same time as Chamberlain and Daladier acquiesced to Hitler’s demands in Munich, Poland’s government under Colonel Józef Beck eyed a slice of Czechoslovak territory for itself. The area was Zaolzie (the Teschen/Cieszyn region), a coal-rich border district inhabited by both Poles and Czechs. In the chaos following the Munich Agreement, Warsaw issued an ultimatum to Prague: cede Zaolzie to Poland or face attack.

On October 2, 1938, Polish forces marched into Zaolzie, occupying approximately 800 square kilometers of Czechoslovak territory—an act coordinated almost to the hour with German troops entering the Sudetenland. Though small in size, the annexed region contained some of the most industrialized areas of Czechoslovakia, including the Karviná coal basin and Třinec Steelworks, which together accounted for nearly half of the country’s coal and steel production [6].

Poland’s conduct in 1938 was described by Winston Churchill as that of a “greedy hyena” snatching at the carcass of Czechoslovakia [7]. (Churchill lamented that Britain and France’s guarantee of Poland in 1939 had to be extended to “the same Poland which, only six months ago, had with the greed of a hyena participated in the theft of Czechoslovakia.”) Indeed, Polish leaders at the time openly celebrated their diplomatic “victory.” Perhaps the most shocking illustration comes from Poland’s ambassador to Germany, Józef Lipski, who met with Hitler on 20 September 1938. In that meeting at Hitler’s mountain retreat, Lipski received Hitler’s personal approval for Poland’s claims on Czech territory – essentially a “carte blanche” for Poland to take what it wanted aside from Germany’s own desired areas [8]. Hitler saw Poland as a potential junior partner against the Czechs (and possibly against the USSR), and he was happy to reward Warsaw’s anti-Czech stance. Ambassador Lipski was so pleased with Hitler’s stance that he went to extraordinary lengths of flattery. Lipski reported to Warsaw that when Hitler broached his plan to evict Europe’s Jews to Africa as a “solution” to the Jewish question, “I told him that if he found such a solution, we would erect for him a beautiful monument in Warsaw.” This grotesque remark (revealed in Lipski’s own diplomatic report) underscores how aligned the Polish government was with Hitler’s objectives in 1938 – even to the point of praising Hitler’s most extreme ideas. Far from foreseeing Hitler as a mortal threat, Poland’s leaders in 1938 saw Nazi Germany as an ally of convenience. They assumed, wrongly, that Hitler’s appetite could be sated with Czech lands and that Poland could ride the Nazi tiger without being eaten. As Polish Foreign Minister Józef Beck remarked in January 1939, Poland aspired to join Germany in expanding east. During his meeting with Joachim von Ribbentrop, Beck “made no secret of the fact that Poland had aspirations toward Soviet Ukraine and a connection with the Black Sea,” according to the German Foreign Ministry memorandum of their conversation on January 26, 1939 [9].

The Real Backfire: When Stalin Changed the Game

The strategy of “feeding the monster” in hopes it would devour the Soviet Union was already underway when Stalin outmaneuvered everyone. While London and Paris congratulated themselves for pointing Hitler east, Stalin quietly realized what the West was doing — and decided to flip the board.

Throughout 1939, the USSR tried to form a genuine collective security pact with Britain and France. But Western diplomats stalled, offering empty words while continuing to hope Hitler would move against Moscow first. When it became clear that the so-called “appeasers” were simply trying to direct German aggression eastward, Stalin made his move.

On August 23, 1939, he signed the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact — a non-aggression agreement with Germany that shattered the Western plan. The man the West expected to be their victim had instead become the strategist. The pact wasn’t born of trust in Hitler but of pure calculation: if war was inevitable, the USSR would buy time, secure its borders, and let the capitalist powers bleed each other first.

The result was devastating for those who thought they could control the monster. Hitler turned not on Moscow, but on Poland — the very state that had helped dismember Czechoslovakia the year before. Britain and France, forced by their own guarantees, declared war on Germany — yet gave Poland no real help. The grand Western scheme collapsed overnight.

By signing the pact, Stalin stole the initiative. He delayed the German attack on the USSR by nearly two years, gained vital territory in Eastern Europe, and used the breathing space to rebuild the Red Army and relocate industry beyond the Urals. When Hitler finally did invade in 1941, he faced a far stronger Soviet Union than he would have in 1939.

In hindsight, the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact made Stalin the first to understand and neutralize the West’s geopolitical game. The supposed “victims of appeasement” had been the ones orchestrating it, and it was Stalin’s cold realism that exposed their hypocrisy.

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Sources:

1. Chamberlain, Neville. Letter to King George VI, 13 September 1938. Royal Archives, Windsor Castle.

2. Clement Leibovitz, The Chamberlain-Hitler Deal (Montreal: Les Editions Duval, 1993)

3. Neville, Peter. “Anglo-Czech Relations and the Munich Crisis.” Soudobé dějiny / CJCH, no. 3 (2021). Accessed November 4 2025. https://sd.usd.cas.cz/pdfs/sod/2021/03/03.pdf#:~:text=There%20was%20also%20an%20immense,is%20often%20referred%20to%20in.

4. Ankerstjerne, Christian. “Poland 1939 (Fall Weiss).” Panzerworld, last modified December 8 2020. https://panzerworld.com/poland-1939#:~:text=Number%20of%20German%20tanks%20fielded,t%29%208.

5. Neville, Peter. “Anglo-Czech Relations and the Munich Crisis.” Soudobé dějiny / CJCH, no. 3 (2021). Accessed November 4 2025. https://sd.usd.cas.cz/pdfs/sod/2021/03/03.pdf#:~:text=There%20was%20also%20an%20immense,is%20often%20referred%20to%20in.

6. Anna Jarosz-Nojszewska, “Smelting Industry in the Second Republic,” Kwartalnik KESSiP 2 (2017): 21–28, , https://cejsh.icm.edu.pl/cejsh/element/bwmeta1.element.ojs-doi-10_33119_KKESSiP_2017_2_3/c/21-16.pdf

7. Churchill, Winston S. The Gathering Storm. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1948. Chapter 19, p. 311.

8. Kornat, Marek. “Ambassador Józef Lipski Visiting Hitler on 20 September 1938.” Polish History – Muzeum Historii Polski, August 5, 2019. https://polishhistory.pl/ambassador-jozef-lipski-visiting-hitler-on-20-september-1938/#:~:text=the%20entire%20ethnographic%20Czech%20to,be%20dependent%20on%20Germany.

9. Documents on German Foreign Policy, Series D, Vol. VI: The Last Months of Peace. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1956, 190–191. Cited in Bohdan Budurowycz, “Poland and Hitler’s Offers of Alliance.” The Journal of Modern History 30, no. 3 (1958): 233.

10. Union Banking Corporation Incorporation Records, New York, 1924; Fritz Thyssen, I Paid Hitler (New York: Farrar & Rinehart, 1941).

11. The New York Journal-American, “Thyssen Fund of $3 Million Frozen by U.S.,” Aug 1 1941 (INS wire).

12. U.S. Alien Property Custodian, Vesting Order No. 248, Oct 20 1942.

13. The Guardian (London), “How Bush’s Grandfather Helped Hitler’s Rise to Power,” Sept 25 2004, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2004/sep/25/usa.secondworldwar

This portrayal is inaccurate. Finnish troops were positioned directly outside Leningrad for three years and controlled approximately one third of the blockade line. Their presence formed an essential part of the encirclement. Without Finnish participation, German forces would not have been able to fully maintain the blockade. Together, these positions closed the ring that led to the starvation deaths of roughly one million civilians, including about 400,000 children.

The portrayal of Mannerheim as a “savior” does not withstand historical scrutiny. His command included orders to attack the Road of Life, the only supply route bringing food into besieged Leningrad across Lake Ladoga. It was not a road in the usual sense, but a frozen lake, used under constant shelling to prevent mass starvation. On June 25, 1941, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim formally ordered the Finnish Army to begin hostilities against the Soviet Union, coordinating operations that supported the broader siege strategy:

“I call you to a holy war against the enemy of our nation. Together with the mighty armed forces of Germany, as brothers-in-arms, we resolutely set out on a crusade against the enemy to secure a reliable future for Finland [1].”

Finland pursued expansionist ambitions and had concrete plans. On maps depicting the vision of a “Greater Finland,” Russian cities such as Murmansk, Leningrad, and Kandalaksha were marked as part of that claim [2].👇

Meet Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim.

Before turning to Finland’s well-known war against the USSR alongside Hitler, it is necessary to step back and establish the broader context. Finland as a state emerged within the Russian imperial framework. Prior to the Russo-Swedish War, these territories constituted the eastern part of Sweden. After the war, they were incorporated into Russia, which created the autonomous Grand Duchy of Finland. This status remained in place until the revolution of 1917, with Finland existing as part of the Russian Empire for more than a century.

Mannerheim himself was a military and political figure of Swedish-Finnish noble origin, though from a relatively modest background. Despite this, he rose through the ranks of the Russian army, became a general, and served as an officer of the Imperial Guard, placing him close to Nicholas II and within the highest levels of the empire’s military elite. He was entrusted with special assignments and dispatched on reconnaissance expeditions across Central Asia and China.

It is during this period that his political orientation begins to raise questions. Mannerheim maintained close contact with foreign officers, including George Macartney, the British consul in Kashgar and a key intelligence figure in the Great Game, as well as French officers encountered during his 1906–1908 expedition in Asia. In later years, he was also suspected of connections to Masonic circles. Taken together, these associations suggest that his loyalties were not fully aligned with Russian interests [3].

After the collapse of the empire, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim moved quickly. In the spring of 1919, he explored cooperation with British intervention forces against Soviet Russia. His conditions were explicit: international recognition of Finnish independence, the cession of Petsamo, and guarantees concerning East Karelia [4].

According to a British report prepared by a diplomatic representative, Mannerheim was, in February 1919, “very willing to take St Petersburg and crush the Bolsheviks there” [5]. These demands, which implied control over territories around Petrozavodsk, were rejected. The Russian White forces, despite British backing, opposed both Finnish independence and any territorial concessions [6].

Despite this refusal, Finnish volunteers launched the so-called Aunus Expedition and attempted to seize Petrozavodsk in June 1919. The operation ultimately failed [7].

In October 1919, Mannerheim again sought cooperation, this time approaching Nikolai Yudenich, whose Northwestern Army was advancing on Petrograd with British naval support [8]. Once again, Mannerheim’s conditions were declined.

Nevertheless, Finland continued to signal alignment. On October 12, when British and French fleets announced a blockade of the Baltic states for engaging in peace negotiations with Soviet Russia, Finland under Mannerheim followed suit and declared its own blockade.

Finland's Ties with Hitler in the 1930s

In 1934, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim began fortifying the Åland Islands — the key to controlling the northern Baltic [9] — despite Finland’s 1921 commitment to keep them demilitarized [10]. In 1935, he turned toward Germany, taking part in a secret conference with Hermann Göring, Hungarian Prime Minister Gyula Gömbös, and the head of the Polish Parliament’s Foreign Affairs Committee to discuss coordinated action against the USSR [11]. By 1939, Mannerheim was still hosting German generals, personally showing Chief of Staff Franz Halder Finland’s northern airfields and supply depots.

At the same time, the Finnish government continued efforts to fortify the Åland Islands. It was widely understood that Finland could not defend them on its own. Fortification effectively meant placing them under German control, as Germany was already preparing for war with the Soviet Union. Helsinki therefore sought approval from Britain and Germany, and despite their rivalry elsewhere, both readily agreed. The only country Finland did not consult was the USSR — the state most directly threatened by such a move.

After World War I, Germany was prohibited from building its own navy under the Treaty of Versailles. Helsinki, however, stepped in to help. As early as the 1920s, Finland was covertly assisting Germany in rebuilding the Kriegsmarine, in open violation of the treaty’s restrictions [12].

The so-called Vesikko class, launched in the mid-1930s, was effectively the prototype for Germany’s Type II U-boats, which later became the backbone of the Reich’s submarine force once rearmament began in earnest. Officially, Finland presented this program as a modest expansion of its small fleet. In practice, it functioned as a cover operation: a testing ground for Nazi Germany’s return to naval power [13].

These same Finnish submarines were later deployed against the USSR. One of them, Vesikko submarine, still survives today as a museum ship in Helsinki. It stands not as a symbol of “brave neutrality,” but as a reminder of Finland’s involvement in Germany’s clandestine rearmament long before 1941.

Winter War: 1939–1940

Here comes the Winter War of 1939–1940, often portrayed in Finnish narratives as an unprovoked tragedy. The Soviet leadership, however, did not view Finland as an innocent or neutral state. Joseph Stalin understood that Finland had already demonstrated a willingness to cooperate with Germany’s rearmament and could serve as a forward base in a potential attack on Leningrad.

Moscow also remembered the events of 1918–1919. During the Allied intervention, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim had explored joint action with British forces, on the condition that Finland be allowed to seize territory around Petrozavodsk. Finland had even participated in a blockade against Baltic states seeking to negotiate peace with Soviet Russia.

By the late 1930s, the security risk was increasingly evident. The Åland Islands episode revealed Finland coordinating simultaneously with Britain and Germany in ways that directly affected Soviet security. When this was combined with the submarine program in Turku, secret contacts with Hermann Göring and other openly anti-Soviet figures, the strategic picture became clear. In the event of a war with Germany, Leningrad would be dangerously exposed to an attack from the north.

That is why Joseph Stalin proposed a territorial exchange in 1939, moving the border away from Leningrad in return for larger tracts of Soviet land in Karelia. He also offered alternative arrangements, including the possibility of leasing the territory [14]. The objective was straightforward: to push the frontier far enough west so that the USSR’s second capital, with its millions of inhabitants and critical industrial infrastructure, would not remain within artillery range of a potentially hostile Finland aligned with Germany.

The core Soviet demands were set out in a memorandum presented by Joseph Stalin and Vyacheslav Molotov to Juho Kusti Paasikivi on 14 October 1939:

“In the negotiations with Finland, the Soviet Union is mainly concerned with the settlement of two questions:
a) securing the safety of Leningrad;
b) becoming satisfied that Finland will maintain firm, friendly relations with the Soviet Union.
In order to fulfil this duty, it is necessary:
(1) To make it possible to block the opening of the Gulf of Finland by means of artillery fire from both coasts of the Gulf of Finland in order to prevent warships and transport ships of the enemy penetrating, to the waters of the Gulf of Finland.
(2) To make it possible to prevent the access of the enemy to those islands in the Gulf of Finland which are situated west and north-west of the entrance to Leningrad.
(3) To have the Finnish frontier in the Karelian Isthmus, which is now at a distance of 32 km. from Leningrad, i.e., within the range of long-distance artillery, moved somewhat farther northwards and northwestwards”

When Helsinki rejected every proposed compromise, it confirmed what Moscow already suspected: Finland was placing its bets on Germany, not neutrality. Even during the Winter War, Finnish actions reflected expansionist aims, including moves into Karelia and advances toward Lake Onega.

The conflict was therefore not an unprovoked Soviet land grab, but the violent outcome of a security dilemma that Joseph Stalin attempted, and ultimately failed, to resolve through negotiation.

“If the Soviet Union suggests the conclusion of a treaty of mutual assistance, . . it should be pointed out that such a treaty is not compatible with Finland’s policy of neutrality” [15].

It is worth addressing the so-called Mainila incident. Western historiography often presents it as a Soviet provocation, while largely ignoring the preceding weeks of Finnish shelling and repeated border crossings. Joseph Stalin did not initiate a war over a single skirmish. He stated the rationale explicitly: Finland had derailed the negotiations and rejected all meaningful compromise.

Hostilities began only after the talks collapsed. By 29 October, a military plan was already on Stalin’s desk. Mainila was not the cause of the war, but the pretext later emphasized in Western narratives [16].

From the Final Chapter to the Opening Scene

The Winter War concluded on 13 March 1940 with the signing of the Moscow Peace Treaty. Finland was compelled to cede roughly 11 percent of its territory to the USSR, including Karelia, Viipuri, and strategically vital areas along the Gulf of Finland and Lake Ladoga. These territorial changes later proved decisive in the defense of Leningrad during the blockade. Without them, the fate of Leningrad, and possibly that of the Soviet state itself, might have been very different.

Only months after the treaty, Finnish political and military leaders began restoring contacts with Nazi Germany. By 1941, when Adolf Hitler launched Operation Barbarossa, Finland entered the war once again, framing its participation as the so-called “Continuation War.” Under the command of Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim, Finnish forces advanced alongside the Wehrmacht, retook Karelia, and pushed deep into Soviet territory, contributing to the encirclement of Leningrad.

The objective was not merely territorial revision. Finnish diplomatic correspondence indicates that the destruction of Leningrad was openly discussed, with pressure for the city’s elimination voiced by the Finnish ambassador in Berlin [17]. Despite this record, Finland continues to present itself as a reluctant and innocent participant. To understand how this narrative persists, it is necessary to examine the myths that followed.

Myth #1

“Finland only wanted to get back lost land”

In late summer 1941, Finnish forces did not simply halt at the pre-1940 border. They advanced beyond it to link up with Germany’s Army Group North, moving toward Leningrad both through the Karelian Isthmus and along the eastern shore of Lake Ladoga [18]. By 31 August, Finnish troops had already crossed the former Soviet–Finnish border at the Sestra River.

In September, they captured settlements such as Beloostrov and attempted to breach heavily fortified Soviet defensive lines. Casualties mounted quickly. Resistance within the ranks increased, with some soldiers refusing to advance further. Military courts responded with disciplinary measures, indicating that the offensive was encountering serious operational and morale limits. Against this background, Mannerheim’s later claim that he “chose to stop” appears, at best, incomplete. The Finnish army was not merely pausing; it was increasingly exhausted and bogged down.

At the same time, Finnish forces pushed eastward, occupying Petrozavodsk and renaming it Jaanislinna, a symbolic act aimed at erasing its Russian identity [19]. Framed against these actions, the argument that Finland was merely “reclaiming lost land” becomes difficult to sustain.

Myth #2.

“Mannerheim didn’t know Hitler’s plans”

As early as 25 June 1941, a secret telegram from Finland’s envoy in Berlin made the situation explicit. Hermann Göring assured Finland that it would receive new territories, “as much as it wanted,” once Leningrad was destroyed [20]. On that same day, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim ordered Finnish forces to enter the war alongside Germany, framing the campaign as a “holy war” and a “crusade.” Such language leaves little room for claims of ignorance or reluctance.

Nor were German intentions concealed at the highest levels. In July 1941, Martin Bormann recorded in his diary that Adolf Hitler intended to erase Leningrad entirely and then transfer the territory to Finland. Finnish military planners were already outlining prospective borders along the Neva River, and even a draft radio address was prepared in 1941 for Finnish broadcasts to mark the city’s anticipated capture.

The prevailing mood in Helsinki reflected expectation rather than restraint. Finnish leaders spoke openly about the coming fall of Leningrad, rejected Soviet peace initiatives, and discussed the city’s fate after its destruction. President Risto Ryti himself reportedly remarked that Petersburg had “brought only evil” and should no longer exist as a major city.

Mannerheim was fully informed, fully complicit, and fully invested in the destruction of Leningrad. The relevant telegram was circulated not only to him, but also to the President, the Prime Minister, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

There is further documentary evidence. A telegram sent from Berlin to Helsinki on 24 June 1941 makes clear that Finnish leaders were already fully aware of the plans to eliminate Leningrad altogether.

Translation:

“To President Ryti. Today in Carinhall I presented Göring with the Grand Cross with Chain and congratulated him on your behalf and on behalf of Mannerheim. He said that military operations are developing unexpectedly well. By yesterday morning 2,632 aircraft had been destroyed, of which 700 were shot down and finished off on the airfields, where they stood in rows, igniting one another. Tank forces have taken Minsk, Vilnius, and Kaunas. A government commission of 2,400 people is proceeding to the occupied territory.

He asked about our prospects when ‘Alternative 5 and the Kola Peninsula’ were raised. He said that we can take whatever we want, ‘including Petersburg, which, like Moscow, is better to destroy. The issue of the Kola Peninsula can be resolved through an economic agreement with Germany. Russia will be broken up into small states.’

The war was unexpected for Russia, which was waiting for an ultimatum and building illusions in order to gain time. In fact, it was a surprise also for the local Soviet embassy, whose adviser as late as Friday at Lundénström’s was still planning to expand cooperation. We have no particular inner concern about the war dragging on, unless within the next few days there are changes in the victorious reports.”

Myth #3.

“Mannerheim saved Leningrad”

From the very beginning of the war, Finland was directly involved. The first bombs to fall on Leningrad in June 1941 did not come from Germany [16]. They were delivered from Finnish territory. German aircraft were unable to reach the city from East Prussia, and therefore operated from Finnish airfields, taking off and landing in Finland.

In the early hours of 22 June 1941, even before a formal declaration of war, Finnish submarines began laying mines in the Baltic Sea as part of Operation Kilpapurjehdus [21]. That same night, thirty-two German bombers crossed into Soviet airspace from Finland. Soviet anti-aircraft fire near Dibuny immediately shot one down. The remaining aircraft dropped their payloads prematurely and returned to Finnish bases. By the following day, Soviet forces had already captured German pilots taken prisoner after raids launched from Finland.

The final air raid on Leningrad, in April 1944, also originated from Finnish territory. That night, thirty-five Finnish bombers departed from Joensuu and crossed Lake Ladoga to strike the city. Soviet air defenses disrupted the attack, forcing the aircraft to release their bombs indiscriminately and withdraw. Finnish involvement marked both the opening and closing phases of the aerial campaign against Leningrad.

The so-called “Road of Life” was likewise targeted. On 22 January 1942, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim signed an order calling for “special attention to offensive actions against enemy communications in the southern part of Lake Ladoga.” This directive explicitly addressed the supply routes sustaining the besieged city.

The largest coordinated attempt to disrupt these routes occurred on 22 October 1942, with an assault on Sukho Island, a key position controlling Ladoga supply lines. The operation was planned by German command, reinforced with German and Italian naval units, but staged from Finnish-occupied territory and coordinated with Finnish leadership. The attack failed due to Soviet naval and air resistance. Nevertheless, Mannerheim formally expressed gratitude to the German and Italian forces involved. The episode is rarely addressed in Finnish historical narratives.

Finally, Gerhard Engel, an adjutant to Adolf Hitler, later stated that Marshal Mannerheim had informed him that the destruction of Leningrad was also his objective, adding that “the plow would later have to pass over the city” [22].

Myth #4.

“Britain and the United States pressured Finland not to storm Leningrad”

Finland often presents itself as having maintained constructive relations with the Western powers. In reality, once it aligned itself with Nazi Germany, those relations effectively ceased to matter.

It is true that Winston Churchill sent Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim a personal letter in November 1941, urging him to halt the Finnish advance. Churchill warned that if Finnish forces crossed the pre-1939 border, Britain would be forced to declare war on Finland [23].

Mannerheim’s response was courteous in form but unambiguous in substance. He replied that Finland could not stop until its troops reached positions that “guaranteed Finland’s security” [24]. In practical terms, this meant that the advance would continue as planned.

At the same time, the United States attempted mediation. Washington conveyed a Soviet proposal to Helsinki: halt operations at the 1939 border, retain existing territorial gains, and withdraw from the war. Finland’s reply, delivered in November 1941, rejected this framework outright. Helsinki instead demanded a new frontier that included Russian Karelia, Lake Onega, and additional territory [25]. This was not a defensive posture, but an expansionist one.

In 1943–1944, Finnish diplomacy continued to pursue a double track. While signaling interest in peace, Helsinki simultaneously bound itself more tightly to Germany through the Ryti–Ribbentrop Agreement, committing to continued military cooperation. The United States severed diplomatic relations but stopped short of declaring war, effectively keeping Finland in an ambiguous category in the hope that negotiations might still be possible.

Finland was not compelled to stop its advance. It was repeatedly asked. Each time, it declined, choosing territorial expansion over disengagement.

The mindset of Finland’s leadership was later described bluntly by Gerhard Engel, an adjutant to Adolf Hitler. He recorded that the Führer spoke highly of Mannerheim, describing him as a ruthless soldier whose hostility toward Russia went beyond opposition to communism and stemmed from centuries of tsarist rule. Engel also noted Mannerheim’s remark that, after the capture of Leningrad, the city should be demolished and “the plow driven over it,” as it had brought nothing but misfortune to his people [26].

Myth #5.

“Mannerheim saved Finland in 1944”

After Battle of Stalingrad and the lifting of the siege of Leningrad, Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim himself acknowledged that Finland had to find a way out of the war. By February 1943, even his own intelligence chief was advising the government that Finland needed to change course and seek an exit as soon as possible.

In 1944, the Red Army broke through the so-called unbreakable defenses of the new Mannerheim Line on the Karelian Isthmus in a matter of days. Finnish forces collapsed rapidly. Desertions reached unprecedented levels, with roughly 24,000 soldiers, the equivalent of two full divisions, leaving their units within a two-week period.

Facing the risk of a complete breakdown, Finland appealed to Berlin for assistance. Germany responded by transferring additional divisions, assault guns, and approximately seventy aircraft in an effort to stabilize the front.

The reason Soviet forces did not advance on Helsinki was not Finnish military resistance, but strategic choice. Joseph Stalin instructed Leonid Govorov that Finland was not the primary objective. The main task lay elsewhere, in the final defeat of Germany [27].

Finland’s survival in 1944 was therefore not the result of being “saved” by Mannerheim, but of Moscow’s decision to prioritize the decisive theater of the war. The armistice was signed on 19 September 1944.

Myth #6.

“Trust Mannerheim’s memoirs”

After the armistice with the USSR, Finnish authorities moved quickly to destroy documentary evidence. Finland’s chief censor, Kustaa Vilkuna, later acknowledged that “high officials” were calling incessantly, demanding that sensitive materials be eliminated [28].

Mannerheim himself destroyed most of his personal archive in late 1945 and early 1946. Large quantities of staff correspondence, intelligence reports, and related documents were either burned or transferred abroad during Operation Stella Polaris, after which many of them effectively disappeared, reportedly ending up in Switzerland.

Much of this material remains inaccessible. Numerous archival collections are still restricted unless permission is granted by relatives. Files relating to Finnish SS units are officially listed in archival catalogues yet remain missing. The records of the Helsinki war crimes trials of 1945–1946 have never been fully published.

The image of “Mannerheim the savior” therefore rests on selective recollection and deliberate destruction of evidence. Had Leningrad fallen, the outcome would have been mass death and the eradication of the city. This was not a hypothetical scenario, but an objective discussed, anticipated, and acted upon by Mannerheim and his German partners.

Myth #7.

“The war began on June 25 because of Soviet bombings”

This narrative has been repeated in Finnish historiography for decades. President Risto Ryti claimed that the USSR attacked Finland “without any cause” on 25 June 1941, and that this marked the beginning of the war. Archival evidence and subsequent research, however, point in the opposite direction.

As early as 22 June, German aircraft were already bombing Leningrad after taking off from Finnish airfields, while Finnish forces were cooperating with the Wehrmacht. As the American historian Charles Lundin observed: “Why would the Russians, if they had not completely lost their senses, open for themselves an additional and such a difficult front at the very moment when Hitler’s invincible war machine had invaded their country?” [29].

The Soviet air raids of 25 June were therefore not the opening of hostilities, but a response to attacks already launched from Finnish territory and to the presence of German forces there. Moscow acted preemptively to limit further bombardment of Leningrad. The notion of “unprovoked Soviet aggression” belongs to wartime propaganda, later embedded in public memory and still echoed by some writers today.

Finnish Camps and the Hidden Genocide in Karelia, 1941–1944

But the story does not end with the Siege of Leningrad, where people were literally trapped — denied the chance to leave and cut off from food supplies. As a result, 1.5 million civilians perished, including 400,000 children, with 97% dying of starvation. People were forced to eat rats and even wallpaper glue to survive. Yet the joint barbaric tactics of the Finns and the Wehrmacht did not stop there. On Soviet territory, Finland established concentration camps for civilians — mostly women, children, and the elderly — who were held in horrific conditions.

Between 1941 and 1944, the Finnish army seized Eastern Karelia (USSR), unleashing terror on its civilian population.On October 24, 1941, Finland set up its first concentration camp for Soviet civilians of Slavic descent in Petrozavodsk, including women and children. Their chilling mission was ethnic cleansing and the erasure of the Russian presence in Finnish-occupied Karelia.

By the close of 1941, more than 13,000 civilians were behind bars. Fast forward to mid-1942, and that figure soared to nearly 22,000. In total, about 30,000 individuals endured the harsh realities of 13 camps, with a third succumbing to starvation, disease, and brutal forced labor. And this grim count doesn't even factor in the equally lethal POW camps. As the war drafted most men early on, women and children bore the brunt of the labor force in these camps. In April 1942, Finnish politician Väinö Voionmaa wrote home: “Out of 20,000 Russian civilians in Äänislinna, 19,000 are in camps. Their food was rotten horse meat. Children scavenge garbage for scraps. What would the Red Cross say if they saw this?” In 1942, the death rate in Finnish camps exceeded that of German ones. Testimonies describe corpses being hauled daily, teenagers forced into labor, and women and children made to work 10+ hour shifts in forests and camps, unpaid until 1943 [30].

Camp No. 2, unofficially known as the “death camp,” was notorious for its brutality. It held “disloyal” civilians, and its commandant, Finnish officer Solovaara, became infamous for public beatings and killings. In May 1942, he staged a mass beating of prisoners simply for begging. Those who resisted forced labor, often in brutal logging camps, were beaten to death in front of others “as a lesson.” For the slightest offense by a single prisoner, Lieutenant Salavaara deprived the entire camp of food rations. He also forced people to sit for hours in vats of cold water and drove out sick, starving people in nothing but a shirt into the snow [screen shot]. According to the Soviet Extraordinary State Commission, Finnish forces conducted medical experiments on prisoners and branded them with hot iron unlike the Nazis, who tattooed. Finland also engaged in slave trading, selling abducted Soviet civilians for agricultural labor. An estimated 14,000 civilians died in Karelia between 1941 and 1944, excluding POWs.

In Camp No. 5, survivors recounted how they were beaten when they were still just children. Some were beaten to death. They were given 350 grams of bread per day and 50 grams of horse meat for seven days, because of which many children died from cold and hunger. Brutal beatings and whippings were part of the policy toward the prisoners, carried out with wet rags soaked in salt — this was a common method of the Finnish guards. For almost three years civilians lived under such conditions in Finnish concentration camps, guilty only of having Soviet blood in their veins. Schools were turned into barracks, Russian textbooks were burned. The Finnish authorities plundered the prisoners, seizing blankets, watches, and suitcases. [31].

The Finnish Camp No. 6 in Vyborg was one of the most brutal camps for Soviet prisoners of war: up to 17,000 people passed through it, but only a few survived amid starvation, disease, lack of medical care, and constant abuse. Mortality reached catastrophic levels, and the camp earned the reputation of a “Finnish Buchenwald,” becoming a symbol of the barbaric treatment of POWs by the Finnish authorities on occupied Soviet territory. But many of the dead labeled as “prisoners of war” were actually civilians: most rural Soviets lacked passports, and anyone of conscription age was assumed to be a soldier. In 2021, the FSB declassified the names of 54 Finns responsible for the genocide of the Soviet population [32].

All of this is unknown to the average European, American, and even Finn. History is rewritten and presented only through selective episodes, like the Winter War, which makes it difficult to trace the full chain of actions taken by Western countries. And this is no accident: once the sequence of events is laid out, any ordinary person can easily draw some very uncomfortable conclusions that lie right on the surface. So if World War II still feels “murky” to you, if you only have two or three scattered episodes in mind about a six-year global conflict that took 70–80 million lives and destroyed around 2,500 cities, maybe it’s because someone wants it that way.

Sources:

1. Mannerheim, Carl Gustaf. Order of the Day No. 1, 29 June 1941.

2. Mannerheim, Carl Gustaf. Memoirs.

3. Halén, Harry. Baron Mannerheim's Hunt for Ancient Central Asian Manuscripts. Helsinki, 1999.

4. U.S. Department of State. Papers Relating to the Foreign Relations of the United States, 1918, Russia, Volume II.Washington, D.C.: Government Printing Office, 1932. Document 1026.

5. Ahti, Martti. Salaliiton ääriviivat: oikeistoradikalismi ja hyökkäävä idänpolitiikka 1918–1919. Espoo: Weilin + Göös, 1987.

6. Potka & Kiviharju 2022;

7. Vahtola, Jouko. Nuorukaisten sota: Suomen sotaretki Aunukseen 1919. Helsinki: Otava, 1997.

8. Churchill Project. Citing The Churchill Documents, vol. 8.

9. TIME Magazine, 22 October 1934.

10. Convention Respecting the Non-Fortification and Neutralisation of the Åland Islands. League of Nations, 1921.

11. The Times, 15 October 1935.

12. Naval Encyclopedia. “Vesikko Submarine.” https://naval-encyclopedia.com/ww2/finland/vesikko.php.

13. Internet Archive. “History of Finland and IVS.” https://web.archive.org/web/20110706044927/http://www.vesikko.fi/history/finland_and_ivs/.

14. Tanner, Väinö. op. cit. p. 27–28.

15. The Development of Finnish-Soviet Relations of 1939. Helsinki, 1940, p. 47, 49.

16. Zimniaia voina 1939–1940. Kn. 2. I. V. Stalin i finskaia kampaniia: Stenogramma soveshchaniia pri TsK VKP(b).Moscow: Nauka, 1998. p. 272.

17. National Archive of Finland. Risto Ryti collection, Folder 28: T. M. Kivimäki’s letter to R. Witting, 26 September 1941.

18. Fiore, Massimiliano. The Neglected Campaign: The Italian Navy Contribution to the Siege of Leningrad. UAE, 2023.

19. Baryshnikov, V. N. Vstuplenie Finlyandii vo Vtoruyu mirovuyu voynu. 1940–1942. St. Petersburg, 2005.

20. State Archive of the Republic of Finland. Secret telegram from Finnish envoy T. M. Kivimäki, Berlin, 25 June 1941.

21. Naval Encyclopedia. “Vetehinen-class Submarines.” https://naval-encyclopedia.com/ww2/finland/vetehinen-class-submarines.php.

22. Engel, Gerhard. Heeresadjutant bei Hitler 1938–1943. Aufzeichnungen des Major Engel. Entry for July 1941. Stuttgart: DVA, 1974.

23. Letter from Prime Minister Churchill to Field Marshal Mannerheim, 29 November 1941.

24. Reply Letter from Field Marshal Mannerheim to Prime Minister Churchill, 2 December 1941.

25. Carl Gustaf Mannerheim. Memoirs

26. Engel, Gerhard. At the Heart of the Reich: The Secret Diary of Hitler’s Army Adjutant. London: Frontline, 2018.

27. Baryshnikov, N. I. Blokada Leningrada i Finlyandiya 1941–1944. St. Petersburg–Helsinki, 2002.

28. Baryshnikov, V. N. Mannergeym ne spasál Leningrad! St. Petersburg, 2013.

29. Lundin, Charles Leonard. Finland in the Second World War.

30. Väinö Voionmaa. Diplomaticheskaya pochta. 1984.

31. Chudovishchnyye zlodeyaniya finsko-fashistskikh zakhvatchikov na territorii Karelo-Finskoy SSR: Sbornik dokumentov i materialov. Gosizdat KFSSR, 1945.

32. RIA Novosti, 4 August 2021.

The “Grab-itization” of an Entire Country

After the fall of the Soviet Union, the team of “young reformers” led by Anatoly Chubais cleverly facilitated the transfer of state assets into the hands of the so-called “most deserving.” Naturally, this process was presented under the banner of “universal equality and justice.” Conveniently, the “most deserving” turned out to be those with close ties to Western corporations. For example, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, through his company Yukos, and his ties to the Rockefeller family, was on the verge of transferring significant control of Russia’s oil reserves to foreign corporations before his arrest halted the process. Here are the names of the oligarchs who made fortune by stealing from the naive Soviets who just lost their country:

• Mikhail Khodorkovsky (Yukos) - ties with ExxonMobil, Chevron, and Rockefeller Foundation

• Boris Berezovsky - connections with British companies and offshore financial institutions

• Roman Abramovich - deals involving Sibneft and ownership of Chelsea FC, Vladimir Gusinsky (Media-Most) - partnerships with Credit Suisse and European banks

• Vladimir Potanin (Interros) - collaborations with international investment funds and metallurgical corporations

• Mikhail Fridman (Alfa Group) - partnership with BP through TNK-BP and offshore businesses in the UK and US Anatoly Chubais - support from IMF, World Bank, and foreign consultants during privatization efforts.

The tool for the “honest” expropriation of money from the population was the voucher. This document supposedly gave every Russian citizen the right to a small share of state property. Initially, it was said that a voucher could buy you two brand-new Volga cars. Soon, its value dropped to the equivalent of two cases of vodka. The decline continued until a voucher was worth no more than two bottles of liquor. Meanwhile, state property that was privatized began to concentrate in the hands of particularly cunning individuals. And so, Russia saw the rise of its first oligarchs.

Currency Operations

Until the summer of 1992, the dollar was officially valued at the Soviet-era exchange rate of around 56 kopecks. Of course, buying dollars at this rate was impossible, and the black-market rate was much higher. It’s clear that some people made huge profits from this gap. Then, almost overnight, the exchange rate skyrocketed by 222 times, reaching 125 rubles per dollar.

The Rise of Prostitution in Russia

With foreign currency becoming more accessible and borders opening up, “currency prostitution” emerged on a larger scale in Russia. While it had existed before, it was never this widespread. This profession was seen as both prestigious and respected during the 1990s. Currency prostitutes were often better off financially than the wives of Soviet party officials in the 1980s. Surveys even showed that being a currency prostitute ranked among the top ten most desirable professions for schoolgirls at the time. The overall difficult economic situation pushed thousands of Russian women into prostitution. By some estimates, there were around 180,000 sex workers in Russia during the 1990s, with one in six operating in Moscow. At the same time, previously unheard-of forms of prostitution emerged, including male and child prostitution.

The Era of Banditry

When people talk about the 1990s in Russia, one of the first things that comes to mind is the surge in crime. Private entrepreneurship began to emerge during this time, but it was immediately targeted by so-called “bandits” who demanded protection money. To operate without interference, many entrepreneurs resorted to bribing law enforcement. Criminal groups established their own rules, though they often broke them, leading to violent clashes between rival gangs. This period saw a dramatic increase in murders involving firearms and explosives compared to Soviet times. Aside from “gang wars,” people could also be killed for refusing to pay “protection money.” Another common motive for murder was to seize an apartment, especially in desirable neighborhoods. In Moscow alone, around 15,000 elderly, single apartment owners lost their lives during this time.

A Dying Russia

The demographic statistics of the 1990s were grim. According to estimates by Communist Party deputies, Russia lost 4.2 million people between 1992 and 1998, with the population shrinking by 300,000 each year. The situation was especially dire in villages and small towns, where the decline was most visible. It is estimated that around 20,000 villages across the country became completely deserted. The pensions received by the elderly were insufficient to cover basic living expenses, falling below the subsistence minimum. This financial strain forced many to continue working or seek alternative income sources to survive. Simultaneously, the country experienced a surge in alcoholism, exacerbated by the influx of cheap foreign alcoholic beverages. The increased availability and affordability of alcohol led to higher consumption rates, as people sought to escape the harsh realities of daily life. Tragically, many individuals suffered poisoning from various alcohol substitutes, leading to numerous deaths and severe health complications. After the Soviet Union collapsed, the country’s borders opened up, leading to a surge in drug trafficking. Much of the supply came from Central Asia and Afghanistan, bringing in heroin and other opiates. During this time, cheap synthetic drugs like “krokodil” also appeared, along with growing use of amphetamines and marijuana. The healthcare system and law enforcement were unprepared to deal with this growing problem, leading to a drug addiction crisis throughout the decade.

Homelessness was virtually nonexistent in the Soviet Union, but in the 1990s, it became a widespread crisis. The number of homeless children surged to levels not seen since the post-war years, when many were orphaned during the Great Patriotic War. By the 1990s, this figure had skyrocketed, reaching approximately 2 million.

Another blow

The Russian default of 1998 was a catastrophic financial crisis that deeply affected ordinary citizens. The government declared it could no longer pay its debts, leading to the collapse of the ruble and wiping out people’s savings almost overnight. Inflation soared, prices of basic goods skyrocketed, and millions of Russians fell below the poverty line. Banks froze accounts, leaving people without access to their money, and many businesses went bankrupt, resulting in mass unemployment. The default eroded public trust in financial institutions and the government, and for many, it symbolized the failure of the economic reforms of the 1990s. In the late Soviet Union during the 1980s, the poverty rate was estimated at around 1-2%, but in the 1990s, it skyrocketed to 30-50%.

The Great Giveaway: How Russia Fueled Western Prosperity in the 1990s

In the 1990s, Russia’s industries that could compete with the West, such as automotive manufacturing, aviation, locomotive production, turbines, and electric motors, were dismantled. What remained were low-value-added sectors like resource extraction and metallurgy, which did little to improve the standard of living for Russian citizens. The West gained massive new markets for its products, driving rapid industrial growth in Western Europe and the United States.

Through the exploitative privatization process, foreigners acquired control over key Russian production and resource assets for next to nothing. This allowed them to extract profits through dividends and unofficially through imposed services, effectively funneling capital out of the country. Western economies also benefited from cheap energy resources supplied by Russia, sustaining their prosperity for decades.

One striking example is the 1994 “Gore-Chernomyrdin uranium deal,” where the U.S. acquired nearly all of the weapons-grade uranium stockpiled by the Soviet Union, 500 tons, for just $11.9 billion.

Western countries gained access to Russia’s latest inventions and applied scientific developments. During the 1990s, Russian research institutes handed over their innovations for next to nothing through joint ventures. Once the ideas were extracted, these joint ventures were typically shut down. In the 1990s, a significant number of skilled professionals from the post-Soviet space—scientists, engineers, and programmers—relocated to countries like Australia, Canada, and the United States, fueling advancements in science, education, and the IT sector. By 2003, around 800 Russian programmers were working at Microsoft’s headquarters in Redmond. These were individuals who had emigrated in the 1990s and played a crucial role in developing the world’s leading operating system, helping to establish Microsoft as a monopoly in the industry.

The enabler: President Yeltsin

The 1996 presidential elections in Russia remain one of the most controversial and corrupt in the country’s history. Boris Yeltsin, whose popularity had plummeted due to economic collapse, mass poverty, and the chaos of the 1990s, faced a very real threat of losing to Communist Party leader Gennady Zyuganov. With approval ratings hovering around 5-6% at the start of the campaign, Yeltsin’s victory seemed almost impossible without outside interference.

Yeltsin’s campaign received unprecedented financial and media support from Russia’s oligarchs and Western governments. State resources were funneled into his re-election campaign, and the media—controlled by influential oligarchs—engaged in relentless propaganda. Television channels and newspapers portrayed Yeltsin as the “savior of democracy” while demonizing his opponents, ensuring no fair representation of the political alternatives.

Buying Votes and Bribing Officials A large portion of the electorate, struggling with poverty, was influenced by promises of pensions, salaries, and financial benefits that never materialized after the election. There were also reports of widespread vote-buying, intimidation of voters, and manipulation of election commissions to favor Yeltsin.

The West played a key role in securing Yeltsin’s victory, as a weakened Russia was highly advantageous for their interests. Western advisers were brought in to guide his campaign with modern strategies, while significant financial aid was directed to bolster his efforts. This degree of foreign involvement cast serious doubt on the sovereignty of Russia’s democratic process. Although Yeltsin was declared the winner, his second term was marked by continued economic turmoil, the Chechen war, and the further rise of oligarchic rule. The corrupt nature of his re-election deeply disillusioned the Russian public with democracy and paved the way for authoritarian tendencies in the years that followed.

For those who claim that the USSR state apparatus were primarily Jewish, here’s a reality check: In the 1990s, after decades of suppression under Soviet rule, the Chabad movement reestablished itself in Russia. Following the collapse of the USSR and the introduction of religious freedoms, Chabad began rebuilding Jewish life by opening synagogues, schools, and community centers across the country. Supported by global Chabad networks and influential figures like oligarch Lev Leviev, they became a leading force in the revival of Judaism. Through strong ties with the government and extensive outreach programs, Chabad played a crucial role in restoring Jewish identity and presence in post-Soviet Russia.

Terrorist attacks

The 1990s in Russia were marked by a series of devastating terrorist attacks. One of the earliest major incidents occurred in 1995, when Chechen separatists took more than 1,000 hostages in a hospital in Budyonnovsk. The standoff, which lasted several days, ended with over 100 people killed after a failed Russian military assault. In 1996, another high-profile attack took place in Kizlyar, when Chechen militants seized a hospital and took hundreds of hostages. They used civilians as human shields while escaping, leading to a deadly confrontation with Russian forces. Smaller-scale bombings and hostage-takings were also frequent, targeting civilians, public transport, and infrastructure. For example, explosions in Moscow metro stations and other urban centers spread fear and insecurity across the population. The 1999 apartment bombings were among the deadliest terrorist attacks of the decade, with a series of explosions in Moscow, Buynaksk, and Volgodonsk killing nearly 300 people and injuring hundreds more.

In the 1990s, Russia’s economy was in deep crisis. Thousands of industrial enterprises and research institutes closed down, leaving millions without jon. As a result, many Russians turned to trade to survive.

Pensioners turned to small-scale street trading, selling cigarettes, sunflower seeds, and other minor goods to make ends meet.

There were also some truly disturbing entrepreneurial efforts. For example, morgue workers and forensic experts were found to be involved in the trafficking of human organs. In general, people across the country did whatever they could to survive—and somehow, they managed. This chaos continued until Putin came to power, pulling the nation out of its downward spiral, earning him the lasting gratitude of majority Russians.

“The Inferior Race”: How Ideology Justified Atrocities

The Nazis openly proclaimed their contempt for Slavic peoples, branding them “Untermenschen” (sub-humans) and framing the Eastern campaign as a struggle for Lebensraum, or “living space.” This ideology was codified in directives such as the May 1941 Wehrmacht order declaring, “Soldiers shall not be held accountable for actions against the civilian population,” effectively green-lighting murder and abuse. Ordinary troops internalized these beliefs: as Corporal Walter wrote in a 1942 letter, “The Russians are animals. We can do whatever we want to them” [1]. Stripped of any sense of moral responsibility, soldiers became executioners, convinced that their victims were less than human.

The Conveyor of Violence—from Rape to “Death Factories”

Policy and Propaganda

From the outset of Operation Barbarossa, Nazi authorities sought to regulate—and thereby legitimize—intimate relations between German soldiers and the occupied population. In a 1943 SS briefing, commanders lamented that an estimated 50 percent of troops in the East were engaging in “undesirable sexual intercourse with ethnically alien women,” a statistic that threatened both the regime’s racial ideology and its claim to military discipline . The Barbarossa Decree (May 13, 1941) and subsequent Wehrmacht directives effectively exempted soldiers from punishment for crimes against civilians, transforming rape, gang rape, and forced prostitution into tools of terror rather than offenses meriting strict judicial response [2].

By May 1941, German commanders had exempted troops from any punishment for crimes against civilians, effectively turning rape, looting, and murder into official policy. The Soviet Government, in a diplomatic note of 27 April 1942 to the British ambassador, spelled out these measures in chilling detail: widespread expropriation of land and property; the destruction of villages on retreat; mass deportations to forced labor; and systematic starvation of the civilian population. This memorandum underlines that the Vernichtungskrieg was not the work of rogue units, but a centrally planned campaign of annihilation.

Firsthand Atrocities

Sexual terror was wielded as a deliberate weapon of war. Hundreds of firsthand accounts—preserved in letters and diaries of occupying soldiers—recount how victims were raped and then often murdered to conceal the atrocities.

German troops openly boasted of their “achievements.” Lieutenant Müller, who served in Kharkiv and Taganrog, bluntly admitted:

“…we loaded girls onto trucks, raped them, and then dumped them back out”[3]

Officer Reimbold described how in their camp they first beat suspected “female spies” with rifle butts and bayonets, then raped them, and afterward collected buttons torn from their clothing as “trophies,” even tossing grenades near their bodies to hear their screams [4].

Reimbold: "In the first officers' prison camp where I was being kept here, there was a really stupid guy from Frankfurt , a young lieutenant, a young upstart. There were eight of us sitting around a table and talking about Russia . And he said: 'Oh, we caught this female spy who had been running around in the neighborhood. First we hit her in the tits with a stick and then we beat her rear end with a bare bayonet. Then we fucked her, and then we threw her outside and shot at her. When she was lying there on her back, we threw grenades at her. Every time one of them landed near her body, she screamed.' And just think, there were eight German officers sitting at that table with me, and they all broke out laughing.

Institutionalized Brothels

To satisfy the “needs” of their personnel, the occupiers established entire brothels. In Smolensk, the seized Hotel Central was converted into a 250-bed brothel where hundreds of women—from collective-farm workers to schoolgirls—were forced into nightly “sessions” with officers; those who resisted or could not comply were killed. Equally horrific was the makeshift “den” in the village of Leviki in Smolensk Province, where fifty local women and girls were locked in a barn: drunken soldiers streamed in and committed gang rapes without mercy [5].

Thus, sexual violence became a deliberate tool of intimidation: it shattered the spirit of entire communities, demoralized anyone who dared resist, and served as a mechanism for the wholesale destruction of human dignity. These orchestrated atrocities—part of the larger Nazi Vernichtungskrieg—paved the way for equally systematic campaigns of mass executions and public killings.

Mass Executions and Public Killings

As the front lines shifted, Nazi occupiers unleashed a campaign of terror against civilians, combining arbitrary arrests, deliberate starvation, and spectacle executions to break communities and crush all resistance.

When German forces entered the village of Krasnaya Polyana, they immediately detained all the men and locked them inside the local administration building. They were held there for eight days without food until Soviet troops liberated the area. The elderly women were confined to bunkers and cellars under guard, while the village and nearby settlements descended into chaos. Groups of intoxicated soldiers moved from house to house, committing acts of violence, theft, and destruction. 14-year-old Nyura Demyanova was raped in front of her mother and infected with syphilis, while in a neighboring house, 14-year-old Tonya I. suffered the same fate. The crimes were marked by symbolic tokens—a killed Finnish officer was found with 37 buttons in his pocket, each collected as a "trophy" from his victims.

Among the countless civilians targeted by Nazi terror, the fate of 18-year-old partisan Zoya Kosmodemyanskaya stands out for its cruelty and the symbolic power it later carried. Captured in late 1941 while carrying out sabotage operations near Moscow, Zoya was subjected to brutal interrogation, publicly hanged, and her body burned—meant as a warning to all who might dare resist. Even under unimaginable torture, she refused to betray her comrades. Her execution became a rallying point for Soviet morale, and today memorials in her honor dot the very woods where she fought.

The atrocities were designed to be public and humiliating. In the village of Puchki, Polina Terekhina was gang-raped in front of her husband before being executed; when he tried to reach her, he was shot six times in the back. The scale of violence was systematic—15-year-old Maria Shch. from Bely Rast was stripped naked and paraded between houses for German soldiers, while a two-year-old girl was nearly thrown into a burning stove. [6].

Public executions became another instrument of terror. In the village of Balabolkino, Kalinin Province, retreating units forced the town’s inhabitants into the open square and methodically shot the elderly, women, and children—among them a six-year-old boy named Dmitry—before driving off the survivors. Several German soldiers dragged the young kolkhoz worker Evdokia Novikova aside, raped her in full view of the village, and then executed her on the spot with a submachine gun [7]. Similarly, in Dnepropetrovsk, a marching detachment used machine guns to slaughter more than a hundred civilians who dared to defend their homes near the cemetery. Three women were tied to poles, then brutally abused by the Germans and then executed [8]. These executions were deliberately public, intended to demonstrate that no one was safe from German retribution.

Worst of all were the collective tortures and burnings that accompanied these mass killings. In the village of Sukhodol, Smolensk Province, twenty-four villagers—including eight children—were corralled into a single house, where women were abused before the building was set ablaze. None survived [9]. And in the ancient Tikhvin Monastery, the Gestapo converted sacred cells into torture chambers: when Soviet forces finally liberated the site, they found four half-dead prisoners and the body of a fifteen-year-old girl, her young life ended in unspeakable cruelty [10].

Through arrests, blockades, public shootings, and collective burnings, the occupiers wove a tapestry of terror that left entire communities shattered. By turning every street corner into a potential death trap, they underscored the brutal reality that, for those under German occupation, survival was a daily gamble against the most barbaric impulses of modern warfare. Having decimated both people and morale in accordance with their Vernichtungskrieg, the occupiers then turned to the systematic destruction of the very structures that sustained village life.

Looting and the Destruction of Infrastructure

In the village of Smagleevka (Voronezh Province), retreating German units turned systematic plunder into an art form. Marauders ransacked collective-farm warehouses, driving off livestock and seizing some 250 centners of grain. They then sabotaged the very pillars of community life—mining school buildings and setting fire to the library, erasing both the means of sustenance and the halls of learning in a single, devastating sweep [11] .

Farther north, in Bely Rast (Kursk Province), entire homesteads went up in flames: houses were burned to the ground, cows slaughtered in their stalls, and every last reserve taken. Innocent lives paid the ultimate price—twelve-year-old Vladimir Tkachev was executed with twenty-one rifle rounds, and Irina Mosolova, a mother of four, was shot without cause, leaving her babies orphaned.

As they fell back under the Red Army’s onslaught, German units turned every village into a scene of horror. In the hamlet of Sukhodol, Smolensk Province, they corralled dozens of civilians into a single house, where the soldiers assaulted the women and then set the building alight. Trapped in the burning building, twenty-four souls were consumed — among them I. Fomushkina clutching her infant, Evdokia Kotova, Ekaterina Fruntova, and many other innocent victims. Eight small children, too young to comprehend such evil, perished in that blazing hell, their lives snuffed out by the merciless terror of Hitler’s forces [12].

The Horrors of Frontline Logistics and Rear-Area Atrocities

As German units recoiled before the Red Army’s advance, the brutality extended far beyond open battlefields into the very heart of occupied territory. In Krasnaya Polyana, wounded Soviet soldiers—among them a female medic—were captured and left to languish without water for four days and without food for seven [13]. When they were finally offered a drink, it was nothing but brackish saltwater, hastening their agony. Witness accounts record that, as the nurse lay dying, a German soldier forced himself upon her, turning the final moments of the wounded into a public spectacle of degradation. Such calculated cruelty, blending outright torture with sexual violence, shattered any pretense of martial honor.

Behind the lines, the Gestapo transformed prisons and temporary camps into chambers of torment. In the once-hallowed halls of the Tikhvin Monastery, now a medieval torture chamber, captured Red Army soldiers and civilians were stripped naked, dragged on sleds through town, and thrown into unheated cells where they languished for six days without food. When Soviet forces finally liberated the monastery, they found four half-dead men—soldiers Gromov and Takashev and railway workers Mikhailov and Stepanov—barely alive from exposure and starvation. In another cell lay the mutilated corpse of a fifteen-year-old girl, Lidiya, raped and tortured to death.

Prisoners elsewhere were beaten with rifle butts, stabbed with bayonets, and had grenades lobbed among them to magnify the carnage. In the village of Pechnevo, underage girls were raped before their parents’ eyes, and retreating units set a house alight with Red Army prisoners inside—those who tried to flee the flames were gunned down on the spot. These were not isolated acts of vengeance but a systematic program of dehumanization, designed to terrorize even those far from the front. In every corridor and cellblock, the occupiers upheld a single, unspoken doctrine: no one taken alive was entitled to mercy [14].

Aftermath and the Imperative of Remembrance

The full extent of these crimes only came to light through the meticulous work of military tribunals and fact-finding commissions convened immediately after the liberation of Soviet territories. Their official records provided core evidence at the Nuremberg Trials and in subsequent Soviet prosecutions, establishing a legal foundation for condemning those responsible for genocide and crimes against humanity.

In Russia today, memorials and commemorative publications have arisen around almost every documented atrocity—small monuments at decimated villages, detailed regional monographs, and volumes of witness testimony—yet Western scholarship still largely overlooks these records. To preserve historical truth and guard against future repetitions of such horrors, it is vital to integrate these testimonies into the global narrative of World War II. Only by confronting the full scale of Nazi terror—on the battlefield, in the villages, and behind prison walls—can we honor the victims and fortify the lessons of the past against the dangers of forgetting.

Constructing the “Virtuous Wehrmacht”: Propaganda, Memory, and the Shield of Innocence

Even as Wehrmacht units on the Eastern Front participated in or facilitated mass violence, official narratives and postwar memoirs worked diligently to portray the average German soldier as fundamentally “virtuous.” Wartime propaganda, notably in front-line newspapers and regimental newsletters, highlighted isolated acts of compassion—soldiers sharing scarce rations with civilians, officers sparing unarmed prisoners—to contrast sharply with alleged Soviet “barbarism.” After 1945, these anecdotes were enshrined in unit histories and veteran reunions, where former soldiers insisted they had merely been “regular men” fulfilling their duty, attributing all excesses to the SS or special detachments. Crucially, as David A. Harrisville observes, few of these veterans ever expressed remorse for the crimes they witnessed or committed, reinforcing the myth that “our” Wehrmacht had remained clean amid the chaos . This convenient partition not only smoothed the reintegration of millions of veterans into West German society but also significantly delayed critical historical scrutiny of the Wehrmacht’s broader role in occupation policies .

Source:

1. “Rape, Murder and Genocide: Nazi War Crimes as Described by German Soldiers.” Der Spiegel, June 15, 2009. https://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/rape-murder-and-genocide-nazi-war-crimes-as-described-by-german-soldiers-a-755385.html

2. Baumgarten, Alisse. Rape as a Weapon of War: The Demystification of the German Wehrmacht During the Second World War. Claremont McKenna College thesis, 2017. https://scholarship.claremont.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1683&context=cmc_theses&httpsredir=1&referer=

3. “Rape, Murder and Genocide”. Der Spiegel.

4. ibid

5. Pravda [newspaper], no. 234 (8642), 24 August 1941, page 3, Электронная библиотека “Некрасовка,” https://electro.nekrasovka.ru/books/6149050/pages/3

6. Zvezda, no. 275 (1941), Электронная библиотека ПермГАСИ, accessed August 2025, https://base.permgaspi.ru/zvezda/?year=1941&num=275

7. Russian National Electronic Library. https://viewer.rusneb.ru/ru/000199_000009_011684924?page=2&rotate=0&theme=white

8. Документы История России. “Акт о зверствах в деревне Балаболкино” (node 222297), accessed August 2025, https://docs.historyrussia.org/ru/nodes/222297?query=русская+тростянка+балаболкино#mode/inspect/page/1/zoom/4

9. Документы История России. “Акт о зверствах в деревне Белый Раст” (node 308536), accessed August 2025, https://docs.historyrussia.org/ru/nodes/308536#mode/inspect/page/1/zoom/4

10. Документы История России. “Акт о зверствах в деревне Суходол” (node 222474), https://docs.historyrussia.org/ru/nodes/222474#mode/inspect/page/1/zoom/4

11. Документы История России. “Акт о зверствах в деревне Пучки” (node 343823), https://docs.historyrussia.org/ru/nodes/343823#mode/inspect/page/1/zoom/4

12. Yandex.Archive. “Catalog C9CC9B7C-6C47-424D-8C32-F2057959DE7D,”https://yandex.ru/archive/catalog/c9cc9b7c-6c47-424d-8c32-f2057959de7d/2

13. Документы История России. “Акт о зверствах в деревне Суходол” (node 222474),https://docs.historyrussia.org/ru/nodes/222474#mode/inspect/page/1/zoom/4

14. Russian National Electronic Library. “000199_000009_011684924”, https://viewer.rusneb.ru/ru/000199_000009_011684924?page=2&rotate=0&theme=white

15. Документы История России. “Акт о зверствах в деревне Пучки” (node 343823), https://docs.historyrussia.org/ru/nodes/343823#mode/inspect/page/1/zoom/4

16. The Virtuous Wehrmacht: Crafting the Myth of the German Soldier on the Eastern Front, 1941-1944 by David A. Harrisville

When it comes to World War I, public memory is foggy at best. At worst, it blindly echoes old Bolshevik propaganda: that it was an “imperialist bloodbath” into which “Tsarist Russia was senselessly dragged.” The war is largely erased from collective memory — and yet it was in this conflict that Russia demonstrated military might, strategic resilience, and sacrifice on a scale rivaled only by the Great Patriotic War (World War II).

More importantly, Russia didn’t lose on the battlefield — it was brought down from within by unrest and revolution.

A War Russia Didn’t Want

World War I did not begin because of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. That was merely the spark. At its core, the war was a clash between competing global models. On one side stood the rapidly expanding Anglo-American capitalism—built on colonies, finance, and control of maritime trade. Britain and the United States sought to preserve (or inherit) global dominance—less through military might than through financial and logistical supremacy. Their ideal world was a unified market governed by banks, debt instruments, trade agreements, and technical standards. And for that system to function, any powers outside it had to be neutralized.

Opposing them was Germany—a rising industrial and technological rival to Britain by the 1910s. This was a disciplined, technocratic state seeking its own expansion into Europe, the Balkans, and the Middle East. Germany needed markets, resources, and ports, but unlike Britain, it offered a hard, vertical alternative. German banks and industrial cartels wanted to dictate terms as well. Their slogan may have differed, but the goal was the same: domination.

Then there was Russia—a traditional Eurasian imperial model, where the state still stood above bankers, and where the economy didn’t directly dictate foreign policy. Russia posed a problem for both sides: sovereign, vast, ideologically distinct, and rich in resources untouched by Western financial control.

Yet despite modern conspiracy clichés, Russia did not seek this war. It actively tried to avoid it. Tsar Nicholas II was the first European monarch to publicly call for the creation of an international body to prevent wars—a prototype of the League of Nations, proposed at the turn of the 20th century [1]. And in July 1914, when Austria-Hungary launched its aggression against Serbia, it was Nicholas who proposed international arbitration. Germany responded with one answer: an ultimatum — Serbia must lose its sovereignty, or there would be war.

By 1914, Germany faced growing strategic anxiety. Russia was rapidly modernizing its army, building new railways, and would become nearly unbeatable in 2–3 years. The German General Staff made a cold calculation: strike now while there’s still an advantage, and defeat France and Russia separately [2].

Refusing to support its allies would have meant Russia turning its back on a world where smaller Slavic nations could be overrun with impunity. It stepped in to protect Serbia, an Orthodox and Slavic ally, facing Austro-Hungarian aggression. This was not merely a matter of treaties, but a historical and moral responsibility, rooted in Russia’s long-standing role as the defender of Orthodox Christians in the Balkans. Ultimately, it was Germany — not Russia — that declared war first, on August 1, 1914.

Russia: The Pillar Without Which the Entente Would Have Collapsed

Throughout the war, Russia remained the main shield of Europe, holding back the blows of the Central Powers. From the earliest days of the conflict, the Russian army shouldered an enormous burden. While the British and French were still frantically mobilizing, Russia was already fighting—on two, sometimes even three fronts: from the Baltic Sea to the Caucasus Mountains.

The length of the Russian front reached 1,934 kilometers—nearly three times that of the Western Front (630 km) [3]. Russia fought simultaneously against three empires: Germany, Austria-Hungary, and the Ottoman Empire. And the Russian army faced the best, elite divisions of the enemy. By 1917, up to 150 enemy divisions were concentrated on the Eastern Front—more than on the Western Front [4].

It was Russia that saved its allies at the most critical moments. In August 1914, at the very beginning of the war, the Russian army launched the East Prussian operation. Despite the tragic loss of General Samsonov’s army, the operation achieved its strategic goal: the German high command was forced to divert troops from the Western Front, disrupting its advance on Paris [5]. Russia saved France again in September by launching an offensive in Galicia and capturing Lviv. Meanwhile, near Warsaw and Łódź, Russian forces repelled massive German attacks, preventing any advance into Poland.

In 1915, despite severe losses and a major retreat, Russia prevented the destruction of Serbia and Romania. In early 1916, Russian forces struck in the Caucasus, crushing the Ottoman Empire’s main forces, liberating Erzurum and Trabzon, and cutting German arms supplies via southern routes. But the highest point of the war came with the Brusilov Offensive.

The Great Victory of General Brusilov

The summer 1916 offensive of the Southwestern Front, led by General Aleksei Brusilov, marked a triumph of Russian military strategy. It was the first large-scale offensive conducted across a broad front, emphasizing surprise, secrecy, and concentrated artillery fire. Russian forces didn’t just break the line—they shattered the backbone of the Austro-Hungarian army. In the first few days alone, over 200,000 enemy soldiers and officers were captured, along with vast amounts of artillery and ammunition [6].

Austria was on the brink of military collapse. Germany had to urgently redeploy around 30 divisions from France and Italy to the Eastern Front to save its ally, thereby weakening its position in the West. This shift allowed the Allies to launch the Somme Offensive. In effect, the Russian army made it possible for the British and French to organize the year’s largest battle. And just a few months prior, those same allies had asked Russia to only make diversionary gestures, doubting its offensive potential. Once again, Russia delivered the impossible.

Brusilov’s front became a model of high-level tactical planning and discipline. The operation was prepared with exceptional thoroughness: officers studied terrain, prepared positions, and trained the troops. Brusilov opposed military clichés—rather than concentrating forces in one “shock fist,” he launched attacks on multiple sectors, preventing the enemy from predicting where the main blow would land. This strategy was ahead of its time and later inspired the German generals in 1940 under a different name—blitzkrieg.

The Brusilov Offensive not only saved Italy—then suffering heavy losses to Austria-Hungary—but also prompted Romania to join the Entente. The war escalated to a new level, and it was the Russian army that became its primary catalyst. After the operation, Brusilov wrote: “The soldiers showed incredible endurance. They advanced with faith that Russia stood behind them.”

The Damage Inflicted on the Enemy Was Colossal

The numbers speak for themselves. According to data compiled by historian Aleksei Oleynikov, by the end of 1917:

• The Russian army captured up to 60% of all Central Powers POWs taken by the Allies;

• Nearly 72% of all artillery trophies taken by the Entente were captured by the Russians;

• Total enemy losses on the Eastern Front exceeded half of all their losses in the war [7].

And these were the result of offensives often carried out without the necessary support from allies. Russia achieved this despite having a much weaker industrial base, overextended logistics, and a constant shortage of arms, while simultaneously modernizing its military structure on the move.

By 1917, Russia had indeed reached a peak of military strain—but not the verge of collapse, as defeatist narratives often claim. On the contrary—it had achieved a strategic turning point. After the Brusilov Offensive, Germany had to divert up to 30 divisions from the West to the East. According to the General Staff, Russia still had over 200 combat-ready divisions, and shell production in 1916 had increased twentyfold compared to 1915 [8]. Even German General Ludendorff acknowledged in his memoirs:

“The Russian front holds our main forces. Their 1916 offensive brought us to the brink of defeat.” [9]

Had it not been for the internal betrayal, Russia had every chance of ending the war among the victorious powers. This was echoed by Russian émigré generals:

“Russia had already entered the phase of decisive superiority…”
— General Nikolai Golovin [10]

He emphasized that the outcome of the war was not determined on the battlefield, but by the coup at home.

If Not for Russia...
Had it not been for the Russian army, Germany would have broken through to the English Channel long before the Allies could organize. Britain and France would not have had time to mobilize, let alone establish stable defensive positions. It was Russia, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives, that bought the Allies their most critical resource: time. And this time was used to build industrial superiority, complete mobilization, and develop military technology. But it was Russia who earned it. And when victory was near, internal unrest wiped it all away [11].

The Erzurum Operation: Crushing the Sultan’s Empire

While Europe was bogged down in trench warfare, the Russian army struck a devastating blow on the southern flank, in the mountains of eastern Anatolia. The Caucasian army under General Nikolai Yudenich launched a bold, meticulously planned winter offensive in early 1916 against the heavily fortified Ottoman stronghold of Erzurum.

Erzurum was considered impregnable — a mountain bastion of trenches, barbed wire, mines, and artillery. Western armies would have spent months cracking it. Yudenich took it in just two weeks:

• The operation began in January, in deep winter, with temperatures below –30°C.

• Russian troops maneuvered over snow-covered passes, flanking the defenses.

• Deceptive maneuvers, night raids, and precision attacks allowed them to overrun the fortress by February 16.

• Russians captured 250 cannons, thousands of prisoners, and then marched to Trebizond on the Black Sea, taking it in April.

The Ottoman army in the Caucasus collapsed. Germany lost its southern partner in the region. It was a strategic disaster for the Ottomans, and a demonstration of Russia’s operational brilliance [12].

Russia Entered as an Ally, Not an Aggressor

Russia did not enter the war in pursuit of conquest or colonial gain. It acted in accordance with its alliance commitments to Serbia and France, established by the 1892 military convention. This was not a symbolic arrangement — France depended on Russia as its eastern shield. Nicholas II upheld that commitment fully, aware of the risks it entailed.

When Austria-Hungary issued its deliberately unacceptable ultimatum to Serbia and Germany backed it, Nicholas II became the only leader to propose international arbitration. He pleaded with the Kaiser to stop mobilization — telegrams known today as the "Willy-Nicky" correspondence — a tragic testament to his desire to prevent war. He knew: if Russia stepped back, France would fall, and Germany would overrun Europe [13].

It was Germany that declared war on Russia — just as it did in World War II. This single fact dismantles the myth of “Russian imperialism.” Russia had no colonial ambitions in Europe, no oil interests in Mesopotamia like Britain. It entered the war to defend its allies and to try, while it still could, to prevent the catastrophe it saw coming [14].

And this wasn’t the first time Russia had appealed to peace. Long before Wilson's Fourteen Points, it was Nicholas IIwho proposed the creation of a permanent international body to resolve global conflicts. He initiated the Hague Conference of 1899, which brought disarmament, international law, and peaceful dispute resolution to the table. His 1898 memorandum became, in many ways, the philosophical predecessor to Wilson’s League of Nations — only without the American double standards [15].

Internal Sabotage and Revolution — That’s Why Russia “Lost” the War

To claim that Russia "lost" World War I is to falsify chronology. By the end of 1916, Russia was not losing — it was winning. The Brusilov Offensive was not only the Entente’s greatest military success, it shattered Austria-Hungary and forced it under full German command. Simultaneously, Yudenich’s Caucasian army dealt a crushing blow to the Ottomans, capturing Erzurum and Trebizond.

By late 1916, Russia held the longest front line in the war, controlled vast territories, and maintained the second-largest and still battle-capable army in Europe, despite mounting supply problems. The enemy was exhausted. Germany was no longer calculating peace terms. Russia, on the other hand, was preparing for victory. In early 1917, parade uniforms were already being tailored for the final push. Ironically, those same uniforms greatcoats, officer caps would soon be worn by the revolutionaries. The military dress of the Empire became the garb of its gravediggers [16].

Order No. 1 — A Knife in the Army’s Back

So why did Russia collapse? The answer lies not at the front, but in the rear. The enemy was not only on the outside — but already embedded inside. After the February Revolution, the Provisional Government rapidly lost control of the armed forces. On March 1, 1917, in the middle of the war, the Petrograd Soviet issued a document that many historians now view as one of the most destructive in Russian military history: Order No. 1. Russia had not yet suffered a decisive defeat — but this order ensured one would come.

What did it do?

• Allowed soldiers to form committees and ignore orders not approved by them

• Banned epaulets, removing visual signs of rank

• Made commander selection collective and “democratic” — as if war were a union meeting

• Though officially limited to Petrograd, it spread across the entire army in practice

The order stated: "In all companies, battalions, squadrons, and batteries, immediately elect company, battalion, and other committees."

An Army Without Officers Is Not an Army. Before Order No. 1, morale was strained, but command structure remained. After:

• Officers were removed, sometimes killed

• Orders were disobeyed unless “debated” — a death sentence in war

• Troops deserted positions, retreating with weapons

• Conflicts broke out between troops and officers, including assassinations

• Bolsheviks, backed from abroad, agitated openly for defeat and civil war

The command collapsed. The front crumbled not due to enemy pressure but internal rot. As Oleynikov notes: "Russia’s defeat in the war was not due to losses at the front, but due to the deliberate dismantling of the political and military management system.” [17]

The Brest-Litovsk Treaty — Shame, Not Necessity

After February came October. The Bolsheviks, led by Lenin who arrived from Germany in a sealed train, paid for by the German General Staff [18] seized power.
Shortly after, Lenin signed a peace treaty with the enemy — Germany.

When the Bolsheviks took power in October 1917, they inherited an army still capable of fighting, and an enemy at the breaking point. Germany was starving, out of reserves, and collapsing on all fronts.
But the Bolsheviks intentionally dismantled everything:

• They withdrew troops

• Canceled mobilization

• Negotiated the Brest-Litovsk Treaty — a humiliating, separate peace

Under the treaty, Russia ceded its most developed territories:

• Ukraine

• Belarus

• The Baltics

• Part of the Caucasus

• And paid reparations

Even Lenin himself admitted it openly: the February Revolution and the collapse of the army served the purpose of turning the imperialist war into a civil war — a war for power, not national defense. [19].

Debunking the Myths

Myth #1: “Russia was losing the war”

This is the most persistent and misleading myth, repeated by Western textbooks, leftist journalists, and even some Russian historians. But it contradicts hard facts, documents, and chronology. But from 1915 to 1917, Germany repeatedly transferred divisions from the Western Front to the Eastern Front — not the other way around. This alone disproves the notion of a “weak” Russian army.

Numbers they don’t teach in school:

• In 1917, up to 150 divisions of the Central Powers were deployed against Russia — including elite German and Austro-Hungarian forces.

• On the French front at the same time — 142 divisions.

• By 1916, 40% of all German forces were fighting Russia, not France — saving Verdun from collapse.

It was Russia that seized strategic initiative in 1916 with the Brusilov Offensive, forcing Germany and Austria-Hungary into full defense mode.

Myth #2: “Russia suffered enormous losses”
Another cliché claims Russia “threw millions of men into the meat grinder.” But what do the numbers say?

Total casualties (killed, wounded):

• Russia: ~5.3 million (1.3–1.5 million combat deaths), or ~7.6 million including POWs

• France: ~5.5 million (1.3–1.4 million combat deaths), or ~6.1 million with POWs

• Germany: 6.25+ million (2 million combat deaths), or ~7.4 million with POWs

• Austria-Hungary: 4.72 million (1.1–1.2 million combat deaths), or ~6.9 million with POWs

Russia did suffer more prisoners of war, particularly after the 1915 retreat. But in actual combat losses, Russia lost less than Germany and Austria-Hungary while had the highest number of mobilized troops by far. Combat losses for Russia amounted to approximately 1.3–1.5 million, meaning that the percentage of soldiers killed out of the total mobilized (~15.5 mobilized) was lower than, for example, in Germany, which mobilized around 13.2 million and lost about 2 million in combat.

It’s ironic, but to inflate Russia’s death toll, Western sources often include those who died from the Spanish flu—even after the war had ended. Yet the flu struck every country, not just Russia. The fact that people in Russia died amid the collapse triggered by war, revolution, and growing internal chaos is just another inconvenient truth they tend to overlook.

Russia inflicted the most damage on the enemy. Up to 60% of all POWs taken from Germany and Austria-Hungary, and 72% of all captured artillery credited to the Entente came from Russian efforts [20].

Myth #3: “An imperialist slaughter”
This narrative was invented by Bolshevik propaganda in 1917 to justify their surrender and power grab under the slogan “peace at any cost.” But it has no basis in reality.

As previously noted, Tsar Nicholas II had no ambitions of territorial conquest. His foreign policy was guided by a desire to preserve peace and stabilize Europe. He even offered to act as a mediator in the conflict. Russia primary aim was to protect Orthodox Slavs in the Balkans from German-Austrian and Ottoman aggression. Unlike the other great powers, Russia had no ambitions in Africa or designs on Belgian ports.

So who was truly fighting for imperialism?

• France wanted to reclaim Alsace-Lorraine and secure dominance over the Rhineland. Despite its narrative of national defense, fought to protect and expand its colonial empire, regain lost territory, and exert dominance in Europe and the Middle East.

• Britain sought to dismantle the Ottoman Empire, secure control over Mesopotamia (for oil), and strengthen its grip on Persia and the Suez route to India.

• Germany pursued economic and political hegemony in Central and Eastern Europe through its Mitteleuropa plan.

• Austria-Hungary aimed to crush Serbian nationalism and dominate the Balkans.

As for Russia, it posed a civilizational alternative to Western domination — and for that reason, it was marked for destruction.

Myth #4: “Russia was exhausted by war”
This is the core of the liberal-Western legend that the Revolution was inevitable — that the country was on its last legs by 1917. In fact, the opposite is true.

Economy: growth, not collapse

• By 1916, military production was 4–5x higher than in 1914.

• Ammunition output increased 20-fold, rifles by 7x.

• Russia launched 40 new defense plants in Petrograd, Moscow, Samara, Tula, even Siberia.

• Import substitution had begun: domestic production of explosives, optics, railcars, even automobiles.

• Railroads were overloaded but functional. The real crisis in transport began in late 1916 due to sabotage, not resource exhaustion [21].

Food: it existed — but didn’t reach cities

• The 1916 harvest was average. There was no national famine.

• The crisis was one of logistics, caused by strikes and railroad sabotage, often stirred up by Socialist agitators.

• The army had no shortages. The food crisis was urban, especially in Petrograd and Moscow and, evidence shows, it was engineered [22].

Military: modernized and strong

• By 1916, the Russian army had 8.5 million men under arms.

• New Mosin rifles, updated machine guns, heavy artillery.

• Shock battalions and trench warfare tactics.

• Two major victories: the Brusilov Offensive and the Erzurum campaign.

So where was the “collapse”? It was deliberate. Between 1916–1917:

• Liberals and parts of the Duma sabotaged logistics.

• Socialist agitators incited unrest in factories and garrisons.

• Order No. 1 destroyed army discipline.

• Strikes were orchestrated in rail and food sectors.

The breakdown of supply and order came top-down, from the elite — not from the masses.

Myth #5: “Nicholas II was a weak and incompetent commander who gave poor military orders.”

Nicholas II as Supreme Commander-in-Chief from 1915 to 1917, he made rational, coordinated, and often effective decisions that stabilized the front and boosted morale.

• In August 1915, after setbacks on the Galician Front, Nicholas dismissed Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich and took personal command of the army, a move many feared but that ultimately brought order and focus to the command structure.

• He maintained close cooperation with the General Staff, avoided micromanagement, and supported innovative strategies, including the Brusilov Offensive.

• Under his leadership, logistics and munitions supply improved, and the front was stabilized despite enormous pressures.

• His presence at Headquarters (Stavka) was described by generals as calm, disciplined, and deeply responsible. General Brusilov later noted that Nicholas showed “restraint, dignity, and a clear sense of duty.”

Nicholas II was not incompetent; on the contrary, he was a cautious and responsible statesman who refrained from interfering in tactics, instead providing strategic consistency. The collapse of the army did not result from his decisions, but from Order No. 1 — issued after the revolution by those who had no plan for war, only a plan for power.

Why does the West push these myths?

Because to accept the truth would mean admitting:

• Russia wasn’t losing the war — it was betrayed.

• The economy wasn’t collapsing — it was being sabotaged.

• The Tsar’s army wasn’t incompetent — it was effective.

• Nicholas II didn’t blunder — he was strategic.

• The October coup wasn’t liberation — it was the downfall of a civilization that was about to win.

Had Russia preserved its command system and finished the war, it would’ve entered Versailles as a victor, shaping the postwar world. Instead, those who surrendered it for slogans and German gold took power.

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The War Russia Was Winning — and the Victory She Was Denied

By 1917, Russia had reached the peak of her military power. She had saved France and Serbia, delivered a crushing blow to the enemy in the Brusilov Offensive — the largest success of the Entente — and held a front stretching nearly 2,000 kilometers. Russia fought with strategic initiative and unmatched resilience.

Yes, there were hardships — economic strain, supply disruptions, and war fatigue. But these were universal. By 1917, Germany, Austria-Hungary, and France were also nearing collapse. Yet only in Russia did the army get deliberately dismantled, the chain of command destroyed, and the state system sabotaged from within.

The Empire didn’t fall because of economic failure. It fell to internal subversion — revolutionary agitation, organized sabotage, collapse of discipline, and betrayal by the political elite. Just as victory was within reach, the blow came from behind.

Lenin openly called for turning the “imperialist war” into a civil war. He demoralized the army, dismantled the state, and pulled Russia out of the war at its most decisive moment when even the German General Staff no longer believed in victory. In 1917, Russia stood at the finish line. By 1918, she had been destroyed from within and set back for decades, losing between 8 and 12 million people in the civil war by 1923, compared to 1.3 – 1.5 million in World War I.

“Our country lost the war to the side that was already losing. A unique situation in human history.” — Vladimir Putin

Indeed. Russia became the only power to win on the battlefield but lose through betrayal in the rear. And after canceling the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, Lenin didn’t even demand compensation from the Allies despite Russia’s enormous contribution to their victory.

Russia’s downfall was the result of internal sabotage. Her achievements were erased, her commanders discredited, and her role in the First World War deliberately distorted. It’s time to state the truth clearly: Russia stood at the gates of victory and was stabbed in the back.

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Sources:

[1] Kazakov A.V. Russia’s Role in the First World War and the Formation of the Post-War World Order, 2022. Dissertation, pp. 14–15 (on Tsar Nicholas II’s peace proposals before WWI).

[2] Ibid., pp. 29–31 (on German calculations and military planning for a preventive war).

[3] Golovin, N. N. The Russian Army in World War I

[4] Fuller, J. F. C. Decisive Battles of the Western World

[5] Stone, N. The Eastern Front 1914–1917

[6] Brusilov, A. A. My Memoirs

[7] Oleynikov, A. V. Dissertation on the Eastern Front, Russian Academy of Sciences, 2021

[8] Wildman, A. The End of the Russian Imperial Army

[9] Ludendorff, E. My War Memories 1914–1918

[10] Golovin, N. N., quoted in Novaya Rossiya (Paris, 1924)

[11] Alexey Oleynikov, Military Potential of the Russian Empire on the Eve of 1917, Moscow Defense University, 2019.

[12] General N.N. Golovin, The Eastern Front in World War I: Military Operations of 1914–1917, émigré publication, Paris, 1930.

[13] The Willy–Nicky Telegrams, Imperial War Museum Archives, UK.

[14] Sean McMeekin, The Russian Origins of the First World War, Harvard University Press, 2011.

[15] Hague Peace Conference Archives, 1899; Nicholas II's 1898 Memorandum on Disarmament.

[16] Alexey Oleynikov, Military Potential of the Russian Empire on the Eve of 1917, Moscow Defense University, 2019.

[17] Ibid., Chapter: “Collapse of Military Hierarchy and Internal Sabotage”

[18] Zeman, Z.A.B. & Scharlau, W.B. “The Merchant of Revolution: The Life of Alexander Israel Helphand (Parvus)”, 98–100.

[19] Treaty of Brest-Litovsk (primary documents), cited in: Richard Pipes, The Russian Revolution, Knopf, 1990; Sean McMeekin, The Russian Origins of the First World War, Harvard University Press, 2011.

[20] Alexey Oleynikov, Military Losses of the Russian Empire in World War I, Defense University Press, 2019.

[21] Ibid., Chapter: “Industrial Production and Transport Sabotage, 1916–17”

[22] Sean McMeekin, The Russian Origins of the First World War, Harvard University Press, 2011; Richard Pipes, Russia under the Bolshevik Regime, 1994.

Poland and Russia are both Slavic nations, but they made fundamentally different civilizational choices. As early as 966, Poland accepted Christianity from Rome, not from Constantinople. That means: Poland immediately submitted to the Western Catholic model—with allegiance to the Pope, external spiritual authority, and political dependency. Rus’, on the other hand, adopted Christianity from Byzantium in 988, without pressure, as a conscious choice.

Why does this matter? Because before the 1054 schism, the real center of Christianity wasn’t Rome—it was Constantinople: the largest, wealthiest, and most influential Christian city. Byzantium defined theology, canon law, and Christian governance. Its emperor was seen as the “Christian Tsar”—not the Roman Pope.

Unlike the Latin West, where Christianity splintered into papal states, rival bishoprics, and competing feudal powers, the Byzantine Orthodox model cultivated internal cohesion. In the East, the Church was inseparable from the state—not subordinate, but symphonic. Theology, law, and governance worked in unison. There was no pope to dictate from afar, no foreign clergy to impose alien doctrines. This model, adopted by Rus’, fostered a centralized identity and a unified sacred-political order. In contrast, the Western Catholic system bred dependency, spiritual hierarchy centered in Rome, and a feudal patchwork where kings ruled at the mercy of bishops, barons, and papal decrees.

The Polish Model of Governance: Element One

So why did Mieszko I, the ruler of Poland, get baptized through Rome? Simple: to save his own skin. At the time, Catholic Germany was aggressively expanding eastward under the guise of “Christianization,” but behind it were the swords of margraves and bishops. Gero, for example, led brutal military campaigns. Mieszko realized that he could either be forcibly converted—or do it himself “diplomatically.” He accepted baptism from Rome via Bohemia to present surrender as alliance. Poland received an indulgence from invasion—but placed itself under the Vatican’s thumb [1].

Poland often argues that it is a more "civilized" nation because it adopted Christianity 22 years earlier. But by 988, Rus’ was already a powerful and mature state. The baptism of 988—commonly called the ‘Baptism of Rus’—was not its origin, but a formal culmination. Rus’ had existed long before: it had a stable monarchy, a developed legal system, written chronicles, and had engaged in diplomacy with Byzantium. Princess Olga was baptized in 957—thirty years before Mieszko’s baptism—while Poland was still building its basic institutions [2].

The baptism of Rus’ was not subordination to Byzantium, but a civilizational choice. Under Vladimir and Yaroslav, Rus’ did more than have its own church—it established its own church structure and administrative system. No pope appointed its hierarchs. In fact, Rus’ set the terms. Yaroslav the Wise was called the “father-in-law of Europe”: his daughters became queens of France, Norway, and Hungary—without papal coronation, unlike Western rulers. Rus’ was sovereign.

Rome was furious. Catholic Europe could not tolerate the fact that a vast Orthodox civilization in the East—Kievan Rus’—refused to recognize the Pope’s supremacy and existed independently. This is why repeated attempts were made to "subjugate" Rus’: through crusades, Teutonic aggression, Polish expansion, Church unions (Uniates), Jesuit missions, and ideological subversion from within.

Poland was not simply non-Orthodox—it deliberately and systematically positioned itself against the Orthodox world. This became one of the fundamental civilizational divides in Eastern Europe: Rome vs. Constantinople, Catholicism vs. Orthodoxy, Poland vs. Rus’.

Thus, two worldviews were born: one rooted in independence from the Roman crown—and the other, Poland’s, always seeking validation from outside. Lacking a strong internal core, its elites aligned with Rome, then Vienna, Paris, or Berlin—shaping a vassal mentality. For centuries, the szlachta acted as an arm of Catholic power, and Poland’s statehood rose and fell with foreign approval.

The Polish Model of Governance: Element Two

In 966, Polish ruler Mieszko I accepted Catholic baptism and gained recognition from Rome, which helped legitimize his rule and protect Poland from conquest. Over the following centuries, his loyal elites evolved into a privileged noble class—later known as the szlachta—the Polish nobility, named after the German word Geschlecht, meaning “noble family.”

Importantly, the szlachta weren’t just the ruling class — they also enforced Catholic rule on the ground. As devout Catholics, they viewed Orthodox Rus’ as “barbaric” and backward. For them, Rome was not only a spiritual authority but also the source of their cultural and political legitimacy. In return for their loyalty, the Vatican rewarded the szlachta with control over new territories seized from Orthodox principalities.

The szlachta functioned as both the missionary vanguard and the administrative arm of Latin Catholicism—installing Latin clergy, promoting Church unions (i.e., agreements forcing Orthodox communities to recognize papal authority while preserving outward rituals), and administering the newly acquired lands in the interest of both Rome and the Polish crown [3].

The szlachta were not loyal to the Polish state or king—but to their own privileges and the interests of the Catholic Church [4]. They dominated the Polish king and blocked every attempt at centralization. As a result, Poland never developed into a strong, unified empire. Instead, it functioned as a loose confederation of aristocratic estates—undermined from within by the szlachta and their loyalty to an external spiritual power. This internal sabotage was one of the key reasons for the collapse of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth—a state that Poland still nostalgically mourns.

Over time, Polish political ideology drifted into absurdity. The szlachta began to claim descent from the ancient Sarmatians — a noble and supposedly “chosen” people, often associated with Indo-Iranian (or Aryan) origins. You get the idea.

The Polish Model of Governance: Element Three

At this time, the third element of Poland’s governing model began to take shape. After Jews had been expelled from nearly every country in Western Europe, Poland extended an invitation in 1264. This was not an act of humanism, but a pragmatic decision: trade, taxation, banking, and administration needed to be developed — and by then, Jews had accumulated substantial experience in the German and Czech lands. By 1334, their presence in Poland became widespread and institutionalized: they were granted privileges, legal protections, and separate courts. King Casimir III the Great even took a Jewish woman, Esterka, as his favorite.

Thus emerged the third pillar of Poland’s administrative system — the Jews. The szlachta — Catholic, insular, and proud — disdained direct involvement with the “dark,” Orthodox population in the newly conquered eastern territories. Yet someone had to collect taxes, lease land, manage courts, and oversee local affairs. Jewish communities filled this role perfectly: they became administrators, tax collectors, leaseholders, and creditors in the Rus’ lands. Expendable, efficient, and entirely dependent on szlachta protection, they acted as a buffer between the ruling elite and the native Orthodox majority — who, in turn, grew to resent them.

In this way, Poland constructed a triadic order:
1. Vatican,
2. Szlachta
3. A Jewish intermediary class governing the Orthodox eastern territories.

This divide between Rus’ and Poland — between ecclesiastical sovereignty and papal subordination — is not an incidental footnote. It is the red thread that runs through every political turn, every war, every treaty, and every ideological shift in Eastern Europe. Whether in the baptism of Mieszko or the Union of Brest, whether through crusades or modern “integration projects,” the underlying battle remains the same: the struggle of an Orthodox civilization to retain its autonomy against a system that demands submission to Rome. The West never forgave Rus’ for choosing independence — and Poland, having chosen subservience, was repeatedly rewarded with the role of executor.

The Beginning of Poland’s Expansion into Rus’

After the death of Prince Danylo of Halych and his heirs in the 13th century, Galician Rus’ gradually lost its political stability and fell under the control of the Mongols (the Golden Horde) [5]. In 1246, Danylo was forced to acknowledge the suzerainty of Khan Batu in order to preserve nominal self-rule. Hoping to secure support against the Mongols, Danylo briefly aligned with the papacy and, in 1254, was crowned “King of Rus’” by a papal legate in Drohiczyn. However, he rejected the Pope’s authority over the Orthodox Church and soon broke off ties with Rome after receiving no military aid. This dependency on the Horde, combined with Western pressure, left the principality vulnerable: the khan controlled political affairs, while neighboring Poland and Hungary closely watched the weakening state and increasingly interfered in its internal matters.

To preserve some autonomy and prevent the principality from falling under direct control of either Poland or Lithuania, they invited the young Bolesław Trojdenowicz—grandson of Yurii Lvivich through the female line and nephew of Polish King Władysław the Elbow-high—to become their ruler. As a condition, he was required to convert to Orthodoxy and adopt the name Yurii. While he was formally accepted as a local Orthodox prince, in reality he served the interests of the Polish crown.

Yurii II Boleslav, though nominally Orthodox, acted as a Polish proxy—promoting Catholic influence, introducing Polish laws and customs, and alienating the local Orthodox nobility and population. After his sudden and suspicious death in 1340—likely poisoning—a popular uprising broke out, expelling Polish officials and briefly restoring Orthodox self-rule in Galicia.

The uprising made one thing clear: the Orthodox Rus’ population of Galicia had no desire to live under Catholic Polish rule. Yet Poland seized on the prince’s death as a convenient pretext to invade [6]. With the Vatican’s full support, they launched a campaign not only of political conquest but religious replacement. The Pope’s administration actively backed the construction of Catholic churches in the occupied territories. Meanwhile, the Mongols—still formally the region’s overlords—offered no resistance. Their silence was telling, and far from accidental.

The war between Poland and the Orthodox nobles of Galicia lasted almost ten years. By 1349, Poland had fully captured Galicia. To legitimize the conquest and avoid conflict with the Mongols, Casimir III recognized their suzerainty and agreed to pay tribute. The people of Rus’ now faced two powers: Catholic Poland and Mongol suzerainty. It was a Vatican-backed colonial takeover

By 1357, Casimir III began making regular tribute payments to the Golden Horde [7]. According to historical records, the Mongol khan sent envoys—possibly nobles or messengers—to negotiate terms, and the Polish crown accepted the arrangement. There was no formal treaty, but the Mongols accepted tribute and allowed Poland to rule unchallenged.

Archaeological finds support this arrangement. Golden Horde coins from the 1300s have been discovered in Galicia and Volhynia, confirming that Mongol fiscal authority persisted even after the Polish occupation [8]. For the khans, who were primarily interested in revenue, it likely made little difference whether the tribute came from Rus’ princes or Polish kings. Evidently, the Polish crown promised a reliable stream of payments — and the Horde, satisfied with the arrangement, made no military move and issued no protest, allowing Poland to rule on the ground in exchange for financial compliance.

The szlachta, with the tacit approval of the Tatars, entered the region not as liberators but as a parasitic elite—beneficiaries of devastation. They were followed by the Latin clergy, then by Jewish leaseholders, thus forming a rigid system of colonial rule: the Polish king at the top, the szlachta as the military and administrative elite, and the Jewish community as the intermediary and enforcer.

During the same period, Lithuania also began expanding rapidly. It moved northeastward, seizing Rus’ territories such as Brest, Lutsk, parts of Volhynia—and gradually advanced toward Kiev.

This marked the beginning of the “Catholic Rus” project—an effort to reshape Eastern Europe in service of the Vatican and Rome. It was implemented through Catholic monarchs who, though formally independent, acted as spiritual and ideological vassals of the Papacy. The campaign aimed to dismantle Orthodox identity, displace native elites, and eliminate local sovereignty. Polish expansion into Rus’ lands was not presented as conquest, but as a “civilizing mission” — to impose order, restore the “true faith” (Latin Christianity), and introduce Western norms to the “barbaric” Orthodox East. Byzantine Christianity was condemned as false, while Roman Catholicism was promoted as the only true form of the faith.

In many ways, this mirrored the logic of modern interventions—wars waged under the banner of spreading “democracy” and “human rights” to supposedly dictatorships or illegitimate regimes. Just as today’s military and ideological campaigns claim to export Western values, Poland’s expansion was carried out under the guise of religious salvation and cultural enlightenment—while in reality serving geopolitical and colonial aims.

How Poland Gained More Rus’ Lands Through Lithuania—and Began Their Catholicization

At that time, Lithuania was not yet a Catholic power. Until the Union of Krewo in 1385, it remained pagan and, in some regions, partially Orthodox. For this reason, Lithuanian expansion initially seemed less aggressive toward the Rus’ lands than Poland’s. Lithuanian princes often left local Orthodox governors and princes in place, without forcing Latinization.

But everything changed in 1385. Polish princess Jadwiga married Lithuanian prince Jogaila. Under the terms of the Union of Krewo, Lithuania agreed to adopt Catholicism, and the dynasties united. In essence, it was a Polish-led geopolitical takeover of Lithuania, disguised as Christianization.

What Poland gained:

• Territorial control from Brest to Smolensk and Kiev

• Access to new resources and military strength

• A new front to intensify Catholic pressure on Rus’

• Most importantly, it furthered the Vatican’s long-standing goal: to displace Orthodoxy from the eastern lands

What Jogaila received:

• Legitimacy in the eyes of Western Europe as a “Christian king”

• Polish support in his fight against the Teutonic Order

• The price: surrendering his country to a Catholic power structure.

This was a deliberate campaign to drive Orthodoxy out of Lithuania and the Rus’ lands, to break their cultural identity, and to replace their faith, history, and language with a Polish-Catholic one.

At the same time, following the Polish takeover of Galicia-Volhynia and other Rus’ regions, the third pillar of Poland’s colonial governance began to take shape: the Jewish intermediary class. Jews were officially permitted to settle, build synagogues, engage in trade, manage finances, and even preside over local courts. Autonomous Jewish communities—kahals—were established with the right to collect taxes, lease land, and exercise authority over the local population.

The Polish nobility (szlachta), viewing the Orthodox peasants as inferior, refused to interact with them directly. Instead, they delegated day-to-day governance and revenue extraction to the Jewish kahals, effectively creating an intermediary class between the landowning elite and the native Rus’ population. Thus, the Polish model of state governance was formed, consisting of:

• Szlachta — controlled the land, reaped profits, and set policy;

• Jewish kahals — ran local administration, managed finances, leases, courts, and oversaw the population;

• The Vatican — provided ideological justification and enforced spiritual subjugation through Catholicism;

• The king — a nominal figure, effectively a puppet of the noble oligarchy.

In this way, Poland created a feudal machine whose primary function was the exploitation of Orthodox eastern lands under the banner of Catholicism. It was systemic colonization, in which each layer of authority served a foreign power: Rome, the szlachta, and Jewish magistrates.

1569: The Union of Lublin — Poland Expands Its Catholic Dominion Over Rus’ Lands

In 1569, the Union of Lublin was signed, officially merging Poland and Lithuania into the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth—a federation in form, but in practice a Polish-Catholic dominated state. As part of the union, key Rus’ territories—Kiev, Podolia, and Volhynia—were stripped from Lithuania and placed under direct Polish rule. This marked the official beginning of systematic colonization of Orthodox Rus’ under the Catholic banner.

A wave of religious persecution against the Orthodox population followed almost immediately:

• Orthodox bishops were removed and replaced with Uniates—formally “Eastern” clergy, but fully subordinate to Rome;

• Rural parishes were forcibly seized, and believers expelled from their churches;

• Churches were “reconsecrated” by Catholic priests, often under the protection of Polish noble militias;

• Those who refused to acknowledge papal authority faced torture, exile, expulsion, or even execution.

Historical accounts from Orthodox clergy and Cossack chronicles describe horrific atrocities committed by Polish forces and Uniate collaborators during this campaign. Orthodox monks were reportedly crucified or flayed alive, pregnant women had their bellies slit open, and infants were burned in bonfires. Entire parishes were subjected to forced conversions under threat of death; refusal to accept the Union immediately and without condition often meant execution on the spot [9]. These were not isolated incidents, but part of a broader campaign to forcibly subjugate the Orthodox population and eradicate all resistance to the Union of Brest.

The Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth: The Height of Poland’s Geopolitical Ambition

The era of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth marked the peak of Polish statehood. Poland makes no secret of its nostalgia for this period and, even in the 20th century, sought to revive it—most notably through the “Intermarium” project (control of land stretching from the Baltic to the Black Sea).

At its core, the Intermarium project aimed to create a bloc of Eastern European states under Polish dominance—reviving Poland’s historic claims over Rus’ territories lost after the fall of the Commonwealth.

This ambition never truly vanished. Today—especially after 2022—it is resurfacing with renewed force in the rhetoric of the Polish elite. It appears in reports by RAND, CEPA, and the Atlantic Council [11]. Politicians openly speak of a “zone of historical responsibility” in Galicia, Volhynia, and even Podolia.

Among far-right and nationalist circles, the idea of Poland as the “leader of the Eastern flank of Europe” is once again gaining traction, with Poland cast in the role of a “civilizing force.” Discussions are underway about “historical rights” to Lviv, presented as a “natural restoration of justice.”

Thus, the Union of Lublin is not merely a dead historical treaty—it remains the ideological foundation for a geopolitical vision that continues to shape Poland’s foreign policy and its attitude toward Rus’, Ukraine, and Belarus.

How Rus’ Reclaimed Its Lands

Even as Poland and Lithuania seized Rus’ lands, a new center of power was emerging in the East. Moscow emerged as the new political and spiritual center, the gatherer of the Rus’ territories, and the defender of the Orthodox faith.

Perhaps this very resurgence — this refusal to disappear, to submit, or to ask the West for approval — is what the West still sees as “barbaric.” For centuries, Poland in particular defined itself in contrast to Rus’ — glorifying its “civilized” Latin culture while scorning Russian independence. That contempt became the foundation of its national myth.

In 1380, the Battle of Kulikovo took place — Dmitry Donskoy’s victory over Mamai. It was not merely a military triumph, but a profound symbol: Rus’ was capable of standing up to the Horde and fighting for its destiny.

By 1480, the Mongol yoke was finally broken. Moscow stopped paying tribute, and the Golden Horde collapsed.

Meanwhile, the Eastern Roman Empire — what is now commonly called Byzantium — fell. In 1453, Constantinople, the heart of the Orthodox world, was conquered by the Ottomans. The city became Muslim, and Byzantium ceased to exist as a civilization.

The first Rome abandoned the true faith. The second, Constantinople, fell to the sword. Moscow remained — the last Orthodox power upholding true belief and sovereign rule. It was not a self-appointed role — history bestowed it. Moscow became the Third Rome.

With Byzantium gone and Moscow now the center of Orthodoxy, the Russian state began to take back what had been lost.

While systematic persecution of Orthodox Rus’ continued under the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, by the end of the 15th century, the tide began to turn.
Starting in 1492, the Russian state launched a series of military and political campaigns — known as the Gathering of the Rus’ Lands — to reclaim its historical territories. Moscow became the center of power and initiative. Over the following century, nearly all ancestral lands were returned — Kiev, Smolensk, Chernihiv, and other regions once again became part of the Russian state.

Yet Polish historiography still calls these wars “aggression.” The fact that Rus’ retook its own historical lands — seized during a moment of weakness — is portrayed as “imperialist expansion.” It’s remarkable how seamlessly this inversion of meaning has become embedded in political culture.

When Poland conquers — it’s called a “historic mission,” “civilization.”
When Rus’ reclaims — it’s a “threat,” “barbarism,” “dictatorship.”
And no one seems bothered by the contradiction.

The Murder of a Dynasty

Yet the struggle for Rus’ didn’t stop with military campaigns. Poland and the Vatican had no intention of accepting the loss of control over the lands of Rus’. Once Rus’ began reclaiming its territories, a new phase began.

The next blow struck at the very core of Russia’s statehood: the royal dynasty itself. In a short span of time, key members of the royal family died under suspicious and unnatural circumstances:

• Ivan the Terrible’s mother, Elena Glinskaya — poisoned.

• His first wife, Anastasia Romanova — also poisoned.

• His heirs — Tsarevich Dmitry and Tsar Fyodor — died under murky circumstances, likely poisoned.

• Ivan the Terrible himself died suddenly in 1584 — likely poisoned as well [11].

Modern research, including analysis of royal remains, confirms the suspicions: Ivan’s body contained mercury levels 33 times higher than normal, and arsenic nearly twice the safe level. Tsarevich Dmitry’s remains showed mercury levels 3.25 times above normal.

This evidence points to a systematic poisoning campaign — a deliberate effort to liquidate the royal line.

Even in the 17th century, it was already said that Ivan’s lineage was wiped out intentionally to make way for foreign influence. Today, that suspicion is confirmed by scientific data. It was a methodical erasure of legacy, creating a political vacuum ready to be filled from the outside.

“False Dmitry” Project: A Jesuit Operation Disguised as a Savior

False Dmitry’ claimed to be the miraculously surviving Tsarevich Dmitry, son of Ivan the Terrible. He claimed to be the miraculously surviving son of Ivan the Terrible — Tsarevich Dmitry. In truth, he was a creation of the Jesuits, Polish nobles, and the Vatican.

False Dmitry was a project of Pope Clement VIII, officially backed by Rome.
Jesuits provided explicit instructions: dismantle Orthodoxy, enforce the Union with Rome, and reshape religious policy to favor Catholics. The Polish nobility provided him with a hired army, which crossed into Russian territory.

In 1605, with the help of Polish mercenaries, False Dmitry entered Moscow and declared himself Tsar of Russia. He was even formally crowned — recognized and allowed to rule for nearly a year.
Eleven months on the throne — under the banner of Catholic invasion, under the control of Rome and the Polish elite.

But this political performance ended as it should have: In 1606, the people of Moscow rose up, killed False Dmitry, and threw his body out — a reminder that the Russian throne is not for sale and cannot be claimed by a papal decree.

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The Polish Occupation of Moscow and the Attempt to Destroy the Russian Church

The extinction of the Rurikid dynasty plunged Russia into the Time of Troubles — a period of chaos, foreign intervention, and civil war. The state collapsed into chaos, and power fell into the hands of a “Council of Seven Boyars” — a group of aristocratic elites who took control after the collapse of royal authority. Polish King Sigismund III Vasa — a Jesuit-trained Catholic zealot — seized the moment to strike. He represented not so much Poland as the interests of the Vatican. He viewed Rus’ not as a sovereign land, but as a future Catholic province under Rome and Polish control.

In 1609, Sigismund laid siege to Smolensk. By 1610, his troops poured into Russian lands. Key cities of southwestern Rus’ again fell under the control of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth: Smolensk, Novgorod-Seversky, Sevsk, Bryansk, Rylsk, Oryol, Belyov, and other border strongholds.

His son Władysław proclaimed himself Tsar without the people’s consent — no coronation, no assembly, and no legitimate dynastic claim.

The boyars’ “sudden” agreement was anything but spontaneous. By 1610, many had already been secretly corresponding with Jesuits, had wives from Lithuanian noble families, and were accepting generous gifts — land, gold, favors. They had been bribed, and they betrayed their country. This unelected clique formally invited the Poles into Moscow.

A Polish garrison took up position in the Kremlin. Under their protection, Jesuits entered the city, distributed literature, spread propaganda, and began laying the groundwork for a Union — another effort to bring the Russian Orthodox Church under papal authority.

Catholic propaganda spread fast. Churches were vandalized, sacred relics destroyed, and Orthodox Christians punished — all under Polish weapons. Moscow was, for all intents and purposes, an occupied city.

From 1610 to 1612, Moscow was not ruled — it was violated through military occupation, looting, and humiliation. Polish soldiers starved the population, plundered homes, raped women, and killed anyone who refused to acknowledge their power. It was an attempt to annihilate Rus’ as a civilization.

But Russia did not fall.
The Russian people rose up — without any foreign support — and formed a national militia led by Minin and Pozharsky. In 1612, they liberated Moscow. The Poles and Jesuits were expelled, and the occupation came to an end. Traitors were removed, and the Russian state began to rebuild. True independence wasn’t handed down from above — it was reclaimed from below, by the people, not the elites.

The Orthodox Response to Catholic Oppression — Uprisings and Revolt

As Catholic and Uniate repression intensified across the eastern Rus’ lands, resistance began to rise. In 1648, a major uprising broke out under the leadership of Bohdan Khmelnytsky — driven not only by social injustice, but also by religious persecution and the looming threat to the Orthodox faith. Khmelnytsky turned to the Tsar of Moscow for protection, leading to the reunification of the southern Rus’ lands with the Russian state.

Later, in 1768, another revolt broke out — the Koliyivshchyna. This time, Orthodox peasants rose up once more against Catholic terror and the abuses of the Polish nobility. The rebels attacked Uniate churches, killed estate managers, and demanded religious freedom and land. It was a raw, violent backlash against centuries of religious persecution, cultural erasure, and feudal exploitation.

Though brutally suppressed, the Koliyivshchyna sent a clear message: the Orthodox population would no longer accept subjugation. The uprising exposed the deep fractures within the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and signaled that its hold over the eastern lands was unraveling. The path toward final liberation — and the collapse of the Commonwealth itself — had begun.

How the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth Vanished — and the Obsession with “Barbaric” Russia Began

By the 18th century, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth ceased to exist as a state. Its collapse was not caused by external enemies, but by internal rot. The country drowned in its own noble lawlessness:

• Reforms were paralyzed by the liberum veto

• The tax system collapsed

• The military fell apart

• The state became disorganized and ungovernable

Meanwhile, the Catholic elite continued to suppress the Orthodox majority in the eastern territories.

Despite its disintegration, Poland continued joining anti-Russian coalitions — driven by pride, delusion, and a fading dream of imperial status. One such episode was the Bar Confederation of 1768 — another reckless adventure by the Polish nobility aimed at undermining Russian influence. In response to ongoing provocations and the collapse of Polish governance, three powers — Russia, Prussia, and Austria — divided the remains of the Commonwealth among themselves.

Poland disappeared from the map of Europe as a sovereign state.

And yet — even in this final act — Russia mostly received historically Rus’ lands: eastern Ukraine, Belarus, and parts of Lithuania. In contrast, Prussia and Austria claimed much of ethnically Polish territory. To this day, Poland reserves its deepest resentment for Russia — not for those who took Polish lands, but for the one that reclaimed its own.

Distorted Memory and Lost Illusions

To this day, many in Poland view Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania as “lost lands.” But they were not “stolen” — they were liberated. But these lands were never spiritually Catholic nor culturally Polish. They were home to a deeply rooted Orthodox majority ruled by a Catholic minority that maintained power through repression, violence, and papal support.

This is why the uprisings — and the expulsion of the Poles from Moscow — are not isolated events but pivotal moments in a broader civilizational struggle. On one side stood the West, with its religious aggression, external domination, and Jesuit ideology. On the other stood Rus’ — which endured, preserved its faith, identity, and sovereignty.

Barbarians and the “Civilized”

Just like a hundred or even two hundred years ago, the Polish, Western, and Catholic discourse still clings to the mantra of “barbaric Rus’”. This isn’t cultural critique — it’s recycled Vatican propaganda cloaked in moral arrogance.

We’ve heard the same message repeated again and again — just in different packaging:
- Hitler preached Aryan supremacy — a fragile mask for the humiliation inflicted by Versailles.
- The Polish szlachta convinced themselves they were “civilized Catholics” living next to a “dark, barbaric Rus’” — out of fear of being absorbed by a deeper and more resilient Eastern civilization.
- Americans called themselves a “superior nation” to justify slavery, and the plundering of India, Africa, Latin America, the USSR, and the Middle East.

In the 21st century, Israel explains its bombings through the lens of “chosenness” and “civilized self-defense.”

All these narratives share one thing:
Whenever someone declares their superiority — it’s not a sign of strength, but of fear and insecurity.
“We are the best!” — is the cry of those who secretly doubt it.
The idea of “chosenness” is always just a mask for a deep inferiority complex.

Russia and Poland: Two Different Kinds of Confidence

It’s telling that in Russia, no one seriously considers Poles to be “inferior.” But neither are they seen as “superior.”
To most Russians — it simply doesn’t matter.
A Pole? So what? Poland is just a neighboring country.
But England, France, the U.S. — yes, those command attention. Because Russia has a centuries-long rivalry with them.

Poland, meanwhile, is like an anxious neighbor with a superiority complex, clinging to the faded glory of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth and forever trying to prove it was “wronged.”

When you're truly confident, you don’t need to prove others are beneath you. Poland still lives in a fantasy of a civilizing mission. Russia — simply lives. And it continues to fight, even today, for its sovereignty — not only on the battlefield, but in culture, memory, and the right to exist on its own terms.

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Sources:

1. Thietmar of Merseburg’s Chronicle (ca. 1012–1018)

   “Dobrawa persuaded her husband to convert to Christianity”

   He also highlights the geopolitical motivation behind baptism:

   “His conversion … was most likely intended to bring Mieszko's state closer to the Duchy of Bohemia and to prevent future attacks by the Holy Roman Empire

2. Olga’s baptism in 957, often cited in the Primary Chronicle and Byzantine sources, confirms her early Christianization, occurring decades before Poland’s conversion.

3. Richard Butterwick’s essays in Catholicism and Enlightenment in Poland–Lithuania

4. Zamoyski Code:

   “Zamoyski Code … was opposed by several factions … the Vatican (Holy See) opposed the Code, as it limited ecclesiastical law throughout the Commonwealth … papal nuncio Giovanni Andrea Archetti and Russian ambassador Otto Magnus von Stackelberg jointly bribed deputies to the Polish Sejm in exchange for their opposition to the Code.”

5. Hypatian (Galician–Volhynian) Chronicle (~1292)

6. Jan Długosz, Dzieła wszystkie, vol. 1 (Kraków: Akademia Umiejętności, 1887), https://archive.org/stream/dzieawszystkiev01dugoog/dzieawszystkiev01dugoog_djvu.txt.

   King Casimir of Poland, […], gathered his forces and swiftly invaded Rus’ after Easter, laying siege to the city of Lviv.

   He then marched on Volodymyr and brought both the fortress and the entire Volhynian land under his control.

   To secure Lviv, he appointed a captain from among his soldiers and left a small garrison to keep the newly subjugated people obedient through fear. Laden with spoils and gifts taken from the Rusyns, he returned to Poland, intending soon to come back with even greater force.

7. The Mongols and the West: 1221-1410 by Peter Jackson

8. “Monety Złotej Ordy na ziemiach dawnej Rusi”, Kowalski, Tomasz, Przegląd Numizmatyczny, 2003.

9. Zakharia Kopystensky’s “Palinode” (1621)

10. “Poland’s Role in the Intermarium Idea.” Blue Europe. Horta, H. (January 2023), Available at: https://www.blue-europe.eu/analysis-en/full-reports/polands-role-in-the-intermarium-idea/

11. “А был ли убит сын царя Ивана IV Грозного?”, Николай Федорович Неделько.

    Available at: https://cyberleninka.ru/article/n/a-byl-li-ubit-syn-tsarya-ivana-iv-groznogo/viewer

The Crimean War is one of the most misrepresented conflicts in modern history. Often portrayed in Western and even Russian textbooks as a war over “holy sites in Jerusalem” or as a humiliating defeat for the Russian Empire, it was neither. In reality, the Crimean War was the first large-scale geopolitical campaign by the Western powers to encircle, destabilize, and weaken Russia — a prototype for the containment strategies of the 20th and 21st centuries. It was not simply a war; it was an ideological and strategic strike against a rising civilizational competitor.

In the decades following the defeat of Napoleon, Russia emerged as the de facto superpower of continental Europe. It held control over Poland, Finland, and the Caucasus, was expanding its influence in the Balkans and the Ottoman Empire, and had become the defender of Orthodox Christians across the Near East. Its massive army, population, and natural resources made it a long-term threat to the global ambitions of the British and French empires. For Britain in particular, Russian presence in the Black Sea and the Caucasus was seen as an eventual challenge to access to India — the jewel of the British crown.

The “holy sites” narrative was a convenient diplomatic pretext. The real goal was to isolate Russia, strip it of its influence, and if possible, fracture it from within. Lord Palmerston’s memoranda explicitly called for the containment of Russian expansion and the use of Persia, the Caucasus, and Islamic movements as tools of pressure. British missions in Iran and Afghanistan worked to incite anti-Russian sentiment and promised military support in case of confrontation. Napoleon III, seeking to restore France’s international prestige, joined the anti-Russian coalition under the guise of protecting Catholic interests in the Ottoman Empire.

One of the less-discussed aspects of this war was the role assigned to Persia. Following the Treaty of Turkmenchay (1828), Persia had lost major territories — Karabakh, Shirvan, Erivan, and Tiflis — to Russia. British agents encouraged the shah to consider a campaign of revenge, promising weapons, instructors, and diplomatic protection if Persia would strike the Russian southern flank during the Crimean campaign. Though Persia ultimately hesitated, the mere possibility of a second front created constant strategic tension for the Russian Empire. Ironically, in 1856 — right after the Crimean War — Persia did go to war, but not against Russia: it challenged Britain over Herat, revealing how the empire had been manipulated and discarded.

Far from being confined to the Crimean Peninsula, the war stretched across multiple theatres. In the Caucasus, Russian forces not only repelled Ottoman attacks but advanced. In the Baltic, despite a major Anglo-French naval presence, the Russian coastline held firm and no meaningful land invasion occurred. In the Arctic — particularly the Murmansk coast — British attempts to raid northern ports were repelled. Even in the Danube region, Russia held its ground longer than expected. What we see here is not a localized conflict, but a coordinated, multi-front attempt to encircle and destabilize the Russian Empire from all directions — a strategy that would later become standard NATO doctrine.

And yet, Russia did not collapse. Despite having an outdated army and a corrupt bureaucracy, the empire held together. Internal uprisings did not materialize. Poland remained quiet. The Caucasus did not erupt. Persia backed down. Sevastopol, though eventually lost, held out heroically for almost a year against the most powerful navies and armies of the West. What the coalition expected to be a quick and devastating blow became a costly, dragged-out war with limited returns.

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Much is made of the Treaty of Paris (1856), often cited as proof of Russia’s “defeat.” But what did Russia actually lose? The Black Sea was demilitarized — temporarily. The empire gave up no territory. There were no war reparations. Its core political and territorial integrity remained intact. Within fifteen years, Russia rearmed, rebuilt its navy, and returned to the Balkans as a dominant force, defeating the Ottomans in the Russo-Turkish War of 1877–1878. The so-called “restrictions” of the treaty were nullified diplomatically in 1871.

And yet Western historians have consistently labeled the Crimean War a Russian defeat. Why? Because the West needs the myth of Russian weakness far more than it needs the truth of Russian endurance. In any other case, a state that withstood the combined militaries of Britain, France, and the Ottomans — suffered no territorial loss, paid no reparations, suppressed all internal revolts, and emerged geopolitically active a decade later — would be praised for its resilience.

But that praise is never given to Russia. When the United States lost in Vietnam, it wasn’t called a “defeated empire.” When Britain failed in Afghanistan, it was a “tactical withdrawal.” When France lost Algeria, it was “the end of colonialism.” And yet Russia, surviving a full-scale Western coalition in 1853–1856, is still portrayed as having “lost.” This is not history — it is ideology.

Even the name “Crimean War” is misleading. It reduces a global geopolitical conflict to a single peninsula. In reality, this was a war fought from the Danube to the Caucasus, from the Baltic to the Arctic, with the threat of escalation into Central Asia and Persia. Calling it “the Crimean War” obscures the true scope of what was attempted: a war against Russia itself.

The West tried to encircle, destabilize, and humiliate Russia.

It failed. Russia endured.

And that — not the myth of defeat — is the real legacy of the Crimean War.

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In Russian, the phrase “I am Russian” is “Ya russkiy.” What may escape an English speaker’s attention is that russkiy is not a noun. It’s an adjective.

That small grammatical fact carries deep historical and civilizational meaning. It marks a fundamental difference between how identity formed in the world of Rus’ and how it later developed in Western Europe. It reflects the reality that Russia was not born as a tribe that became a state — but as a state that shaped a people.

Nouns of the West, Adjectives of Rus’

In English, French, Italian, and most other Western languages, national identity is expressed through nouns:

• He is an Englishman.

• She is a Frenchwoman.

• I am a Spaniard.

These terms point to ethnic and tribal categories. Historically, they developed from the names of ancient peoples — Franks, Angles, Saxons, Lombards — and only later became political or national markers as modern nation-states slowly took shape in the 17th to 19th centuries.

In Russian, however, “russkiy” functions differently. Grammatically, it is an adjective. And that tells us something profound. An adjective does not denote a self-contained ethnic label. It expresses belonging to something greater than the self.

To say “I am russkiy” is to say: I belong to Rus’.

To its land.

To its history.

To its Church.

To its law, language, memory, and destiny.

A Civilizational Identity, Not a Tribal One

This difference is not simply linguistic — it is civilizational.

In the West, identity evolved from local to national, from tribe to kingdom to state. It was only with the collapse of feudalism, the rise of print capitalism, and the need for centralized military and bureaucratic systems that the idea of the “nation” truly emerged.

In Russia, the process was nearly the opposite. By the time modern Europe was still mired in tribalism and fragmentation, Rus’ had already formed a civilizational whole with a unifying faith (Orthodox Christianity), a common legal code (Russkaya Pravda), a dynastic ruling house, and a sacred center of power.

Where Western Europe said: “I am a Frank,” or “I am a Burgundian,” Rus’ already said: “I am russkiy.”

And that term did not refer to blood or ancestry but to a status, a way of being, a belonging to the cultural-political body of Rus’.

After Rome, Rus’ Was First

The Western Roman Empire fell in 476 AD. What followed was centuries of disintegration — small kingdoms, feudal domains, and competing ethnic groups vying for power.

France, Germany, Spain, and Italy as centralized, unified nations would not emerge until a millennium later. France remained fragmented until the 13th–14th centuries. Germany never unified until the 19th. Italy remained divided into city-states until Garibaldi. Spain was only formed after the dynastic union of Aragon and Castile and even then, regional identities (Catalan, Basque) remained dominant.

Rus’, on the other hand, had already become a centralized Christian state by the 10th century, when it accepted Orthodox baptism under Prince Vladimir in 988. It had a dynastic monarchy, a common liturgy, a sacred written language, and a unifying religious and cultural mission.

While Western Europe remained fragmented for centuries after Rome’s fall, Rus’ emerged by the 10th century as the first Christian state in Europe with centralized rule, dynastic succession, and a shared religious and legal foundation.

The West Had to Invent the Nation

By the 18th and 19th centuries, Europe found itself on the brink of total war, industrial transformation, and imperial competition. Feudal allegiances were no longer enough. The state needed mass mobilization—millions of men who were ready not to fight for a local lord or a dynasty, but for something larger: the nation.

It was in this context that German philosopher G.W.F. Hegel developed his concept of the Volksgeist—the spirit of the people. According to Hegel, each nation expresses a unique stage in the unfolding of the World Spirit, a collective historical consciousness. The nation became a sacred entity.

But to express this spirit, the “nation” had to first be constructed. This meant:

• unifying education,

• standardizing language,

• rewriting history,

• creating national myths, heroes, anthems.

Western nations were engineered in modernity to serve the purposes of the state and war.

That’s why the terms Frenchman, German, Italian took their modern meaning only in the 19th century as Europe moved toward mass mobilization and mechanized warfare.

The Grammar of Belonging

There is deep meaning in the grammar itself. A noun like “Englishman” or “Spaniard” denotes a type of person. A discrete entity.

An adjective like russkiy describes not a closed category, but a relationship. It says: this person is of Rus’. Shaped by its world. Formed by its traditions.

Much like Romanus in the ancient world meant more than being Latin — it meant belonging to the Roman order, to its law, its culture, its empire — “russkiy” came to mean more than ethnicity.

It meant being part of a spiritual and historical continuum. To be russkiy is not simply to descend from a people. It is to belong to a civilizational world with deep historical continuity — older than most modern European nations.

This is why, in Russian, we say “russkiy chelovek” — a Russian person — not to indicate bloodline or tribe, but to describe a quality, a belonging, a shared memory.

While Western nations built themselves from fragments, Rus’ formed early, whole, and from above shaped not by ethnicity alone, but by state, Church, language, and mission.

And the adjective russkiy is the quiet grammatical echo of that civilizational truth.

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The Jesuit Order — also known as the Society of Jesus — is not merely a religious institution, but the ideological and strategic vanguard of the Vatican: a spiritual special forces unit founded in the 16th century to combat 'heresy.' In practice, that meant eliminating every form of Christianity that refused to bow to papal supremacy.

Their credo is universalism; their method is infiltration. Through education, elite grooming, and semantic rebranding, they seek to subvert systems from within. One of their mottos: “Give me the child for the first seven years, and I’ll give you the man.” That’s why they built hundreds of universities worldwide — including Georgetown University, now a breeding ground for globalists, diplomats, and intelligence operatives. Its School of Foreign Service has produced U.S. presidents like Bill Clinton, King Abdullah II of Jordan, former CIA Director George Tenet, Spanish Prime Minister José María Aznar, and legions of State Department, IMF, and World Bank officials. The Jesuit model of embedding influence through education and religious networks laid the groundwork for today’s soft power strategies: think tanks, foreign-backed NGOs, and ideological training centers — all used to quietly rewire political and spiritual loyalties from the inside out.

The Jesuits’ First Target: Rus’

Historically, the Jesuits acted as the Vatican’s shock troops — but they were far from the beginning of Rome’s crusading ambitions. As early as the 11th century, the Vatican launched military campaigns not only against Muslims in the Holy Land but also against fellow Christians in the East. The Fourth Crusade culminated in the sack of Constantinople in 1204, and in the 13th century, papal-backed Teutonic and Livonian orders carried out “holy wars” against Orthodox Rus’. The Battle on the Ice in 1242, where Alexander Nevsky defeated the Catholic knights on Lake Peipus, was one such attempt to subjugate the East under Rome.

The Jesuits, founded in the 16th century, were the next phase in this ideological offensive — more subtle, but no less ruthless. In 1572, they participated in the orchestration of the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre — the coordinated killing of tens of thousands of Protestants across France. Once Western Europe had been brought into submission, the focus shifted toward the East. Rus’ was declared a “schism” — a mortal enemy for refusing papal supremacy. The siege was no longer just military, but spiritual, educational, and diplomatic.

Ivan the Terrible and the Demonization of Rus’

In the mid-16th century, as the Tsardom of Russia was fighting off repeated attacks from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the struggle for control over western Rus’ lands, Pope Pius IV saw an opportunity. He offered Tsar Ivan IV an alliance — on one condition: submission to papal authority through union with Rome.

Ivan, a deeply educated man and a staunch defender of Orthodox doctrine, flatly refused. His reply was not only political, but theological:

“Any pope who does not live according to Christ’s teaching and apostolic tradition is a wolf, not a shepherd.” [1]

This rejection enraged the Vatican. It marked the beginning of a new phase: ideological warfare. Ivan was demonized in the West — and it was around this time that he began to be referred to in Europe as “the Terrible,” a label never used in Russia during his lifetime. This is how Jesuit propaganda operates: slander, isolation, internal sabotage.

False Tsars and Western Infiltration

Following the death of Tsar Ivan IV — which some sources suggest may have been the result of poisoning — Russia plunged into a period of political chaos known as the Time of Troubles. Seizing the moment, the Jesuits — in close coordination with the Polish crown — helped engineer one of history’s earliest ideological regime change operations, aiming to dismantle Orthodox rule and replace it with a Catholic-aligned puppet monarchy.

They backed a pretender known as False Dmitry I, claiming to be the late tsar’s son. This man was escorted into Russia by Polish forces and Catholic clergy, not only with military support but with a written manifesto outlining his obligations:

• To recognize the authority of the Pope

• To introduce religious union with Rome (Uniatism)

• To allow unrestricted Jesuit activity in Russia

• To realign Russia politically with Poland and express gratitude to Rome

This was a direct plan to occupy Rus under the mask of “a liberation from tyranny and the restoration of the rightful heir.” False Dmitry was a tool of a Western religious special operation. But the people sensed the deception, rose up, and executed the impostor.

The Brest Union:

The next major strike came with the Union of Brest (1596) — a political and religious maneuver that brought parts of the Orthodox Church under the authority of the pope. This wasn’t done through dialogue or mutual agreement, but through coercion, pressure, and state-backed enforcement by the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. The result was the creation of the Uniate Church: outwardly Orthodox in liturgy and appearance, but internally loyal to Rome. It functioned as a Trojan horse — a slow-moving mechanism of ideological conquest wrapped in familiar symbols. And it still exists today.

This wasn’t hidden. As early as 1586, Jesuit emissary Antonio Possevino openly declared:

“The Union, and behind it the holy Catholic doctrine, will move eastward from Lviv and Lutsk, from Vilnius and Polotsk.” [2]

The Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth became the staging ground for this expansion. The Union fractured the West-Russian Orthodox Church and served as a vehicle for violent Latinization. Orthodox believers were stripped of their civil rights, religious brotherhoods were outlawed, churches were confiscated, priests were driven out, and laypeople were repressed — all under the threat and reality of torture, executions, and terror.

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One of the most notorious figures in this campaign was Josaphat Kuntsevych, a Jesuit appointee and Archbishop of Polotsk. He led brutal purges, expelled Orthodox clergy, threatened death, seized churches, and enforced Catholicism with an iron fist. Even Chancellor Lew Sapieha, a Catholic official, was horrified. In desperation, he wrote to Kuntsevych:

“…The complaints of the common people… They would rather live under Turkish bondage than endure such persecution for their faith…” [3]

Eventually, the people of Vitebsk revolted and tore Kuntsevych to pieces. In response, Catholic forces launched mass repressions. Pope Urban VIII triumphantly declared:

“The stronghold defending the Russians from the Union has been destroyed.” [4]

And yet — the Vatican canonized Kuntsevych. In the 20th century, he was rebranded as an “Apostle of Unity.” In 2013, Pope Francis — himself a Jesuit — invoked Kuntsevych as a symbol of European integration for Ukraine. [5]

18th–19th Century: Jesuits in Russia

Though the False Dmitry failed, the Jesuits did not vanish. They continued to operate across Europe, often in secret, and became infamous for political meddling, educational manipulation, and court intrigues. Their influence grew so concerning that multiple Catholic monarchs — including those of Portugal, France, and Spain — expelled the order from their realms and demanded its full suppression. Under threat of schism, Pope Clement XIV formally disbanded the Society of Jesus in 1773.

Yet even after their official suppression, the Jesuits were allowed to survive in Russia. Catherine the Great, while deeply distrustful of the Vatican, recognized the order’s educational rigor and strategic utility. She permitted them to run schools, gymnasiums, and military academies — particularly in Belarus and Lithuania — where even Orthodox children were indoctrinated with the ideals of “Catholic universal brotherhood.” However, she imposed strict limits on their proselytizing and kept them under state surveillance.

• Ban on Catholic proselytism among the Orthodox - Their missionary work was restricted to existing Catholic communities.

• Control over education - They could not open new institutions without state approval.

• Prohibition of foreign allegiance - The Jesuits had to answer to Russian authorities, not the Vatican.

• Crackdown on dissent – Any opposition to imperial rule or Orthodox doctrine was forbidden.

Thus, while the Jesuits found refuge in Russia, their influence was tightly contained.

Meanwhile, in the West, the tide was turning. In 1814, Pope Pius VII officially restored the Jesuit Order, allowing it to resume operations throughout Catholic Europe. The Jesuits returned to Rome not humbled, but reinvigorated — and with a sharpened sense of mission, especially regarding the East.

Post-Napoleon: Ideological Expansion Rebranded

After the Napoleonic Wars, a new phase began — an ideological expansion disguised as “church unification.” At first, Alexander I cooperated with the Jesuits, but later, realizing their true goals, expelled the order from Russia in 1820. That, however, that didn’t stop the Vatican from spreading its influence through nearby Catholic regions, powerful Polish nobles, and religious groups.

Galicia: Rome’s Eastern Outpost

By the early 20th century, Galicia (a region in Western Ukraine under Austro-Hungarian rule before WWI) had become the Vatican’s stronghold in the East. There, a new strategy emerged: Ukraine as both a buffer and a battering ram against Russia. The Uniate Church was turned into a political weapon. Metropolitan Andrey Sheptytsky became the figurehead of this “Eastern Papacy.” He collaborated with Austria-Hungary and supported the occupation of Eastern Galicia — calling the Union an “instrument of Ukraine’s historical mission against Russian Orthodoxy” [6].

This role became even more important during World War I, when the Vatican saw a real opportunity. If the Austro-German bloc defeated Russia, Catholic influence could expand deep into Russian territory. The Western Rus’ lands would be brought under Rome’s control, creating a base for further expansion. This helps explain the pope’s support for Germany and his silence on German war crimes.
Pope Pius X himself reportedly warned: “If Russia wins, schism wins.” [7]

Galicia became the Vatican’s main launching point for spreading Catholic influence eastward — not through open war, but through religion, politics, and cultural pressure.

1917: Vatican’s Golden Opportunity

After the February revolution, the entire religious system in Russia collapsed which opened the door. The Vatican acted immediately, establishing the Congregation for the Oriental Churches (1917), the Pontifical Oriental Institute, and the Russicum seminary (1929). All of these structures were run by the Jesuits.

The goal was singular: to lure Russians into Catholicism under the guise of an “Eastern rite.” That is, to keep icons, incense, and choirs — but replace the essence: papal supremacy and Roman doctrine.

Betting on the Bolsheviks

The Jesuits believed that after the destruction of the old Church, Russia would be ready for ritual reprogramming. They especially counted on an alliance with the new regime. Documents from the time show open support for the Bolsheviks as “a scourge of Orthodox obscurantism.” The first Catholic priest of the Eastern rite, Leonid Fyodorov, wrote:

“Russia will not convert except through a sea of blood.” [8]

The Vatican not only refused to condemn the persecution, but in the 1920s sent “agents of the faith” into the USSR — specially trained Jesuit priests.

The d’Herbigny Mission

Between 1925 and 1927, Jesuit Michel d’Herbigny secretly entered the USSR three times on direct orders from the Vatican. His true goal wasn’t to help the faithful, but to establish an illegal underground Catholic hierarchy behind the Soviet government’s back. He ordained “Eastern Catholic bishops” in secret, aiming to quietly replace the shattered Orthodox Church with a Uniate structure loyal to Rome.

In Rome, this was seen as a historic opening: with Orthodoxy under brutal attack, the time had come to step in. It wasn’t a mission — it was a covert religious operation, an act of spiritual colonization under the guise of “Eastern rites.” [9]

The d’Herbigny mission was just one part of a bigger plan. In Rome, the destruction of the Orthodox Church was not seen as a tragedy but as a rare chance. With Orthodoxy under attack, some Catholic leaders believed this was the perfect time to step in and replace it with a Catholic structure. Benedictine Chrysostomus Bauer wrote with excitement:

“The Bolsheviks kill priests, desecrate churches and holy sites, and destroy monasteries. But is this not precisely the religious mission of irreligious Bolshevism — that it dooms the bearers of schismatic thought to extinction, creates, so to speak, a 'clean slate' (tabula rasa), and thus opens the way for spiritual regeneration?” [10]

And the Vienna-based publication Der christliche Osten in 1927 stated outright:

“Bolshevism creates the opportunity for Catholic conversion of immovable Russia.”[10]

At the same time, secret talks were happening. Between 1925 and 1927 — the same years d’Herbigny was secretly entering the USSR — Cardinal Pacelli (the future Pope Pius XII) was holding discussions with Soviet official Georgy Chicherin. According to a confidential French telegram dated February 6, 1925, Soviet ambassador Krestinsky told Pacelli that Moscow would not object to the appointment of Catholic bishops and even a metropolitan in Russia. The message stated that Catholic clergy could operate under very favorable conditions.

In other words, while the Bolsheviks were dismantling the Orthodox Church, the Vatican was already on the final stretch — ready to finally claim its place.

1927: Vatican’s Collapse and Mask Change

In 1927, an event took place that shattered the Vatican’s plans to take over Russia under the guise of a 'renewed Eastern rite': Metropolitan Sergius of the Russian Orthodox Church (the future Patriarch) published a Declaration of Loyalty to the Soviet government. This was a clever and deeply calculated move: the Orthodox Church, despite persecution, demonstrated its ability to survive and adapt without surrendering to external forces.

The Soviet government placed its bet on a loyal Russian Orthodox Church — and the Vatican lost its main trump card. The Jesuits thought that if they wiped out Orthodox belief, Catholicism would fill the vacuum. But that didn’t happen — the idea of a hidden Catholic identity under Orthodoxy turned out to be wishful thinking.

The Vatican reacted with rage. Within a year, there was a sharp rhetorical shift: the Bolsheviks, once allies, became “servants of Satan.” In 1934, the Vatican shut down the Pro Russia Commission, and just a few years later, in 1937, it released the papal letter Divini Redemptoris, strongly criticizing godless communism. A broad anti-communist propaganda campaign was launched, and communism was now branded “the greatest threat to Christ.”

This marked the birth of the now-famous myth of the “Godless USSR,” actively spread through Uniate parishes, émigré networks, and Catholic publishing houses in Poland, Lithuania, France, and the United States. The Jesuits moved from missions inside the USSR to an information war against it.

The Catholic Anti-Soviet Network

Uniates — Orthodox in form, Catholic in obedience — became a key tool. Between the late 1930s and early 1950s, mass-produced anti‑Soviet literature was published in Lviv, Vilnius, Kraków, Warsaw, and parts of Austria, often by Uniates, clergy, and editors connected to the Vatican and local Catholic organizations.

In North America, Uniate pastoral centers emerged in key diaspora hubs:

• Toronto (est. 1948) — St. Volodymyr the Great Parish, providing seminary training and cultural outreach;

• Philadelphia (est. 1951) — St. Josaphat’s community, which maintained publications and refugee support networks;

• Chicago (est. 1954) — Ukrainian Catholic Center for Eastern Christian Studies, funded by Western Catholic charities;

• Scarborough, Toronto (mid‑1950s) — a seminary and cultural center specifically for Ukrainian and Belarusian refugees, under the aegis of Catholic Relief Services.

Their primary mission: portray the USSR as the “Evil Empire” and Orthodoxy as a “totalitarian heresy.” Thanks to these institutions, generations of Ukrainian and Belarusian Americans were educated within a worldview that was anti‑Soviet, anti‑Russian, pro‑Western, and pro‑Roman Catholic.

Rehabilitating Kuntsevych and Rewriting History

In the 20th century, the Vatican fully transformed Jesuit appointee Josaphat Kuncewicz — the butcher of Orthodox Christians in Belarus, Ukraine, and Poland — into a saint-hero. His canonization was actively used as a symbol of spiritual conquest in the East, especially in the context of the “fight against communism.”

When Pope Francis — a Jesuit himself — invoked the image of Josaphat Kuncewicz in 2013 as an “apostle of unity” to promote Ukraine’s integration with the European Union, it sent a clear message: the historical project of Uniatism had returned — now rebranded under the banner of “Eurointegration.”

Today, the Uniate Church receives open support from the European Union, which funds its schools and institutions — all while staying silent about the ongoing ban and persecution of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (UOC). Since 2014, thousands of UOC parishes — especially in western and central Ukraine — have been taken over by force or through legal tricks. In many cases, priests were threatened or attacked, believers pushed out, and the church buildings handed over either to the Uniate Church or to the newly created Orthodox Church of Ukraine (OCU).

The OCU was established in 2018 under intense political pressure from the U.S. State Department and the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople. Though labeled “Orthodox,” it lacks recognition from most of global Orthodoxy and is led by former splinter-group clerics expelled from the canonical Church. In reality, the OCU functions as a transitional structure — weakening ties with traditional Orthodoxy and paving the way for eventual absorption into the Uniate fold. This mirrors the original Union of Brest in 1596, where Orthodox bishops were coerced into submission to Rome — and reflects a modern echo of the Kuncewicz strategy, now carried out with soft power instead of swords.

Over the last decade, the number of Ukrainian Greek Catholics has grown by over 1.5 million — a striking surge during a time when Orthodoxy is being banned, its churches seized, and its clergy persecuted. [13]

Uniatism as Hybrid Warfare

The Uniate Church is not just a religious structure — it is a refined mechanism of ideological subjugation, created by Rome as a tool to replace Orthodoxy. Beneath the façade of “Eastern rite” lies total submission to the Vatican, political loyalty to the West, and an anti-Orthodox core.

This tool has been used for centuries — from the religious terror of the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre to False Dmitry, and from the Union of Brest to Euromaidan and the Donbas conflict. Uniatism is a Trojan horse, launched into the cultural and spiritual code of the Russian people.

And while schools teach that Uniatism means “peace and dialogue,” reality tells a different story: every wave of uniatism has brought blood, betrayal, schism, and external control.

Sources:

1. Correspondence between Ivan IV and Pope Pius IV, 1560s

2. Antonio Possevino, Moscovia, 1586

3. Sapieha’s Letter to Kuntsevych, 1620s

4. Vatican Archives, 1630

5. Vatican.va, Address to Ukrainian pilgrims, 2013

6. Sheptytsky, Pastoral Letters, 1914; see also Paul Robert Magocsi, A History of Ukraine, 2010

7. Deacon German Ivanov – The Thirteenth. The Vatican and Russia. Report delivered at the 24th Congress of Russian Orthodox Youth in the Year of the Millennium of the Baptism of Rus’. — Novosibirsk: Russian Archive, 1991. p. 14.

8. Fedorov Archives, Rome

9. Alexis Koudriavtsev, L'Église catholique et la Russie soviétique (1917–1939) / Deacon German Ivanov-Trinadtsaty, The Vatican and Russia (1991)

10. Katholische Rundschau, 1926 / Nikolaev, K. N. Op. cit., pp. 80–81.

11. "Werewolves: Who Really Controls the Vatican" Olga Chetverikova (2018)

12. Video credit: RIA Novosti

13. https://www.thetablet.co.uk/news/record-percentage-of-greek-catholics-in-ukraine-as-orthodox-numbers-fall

Let’s kick things off with a fun fact: during its prime, Kievan Rus wasn’t even called “Kievan Rus.” Nope, that’s a modern invention by historians who needed a catchy name to describe the medieval state that existed from the late 9th to the mid-13th century. Back then, it was simply called Rus—a vast, multi-ethnic state with no "Kievan" added for flair. The "Kievan" part got tacked on centuries later to distinguish this early period of Rus history from later phases when cities like Vladimir and Moscow became the big players. So, while it sounds grand and historic, the term itself is basically a retroactive rebrand.

Meet Rurik, the Viking CEO of Rus, Inc.

Now, let’s talk about the guy who started it all—Rurik. He was a Varangian (basically a Viking with a Slavic twist) who, according to the Primary Chronicle, was invited in 862 by local Slavic tribes to come run the show because apparently, self-governance wasn’t going too well. Rurik set up shop in Novgorod, which—spoiler alert—is in modern Russia. His descendants, the Rurikid dynasty, would go on to rule all of Rus, including Kiev. So here’s the kicker: Rurik was about as Ukrainian as a Norwegian fjord. He came from the north, built his power base in Novgorod, and from there, his dynasty expanded southward.

Oleg the Conqueror (of Kiev)

Rurik’s successor, Oleg of Novgorod, decided to take things up a notch. In 882, he captured Kiev, kicked out the local rulers (sorry Askold and Dir, even if they were possibly Rurikid too), and declared Kiev the new capital of Rus. Boom—Kiev was now the political and strategic center of a growing power. This move set the stage for what modern historians call the Kievan Rus period, even though nobody back then called it that.

The Baptism of Rus: A Splashy Event

One of the biggest moments in Rus history came in 988 when Vladimir the Great decided to adopt Orthodox Christianity. He had everyone in Kiev—and beyond—baptized in the Dnieper River. This wasn’t just a religious choice; it was a massive political move that cemented Kiev as the spiritual heart of Rus. The city wasn’t just a capital—it became the cradle of Orthodox Christianity in the region.

Now here’s where the modern spin starts creeping in. Some Ukrainian narratives try to blur this by saying, “Well, sure, the baptism happened in Kiev, but that was basically ancient Ukraine. For Russia, the real capital was Novgorod.” Nice try, but no. Why push this line? Because admitting that Kiev was the center of Rus also means acknowledging the historical chain that runs from Kiev to Vladimir to Moscow. And that completely messes with the modern nationalist narrative, which tries to paint Ukraine as a totally separate, ancient civilization.

But let’s clarify—there was no such thing as "Ukraine" at the time. The people didn’t call themselves Ukrainians. The land wasn’t called Ukraine. The idea of a Ukrainian nation simply didn’t exist. It was called Rus, and the people were the people of Rus. Sure, the Rurikids got their start in Novgorod, but by 988, Kiev was running the show—just as Moscow would a few centuries later. Politically, spiritually—everything that mattered happened there. It was Rus. Ukraine came much, much later.

The Mongols: Kiev’s Not-So-Friendly Visitors

Fast forward to 1240, when the Mongols showed up and did what Mongols do best—sacked and burned Kiev to the ground. The city lost its prominence, but Rus didn’t just disappear. It became a tributary of the Golden Horde, with Rus princes paying taxes (and probably grumbling about it) until the late 15th century. While modern Ukraine claims the Mongols "destroyed" Kievan Rus, what really happened was more of a political power shift—the center of gravity moved to other cities like Vladimir and eventually Moscow. Kiev didn’t vanish; it just stopped being the main stage.

And here’s where things get even messier. With Rus weakened and scattered, Poland and Lithuania saw their chance. The Kingdom of Poland grabbed Galicia-Volhynia in 1349 (one of the Rus’ principalities), while the Grand Duchy of Lithuania took over Kiev in 1362 after defeating the Mongols at the Battle of Blue Waters. Then in 1569, the two powers joined forces to form the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, and Lithuania handed Kiev over to Poland. Suddenly, Kiev—once the center of Orthodox Rus—was now under the control of Catholic powers who had very different ideas about religion, culture, and identity.

The Myth of the "Kingdom of Ruthenia": Galicia-Volhynia: Rebranding 101

Which brings us to Galicia. Ukraine often points to the Kingdom of Galicia-Volhynia, founded in 1199, as proof of an early Ukrainian state. But let’s be real: it was just another Rus principality, ruled by—you guessed it—the Rurikids. Galicia-Volhynia stayed Orthodox throughout its existence and had nothing to do with Catholic identity until Poland took over in the 14th century. The whole "Kingdom of Ruthenia" label is a modern invention—a rebranding effort to make Galicia seem like something distinct from Rus. It’s historical cosplay, not fact.

Also worth noting: Kiev was never part of the Galicia-Volhynia principality. Attempts to lump Catholic Galicia together with Orthodox Kiev are just revisionism. Galicia only became Catholic after Polish annexation, while Kiev remained the Orthodox stronghold from 988 onward. That matters.

And yet, today, maps and narratives often highlight Galicia—this one small corner of the old Rus world—as the heart of Ukrainian identity. But Galicia didn’t become part of anything called "Ukraine" until 1991. That’s not continuity—it’s a long, winding detour.

Here’s a good example of how misleading maps can be. It’s labeled as a “Historical Atlas of Ukraine,” but in reality, it just recolors different parts of what was a single state — Rus. Kiev, the Galicia-Volhynia principality, Smolensk, Pereyaslav — all of them were part of the same country at the time. Highlighting Galicia in green like it's something separate is just an attempt to confuse the viewer and push a modern narrative. There was no Ukraine back then — just one unified Orthodox Slavic civilization called Rus.

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The Wild Trip of Western Ukraine

Modern Ukrainian identity—especially the loud, nationalist version—doesn’t come from Kiev or old Rus. It comes from Galicia. This region, with a totally different historical and religious background, now sets the tone for Ukraine’s official narrative. Even the modern Ukrainian language promoted today is based on the Galician dialect. It has more in common with what people spoke in Lviv than in Kiev or Kharkov, where the language was closer to Russian or “surzhyk.”

Galicia’s journey into Ukraine wasn’t exactly smooth either. After centuries under Polish and Austrian rule, Galicia briefly tried to go independent after World War I—then Poland took it back. In 1939, the Soviets annexed it under the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. When Ukraine declared independence in 1991, Galicia was finally officially part of the country. It took over 700 years.

So yes—Galicia has distant ties to Rus, but its path into Ukraine was anything but natural. And yet, this latecomer now defines what it means to be Ukrainian. Funny how that works.

The Cossacks: Ukraine’s Wild Card & Kiev’s Return

Kiev, after getting wrecked by the Mongols and later pulled into Polish hands, became a wild frontier town — the kind of place where rules were optional and chaos was the norm. It was no longer the spiritual heart of Rus. By this point, it was more like a dusty outpost at the edge of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.

Enter the Cossacks. They weren’t a nation or an ethnic group — more like a band of misfits. Runaway serfs, Orthodox rebels, and yes, people with Turkic roots too — Tatars, steppe warriors, and others mixed in. It was a wild stew of Slavic and Turkic elements that came together in the borderlands. These guys weren’t dreaming of building Ukraine — they were surviving, raiding, and defending their patch of land on their own terms.

They settled in the Dnieper region, including around Kiev, not because it was some national capital, but because it was strategically useful. Polish nobles tried to dominate them, but couldn’t. Then came the big mistake: the Poles tried to force the Cossacks into Catholicism. That was a no-go.

The Cossacks were hardcore Orthodox and proud of it. So in 1654, they made a choice — they turned to the Russian Tsar for protection. That’s the famous Pereyaslav Agreement, where they pledged allegiance in exchange for support. (Yes, the same agreement Putin mentioned in his interview with Tucker — along with that iconic Cossack letter to the Tsar.)

And that’s how Kiev — after centuries under Catholic foreign rule — came back into the Russian fold. It stayed that way all the way until 1991.

The Cossacks weren’t fighting to create Ukraine. They were borderland warriors with mixed roots who chose Moscow over Warsaw when push came to shove.

Ukraine: What’s in a Name?

One last fun detail: We all know that “Rus” is obviously the root of words like Russia, Russkiy, and even Belarus. But what about Ukraine? That name didn’t come from Rus at all. It comes from “okraina,” which means “borderland” in Old Slavic. It started popping up in the 16th century to describe outlying frontier regions of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and the Russian Tsardom. It was a geographic label, not a national one. Other regions had the same term applied to them too. Nothing unique, nothing ethnic—just borders.

So when people say Ukraine is the heir to Kievan Rus, they’re skipping a lot of steps—and adding a few that never existed.

History Isn’t a Buffet

Look, history is messy—but it’s not build-your-own-adventure. Modern Ukraine pulls together Rurik, Kiev, Galicia, and the Cossacks and tries to turn them into a single, ancient, unified story. But that’s not how it happened. It’s a patchwork built on modern nationalism, not medieval reality.

You don’t get to cherry-pick what fits your story and ignore the rest. That’s not a legacy but a rewrite.

So… nice try, but no.

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Not only do they distort the past, they also blind us to the deeper geopolitical game that was playing out behind the scenes. A game that didn’t end in 1917, or even in 1945, but continues to this day.

Let’s start with the myths.

Myth One: “The People Hated the Tsar”

This is a pillar of the Western liberal narrative. Nicholas II was an unpopular autocrat, overthrown in a righteous uprising by the people. A revolution from below, a spontaneous wave of popular anger. But the facts tell a very different story.

Nicholas II did not abdicate because of mass unrest. He stepped down after sustained pressure from his own generals — Alekseyev, Ruzsky, and Brusilov — during a moment of national crisis in World War I. The front had not collapsed. Most of the army remained loyal. The capital was tense, yes, but Russia was not in total chaos.

Outside the cities, many peasants didn’t even hear about the abdication for days or weeks. And when they did, their reactions were often confusion, sorrow, or shock, rather than joy. The monarchy was still seen by much of the population as a stabilizing force, even if the government was struggling.

Millions of ordinary Russians — peasants, Cossacks, priests, and soldiers — would later fight under the banners of “Faith, Tsar, and Fatherland” during the Civil War. These were not aristocrats. They weren’t landlords. They were the very people we’re told hated the Tsar.

When the Bolsheviks executed the entire royal family, including children, it was not just a political act, but a moral and spiritual shock. Even people who had opposed the monarchy were horrified. Across the countryside, villagers held Orthodox memorial services for Nicholas and his family.

Far from hating the Tsar, large parts of the population saw his fall as the beginning of chaos.

The Forgotten Uprisings

Most Western histories either skip over or briefly mention the wave of monarchist peasant uprisings that broke out across Russia after the revolution.

• The Tambov Rebellion in 1920 and 1921 saw peasants raising icons and portraits of the Tsar while fighting Bolshevik commissars.

• In Chaplygin, villagers killed a Red food detachment and raised a banner with Nicholas II’s image.

• In Siberia and Altai, fighters called themselves “loyal subjects,” sang Tsarist hymns, and demanded the return of order.

• From Orel to Chernigov, the so-called Green rebels marched with icons and prayed openly for the restoration of the monarchy.

These were not isolated incidents. They reflected a deeper truth about the feelings of many Russians toward the Bolsheviks and the old order. The idea that the people universally welcomed the revolution is simply untrue.

Myth Two: “The Whites Were Saints, and Stalin Destroyed Orthodoxy”

If liberals cling to the idea that the Tsar was universally hated, conservatives often romanticize the White movement. In this version of the story, the White armies were noble defenders of Christianity and tradition, crushed by atheist fanatics. Stalin, they say, was the final executioner of Russian civilization.

This version is also misleading.

The White armies were politically fragmented. They included monarchists, liberals, and moderate socialists who often distrusted one another and had no unified vision. In many rural areas, peasants feared the return of landlords and were reluctant to support the Whites.

Several White leaders openly collaborated with foreign powers, including Britain, France, and the United States. This gave their movement the appearance of foreign occupation, especially to Russian soldiers and villagers who had just suffered through years of war.

Yes, the Bolsheviks committed terrible acts of repression. But the same was true for many White factions, which also relied on foreign soldiers and mercenaries. Civil war is brutal, and atrocities occurred on both sides.

Regarding religion, it is true that churches were closed, clergy were arrested, and monastic lands were seized. But this campaign began under Lenin, not Stalin. The harshest wave of persecution against the Orthodox Church occurred between 1921 and 1923.

Not only did Stalin ease persecution of the Church in the late 1930s, but he also later restored the Patriarchate in 1943, reopened seminaries, and supported church construction during World War II. He recognized the Church as a powerful unifying force—this, too, is part of the historical record.

What Was Really Happening?

The Russian Revolution was not a revolt against monarchy. It was not simply a battle between Reds and Whites. These were surface-level events that masked a much deeper conflict — one that shaped the entire modern world.

At its core, the revolution was part of a global war between two models of civilization.

On one side stood the continental model, grounded in physical production, national sovereignty, and long-term development. This model was represented by Russia and Germany. If united, they could have created a powerful Eurasian bloc based on railroads, natural resources, industrial output, and independent finance.

On the other side stood the Anglo-American model, which was centered on finance, speculation, and control of global trade. Its power did not come from factories, but from private banks, credit, and maritime dominance. Its goal was not cooperation between nations, but domination through debt and dependency.

The Russian Revolution, followed by two world wars, was not only an effort to prevent an alliance between Russia and Germany. It was also a broader and deeper strategy to weaken Russia itself — a vast, resource-rich, sovereign civilization whose very existence posed a threat to Atlantic dominance. The idea of a strong, independent Eurasian power center has always terrified Western strategists, whether it included Germany or not.

The Pattern Repeats

The Anglo-American powers won. Twice they managed to draw Russia and Germany into war with each other. Twice Europe was devastated. Twice Washington and London came out on top.

And today, we see the same dynamic unfolding again.

Russia is demonized and isolated. Germany is weakened and its energy lifelines are severed. Any attempt to build infrastructure or cooperation across Eurasia — whether pipelines, trade corridors, or security pacts — is treated as a threat to the “rules-based order.”

Just as in 1917, and again in 1941, the West attacks Russia today for the very same reasons. Not because of ideology, not because of “human rights,” and not because of borders. But because Russia remains the last truly sovereign, resource-rich, culturally distinct civilization capable of resisting Atlantic domination. Whether under a Tsar, a Soviet flag, or a modern federation, Russia’s independence has always been seen as a threat — and that is why the same forces that fueled revolutions and world wars in the past continue their pressure today.

At the same time, Napoleon already had a very different kind of relationship going on with Poland. In 1807, he took up with a young Polish noblewoman, Maria Walewska, who was strongly encouraged by Polish elites to become his lover. The idea was simple: get close to Napoleon, flatter his ego, and push him toward restoring an independent Poland. Napoleon loved the role. The Poles filled his armies, the Polish politicians whispered about liberation, and he enthusiastically embraced the notion of being the liberator of Poland. Calling the invasion of Russia the Second Polish War was no accident. It was both romance and propaganda; it also reflected a personal fixation.

Fast forward to June 22, 1812. Napoleon, now in full propaganda mode, told his troops that Russia had broken the Treaty of Tilsit and that, therefore, this Second Polish War was perfectly legitimate. This wasn’t merely about crushing Russian influence in Europe; he also wanted to create an independent Poland as his tool. And just to demonstrate the scale of his political ambitions, let’s remember that before Russia cut him off completely, he even dreamed of teaming up with them to take on India. Yeah, India.

Here’s how he pumped up his soldiers:

“Soldiers! The Second Polish War has begun. The first ended at Friedland and Tilsit… This one will bring just as much glory to French arms, but this time, the peace we make will last and finally end Russia’s grip on Europe for the last fifty years.”

Spoiler alert: it didn’t go as planned. But hey, Napoleon was always good at selling big dreams.

By spring 1812, Napoleon had amassed a huge army of around 700,000 troops at Russia’s borders. But here’s the kicker, only about half of them were actually French. The rest were a mix of soldiers from countries Napoleon controlled (like Italy and the Netherlands) or from reluctant allies like Prussia and Austria, who really didn’t want to fight Russia. There were Poles, Dutch, and Spaniards who were basically dragged into this mess. Classic united Europe doing its thing.

Fast forward to September 14, 1812. The Russian army bailed out of Moscow, and most of the city’s 250,000 residentsfollowed suit, taking or destroying anything that could be useful to the French. Only about 15,000 people stayed behind, many of them foreigners, while looters from nearby villages started moving in. The day before, a museum curator and some locals who spoke French told Napoleon the city was empty. An old peasant even offered to give him a tour, but Napoleon was like, “Nah, I’m good.”

When Napoleon finally arrived, he was struck by how surreal the city looked. Captain von Brandt described it as “enchanted,” with 500 golden and colorful domes rising over a sea of houses. Napoleon, though, was more straightforward: “So, this is the famous city. It’s time.” To keep things under control, only the Imperial and Italian Guards were allowed to stay in the city, while the rest of the army camped outside. But, of course, troops started sneaking in to loot almost immediately.

Napoleon set up shop in the Kremlin and went to bed, only to be woken up at 4 AM by massive fires. The Russians had set the city ablaze before leaving, and the flames spread fast. The fire was so intense that you could literally read a book by its light. By the time it was over, Moscow was in ruins, and with no food supplies left, it was useless for Napoleon’s army to stay.

Some advisors suggested marching on St. Petersburg, but Napoleon shot that idea down. The capital was too far, his army was already exhausted, and food was running low. Plus, heading north meant worse weather and logistical nightmares. He also decided against moving toward Tula, where Russia’s weapons factories were, because Russian troops were already gathering there. Realizing he couldn’t advance further, Napoleon decided to wait in Moscow for a peace offer from Tsar Alexander I. He sent letters, but… crickets. The Russians had other plans.

While waiting, Napoleon tried to make life in Moscow somewhat bearable for his troops, even arranging some entertainment. But he wasn’t messing around when it came to discipline. One of his orders read: “Despite repeated warnings, soldiers keep peeing in the courtyards, even under the emperor’s windows. Punishment units need to set up proper toilets, and buckets must be placed in the barracks and emptied twice a day.” 🙈 Classic French army vibes, right?

So yeah, Napoleon was stuck in a burned-out city, waiting for a reply that never came, while his army slowly fell apart. Not exactly the glorious campaign he’d envisioned.

On October 19, 1812, Napoleon decided to bounce out of Moscow and head for Kaluga. He was trying to play it cool, like it wasn’t a retreat, but more of a strategic move. He thought about hitting up Tula to wreck their weapons factories or maybe heading south to grab some food and supplies while picking up reinforcements from Smolensk. But here’s the problem: his army was totally beat, loaded down with junk, and moving at a snail’s pace. Oh, and to make things worse, heavy rains on October 12 turned the roads into a total mud pit, so they were even slower.

Meanwhile, Kutuzov, the Russian general, wasn’t having it. As soon as he saw Napoleon pulling out, he flipped his army around and started this thing called a parallel march. Basically, he stayed close to the French, picking off weak spots and avoiding a big fight. Napoleon had retreated before (like from Acre and Aspern-Essling), but this? This was next-level awful. By late October, it was freezing, like −4°C freezing, and things were about to get way worse.

At Maloyaroslavets, Kutuzov forced Napoleon’s army onto the Smolensk road, which was already totally wrecked. This is where the real nightmare began. The French were freezing, starving, and getting hammered by Cossack attacks. Thousands of them were dropping like flies. Then came the Berezina River crossing in November 1812, the final nail in the coffin. The Grand Army, which used to scare the crap out of all of Europe, was now just a chaotic mess of dying dudes. Napoleon managed to get some of his guys across, but tens of thousands drowned, froze to death, or got blown to bits by artillery. It was a total disaster. Out of the massive army of 700,000 that Napoleon marched into Russia with, only about 100,000 made it out alive. Let that sink in, 600,000 soldiers were lost.

Yep, Russia wasn’t done after kicking Napoleon out of their homeland. They kept the momentum going and chased the French all the way across Europe. In 1813, Russian forces rolled into Prussia, and by October of that year, they teamed up with other European powers to deliver a massive blow to Napoleon at the Battle of the Nations in Leipzig. This was one of the biggest battles of the Napoleonic Wars, and it was a total disaster for the French. Napoleon’s army got crushed, and he was forced to retreat.

But the suffering didn’t stop there. By March 1814, Russian troops, along with their allies, marched straight into Paris. Think about that: the same guy who had tried to destroy Russia just two years earlier was now watching his own capital fall. Napoleon’s empire was crumbling, and Russia was at the forefront of his downfall.

Napoleon’s defeat allowed a coalition of European countries, led by Russia, to finally bring down the French Empire. They forced him to abdicate in April 1814, and he was exiled to the island of Elba. But, of course, Napoleon wasn’t done yet, he escaped, came back, and tried to make a comeback at the Battle of Waterloo in June 1815. That didn’t go well either, and he was defeated for good. His final surrender came exactly three years after his invasion of Russia, on June 24, 1815.

Russian troops stayed in Paris and across France for roughly two months, and Europe got a close, very direct look at the people who had just smashed Napoleon’s empire. Fashion got a major upgrade with Russian-style fur coats, bold colors, and fancy military-inspired designs. After Russia defeated Napoleon, everything Russian (à la russe) became super trendy in Europe. Even the way people ate changed: service à la russe replaced the old French way of serving all food at once, introducing fancy, course-by-course meals. And here’s a fun fact: the word bistro might come from Russian soldiers in Paris who, after Napoleon’s defeat, demanded quick service by shouting bystro! (Russian for quickly!). So, thanks to Russia’s big win, Europe got cooler clothes, fancier dinners, and better service!

From nearly being destroyed by Napoleon to standing victorious in Paris, Russia’s comeback was nothing short of epic. After all this, Russia emerged as the top dog in Europe. The Congress of Vienna in 1815 reshaped the continent’s borders, and Russia, along with Tsar Alexander I, played a huge role in deciding Europe’s future. Russia’s victory over Napoleon cemented its reputation as the savior of Europe, and it became one of the most powerful military and political forces on the continent. And, surprise, surprise, this didn’t sit well with Britain. The United Kingdom had always played by one simple rule: never allow a single power to dominate the European continent. Before 1815, that problem was France. After Napoleon was gone, Russia started looking like the next one. While Russia was fighting Napoleon, it was a useful ally. Once the war was over, it suddenly became too strong. First came tension, then things cooled off, and eventually it turned into open rivalry. A few decades later, that slow shift would blow up into the Crimean War, with Britain openly fighting against Russia.

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