Category Archives: democracy

Duterte’s Response to COVID

From The Making of the Modern Philippines: Pieces of a Jigsaw State, by Philip Bowring (Bloomsbury Academic, 2022), Kindle pp. 109-110:

The last two years of Duterte’s presidency were dominated by the pandemic. Although blame for what, at least by the standards of its Asian neighbours, was a disastrous outcome did not fall on Duterte in particular, but it did show up the weakness of the Philippine state and the low quality of many of Duterte’s political appointees to important ministries and operational departments – not least a chaotic and overburdened Department of Health. Duterte’s own inclinations added to the problems of the pandemic. His instinct was for controls and lockdowns over testing and tracing. The country was very late in acquiring vaccines – and Duterte’s seeming preference for China’s Sinovac rather than Western ones. The severity of lockdowns in 2020 caused the economy to shrink 7 per cent, far higher than elsewhere in southeast Asia, and brought particular hardship to the millions in the informal sector. The lockdowns were no more successful in curbing the virus than less stringent ones in Indonesia. The Philippines also kept its schools closed for longer than almost any country.

The disastrous GDP performance in 2020 was followed by recovery of only about 5 per cent in 2021 due to renewed lockdowns. Meanwhile, the government debt burden was expected to rise 11.6 trillion pesos in July 2021 from 9.6 trillion a year earlier, despite the efforts of a conservative fiscal policy team to restrain spending. Given the low debt level in 2019, the rise was not especially alarming, particularly as only one-third was in foreign currency. However, the speed of the rise showed the compounding cost of lockdowns.

Duterte took his style of government from Davao to Manila, but the nation was a more complicated place and he had little time for details or issues other than a few such as the drug war. On those details he expected immediate obedience. Cabinet meetings were largely irrelevant and ministerial access to the president was difficult. Competent ministers could get on with their jobs but incompetents often stayed in place if they were unquestionably loyal. Appointments were weighted towards associates from Davao, and to retired generals, men accustomed to following orders In Philippine politics, as elsewhere, friends and benefactors were rewarded with positions and deals, but Duterte raised this to a level well above that of his predecessor. He behaved as one seeing himself as above the law, ruling from a bully pulpit.

As the 2022 election loomed, Duterte saw a need to protect himself from prosecution should the opposition win.

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Centralism vs. Federalism in Philippines

From The Making of the Modern Philippines: Pieces of a Jigsaw State, by Philip Bowring (Bloomsbury Academic, 2022), Kindle pp. 128-130:

The 1987 Constitution was intended to promote ‘maximum decentralization short of federalization’. It was imprecise about decentralization of public finances, merely referring to ‘just shares’ and allowing local taxation subject to rules made by Congress. It also provided for significant devolution of functions and to enable this a 1991 law saw allocation of 40 per cent of the Bureau of Internal Revenue collection go to local government units (LGUs). This was further allocated by a complex formula to 23 per cent for provinces and cities, 34 per cent for municipalities and 20 per cent for barangays. The law also set rules for taxes on property, mining and other local economic activity.

In the Philippines, the decision-making power of the executive was centralized, the administrative sinews needed for implementation were weak. So, too, was the justice system, a mix of Spanish and US influences. In principle, it was centralized with all judges, including those at the lowest level, the Municipal Trial Courts, chosen by Manila. In practice, however, local politics played a role in the choice of judges. The reputation of the court system for corruption and delay was a further obstacle to administrative efficacy.

Discussion of federalism has long been impeded by the assumption that it requires a change in the constitution. That in turn raises fears of presidents trying to perpetuate themselves by changing to a parliamentary system or allowing two terms. The existing constitution allows for autonomous zones in Muslim regions – the ARRM predates 1987 – and the Cordillera, home to various indigenous groups in northern Luzon. However, Cordillera autonomy has never happened thanks to a lack of unity. It remains possible within the constitution for Congress to grant more administrative and fiscal power to all regions or provinces. However, even if desirable in principle there are fears that perpetuate, even strengthen, dynastic dominance. Would it spread national wealth better, or simply increase divisions between the city hubs and the resource rich areas on the one hand and the rest of the country on the other?

There was an argument that the Philippines needed more centralization, not less. The gap between policy made in Manila and its implementation was partly due to the inadequacies of central ministries but also to the small size, politicization and frequent corruption of local government units. Regional councils could collect data, advise and make plans which cover provinces and cities, but they have no decision-making or implementing authority. Whilst there has, naturally, been a desire by the members of the House to see an increase in LGU funding by Manila, there have been differing views on whether local spending power is more or less productive. The existing regions have been a starting point for discussing the federal system, but are seventeen regions (including the BARMM [B = Bangsamoro ‘Moro Nation’] and Cordillera) too many? Or too few – Sulu for example wanted its own, separate from the BARMM? Or was division by geography not in keeping with any real sense of identity?

The existing regions are also imbalanced with the contiguous National Capital Region, Central Luzon and Calabarzon (Southern Tagalog) all far more populous than others. As of 2015 Calabarzon, had a population of 14 million, Caraga 3 million. Little of the discussion on federalism has got to grips with the issues of indigenous peoples (IPs) or lumads as they are known in Mindanao. The need for protection of their land and language rights has long been accepted in principle but in practice remains subject to erosion and conflict. They are too numerous to be ignored but too disparate to make into coherent units as the failure to establish autonomy for the Cordillera has shown. Despite the fact that, with the exception of the pre-Austronesian [Aeta/Agta] groups, they are no more or less indigenous than the average rice farmer from Tarlac. Yet the IPs are often treated as inferior citizens, lacking the ‘civilization’ of those more impacted by the centuries of colonial rule. In effect, they are subject to abuse with their schools ‘red-tagged’, communal lands seized by settlers and plantation owners, and their leaders accused of supporting the NPA. Alternatively, they may be subject to well-meaning paternalism by earnest NGOs which emphasizes their differences not their similarities to the wider population. The use of English in education and official documents also diminishes the role of the national language and hence the identity of regional languages whether widespread like Cebuano or confined to small IP communities.

The basic argument for federalism is that the Philippines’ fragmented geography made centralization costly and inefficient. It was unresponsive to differing local needs and was a dampener on local initiatives and was unable to harness regional pride in a country where a sense of regional identity was strong – as senate elections also showed. It limited competition between regions and held up resource development.

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Decline Under Marcos

From The Making of the Modern Philippines: Pieces of a Jigsaw State, by Philip Bowring (Bloomsbury Academic, 2022), Kindle pp. 73-74:

Politically, most of the country was quiet for the first years of martial law. Local politicians were left alone but there was no national stage on which they could play. Central power was increased by the amalgamation of the Philippine Constabulary and local police forces into the Philippine National Police. A few young idealists fled to the hills and the NPA after the imposition of martial law and the urban intelligentsia muttered dissent but there was no sign of any general opposition movement gaining a hold. [Ninoy] Aquino remained in jail and in 1977 was sentenced to death by a military tribunal, but US pressure ensured that this would not be carried out and after the US secured a new bases agreement in 1979, he was allowed to leave the country for medical attention.

An interim National Assembly (Batasang Pambansa) was finally established in 1978 but consisted largely of KBL members, though a Visayan opposition group headed by Hilario Davide, later chief justice, remarkably beat a KBL candidate backed by the Osmenas and other big local families. In Manila, evidence at local polling stations suggested there were far more votes for opposition candidates than were officially reported.

The military, meanwhile, was ever more focused on internal strife, initially mostly in Muslim Mindanao/Sulu. Demand for a separate Moro state had existed before martial law partly, driven by conflict between Muslims and Christian settlers from the Visayas…. By 1975, rebels dominated the countryside and cities such as Marawi, and Cotabato could only be accessed by army-protected convoys.

Eventually the military gained the upper hand and a semblance of peace was established using Libya as an intermediary with Muslims promised autonomy in the so-called Tripoli Agreement. However, the Moros split in 1977, some, led by the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) of Hashim Salamat continued the fight and then the MNLF did so too. The MILF was Maguindanao-based and less secular than the MNLF in outlook. Intermittent lower scale actions became the norm.

The Moro issues were geographically contained and far from Manila. The NPA was another matter. Its original base area was close to Manila but it also realized the need for de-centralizing its activities if it were to prosper in the martial law era when it could no longer do deals with local politicians and was vulnerable to concerted military action. … By the early 1980s, it was estimated that about 15 per cent of the population lived in areas controlled or heavily influenced by the NPA and where businesses routinely paid taxes to it for protection.

The Catholic Church hierarchy, fearful of secular nationalism and socialism had originally been quietly supportive of Marcos, but with the appointment of Jaime Sin as archbishop (later Cardinal) of Manila in 1974, a more critical attitude prevailed. At the same time, priests in some areas, being aware of the suffering of the poor, became sympathetic towards the NPA.

However, the fundamental cause of the eventual collapse of the regime was economic failure driven by debts, domestic and foreign, incurred in supporting the Marcos family, the crony companies, and Imelda’s ongoing passion for show and monuments. The technocrats like the foreign bankers for long continued to believe that, for all its faults, it was no more corrupt but more efficient than the Old Society. … The years 1979 to 1980 saw another global oil crisis with the price per barrel doubling within a year. This hit at least as hard for the Philippines as the 1973/74 crisis because other commodity prices did not follow and the country was already too deeply in debt to offset its negative impact.

A bigger problem was the local banking industry’s excessive loans to cronies. In 1981, the mid-sized group of Chinese financier Dewey Dee, which thrived on the crony fringe, collapsed leaving huge debts, including to the Herdis group. As the house of cards then gradually collapsed, Herdis, then Cuenca’s CDCP and Silverio’s Delta Group had to be taken over by the government. The technocrats were seen to have gained ground against the cronies and some banks were closed, but crony debt, much in dollars borrowed from the Development Bank, was in effect nationalized.

Even this weight on an already struggling economy might have been bearable but for the shock of August 1983. Deciding to return to the Philippines, Aquino was shot dead on the tarmac at Manila Airport. A crudely executed assassination by members of the armed forces was almost certainly planned by General Ver, army chief of staff and ultimate Marcos loyalist, though whether on his own initiative or that of Marcos, then undergoing kidney dialysis treatment, or Imelda is unclear. The killing dramatically changed attitudes to the regime, particularly in Washington. Locally, there had been sporadic small bombing incidents by the Light a Fire movement linked to exiles in the US, but the banality of the murder by bullet, so reminiscent of Old Society politics, and the crudity of a cover-up attempt, shocked even those who had no time for Aquino. Before it, Marcos still had the majority of the population behind him. That changed dramatically.

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Magsaysay Era in the Philippines

From The Making of the Modern Philippines: Pieces of a Jigsaw State, by Philip Bowring (Bloomsbury Academic, 2022), Kindle pp. 60-62:

Magsaysay was dynamic, reorganizing and enlarging the army, improving discipline and reducing corruption. He exuded a man of the people image, meeting peasants and joining troops on operations. His close links to the US was not an issue for most Filipinos, Huk-leaning peasants included, who were still grateful to The US for helping rid them of the Japanese. He acknowledged peasant grievances and talked of land reform, increased crop shares and offers of free land in Mindanao. Copious US funds brought clinics, roads and services to poor villages. Lansdale was a behind campaigns to discredit the Huks, frighten their peasant supporters with psywar propaganda and use money and the media to highlight the positive. Those measures were at least as important as the military ones. Gradually, the tide turned against the rebellion which remained focused on Central Luzon despite Huk efforts to develop movements in Bicol, the Visayas and Mindanao.

By the time Magsaysay became president, the Huks were weakening, their forest camps threatened by Magsaysay’s troops. They were short of arms and divided ideologically between urban mostly well-born idealist Communists, several of whom were arrested, including the party boss, Jose Lava, as well as Taruc and his men in the field. Many peasants felt they had been heard and that conditions were being ameliorated. The rebellion faded, particularly after Taruc’s surrender following negotiations with Magsaysay’s envoy and a young well-connected journalist, Benigno Aquino Jr. The son of a leading collaborator he was to use the resulting fame to propel his own political ambitions.

Magsaysay was very much America’s man in foreign policy, the Manila Conference of 1954 creating the South East Asia Treaty Organization – a US-led anti-Communist alliance. He also declined to join such giants of anti-colonialism as Nehru, Nasser and Sukarno at the Afro-Asian Bandung Conference in 1955, though he did agree to send foreign secretary Carlos Romulo. Magsaysay’s clout in Washington enabled the nation to re-visit some of the provisions of the odious 1946 Trade Act. Jose Laurel represented the Philippines in negotiating what was known as the 1955 Laurel-Langley Agreement. This freed the Philippines to set its exchange rate against the US dollar and significantly improved trade access to the US through preferential tariffs and quotas. In particular, it benefitted sugar producers now able to sell in the US at a higher price than the world market. Parity rights for Americans were maintained but the Agreement was to expire in 1974. Also in 1955, the Philippines finally reached a reparations agreement with Japan, providing $550 million and a promise of another $250 million in private sector investment.

The flow of US money was the first key to a rapid recovery of the economy, even if it was mostly evident in Manila and a few other cities. Japanese reparations followed with private US investment arriving to take advantage of its privileges. The nation was seen as the most likely to prosper in the region because of its mix of education, access to the US and relatively stable political outlook. Indeed, from 1950, when its GDP per head was already higher than Japan, Taiwan, Korea and Thailand, it had the region’s highest annual GDP growth rate of 6.5 per cent.

Magsaysay died in a plane crash in Cebu in March 1957 and was automatically succeeded by Vice-President Carlos Garcia. He had served as Foreign Secretary under Magsaysay and was identified as a pro-American anti-communist, chairing the 1954 Manila Conference which saw the creation of the South East Asia Treaty Organization. One of his first acts in office was to sign a law making the Communist Party illegal, but in other respects he was a staunch nationalist who resented foreign commercial domination, a reference to the local Chinese as well as to the US interests. Garcia was elected President in late 1957 as a Nacionalista with 41 per cent in an election with several prominent candidates, but his running mate, Jose Laurel, the son of the president appointed by Japan, lost the vice-presidency to Diosdado Macapagal of the main opposition Liberal party. The Nacionalistas controlled Congress, with a representative from Ilocos, Ferdinand Marcos, as the minority leader.

The creation of an indigenous capitalist class was a natural goal and one pursued elsewhere in Asia. However, it rested on three pillars: one was the landowning elite who used their resources, wealth and political clout to expand their economic role but were not natural entrepreneurs; the second was the Chinese who, evading laws to deter them, managed the shift from middle-man role to into newer manufacturing industries; the third was the state, supposedly in command but without institutional roots, short of funds and at the beck and call of politicians and rent seekers. The policies did have the effect of bringing more local investment into protected manufacturing. The anti-Chinese Retail Nationalization Act in the longer run helped the Chinese by forcing them out of retailing into manufacturing, whose percentage of GDP rose from 10.7 per cent in 1948 to 17 per cent in 1960.

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European Nationalist Revolts in 1905

This week’s edition of Culture.pl contains an article by Zachary Mazur written in 2022 that heralds his new book entitled To Kill a Spy: Everyday Nationalism and Political Violence in Fin-de-Siecle Europe from Amsterdam University Press’s CEU Press imprint later in 2026. Here are excerpts from most of the text of the article, without illustrations.

For decades, the Revolution of 1905 has been tucked away in history books as a mere ‘dress rehearsal’ for the Soviet rise in 1917. But for the Poles, Jews, Lithuanians and Ukrainians living under the Tsarist yoke, 1905 wasn’t a rehearsal for someone else’s drama – it was their own leading role. It was the moment the modern mass nation was born, an epoch-making explosion of culture and defiance that shattered imperial censorship and provided a blueprint for the independent states that would follow.

The catalyst: a war of hubris & machine guns

On the eve of the revolution, the Russian Empire was engaged in an embarrassing war with Imperial Japan. The two powers fought over control of northeast China (Manchuria) and the Korean peninsula. The Japanese, from the European perspective, were an upstart Asiatic power that had only recently emerged from isolation and the variable dark ages of feudalism. Fuelled by an unapologetic anti-Asian racism, most people expected that the tsar’s Russia would destroy the Japanese army in a matter of weeks when the war began.

Instead, Russian troops faced continuous setbacks. Japanese commanders used trenches and machine guns – new technologies of the day – to break the will of their opponents. On the seas, Japan’s gunships destroyed the Russian Pacific fleet, leading to an epic journey for the Baltic fleet around the horn of Africa, 18,000 nautical miles.

After the nearly 8-month ocean voyage, Russia’s sailors again faced a thrashing in May 1905. With two fleets destroyed and numerous losses on land, Russia admitted defeat in the summer. US President Theodore Roosevelt invited the sides to negotiate peace in New Hampshire at an American naval base and the Treaty of Portsmouth ended the Russo-Japanese War in September 1905.

On the home front, the people of the Russian Empire took the brunt of the war effort. Among the newly formed urban working classes, a concomitant economic slowdown put severe pressure on the people as they faced unemployment and hunger. Already in 1904, there were anti-war protests in Warsaw and in a few other cities around the Russian-controlled partition of the Polish lands.

The true beginning of the revolution, however, came when Russian subjects led by a charismatic young Orthodox priest tried to petition the tsar in January 1905. A crowd of calm marchers solemnly moved toward the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, and despite the fact that the tsar was not even there, the guards panicked and opened fire on the people. The resulting mayhem and death became the rallying cry for radicals all over the empire. The tsar had tried to cultivate an image of a benevolent father figure, but after ‘Bloody Sunday’, even his most fervent supporters were disillusioned.

A hotbed of revolt: strikes & the October Manifesto

For the next two years following the events of January 1905, protests and strikes broke out all over the Russian Empire. The Polish part of the empire, that included the large cities Warsaw, Łódź, Radom, Kielce, Piotrków and Białystok, was the most industrialised region. As a result, it was poised to be a hotbed for revolutionary activity. Organisers went to work gathering support for strikes, and confrontations with police often turned violent. In Łódź, a huge centre for textile manufacturing, workers fought pitched battles on the streets with barricades and makeshift weapons.

General strikes, where whole industries stopped work, and especially striking railroad workers, forced the hand of the tsar. Finally, he had to give up some concessions to the protestors. In October, the tsar issued a decree that allowed for limited democratic freedoms of press and assembly and the formation of a parliamentary assembly, called the Duma. Though many of the protestors felt that this did not go far enough and continued their fight for further privileges, the so-called October Manifesto created an outpouring of publications, theatre and cultural life that the Russian Empire had never seen before.

Prior to this moment, censorship had been stifling, strictly regulating the languages in which books could be published or theatre performed. Lithuanian, Yiddish and Ukrainian had been banned for decades. While the suppression of the Ukrainian language continued – seen as a threat to the Russian ‘heartland’ in a policy of identity erasure that remains tragically relevant today – Lithuanian, Yiddish and other suppressed languages finally began to gain legal recognition within the empire.

The linguistic renaissance: breaking the imperial silence

Lithuanians gained the right to publish newspapers in the Latin alphabet as early as the spring of 1904, but the popular press exploded thanks to the Revolution of 1905. The proliferation of daily newspapers, such as the Vilniaus žinios (Vilnius News) signalled the beginning of a mass Lithuanian culture. The first great national assembly of Lithuanians took place in Vilnius, with 200 delegates, between 4 to 5 December 1905. All sections of society – from Belarus, East Prussia (where many Lithuania speakers lived as well) – took part.

They ended by demanding political autonomy for Lithuania, and to have their own provincial parliament with boundaries defined on ethnographic terms. Lithuanian scientific and artistic associations grew at the time, establishing the cultural arms of the Lithuanian national movement. These became vital just a few years later for the establishment of the independent Lithuanian state after World War I.

Yiddish too experienced a renaissance (or naissance) based on new-found freedoms in cities with large Jewish populations, such as Warsaw, Łódź and Vilnius. The tsarist authorities lifted bans on Yiddish printing and theatre in 1905, allowing for the creation of art and literature in a vernacular that practically all Jews used on a daily basis. Finally distinctly Jewish art could move to the public stage and reach audiences that had never experienced such forms of culture. The demand was clearly there, since four new theatres popped up in Warsaw almost immediately after the ban was lifted. In Mokotów, there was Bagatela, Elizeum on Karowa Street, Jardin d’Hiver on Chmielna and Muranower on Bonifraterska, all performing exclusively in Yiddish. Sholem Aleichem’s play Scattered and Dispersed saw its debut at this time (directed by Mark Arnshteyn). Yiddish dailies also appeared, and their content shows the popularity of theatre at the time. Jardin d’Hiver was playing two shows per day, with the exception of Shabbat. In 1908, the dedicated journal Teater Velt (Theatre World) appeared. All this newfound energy for Yiddish culture caused a modernisation of the language and uniformity that did not exist before among the Jews of the Russian Empire. This emergence also allowed for literary theatre to grow. On top of that, American actors with new plays written in New York came over and were the most commercially successful pieces.

Shadows of the revolution: the Pimps’ Pogrom

In the midst of the social upheaval and suffering, people looked for scapegoats to blame leading to one of the most bizarre episodes of the revolution: the Pimps’ Pogrom. In the working class Warsaw neighbourhood of Wola (today the site of skyscrapers, giving it the nickname ‘Hong Kong’), a seedy underworld of pimps, prostitutes and the men who frequented these establishments operated with the approbation of the local police.

In the Russian Empire, the sex trade was officially regulated, requiring both brothels and individual prostitutes to register with the police. Pimps supported the Tsarist status quo rather than the revolutionaries, as they could turn a profit under the state’s protection. Consequently, the sex trade was seen as an extension of the Russian regime and its police – the same officers who beat protesters and fired into crowds. The violence, however chaotic, was a strike against the very infrastructure of Russian control.

A song from that time:

Oj, lumpy to szpiedzy, [Oh the pimps are spies]
Prowokatorzy; [Provocateurs]
Chodzą na ‘giełde’, podsłuchują [They go to the market, eavesdropping]
potem donoszą na policje [then they tell the police]

It’s unclear what exactly sparked the riots against the brothels, but at the end of May 1905, a series of events led workers to destroy dozens of brothels, leaving at least 15 people dead. They moved from one house to the next, destroying furniture, smashing mirrors, tearing up clothes and bedding.

In one bordello, the sex workers put up a fight. A prostitute grabbed a copper pipe and hit a rioter over the head with it. In response, someone stabbed her with a knife and she died on the spot. In another brothel, the pimps fled, leaving the girls alone. Frightened for their safety, they hid under beds and in closets. The rioters pulled them out and beat them. The women yelled hysterically, called them names and cried: ‘What do you want from us? What did we ever do to you?’

Although a majority of the pimps and prostitutes were Jewish, both Polish and Jewish workers gathered on the streets to exact vengeance. In this way, it was very different from anti-Jewish pogroms, many of which took place in the context of the revolution. Some historians see this event as a moral crusade, while others claim that the association of the pimps with the Russian police was the strongest motivator. There were also witnesses who claimed that competing pimps were the most virulent rioters, so some plain old business competition was at play too.

These events brought attention to problems with prostitution in the Polish lands, sparking some difficult public discussions about issues that were normally left undisturbed. It also inspired several poems, such as Leo Belmont’s Po Pogromie (After the Pogrom) and novels, mostly published in Yiddish.

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Russia Boosts Ukrainian Nationalism

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 131-134:

The eight years of hybrid warfare that Russia had waged against Ukraine in the Donbas, divided by the Minsk agreements, turned Ukraine into a different country and society from those of 2014. A country divided by issues of history, culture, and identity when the Crimea was annexed was now united by the desire to defend its sovereignty, democratic order, and way of life at almost any price.

The war had changed the electoral map of Ukraine. The first wartime presidential elections, held in May 2014, yielded unprecedented results: Petro Poroshenko won in the first round with 55 percent of the vote—the first time this had happened since 1991. Even more important, Poroshenko carried 187 precincts out of 188 remaining under Ukrainian control. The dividing line of the previous presidential elections, which had split Ukraine in half between pro-European and pro-Russian candidates, was now gone. The war had produced a much more homogenous country.

Russia’s annexation of the Crimea and takeover of significant portions of Ukraine’s Donbas removed the traditionally most pro-Russian areas, with the greatest number of ethnic Russians and Russian speakers in Ukraine, from Ukrainian political and cultural space. Those areas had also served as bases for Russia-friendly political parties. Russia did its utmost to support former allies of the ousted president, Viktor Yanukovych, but they were divided and weak after losing a significant part of their electoral base. The forces led by the Ukrainian businessman and politician Viktor Medvedchuk, who was close to Putin, also remained weak despite the support of television channels and newspapers funded with Russian assistance.

The growth of Ukrainian political identity began with the rejection of symbols of the Soviet past. The Maidan protests of 2014 unleashed a wave of demolition of monuments to Vladimir Lenin, the main symbol of communist and, in the eyes of many, Russian domination of Ukraine. More than 500 such monuments were toppled by anti-communist activists in the first half of 2014, mostly in the center of the country. The rest, more than 1,500 that remained in the regions of southeastern Ukraine controlled by Kyiv, were removed in the course of the next few years by decision of parliament, which adopted the so-called “decommunization laws” prohibiting the public display of communist symbols.

Ukrainians survived the Russian onslaught during the first stage of the war, in 2014–15, by uniting across ethnic, linguistic, religious, and cultural lines. The war itself also promoted popular identification with the Ukrainian language and culture. Since Putin’s official rationale for invading Ukraine was the defense of Russian speakers, many Ukrainians and Russians who knew Ukrainian but used Russian as their language of preference began to switch to Ukrainian as an act of defiance. The number of those self-reporting their use of Ukrainian at home and at work spiked in 2014–15. That number returned to the previous norm once the immediate danger of all-out invasion passed, but readiness to adopt Ukrainian as the dominant language of government and education remained. In 2019, parliament adopted a new law making the Ukrainian language mandatory for government officials and public-sector employees. The Russian Foreign Ministry protested, claiming that the law would deepen divisions in Ukrainian society. That did not prove to be the case.

City and village bookstores were flooded with Ukrainian-language books, reducing Russian-language publications to secondary status. Works on Ukrainian history and culture began to top bestseller lists. Before the war, the government had spent little or no money on the promotion of Ukrainian culture abroad; now it created a special Ukrainian Institute under the auspices of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Its task was to emulate Germany’s Goethe Institute and similar agencies in other countries, familiarizing foreign countries with the Ukrainian language and culture. At home, the Ukrainian Cultural Fund and the Ukrainian Book Institute were charged with supporting cultural events and promoting Ukrainian publications.

In 2018 the government provided strong support for the unification of the two branches of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church that were independent of the Moscow Patriarchate, which still dominated Orthodoxy in Ukraine, while striving to restrain competition between them. President Poroshenko attended the unification council of the two churches, which were placed under the jurisdiction of the Patriarch of Constantinople—a major blow to the prospect of continuing Russian Orthodox hegemony. Moscow protested and severed ties with the Patriarch of Constantinople but could do little more to maintain its position. The newly united Orthodox Church of Ukraine (OCU) had mass popular support, and, given the ongoing if undeclared war with Russia, many Orthodox Ukrainians preferred a church independent of Moscow. The transfer of parishes from the Moscow Patriarchate to the OCU began in the first months of 2019.

Active government involvement in matters of language, memory politics, and religion met with substantial criticism not only from traditionally pro-Russian political forces but also from part of the country’s liberal establishment. Nevertheless, it was either supported or accepted by the population at large. After Russia’s aggressive weaponization of issues of culture and history in 2014–15, much of the population agreed that the new laws and policies were necessary elements of nation-building, designed to prevent further Russian aggression.

The new Ukrainian government fulfilled the promise of the Revolution of Dignity by moving closer to the European Union and Euro-Atlantic institutions, including NATO. The association agreement that had triggered the Maidan protests in 2017 was signed in June 2014. In March 2017 the European Union Council granted Ukrainians visa-free travel to the EU. The EU member nations provided badly needed financial assistance, altogether up to $14 billion, to help Ukraine deal with its losses of territory, population, and economic assets. An additional $2.2 billion came from the United States. Washington became the main sponsor of reform in the Ukrainian security sector, providing $1.6 billion for that purpose alone. Ukraine was rapidly acquiring a new professional army, and the government placed NATO membership back on its agenda by including it in the Ukrainian constitution.

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Russia Annexes Crimea, 2014

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 118-119:

On March 18, 2014, Vladimir Putin delivered one of the most consequential speeches of his career. Addressing a joint session of the lower and upper houses of the Russian parliament—the deputies of the State Duma and the members of the Federation Council, joined by regional leaders and representatives of Kremlin-controlled civic organizations—Putin asked the deputies to approve a law annexing the Ukrainian Crimea and the city of Sevastopol to the Russian Federation. Two days after the referendum, Putin was ending the Crimea’s short-lived independence by annexing the peninsula—the first annexation of a sovereign nation’s territory in Europe by a foreign state since World War II.

In his speech, Putin declared that the Crimean self-defense units had taken the initiative to bring about reunification, and the people of the Crimea had decided their fate, preventing Sevastopol from being turned into a NATO military base. He took advantage of the opportunity to remind NATO and the West of all the injustices allegedly committed against international law and Russia, from the bombing of Serbia to the recognition of Kosovo’s independence, as putative justification for Russia’s actions in the Crimea, and denounced the “color revolutions” as coups engineered by the West.

Putin made an unprecedented appeal to Russian nationalism. This was a marked departure from his earlier statements and pronouncements, in which his main addressee and point of reference was the multiethnic Russian political nation embodied by the citizens of the Russian Federation, referred to as rossiiane rather than ethnic russkie. Now he claimed that Russia and the Russians were the greatest divided nation in the world. After the fall of the USSR, said Putin, when “Crimea ended up as part of a different country . . . Russia realized that it was not simply robbed, it was plundered.” “All these years,” he declared, “citizens and many public figures have come back to this issue, saying that Crimea is historically Russian land and Sevastopol is a Russian city.”

There were also elements of the speech that appealed to Russo-Ukrainian unity, despite Putin’s attack on Ukraine and annexation of part of its territory. “Orthodoxy,” claimed Putin, “predetermined the overall basis of the culture, civilization, and human values that unite the peoples of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus.” He even declared that Russia was taking the Crimea on behalf of both Russians and Ukrainians to prevent its loss to a third party. “Crimea is our common historical legacy and a very important factor in regional stability,” Putin went on. “And this strategic territory should be part of a strong and stable sovereignty, which today can only be Russian. Otherwise, dear friends (I am addressing both Ukraine and Russia), you and we—Russians and Ukrainians—could lose Crimea completely, and that could happen in the near historical perspective.”

Putin made a hybrid argument for the annexation: appealing to Russian history, territory, and identity, he invoked the legacy of empire to claim the Crimea under the banner of Russian ethnic nationalism, while also maintaining that Russians and Ukrainians were Slavic brethren. The latter was meant to exploit the sense of Russo-Ukrainian unity to which many citizens of Russia and Ukraine subscribed. Putin assured Ukrainians that Crimea was a unique case—a part of Ukraine historically, culturally, and ethnically belonging to Russia. The rest of Ukraine was safe. “Do not believe those who want you to fear Russia, shouting that other regions will follow Crimea,” declared Putin. “We do not want to divide Ukraine; we do not need that.” In fact, the division of Ukraine was exactly what Putin undertook in the weeks and months following his Crimean speech.

In conclusion, Putin asked the Russian parliamentarians to ratify the treaty and create two new constituent entities within the Russian Federation, one for the Crimea, another for the city of Sevastopol. The parliament complied, and on March 21 Putin signed the law integrating the Crimea and the city of Sevastopol into the Russian Federation. The annexation of the Crimea was now a fait accompli, carried out in accordance with the Russian constitution but in blatant violation of international law and treaties signed by Russia, including the Budapest Memorandum of 1994 and the Russo-Ukrainian Friendship Agreement of 1997.

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NATO’s Bucharest Summit, 2008

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 87-89:

As NATO leaders arrived for the Bucharest summit on April 2, 2008, Russia’s vocal protests against membership for Ukraine and Georgia were on their minds. Putin came to the Romanian capital in person to take part in the meeting of the Russia-NATO summit and warn the members of the alliance against extending invitations to the two post-Soviet republics. “The emergence of a powerful military bloc at our borders will be seen as a direct threat to Russian security,” Putin told President Bush. Bush was not particularly impressed. Before going to Bucharest he made a stopover in Kyiv, where he told the Ukrainians: “Your nation has made a bold decision, and the United States strongly supports your request.”

But key European members of NATO, France and Germany in particular, blocked the decision advocated by the United States and supported by the new East European members of the alliance to grant Ukraine and Georgia a Membership Action Plan. “We agreed today that these countries will become members of NATO,” read the declaration before making it clear that no accession would take place any time soon. The MAP was promised but not given on the basis that the two potential applicants still had to meet some specific criteria in order to qualify. “[W]e will now begin a period of intensive engagement with both at a high political level to address the questions still outstanding pertaining to their MAP applications.”

The matter was postponed and would not return to the NATO agenda at the next summit or the one after that. Everyone knew that the decision to deny MAP to the two post-Soviet republics was a concession to their former master, Russia. Otherwise it was impossible to explain why the Bucharest summit invited Croatia and Albania to join NATO. For the two countries now perceived as threats by Russia, NATO’s non-decision on their membership was the worst possible outcome of the summit: their applications had been postponed indefinitely, leaving them with no protection from the alliance that they had publicly stated they wanted to join. While Russia would not dare to attack NATO, it could easily attack its aspirants, and it did so.

On August 8, 2008, a few months after the Bucharest summit, Russia launched a war on Georgia, ostensibly in defense of the Georgian enclave of South Ossetia, which had seceded from Georgia in the early 1990s. The Russian attack allegedly came as a response to the actions of the Georgian army, which had been ordered into South Ossetia, but there was no doubt that the war was directly linked to the outcome of the Bucharest summit. Russia had established official relations with South Ossetia and Abkhazia, the two Georgian provinces that it was now “defending,” almost immediately after Putin’s return from the Bucharest summit. The Georgians fought back under the leadership of President Mikheil Saakashvili, who had been educated in Ukraine and the United States, but the Russian army, larger and superior to Georgia’s, moved deep into the country and threatened to occupy its capital, Tbilisi.

On August 12, Yushchenko, together with the leaders of Poland and the three Baltic states, flew to Tbilisi to show support for Saakashvili and his country. That day the Russian advance was stopped by means of a ceasefire negotiated by President Nicolas Sarkozy of France. Russian troops eventually left a good part of the occupied territory but stayed in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, ostensibly protecting the independence of the two provinces from Georgia and perpetuating its territorial division. That undermined Georgia’s chances of ever joining NATO, as the alliance was reluctant to accept any state with unresolved territorial issues. The Russian war on Georgia became the first instance of its initiating a major war beyond its borders. It sent a clear signal to the West that Russia was prepared to use military force to stop any expansion of the alliance. It also demonstrated to other post-Soviet republics that NATO would not come to their rescue in case of Russian attack.

The decision of the Bucharest NATO summit, coupled with the outcome of the Russo-Georgian War, dealt a devastating blow to Ukrainian aspirations to join the alliance. The changing of the guard in Washington and the inauguration of Barack Obama as president in January 2009 led to a thorough revision of all elements of US foreign policy and an attempted “reset” of US-Russia relations. In January 2010 Viktor Yushchenko, defeated in the first round of that year’s presidential elections, left office to make way for Putin’s old favorite, Viktor Yanukovych. The new president promptly dropped NATO membership from the Ukrainian foreign-policy agenda and signed a deal that was devastating for Ukrainian security because it extended the presence of the Russian Black Sea Fleet in Sevastopol until 2042.

The Bucharest summit put Ukraine in the most vulnerable position that it had experienced since declaring independence. Without nuclear weapons and NATO membership, Ukraine found itself at the mercy of Russia, which saw the ambiguous offer of membership extended to Ukraine by the Bucharest summit as a threat to its own security. Ukraine was a lone warrior on open ground pursued by hostile forces, running to take shelter in a secure fortress, only to find its gates closing because of disagreements among its defenders.

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Post-Soviet Nations and NATO

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 82-84:

As far as Russia was concerned, the victory of the 2004 Orange Revolution in Ukraine was a major blow to the Kremlin’s interests at home and abroad. “It was our 9/11,” declared the Russian political adviser Gleb Pavlovsky, who was close to the Kremlin. A native of Ukraine, he went to Kyiv to advise Prime Minister Yanukovych and his campaign. The Orange Revolution was also a personal defeat for Putin because it was supported by Boris Berezovsky, his onetime sponsor, later nemesis, and ultimately refugee from his regime. The Kremlin was concerned that under the Western-leaning President Yushchenko, Ukraine might leave the Russian orbit forever and join the Western camp.

With the fall of communism, democratic rule became a prerequisite for post-communist and post-Soviet states aspiring to join Western institutions, both political, like the European Union, and military, NATO in particular. Ukraine, with its chaotic but viable democracy, could be a candidate for both, while Russia, failing one democracy test after another and eventually setting on the path of authoritarian rule, could not. The success and durability of Ukrainian democracy was a threat to the Putin regime, since it encouraged whatever remained of the pro-democratic forces in Russia and, in geopolitical terms, brought democratic institutions closer to Russia’s borders. In Putin’s eyes, this was not just undesirable but unacceptable.

By 2004, Putin was well on the way to laying the foundations for a future autocratic regime. He took control of the Russian Duma in the December 2003 elections, which saw his party, United Russia, obtain three times as many votes as the communists to become the largest party in parliament. He then exploited a hostage crisis produced by Chechen radicals who attacked a school in Beslan in September 2004. It was mishandled by the Russian security services, whose personnel stormed the school, contributing to the death of 314 hostages, including 186 schoolchildren. This gave Putin an opportunity to intervene and curtail whatever remained of Russian democracy: elections of regional governors were abolished, and new laws were introduced curtailing the activities of political parties and NGOs.

Putin was eager to see a similar political system installed in Ukraine, openly campaigning for Yanukovych and secretly pushing Kuchma toward the use of force. He failed on both counts. In early 2005, mass protests also shook a number of other post-Soviet countries, including Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, where the “Tulip Revolution” unseated the local ruler, Askar Akayev, who had been in power since the late Soviet period. A year before the Orange Revolution, the “Revolution of Roses” in Georgia had brought to power a young, charismatic, pro-Western reformer named Mikheil Saakashvili. In Russia, all these protest movements were labeled “Orange.” Finding itself on the defensive, Moscow began to mimic the tactics used by the opposition during the Orange Revolution, creating and funding numerous pro-government youth organizations, the most notorious of which was “Nashi,” or “Ours.” “Ours” were there to defend the president against revolutionary upheaval, allegedly promoted by foreign powers. Ukraine was singled out in that regard, but behind Ukraine Moscow ideologues saw the threatening shadow of the West.

Indeed, as expected in Moscow, the Orange Revolution produced a major geopolitical shift in Kyiv. President Yushchenko returned to the pro-European policies launched by Kuchma before the Melnychenko tapes scandal of 2001. Those included gradual integration into European structures, from the European Union to NATO. Yushchenko wanted an invitation to join the alliance in the form of a Membership Action Plan, or MAP. His requests did not fall on deaf ears in Brussels, as NATO officials invited Ukraine to begin an Intensified Dialogue on possible membership. The Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, and Poland, Ukraine’s western neighbors who had not wanted their efforts to join NATO to be compromised by association with Ukraine in the 1990s, now all supported Ukraine’s aspirations to membership. They were only too happy to yield their position on NATO’s eastern flank, vulnerable to possible Russian attack, to Ukraine.

In February 2022, a few weeks after his inauguration, Yushchenko attended a meeting of heads of state of NATO member nations in Brussels, where he publicly declared that he wanted his colleagues to regard Ukraine as a future member of the alliance. He did so in the name of the Orange Revolution that he had led and the people who had elected him to the presidency. “I’m pretty much sure, dear friends,” began Yushchenko, “that the people who went onto Kyiv’s squares and streets were motivated because they wanted to see Ukraine in Europe, not as a neighbor of Europe, because we are a country located in the center of Europe. And we would like to see Ukraine integrated into the European Union and into the North Atlantic Alliance.” Before leaving the podium, Yushchenko went out of his way to reassure Russia that his NATO aspirations and those of his country were not directed against Russia. “Russia is our strategic partner,” declared Yushchenko, “and Ukraine’s policy toward NATO will by no means be against the interests of other countries, including Russia.”

Ukraine was trying to solve its security dilemma as best it could. Since NATO had established a strategic partnership with Russia, the idea of Ukraine’s acceding to NATO without antagonizing Russia was theoretically feasible in the 1990s. But in the wake of the Orange Revolution, Kyiv faced a difficult choice: either to accommodate Moscow, which had long-standing territorial claims on Ukraine and had intervened directly in that country’s presidential elections, or to seek protection in a military alliance that could guarantee its territorial integrity and sovereignty. The threat from Russia was real and immediate, while membership in NATO was hypothetical and removed in time. After long vacillation, Kyiv opted decisively for NATO.

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Ukraine’s Dirty Election of 2004

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 60-61:

The Ukrainian constitution did not allow the president to serve in office more than two terms, and after some hesitation Leonid Kuchma decided to abide by it, rejecting the idea of running for a third term on the grounds that his first election predated the adoption of the constitution and thus should not be counted. Once again Kuchma reached out for the Russian or, more specifically, Yeltsin’s precedent, looking for a successor who would guarantee his personal safety and the integrity of his assets.

The choice fell on the leader of Ukraine’s largest regional clan, the governor of Donetsk oblast, Viktor Yanukovych, who had led the largest grouping in the pro-presidential faction of parliament. Yanukovych had been appointed prime minister and approved by parliament in November 2002. The presidential campaign of 2004, which pitched Yanukovych, supported by Kuchma, against the former prime minister, Viktor Yushchenko, who led the largest faction in parliament, was the dirtiest in Ukrainian history. The Yanukovych camp used government media, administrative pressure, government handouts to the most vulnerable social groups, as well as the financial power of the Donetsk clan to prevail in the elections. It also resorted to an act of terrorism against Yushchenko.

In September 2004, the fifty-year-old Yushchenko fell violently ill and was soon diagnosed with dioxin poisoning. The individuals suspected of arranging it had fled to Russia and were given safe haven there. Yushchenko miraculously survived the attack and managed to return to the electoral campaign defaced but alive. Instead of knocking Yushchenko out, the attack on the opposition candidate increased his popularity. When Ukrainians went to the polling stations on October 31, most of them voted for Yushchenko, not Yanukovych.

That was the result of the exit polls conducted by numerous Ukrainian institutions on election day, but the Central Electoral Commission, controlled by Kuchma and Yanukovych, announced a different outcome. According to the commission’s report, it was Yanukovych who had won the race with 49 percent of the vote over Yushchenko’s 47 percent. Yushchenko’s supporters, refusing to accept the forged result, flooded Kyiv’s main square, the Maidan, and set up a tent city there. Kyivans were soon joined by supporters from the provinces. The Orange Revolution, which took its name from the colors of Yushchenko’s electoral campaign, had begun.

Numerous factors contributed to the outbreak of the Orange Revolution. Among them were the protracted and unresolved conflict between the presidential and legislative branches of government; the split within the political elite, including the oligarchs with their media resources, who supported opposite sides; and, last but not least, Kuchma’s halfhearted support for Yanukovych, who was not his preferred choice for successor but was forced on him by circumstances. Ultimately it was Ukrainian regionalism, rooted in political and cultural differences, that came to the rescue of Ukrainian democracy. The supporters of the Orange Revolution, many of them residents of Ukraine’s west and center, associated themselves with Ukrainian identity, language, and culture, as well as an orientation toward the liberal West.

Faced with continuing mass protests and the split within the elite, Kuchma decided to put Yeltsin’s precedent aside. Despite demands from Yanukovych, he refused to use the army against the protesters and open fire, as had been the case in Moscow in 1993. Instead, he opted for a compromise. The Yanukovych camp agreed to a new round of elections in exchange for Yushchenko’s promise to amend the constitution to limit presidential prerogatives. On December 26, in the third round of the presidential elections, Yushchenko was elected with 52 percent of the vote against Yanukovych’s 44 percent.

The crisis that had begun in April 2000 with Kuchma’s attempt to increase the power of the presidency by means of a referendum came to an end in December 2004 with the weakening of presidential powers. Some presidential prerogatives were transferred to the prime minister, whose appointment and political fortunes depended on the disposition of political forces in parliament. Ukraine was entering the new century as a presidential-parliamentary republic with divided governing power. It was anything but an ideal outcome, for under the new system neither the president nor the prime minister had sufficient power to implement policy independently. But it was the outcome that saved Ukrainian democracy.

During his last year in office, Kuchma had published his memoirs under the telling title, Ukraine Is Not Russia. After trying the Russian model more than once and inevitably failing to achieve the desired result, he knew exactly what he was talking about. The book was published in Moscow and launched there before its Ukrainian translation became available to readers in Kyiv. It sent a message that very few in Russia took seriously and no one in the Kremlin was prepared to accept.

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