You argue that Russia’s sense of national humiliation and imperial nostalgia shaped its decision to invade Ukraine. How do emotions and historical narratives become powerful political motivations for war?

The central issue is that, under Putin, the Russian state fundamentally denies Ukraine’s sovereignty and even its nationhood. Putin does not regard Ukraine as a separate nation, and the narrative that Russians and Ukrainians constitute “one people” is not exclusive to him. This view is widely held across segments of Russian society.

At times, this notion is expressed in a seemingly benign way. Yet, in the political context it has been weaponized. In the Kremlin’s interpretation, the claim of shared identity becomes an argument that Ukrainians should not have a distinct language, history, or culture. Speaking Ukrainian is cast as a deviation—as behaving like a “bad Russian.” Thus, a broad cultural notion of kinship is transformed into a justification for denying Ukraine the attributes of an independent nation.

Beyond nationhood is the question of sovereignty. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia has never fully accepted the sovereignty of the former Soviet republics. This is clear after 2014 or 2022, but also as far back as 1991, if one examines debates within the Russian parliament and statements by political elites.

Moscow has long distinguished between “real” foreign countries and the so-called near abroad—states it does not consider fully foreign and over which it believes Russia has a rightful say in matters such as trade, citizenship, language policy, or geopolitical alignment. Russia already exerts this influence over some states—Belarus is the most obvious example, where the Lukashenko government largely complies with Russian preferences. Similarly, in parts of Central Asia, governments are cautious not to provoke overt Russian intervention. In such contexts, Russia does not need to invade because political compliance achieves the same objective.

Ukraine is different. If former Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych—Russia’s preferred political partner—had remained in power, Russia likely would not have resorted to military force. There would have been no need: a compliant government in Kyiv would have aligned policies with Moscow’s demands. This is why I argue the war was not structurally predetermined.

Regarding the emotional and historical narratives, their political influence is more difficult to pinpoint. They certainly exist, but the key question is how they became sufficiently salient to drive Putin’s decision to seize Ukraine by force. One explanation is that these ideas—imperial nostalgia and the belief in a unified Russian-Ukrainian identity—were always present. However, Ukraine’s significant westward shift during the 2000s, culminating in the 2013-2014 Euromaidan movement, ruptured Russia’s ability to control Ukraine without coercion. After the Revolution of Dignity and the invasion of Crimea, it became clear that Russia could no longer reassert dominance except through military means.

However, this alone does not explain the timing. Many observers believe that during the COVID period, Putin immersed himself in Russian historical narratives and became increasingly preoccupied with Russian history. In summer 2021, he published the essay on the “historical unity” of Russians and Ukrainians, articulating explicitly the denial of Ukrainian nationhood. Combined with a longstanding rejection of Ukrainian sovereignty, this renewed ideological emphasis appeared in the months leading up to the invasion.

We can observe how these narratives were mobilized, but we cannot fully explain why they crystallized into action precisely at that moment. What is clear, however, is that two beliefs deeply informed Russia’s decision: first, that Ukraine is not a genuinely separate nation; and second, that Russia has a rightful claim to control the region. These convictions, rooted in imperial identity, provided powerful ideological motivation for viewing a military invasion as legitimate or necessary.

In recent months, Putin has doubled down on framing the war as a defense of Russia’s “civilizational identity” against the West. How does this identity narrative help sustain his domestic legitimacy, especially amid war fatigue and economic strain?

Legitimacy in Russia is a complex issue. One question is whether citizens believe the government has the right to rule. Survey data suggests that a majority of Russians do see Putin as a legitimate ruler, although not everyone attributes high legitimacy to the government as a whole.

In authoritarian systems, analysts often highlight two additional pillars: nationalism and economic performance. China is a common example: while its political system is not democratic, many citizens accept its rule on the grounds that the government delivers economic growth and promotes national strength.

Putin has pursued both strategies. He has consistently attempted to cultivate Russian nationalism and patriotism, though with mixed outcomes. Some early efforts in the 2000s empowered extremist nationalist groups, many of which later turned against him because he permitted substantial labor migration. This led the Kremlin to suppress the more radical nationalist factions beginning around 2010. Since 2014—and especially after 2022—Putin has invested heavily in patriotic education and identity-centered narratives to bolster public support.

However, the economic pillar of legitimacy has become increasingly fragile. Russia experienced strong growth in the early 2000s, but its recovery after the 2008 financial crisis was weak, and growth has remained heavily dependent on global energy prices. The war has strained state finances further: military expenditures are high, sanctions restrict revenue sources, and the government has turned to domestic borrowing to sustain spending. This approach is inflationary and not fiscally sustainable in the long run. Without reducing war spending or finding new income streams, Russia is likely to face significant economic pressure.

As economic conditions worsen, the state attempts to obscure these problems through deficit spending and propaganda, but Russia’s long-term economic outlook is deeply negative. This creates a tension at the heart of Putin’s legitimacy. Nationalist and civilizational rhetoric may compensate for economic decline to an extent, but only up to a point. Russians themselves use the metaphor of “the TV versus the refrigerator”—the television tells them everything is going well, while the refrigerator reflects deteriorating living standards. The durability of Putin’s legitimacy depends on how long the identity narrative can outweigh the material realities confronting ordinary citizens.

Despite repeated predictions that Russia’s economy would collapse under sanctions and war-related strain, it has not yet done so. The state has managed crises with a degree of competence, which has helped stabilize public perceptions. Nonetheless, the reliance on civilizational and nationalist narratives to sustain legitimacy signals the regime’s awareness that its economic foundations are eroding.

Since the 2024 election, Putin has consolidated power through new appointments and loyalty campaigns. How does elite identity within Russia’s political class shape decision-making and limit potential challenges to Putin’s rule?

Identity does play a role among Russian elites, but it is not the only or even the most decisive factor. The more central dynamic is that, over the past 25 years, Putin has consistently selected officials on the basis of loyalty—and increasingly on loyalty over competence. In the early years of his presidency, he appointed some individuals who were both loyal and technically capable, and there remain competent figures today, such as Central Bank head Elvira Nabiullina. But many others in the political system lack experience or expertise.

A striking indicator of this system is that virtually no senior government officials have resigned since the war began. The only notable departure was a marginal figure whose influence within the contemporary Putin regime was minimal. The absence of resignations is remarkable and reflects the character of an elite that has been cultivated for decades to defer to Putin, rather than challenge him, even when they recognize that his decisions may be driving the country toward crisis.

It is important to note that patronage has long been central to maintaining loyalty among political and economic elites. Ironically, Western sanctions have reinforced these ties. Many sanctioned elites now depend on Putin for preserving their wealth, status, and security. Breaking with him would mean losing their assets, and they are no longer welcome in the West. For many oligarchs, the ideal outcome would be a quick end to the war so they could return to their previous lifestyles. Despite this, sanctions have left them with no viable exit. As a result, the patronage network continues to bolster Putin’s support.

Regarding identity, some elites likely possess a sense of patriotism and a strong identification with Russia as a state. They observe the heavy military losses and the broader deterioration of Russia’s strategic situation. Unfortunately, this does not produce hostility toward the country itself. Instead, they remain committed to performing their roles, however effectively or ineffectively. In certain domains—such as military restructuring or parts of the economic bureaucracy—some officials have demonstrated competence and adaptability since the invasion.

In essence, elite identity is shaped less by ideological uniformity and more by the entrenched norm of personal loyalty to Putin. This long-standing pattern constrains decision-making and creates an environment in which few, if any, actors are willing or able to contest his authority, despite the mounting costs of his policies.

Russia has increasingly turned to the BRICS bloc to project global influence and resist Western isolation. Do you see this as a meaningful strategic shift toward a “Global South” alliance, or is it mainly a symbolic move to maintain great-power status?

Turning to the question of the “Global South,” Putin clearly aspires to restore Russia’s status as a global power reminiscent of the Soviet era. In spite of their strong hopes, Russia faces significant constraints: its economy is relatively small, its long-term growth prospects are bleak due to the collapse of foreign investment, and outside of its nuclear arsenal, it lacks many attributes of a great power. Russian leaders deeply resent Western narratives that portray Russia as weak or declining, and they view the post–Cold War order—especially NATO enlargement—as symbolic affronts to Russian power, even if NATO poses no actual threat of invading Russia.

Subsequently, cultivating ties with BRICS countries can appear attractive. A coalition including India, Brazil, South Africa, and others might, in theory, serve as an alternative center of global influence capable of challenging Western dominance. However, the practical obstacles are substantial. These countries have highly divergent interests. For instance: Russia’s relationship with Iran—which supplies drones for the war—creates tensions with Gulf states and complicates any attempt to build a cohesive bloc.

Moreover, BRICS members have internal rivalries and do not share a common strategic vision. Even when they find Washington’s actions frustrating, that does not translate into coordinated support for Russia. Their priorities center on domestic development and regional leadership, not aligning themselves under Moscow in a new geopolitical hierarchy.

A “global alliance” for Russia is unlikely to materialize. Russia has limited material resources to offer. Unlike China—which can provide infrastructure financing and large-scale investment—Russia’s main exports are oil and gas, now constrained by sanctions. Countries like India incur significant costs when purchasing discounted Russian oil due to tariff and payment complications. Russia’s economic weakness therefore limits its ability to build durable partnerships.

Looking ahead, Russia will eventually face the social and psychological consequences of hundreds of thousands of casualties. Do we know much about the societal or cultural impact of these extraordinarily high casualty numbers? 

Russia has historically performed poorly in providing support for people with disabilities, and this is crucial for understanding the likely social impact of returning veterans. Disability rights, accessibility, and social attitudes toward disability in Russia are extremely underdeveloped. The problem extends far beyond insufficient infrastructure such as wheelchair ramps. There is deep social stigma toward people with disabilities, including children. Russia has one of the highest rates of institutionalized children in the world, and even minor, surgically correctable conditions—such as a cleft palate or club foot—can result in a child being placed in an orphanage. Conditions like autism or other developmental disabilities are likewise heavily stigmatized.

This is the environment many disabled soldiers will return to: a society that is generally unwelcoming and often hostile to people with physical or cognitive impairments, combined with very limited formal support structures. If we add mental health challenges to this picture, the situation becomes even more concerning. Russia already has high levels of interpersonal and domestic violence, and mental health services are scarce. Many men recruited for the war come from impoverished backgrounds or even from prisons—individuals with minimal social support and often untreated psychological issues. After experiencing warfare, they will return to civilian life with even fewer resources. The potential social fallout is extremely serious.

The overall casualty numbers themselves are staggering. It exceeds those of many previous Russian conflicts. When we compare territorial change to casualties over time, the picture becomes even more bleak: most of Russia’s territorial gains occurred in the first month of the invasion. After Ukraine’s counteroffensive in October 2022 pushed Russian forces back, the front line has remained largely static. Yet since that time, casualties have risen dramatically—by a factor of ten. Many battles, such as those in Bakhmut and Pokrovsk, have resulted in massive loss of life for minimal territorial gain, hence descriptions of these areas as “meat grinders.”

Estimates suggest Russia has suffered roughly one million total casualties with approximately 200,000 to 300,000 killed. Putin appears largely unconcerned with these losses. His primary constraint centers more on the practical need for manpower. He faces public resistance to another large-scale mobilization, but the casualties themselves do not meaningfully shape his decision-making. In this respect, the parallels with Stalin are striking: a willingness to absorb enormous human losses with little regard for individual lives.

Research consistently shows that democracies are far more sensitive to casualty levels. Authoritarian leaders, by contrast, can incur extremely high losses without facing immediate political consequences. Russia’s ability to endure such casualty numbers reflects deeper cultural and institutional patterns—patterns that may have long-lasting psychological and social repercussions as these veterans return to a society largely unprepared to support them.

Do you expect popular sentiment toward the Kremlin’s war in Ukraine to change? Would Putin, as an autocrat, even care about his popularity or popular legitimacy?

While Putin does not rely on electoral legitimacy in a democratic sense, he has cultivated a form of personalist authority—almost a cult of personality—where public support is closely tied to loyalty to him rather than to any specific policy. Interpreting Russian public opinion is difficult, because expressing dissent is dangerous; those who oppose Putin have little incentive to respond honestly to polls. Nevertheless, existing surveys reveal an important pattern: support tends to follow whatever Putin declares.

For example, if asked whether they would support a peace agreement ending the war should Putin announce one, a large majority would say yes. Yet, if asked whether they would support a renewed offensive if Putin endorsed it, a smaller but still large share might also express approval. This suggests that many Russians are not committed to particular policies; they support whatever Putin proposes. This dynamic is not unique to Russia, but it is especially pronounced there.

Because of this, Putin retains considerable flexibility. He could halt the war tomorrow and still maintain broad public backing, or he could continue waging it and preserve support among core constituencies. The main challenge is a widespread disengagement. Many citizens simply tune out negative information. Those who support the regime often avoid confronting disturbing news. Indifference is prevalent: some people have no emotional reaction to Ukrainian civilian casualties or change the subject when confronted with the human costs of the war.

Compounding this is the systematic dismantling of civil society. Over the past 25 years, Putin has repressed or eliminated nearly all organized opposition. Alexei Navalny was killed, other prominent critics were exiled or imprisoned, and independent organizations were weakened or destroyed. By undermining every potential source of mobilization, the Kremlin has produced a society with very few mechanisms for collective action against the regime.

For these reasons, I do not anticipate a steady, long-term buildup of opposition that culminates in mass protest or revolution. However, this does not mean the current level of apparent support is genuine or immovable. Much of it is passive compliance rather than enthusiastic endorsement. Only a fraction of the population is deeply committed to Putin; many others simply go along because alternatives are absent. Authoritarian regimes can change quickly when a new option emerges as passive supporters rapidly shift once a credible alternative appears.

In Russia’s case, any major change would likely be rapid and unpredictable, triggered by an unforeseen event such as Putin’s death or a sudden political rupture. Until then, widespread indifference, fear, and the absence of viable alternatives mean that popular sentiment is unlikely to meaningfully constrain Putin’s rule.