Category Archives: USSR

by | 27 September 2026 · 5:47 am

‘Casseroles’ vs. Red Army, April 1945

From Stay Alive! Berlin 1939-1945, by Ian Buruma (Penguin, 2026), pp. 315-316:

When the Soviet Red Army finally launched its attack on the city with Stalin Organs, tanks, howitzers, and other artillery, it was faced by forty thousand Wehrmacht and SS troops, and about forty thousand Volkssturm men, assisted by Hitler Youths. Volkssturm and Hitler Youths were called “casseroles” by the veteran soldiers, a mixture of old meat and green vegetables. The casseroles were armed with little else than a Panzerfaust, the handheld anti-tank weapon. The trick was to get as close as possible to the enemy tank, preferably right beside the tracks, and launch the weapon from below. Hitler Youths were ordered to do some of the most odious and dangerous jobs. It was they who were told to fight the Soviets in the subway tunnels. And it was they who were ordered to shoot into any house that displayed a white flag of surrender. They were also less likely to desert than the older Volkssturm men, and more eager to demonstrate their willingness to fight to the death.

Somewhere in the vicinity of Spandau, which saw some of the heaviest fighting in Berlin, a boy in a brown shirt and shorts came up to Helmut and asked for a cigarette. Helmut wanted to know his age. Thirteen, the boy said. His story was far from unique. He had been snatched by the SS from his home in Oranienburg, together with a number of other boys, and made to fight in an SS platoon. These boys were not even Hitler Youths, but mere Pimpfs. When the leader of their small troop refused to lead the boys into yet another suicidal battle, he was hanged from a lamppost by SS and SA men. The boy told this story without a show of any emotion. He asked for another cigarette. Helmut gave him a packet.

One of the most gruesome features of the hopeless Battle of Berlin was the cruelty inflicted by Germans on their compatriots. There was no consideration for civilians at all. Women and young girls were forced to fight too. SS men and soldiers commandeered soup kitchens and used their machine guns to prevent civilians from helping themselves to food. After clearing houses of their inhabitants, officers would rob what they could find and take off with the loot in military vehicles, often in the company of their wives and girlfriends. More than a hundred thousand civilians died in less than a month in an entirely futile battle that could not be stopped as long as the Führer was alive. Even as the city was being demolished street by street, house by house, by bombing and shelling and hand-to-hand fighting, propaganda stories still promised miracles. There was talk of a General Wenck coming to the rescue, even though his largely phantom army had already been decimated outside Berlin. Hitler was convinced of this fairy tale almost until the moment he killed himself. When he was told the truth, he flew into a rage against the generals who had “betrayed” him. Peace with the Anglo-American Allies was also said to be imminent.

…

Very quickly, the battle over Berlin turned into a massacre. Helmut describes the scene at the bridge over the Havel River in Spandau, where terrified civilians were trying to flee from the bombardment of rockets, flamethrowers, bombs, and tank shells: “Women carrying babies and holding on to their children, Hitler Youths, young girls, old men and women, are falling all over, dragging others down with them. Shot to pieces. Blood everywhere…Tanks crossing the bridge, rolling right over the people, crushing them into a pulp under their chains. A wide avenue of dead bodies and blood, of broken limbs and shredded corpses, stretches over the river that runs under the bridge.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Germany, labor, military, nationalism, USSR, war

by | 26 September 2026 · 5:32 am

Living Underground in Berlin, 1945

From Stay Alive! Berlin 1939-1945, by Ian Buruma (Penguin, 2026), pp. 305-306:

Living underground was for many Berliners an oddly democratic experience; one had to sit, sleep, eat, and defecate together with people of all classes. Nazis threw away their uniforms, burned their documents, and shared underground spaces with people who had always despised them. Germans shared spaces with foreigners, and sometimes even with Jews. “I no longer hid from the neighbors,” Marie Jalowicz recalled. “We didn’t go to the bunker but lay in the slit trenches…. In a rather foolish way, I was annoyed to see the war ending in so tediously banal a way, and finding that I was not part of the turmoil of battle.”

The lack of water and toilets must have been a particular torment to fastidious Germans. The smell inside an almost airless bunker where people lingered for many days was foul. When they had a chance, the youngest girls, who could run fast, would dash out between bombing raids or street battles to a nearby pump to fill pails with water. Some made it back to the bunker, some never did. Boys were less keen to undertake such forays, lest they get forced by chain-dog [Kettenhunde, nickname for military police] patrols to join the suicide forces.

Ruth Andreas-Friedrich noted in her diary on April 24, “Life in the cellar commences. We sit side by side without speaking, jammed in between piles of clothes and junk. The war goes on over our heads. The barrage of deadly fire is making a terrible racket. After eleven, the electricity is cut off. It is cold and dark. The contrast between the inferno outside and our own forced inactivity is increasingly unbearable…. Fabian winds up the phonograph and plays a song from ‘The Beggars’ Opera.’ The words ‘You gentlemen who think you have a mission to purge us of the seven deadly sins…’ echo tinnily off the basement walls. Then, ratatatat. The first machine guns. Our walls are lashed by bullets.”

Getting hold of food was an added problem. The economy had largely broken down, and much was now down to barter: cigarettes for cabbage, or a bar of chocolate, or clothes. There were still some mobile field kitchens operated by Wehrmacht soldiers, called “goulash cannon [Gulaschkanone],” where people could fill pots with soup. And as soon as there was a rumor about stores or factories that could be plundered, it was every man—or, more likely, woman—for him or herself. Order, so much a part of German life, collapsed. But sometimes the habit of discipline was so ingrained that women would stand in a queue at a goulash cannon, even as they were being strafed by enemy fire. Bodies crumpled; the line was held for a bowl of soup.

In fact, the word “democratic” goes only so far in these circumstances. Not all shelters were the same. A certain pecking order still remained intact. It was no doubt far more comfortable sheltering in Albert Speer’s huge bunker in central Berlin, originally built for railway employees, but later accessible to other people too, than to be exposed to bombs, Katyusha rockets, and howitzer shells in an open trench for foreign workers or POWs. There was room for three thousand people in the Reichsbahn bunker. Water still ran from the taps. Speer himself would sometimes put in an appearance and acknowledge the crowd with a friendly “Heil Hitler!” Ursula von Kardorff spent some time there before leaving the capital. She recalled Speer as an amiable fellow, with none of the mannerisms of the officious party boss. Soon, many more than three thousand people found their way in.

Leave a comment

Filed under democracy, food, Germany, migration, military, nationalism, USSR, war

by | 24 September 2026 · 5:08 am

Berlin After Stalingrad, 1943

From Stay Alive! Berlin 1939-1945, by Ian Buruma (Penguin, 2026), pp. 202-205:

An even worse damper on the public morale than the bombings was the news from the eastern front, where the German Sixth Army surrendered to the Soviet Red Army at Stalingrad. On February 2, amid the stench of rotting corpses, blood, and human waste, only about ninety thousand exhausted, hungry, freezing German soldiers were still alive to be taken prisoner. Hitler was furious. He had demanded a battle to the last man. As martyrs, he declared, the German soldiers would have earned “national immortality.” The Wehrmacht took up to a million casualties in the battles around Stalingrad. The victorious Red Army lost even more.

…

Propaganda in the Nazi press had swung from triumphalism to the need to bring Opfer [sacrifice], of course, but also to dark warnings over what the barbaric Russians might do to the Germans in their thirst for revenge. Some conscience-stricken Germans already assumed that the British bombing raids were not only a payback for London and Coventry, but a just punishment for what the Germans had done to the Jews. In the words of Ruth Andreas-Friedrich, “Hardly anyone understands that what is happening now was caused by what happened before; caused by Coventry, by Dunkirk, by atrocities against the Jews, by the destruction of cities and by concentration camps.” Perhaps more people might have sensed this than Ruth assumed. The absolute need for German victory was no longer presented just as a way to rule the new Europe, but to save the German people from their unforgiving enemies.

The annual commemoration of the war dead on March 21 was initiated in 1922 to remember the soldiers who died in World War I. Once they were in power, the Nazis turned what had been a solemn commemoration into a ritual of hero worship, and renamed it Heldengedenktag, “Day of Commemoration of Heroes.” But in 1943 it was more like a state funeral, with Hitler, looking subdued and much older than his fifty-four years, greeting wounded veterans who raised their bandaged arms in the Hitler salute.

…

Hitler might well have died on this occasion, for an officer named Rudolf-Christoph von Gersdorff had concealed a bomb in his pocket, timed to go off while Hitler was inspecting captured Russian weapons at the Armory. Unfortunately, Hitler, apparently bored by looking at Russian guns, left much earlier than anticipated, and the bomb had to be defused in a nearby lavatory. Hitler, quite unaware of what had occurred, emerged from the Armory to be met by Paul von Hase, the commanding officer of the Berlin garrison, which snapped to attention. One year later, Hase would be hanged for taking part in the plot to assassinate Hitler on July 20, 1944. (Gersdorff, who also took part in the attempt on the Führer’s life, was one of the very few plotters to survive the war, because his friends refused to name him under torture.)

Leave a comment

Filed under Germany, military, USSR, war

by | 22 September 2026 · 5:44 am

German ‘Workforce Turnover’, 1942

From Stay Alive! Berlin 1939-1945, by Ian Buruma (Penguin, 2026), pp. 155-57, 181, 191:

If things were bad in Berlin, they were far worse on the eastern front, where many soldiers were freezing to death. The people back home caught glimpses of the Russian campaign on the Wochenschau [weekly newsreels]: horse-drawn carriages and tanks bogged down in knee-high snow; soldiers in white camouflage outfits, rather like hooded bathrobes, skiing or plowing their way through the ruins of Russian villages that were “utterly destroyed by the mighty arms of our heroic shock troops”; German planes dropping food parcels for the soldiers marching in the glacial steppes. Letters home spoke of frostbite and amputated limbs. There were images of “Bolshevik corpses” littered around the icy Russian plains, but never of German soldiers, for that would be too upsetting.

One of the main items on the Wochenschau in January celebrated a domestic campaign that had been ordered by the Führer in December 1941: to donate socks, pullovers, scarves, ski boots, furs, fleeces, blankets, or anything else to keep the troops warm on the front lines….

What was not reported on the Wochenschau, or anywhere else, was an event that occurred at much the same time, on the western shore of the Wannsee, in a grand Italianate villa that once belonged to a rich industrialist and now served as a guesthouse and conference center for SS officers. Houses around the lovely Wannsee were sought after by the wealthiest Berliners. Before 1933, Jews lived in some of the finest homes. After the Nazis came to power, these were confiscated by senior figures in the regime. Goebbels owned a house on the lake, at Schwanenwerder. Walther Funk, the minister of economics, resided in a grand house that had once belonged to a Jewish family, now decorated with swastika tiles. Albert Speer lived nearby, as did Heinz Rühmann, the movie star.

…

Reinhard Heydrich, director of the Reich Security Main Office (RSHA), invited fourteen senior figures in the Nazi regime to a secret meeting followed by breakfast on January 20 at the SS guest house on the Wannsee. They included top bureaucrats from various ministries, as well as Roland Freisler, the notorious judge on the People’s Court who sentenced more than five thousand people to death between 1942 and 1945. Adolf Eichmann, the man responsible for managing Jewish deportations, was asked to take the minutes. What needed to be discussed on that chilly morning, alleviated by a steady supply of fine brandy, were some practical aspects of the extermination of the Jews.

That the Jews were to be eradicated was no longer a matter of dispute. Just one week before the Wannsee Conference, Goebbels wrote in his diary, “The Führer once more expressed his determination to clean up the Jews in Europe pitilessly. There must be no sentimental squeamishness about it. The Jews have deserved the catastrophe that has now overtaken them.” Mass killings had already been taking place in Poland since 1939. Jews who were not murdered on the spot were to be worked to death. But two questions still needed to be cleared up. How to administer the genocide in an orderly and efficient manner? And how to define who was Jewish? Should Mischlinge be included in the killing program? Heydrich believed that they should. Others wanted to postpone the decision until after the war. After some to-ing and fro-ing, Heydrich settled for that. The logistical issues were cleared up pretty quickly to everyone’s satisfaction, so the gentlemen could enjoy a leisurely glass of cognac in front of the fireplace.

…

The first sign that deportations were imminent was a questionnaire sent through the mail to be filled out meticulously: financial assets, family history, personal details, and so forth. After some days, or sometimes weeks, the Gestapo would come beating on the door. There was no way back after that. In 1942, sixteen transports, each with loads of roughly one thousand people, left the Berlin railway stations. The trains carrying their human freight were mostly bound for the ghettos of Warsaw or Riga, or the death camps of Auschwitz and Sobibor, where those not deemed fit to be worked to death were immediately gassed. In the summer of 1942, the killing of Jews had reached a bloody peak. Millions had already been shot or murdered by other means before the gas chambers of Auschwitz were employed day and night. The General Gouvernment had become a giant killing field, presided over by Governor General Hans Frank.

…

There were now more than three million foreign workers in Germany. Many were French POWs. A number of men from occupied countries in Western Europe, such as the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and the Scandinavian countries, had volunteered for work. Then there were male and female workers from Poland, Ukraine, Russia, and other parts of the Soviet Union. Some had come willingly, many had not. The Russians and Eastern Europeans, called Ostarbeiter, often mere teenagers, were treated appallingly. Cooped up in dismal work camps, they were so underfed that many died, or had to be shipped home in horrible conditions. One description of these transports: “There were dead passengers on the returning train. Women on that train gave birth to children that were tossed from the open window during the journey, while people sick from tuberculosis and venereal disease rode in the same coach. The dying lay in freight cars without straw, and one of the dead was thrown onto the embankment.” Treatment of Jewish slave workers in concentration camps, such as Sachsenhausen, was of course even worse.

And yet, a semblance of normalcy for most Berliners continued despite the griping, the bad news from different battlefronts, the horrors endemic in a murderous police state, and “Berlin pessimism.” The soccer competition carried on as always. BSB from Berlin Mitte beat Minerva from Schmargendorf. Tasmania was too strong for Tennis Borussia. And FC Wacker from Reinickendorf lost to Blau-Weiss 90.

Leave a comment

Filed under military, France, religion, war, migration, labor, nationalism, USSR, Germany, industry, Poland, Ukraine, Netherlands, Scandinavia

by | 10 July 2026 · 3:21 pm

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.

Leave a comment

Filed under Central Asia, Czechia, democracy, Europe, Hungary, military, nationalism, Poland, Russia, Slovakia, Ukraine, USSR

by | 9 July 2026 · 5:41 am

Post-USSR Territorial Disputes

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle p. 65:

Territorial disputes are a hallmark of imperial disintegration, and the fall of the USSR was no exception. The Russian government had been challenging Ukraine’s territorial integrity even before it became legally independent and left the Soviet Union. The first challenge to the Ukrainian borders came from the democratic government of Russia almost immediately after the Ukrainian parliament declared the country’s independence on August 24, 1991. Two days later the Russian president’s spokesman, Pavel Voshchanov, made a statement on behalf of his superior.

“In the most recent days, state sovereignty has been declared and withdrawal from the USSR announced in a series of Union republics,” read the statement. “In that regard, I have been empowered by the President of the RSFSR to make the following declaration. The Russian Federation casts no doubt on the constitutional right of every state and people to self-determination. But there is the problem of borders, which may prove to be unregulated, a condition admissible only if provision is made for Union relations secured by an appropriate treaty. Should they be abrogated, the RSFSR reserves the right to pose the question of revision of borders.”

The statement was addressed to every Soviet republic that might declare its independence of the Soviet Union. But when Voshchanov was asked by journalists to be more specific, he singled out Ukraine and Kazakhstan. “If those republics enter into a union with Russia, then there is no problem,” he explained. “But if they withdraw, then we must be concerned about the population living there and not forget that those lands were colonized by Russians. Russia will hardly agree to give them away so easily.” Both Ukraine and Kazakhstan had large ethnic Russian minorities, and both republics, Ukraine in its entirety, and Kazakhstan in its northern lands, were eyed as parts of a future Russian state by no less a figure than Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, whose article advocating the creation of such a state had been published by the major Soviet newspapers the previous year.

Kyiv and Almaty protested, obliging Yeltsin to dissociate himself from Voshchanov’s remarks. The spokesman was portrayed as someone who had got out of control and presented his personal views rather than the policy of Yeltsin’s administration. But Voshchanov had in fact formulated the new policy of the Russian Federation for years to come. Treaties recognizing the borders of Union republics like the one signed between Russia and Ukraine in 1990 applied only if the republics, Ukraine in particular, remained in union with Russia. The understanding of what such union meant would change over time, from Gorbachev’s Soviet Union to Yeltsin’s Commonwealth of Independent States and, eventually, a number of Eurasian projects advanced by Putin. Models and rulers changed, but the basic principle remained the same: Russia’s recognition of the territorial integrity and sovereignty of the post-Soviet states would be conditional on alliance with Moscow.

Leave a comment

Filed under Central Asia, nationalism, Russia, Ukraine, USSR

by | 7 July 2026 · 4:39 am

Ukraine’s Economic Turnaround c. 2000

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 56-57:

In the fall of 1999, as Yeltsin was getting ready to step down and promote Putin as his successor, the president of Ukraine, Leonid Kuchma, was preparing to run for a second term. During his first term he had managed to stabilize the Ukrainian economy by launching large-scale privatization and working closely with Western donors, especially the International Monetary Fund. Kuchma had also brought Ukrainian politics into temporary equilibrium by adopting a new constitution that introduced a power-sharing agreement between president and parliament. Yet the system was anything but stable, as the two political actors did not agree on the political and economic direction of the country. The global financial crisis of 1997 and the Russian default of 1998 hurt the Ukrainian economy, enhancing the position of the communists as the most powerful parliamentary faction. In the parliamentary elections of 1998 they gained 25 percent of the popular vote. The national democrats, organized in Rukh and led by the former dissident Viacheslav Chornovil, came second with 10 percent of the vote, while the Kuchma-backed People’s Democratic Party garnered a mere 5 percent.

In 1999 Kuchma was pretty much in the same place as Yeltsin on the eve of his reelection in 1996. He decided to take a page from Yeltsin’s electoral campaign, presenting himself as the only force capable of stopping a communist return to power. This stance appealed to the new industrial bosses in eastern Ukraine, who had managed to privatize former state-owned enterprises on Kuchma’s watch and with his assistance. Electors in the western regions, who cherished Ukrainian independence, oriented themselves toward Europe and against a return to the USSR.

Using his control of state-run media and obtaining support from media controlled by the regional bosses and oligarchs who had emerged during his first term, Kuchma managed to carry both eastern and western Ukraine, losing only in the center, where the countryside was still controlled by holdovers of the collective farm system. He gained 58 percent of the popular vote versus 39 percent for his opponent, the Ukrainian communist leader Petro Symonenko. Like Yeltsin, Kuchma decided to use his victory over the communists to push market reforms forward. He was luckier than his Russian counterpart, as there was no Asian financial crisis to interfere with his plans.

Upon his reelection, Kuchma initiated a new course toward integrating Ukraine into European political and economic structures. He appointed Viktor Yushchenko, the young head of Ukraine’s national bank who was strongly supported by the International Monetary Fund (IMF), as the new prime minister. In slightly more than a year, Yushchenko and his ally Yulia Tymoshenko, who became deputy prime minister in the new government, managed to stop the economic decline, increase revenues by closing loopholes for big business and the newly emergent oligarchic clans, and repay unpaid wages, salaries, and pensions. The economy began a rapid recovery led by the metallurgical and mining industries, which doubled their exports. Economic growth would continue well into the first decade of the new millennium.

Leave a comment

Filed under democracy, economics, industry, nationalism, Ukraine, USSR

by | 6 July 2026 · 2:51 am

Russian vs. Ukrainian Transitions, 1990s

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 43-44:

In Ukraine, as in Russia, the economy and public reaction to the dissolution of the USSR were the two key issues that turned national politics into a never-ending drama, casting president and parliament in opposing roles. But those issues played out differently in Ukraine, where, most importantly, the political elite enhanced rather than undermined the democratic institutions born out of the chaos of Gorbachev’s political and economic reforms. Russia’s “democratic moment” became an “era of democracy” in Ukraine.

Leonid Kravchuk was never the revolutionary that Yeltsin had become during the late Soviet period. If Yeltsin had served in the course of his party career as a regional boss responsible for administering large administrative and economic entities such as Sverdlovsk oblast (province) and Moscow, Kravchuk was a quintessential apparatchik, running the propaganda department of the Ukrainian Central Committee. While Yeltsin left the Communist Party early, protesting the slow pace of Gorbachev’s reforms, Kravchuk remained loyal to the end. If Yeltsin was elected to parliament and then became its chairman against the will of the party leadership, then Kravchuk took the helm of the Ukrainian parliament thanks to the support of the party bosses. And while Yeltsin ran for the Russian presidency against a communist candidate supported by the Kremlin, Kravchuk competed successfully against a pro-democratic candidate who also happened to be a former prisoner of the Gulag.

The differences between Yeltsin and Kravchuk extended to their styles of presidential leadership. If Yeltsin was a charismatic populist, highly voluntarist in his attitude to power, Kravchuk was a cunning apparatchik and consensus builder. He would need those skills in office, as he led a country very different from Russia and faced a very different parliament. Ukraine was divided by history, culture, and the political orientations and instincts of its people as the Russian Federation never was.

The east and south of Ukraine had been the industrial heartland of the Soviet Union, was highly Russified in culture, and had millions of ethnic Russians among its inhabitants. The center was largely rural and Ukrainian-speaking, a product of the Soviet Ukrainian national project of the 1920s, which tolerated Ukrainian cultural but not political identity. Then there was the west, which had long been part of central European states and empires. Its strongly exclusivist national identity had been strengthened by the interwar nationalist movement and the lengthy guerrilla war against Soviet rule waged by the Ukrainian Insurgent Army in the late 1940s and early 1950s.

As in Russia, the Ukrainian “democrats” emerged as the most dynamic force in late Soviet and early post-Soviet politics. Their principal concern was not economic reform but state-building. By the end of 1991 Yeltsin had established control over all-Union managerial cadres and institutions that had plenty of experience in running an independent state; in Ukraine such institutions had to be built almost from scratch on the basis of ministries that in Soviet times had merely relayed orders from Moscow to the periphery, ensuring that production quotas and directives from the top were fulfilled in a timely manner.

When it came to market reforms, the Ukrainian parliament lacked a strong lobby to advocate or adopt them, and the public was not ready to support them. Economic reform meant hardship, which might very well split the country and scupper its independence. A poll conducted in 1993 suggested that only 19 percent of Ukrainians were prepared to endure economic reforms in order to strengthen and maintain independence, while 44 percent were not. Most of the former resided in the west, while most of the latter lived in the east and south. Thus, Ukraine found itself first resisting, then delaying, and finally emulating reforms.

Leave a comment

Filed under democracy, economics, industry, nationalism, philosophy, Russia, Ukraine, USSR

by | 4 July 2026 · 11:17 pm

Ending the Soviet Empire

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 28, 31:

In 1995, in his review of Matlock’s memoir, titled Autopsy on an Empire, Kennan wrote: “I find it hard to think of any event more strange and startling, and at first glance more inexplicable, than the sudden and total disintegration and disappearance from the international scene, primarily in the years 1987 through 1991, of the great power known successively as the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union.” Kennan referred to the fall of previous empires as gradual. That of the Soviet Union was not. “How then to explain the extreme abruptness, the sharp quick ending, and not least the relative bloodlessness with which the great Soviet Empire came to an end in the four years in question, bearing with it those attributes of the earlier Russian Empire which it had contrived to incorporate into itself?” Kennan asked himself and his readers.

Was the Soviet experience unique? We can start by considering the British Empire, the most powerful such institution of the modern era, which offered the Russians a Commonwealth model for opting out of a traditional imperial project. British imperial disentanglement was gradual indeed. It began, arguably, with the eighteenth-century American Revolution, followed by slowly developing autonomism in the dominions of Canada, Australia, and New Zealand in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Attempts to crush South African and Irish movements for independence proved unsuccessful in the wake of World War I; in the decades after World War II Britain withdrew from India and subsequently from its African colonies.

…

To the surprise and relief of many, the Russians, led by Boris Yeltsin, refused to follow in the footsteps of the Serbs, who turned the former Yugoslav army into an instrument of Serbian aggrandizement and then of genocide. Nor did the Russians cling to the Soviet republics that Russia had dominated, as the French and Belgians did to their former colonies. Instead, the Russians seem to have taken a page from the dissolution of the Portuguese empire. Both empires ceased to exist as a result of relatively peaceful revolutions that took place in their capitals, where reformers tried to dismantle authoritarian government and initiate political, economic, and social reforms. In both countries, the existence of empire was an obstacle to such reforms.

Boris Yeltsin and his advisers sought to implement their reforms in Russia, not in the Soviet Union, where Gorbachev’s efforts to democratize the system were opposed by the conservatively minded communist elites that controlled most of the Soviet republics. To free his Russian reformers from the limitations imposed on them by Gorbachev’s vacillating political center, which was stymied by competing pro- and anti-reform factions, Yeltsin allied himself with pro-democratic reformers in the Baltic states and pro–status quo elites in Central Asia, all in an effort to undermine existing Soviet institutions. Yeltsin did not intend to subvert the Soviet Union in the process, but once the disintegration that he helped to set off developed a momentum of its own, he went along. His main political rival, Mikhail Gorbachev, and the Soviet Union itself were swept away as a result.

Keeping the secessionist republics under Russian control by military force was an unlikely policy choice for other reasons as well. One of them was the enormous political, ideological, and economic influence that the United States wielded over the Soviet Union at this time, as well as the place that America occupied in the imagination of Soviet-era reformers, from Gorbachev to Yeltsin and beyond. Washington did not want the republics to fight one another, fearing the possibility of a “Yugoslavia with nukes”—a scenario that Gorbachev never tired of raising in his conversations with President George H. W. Bush.

The Russian president was prepared to use force against autonomous republics within the Russian Federation if they should attempt to secede, but not against similar aspirations of Union republics such as Ukraine. Moreover, the Soviet Army was short of resources, and Russians serving in it were not eager to fight.

Leave a comment

Filed under Africa, Australia, Britain, Canada, democracy, military, nationalism, Russia, South Asia, Ukraine, USSR, war, Yugoslavia

by | 3 July 2026 · 12:10 am

Ukraine in 1917

From The Russo-Ukraine War: The Return of History, by Serhii Plokhy (W. W. Norton, 2023), Kindle pp. 15-16:

On the eve of his all-out invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Vladimir Putin would claim that it was the Bolsheviks, Vladimir Lenin in particular, who had created a Ukrainian state and, indeed, modern Ukraine itself. Even a cursory acquaintance with the history of the Russian Revolution and the concomitant fall of the Russian Empire indicates that the modern Ukrainian state came into existence not thanks to Lenin but against his wishes.

In May 1917, soon after the fall of monarchy, the Central Rada (Council), the revolutionary Ukrainian parliament, created in Kyiv and led by historian Mykhailo Hrushevsky, proclaimed Ukraine’s autonomy within a future Russian republic. But it was only after the Bolshevik coup in Petrograd in the fall of 1917 that the Central Rada declared the creation of the Ukrainian People’s Republic, which encompassed most of present-day Ukrainian territory within the borders of the Russian Empire, including the mining region of the Donbas. The new state wanted to maintain federal ties with Russia, but the Bolshevik invasion of January 1918 made that impossible.

The Central Rada declared the independence of Ukraine and entered in the anti-Bolshevik alliance with Germany and Austria-Hungary. The Bolsheviks waged war on the Ukrainian government under the banner of their own Ukrainian People’s Republic—a fiction created to provide a degree of legitimacy for the Bolshevik takeover of Ukraine. Bolshevik troops massacred the population of Kyiv, killing hundreds if not thousands of its citizens, including Metropolitan Vladimir (Bogoiavlensky) of the Orthodox Church. The Bolshevik commander in Kyiv, Mikhail Muraviev, sent Lenin a telegram: “Order has been restored in Kyiv.”

The Central Rada had to leave Kyiv but soon returned, having signed an agreement with Germany and Austria-Hungary, whose troops moved into Ukraine in the spring of 1918 and drove the Bolsheviks out of its territory, including the Donbas. The Germans soon replaced the democratic Central Rada with the authoritarian regime of hetman Pavlo Skoropadsky, but the democratic Ukrainian People’s Republic was restored when the Germans withdrew from Ukraine late in 1918. The Bolsheviks moved in once again, this time under the banner of their adversary Ukrainian People’s Republic, formally independent of Russia.

By the time the Bolsheviks reemerged in Ukraine and launched their military campaign to bring the Ukrainian provinces of the former Russian Empire back under central control, Ukrainian national consciousness was so widespread that Vladimir Lenin felt compelled to change his strategy. He concluded that Ukrainian aspirations to independence were so strong, not only among Ukrainians in general but even among the Ukrainian Bolsheviks themselves, as to require the granting of a degree of autonomy and a status equal to that of Russia.

Not only were the Ukrainians recognized as a distinct nationality (as were the Belarusians), no longer a “tribe” of a tripartite Russian nation as in tsarist times, but pro forma recognition of independence was given to a puppet Soviet Ukrainian state, and Ukrainian became its official language.

Realizing that the national movements brought to power by the effects of World War I and the Revolution of 1917 would have to be accommodated, the Bolsheviks strove to gain the cooperation of Ukraine’s new political and cultural elites. This accommodation eventually went beyond issues of language, culture, and the recruitment of local cadres into de facto occupation administrations. It also included the creation of state institutions and recognition of the formal independence of the Bolshevik-controlled puppet states formed to delegitimize the new truly independent states and governments established by the national minorities in the borderlands of the former empire.

Leave a comment

Filed under Austria, democracy, Germany, language, nationalism, Ukraine, USSR, war