Polska Agencja Prasowa

Ihor Usatenko: Professor, today we increasingly hear the opinion that the “Petrine project” of building the Russian state is gradually coming to an end. President Putin, among others, speaks of the West’s deceitfulness, emphasizes Russia’s openness toward Asia, and boasts that his granddaughter speaks Chinese. Do you agree that this turn away from Europe will last long, or should we rather speak of replacing one façade with another?

Yaroslav Hrytsak: In Russia’s history there have been several attempts to make the country a European state — beginning with Peter the Great and ending with the latest efforts under Gorbachev and Yeltsin. Yet the problem is not that Russia is now turning away from Europe. The point is that every attempt to Europeanize Russia — no matter how long it lasted — was only one pole of a broader dynamic, while on the opposite pole movements in the opposite direction were taking place. These movements intensified each time reform efforts ended in failure.

In this context, the turn Putin is making today is simply another rollback following an unsuccessful attempt at Europeanization — one that lasted nearly fifteen years, from Gorbachev to Yeltsin.

Is this the last such attempt?
Who knows — I am a historian, I cannot say that. Historians always emphasize that multiple scenarios are possible.

But personally, I am convinced that the necessary condition for Russia to gain even a chance at reform is a military defeat of historic significance. Only under such circumstances can a political transformation begin — one whose key element is the adoption of the European formula.

This formula prescribes limiting the powers of the central authority. Because regardless of how Russia has changed over time, its power has always remained autocratic. And many states and nations that did achieve political and mental transformation went through painful defeats.

And what about the popular thesis that Russia, in practice, is ceasing to be a full-fledged empire? What role did the loss of Ukraine play — in 1991, or, as many Ukrainians argue, after Euromaidan in 2014?

I believe that the well-known claim made by Brzezinski was simply a beautiful illusion. The idea was: without Ukraine, Russia cannot be an empire. But the loss of Ukraine changes nothing fundamental.

Imagine Russia somehow reduced to its ethnic core — from St. Petersburg to Volgograd, from the Urals to Mikhailovsky khutor. It would still be an enormous territory with vast mobilization resources, natural wealth, and nuclear weapons. Even in this reduced form, it remains a major threat.

That is why I argue that the essence of Russian history is shaped not primarily by territory, but by the continuity and quality of its political culture — which, to put it simply, is defined by a mixture of Byzantinism and Mongol legacy.

Does Ukraine differ from that tradition?

Ukraine carries part of that heritage as well — its history is intertwined with Russia’s. But a crucial component of Ukrainian history was its westernization.

In Ukraine, westernization affected not only elites, as in Russia, but multiple social strata. The Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth played the decisive role. This is why the Harvard Byzantinist Ihor Ševčenko once said: “The West came to Ukraine wearing a Polish kontusz.” In a sense, Ukraine is the product of the West’s expansion eastward.

And the fact that — despite repression and colonial policies — Ukrainian civil society periodically re-emerges, especially in moments of crisis, is also an expression of this European heritage. In times of war, the self-organization and responsibility of civil society form one of the foundations of Ukraine’s resilience. I believe this capacity for regeneration is something Ukraine inherited from Europe.

Its foundations are solidarity and responsibility — the idea that citizens can act independently from the sovereign, that power must be divided and constrained. That is why the difference between Ukraine and Russia lies not in language or religion, but in political tradition.

Some therefore argue that we should distinguish not only between Ukrainian and Russian political traditions, but between Russia and Muscovy itself. Recently a book by Stefan Hedlund appeared — Russia Reverts to Muscovy: What if We Simply Drop “Russia” from the Discourse? Hedlund supports the idea, advanced by Ukrainian activists, that the name “Russia” legitimizes Moscow’s imperial claims, since Kyivan Rus’ was never part of the state that later usurped its name. According to him, “Muscovy” better captures the aggressive nature of Moscow’s statehood. If Europe were to ‘disenchant’ Russia — seeing not a mythical civilization but a brutal empire — could this have real consequences for the war in Ukraine? Or are these merely symbolic debates?

In times of crisis — and we are living through one — magical thinking returns. The situation is so difficult that people want a miracle. But a change of name will change nothing. Moreover, such discussions can be dangerous because they distract from truly urgent matters.

Speaking self-critically: such debates often stem from the nature of our profession. Historians tend to be chauvinists of their own craft: historians argue for the primacy of history, philologists for the primacy of language and literature. These are important issues, as are the generation of new ideas and the choice of values — matters I care deeply about.

But alongside strengthening Ukraine’s defense, the second most important task is building and reforming institutions. Aristotle already analyzed political structures and state functions — a perspective close to what we now call informal institutions.

Is the modernization of Ukrainian institutions necessary for state effectiveness or for restoring public trust?

Both. Institutions are indispensable; they can resolve most of our internal problems — above all, the one endlessly discussed but painfully real: corruption. In a country at war, corruption and social injustice affect morale, trust in the state, and citizens’ willingness to fight for it.

We have what one might call a democracy by default, not an institutional democracy. This is why we must build key institutions that are still missing, instead of renaming old ones.

Professor, why does Europe — even after 2014, and even more so after 2022 — still react so cautiously to Russian aggression? Is it fear of nuclear weapons, the image of a ‘savage empire’, its own colonial past, or the trauma of the 20th century?

We should not idealize Europe or view it ahistorically. We operate with abstract ideas, forgetting that the Europe we know today is a relatively new project.

United Europe — a continent without wars, built on economic integration — began taking shape in the 1950s. But interwar Europe looked nothing like this: most states were either communist or fascist; liberalism had no chance.

American historian Mark Mazower titled his book Dark Continent — not about Africa, but about Europe. The 20th century was an age of darkness, violence, and ideological experiments. Democracy in history is the exception, not the rule.

After the war, Europeans began abandoning authoritarian and imperial ways of thinking, but from a historical perspective this shift is very recent. Over the longer arc of time, foundational ideas — the separation of secular and spiritual power, for instance — took centuries to develop. They emerged from Europe’s political history: late antiquity, the struggle over investiture, medieval scholasticism, the Reformation. Where no single authority could monopolize power, third actors emerged — later recognized as the seeds of civil society: parliaments, universities, guilds, municipalities, free cities.

This shaped a European mindset based on self-organization, collective responsibility, and autonomy.

The European Union, meanwhile, was never designed as a security alliance. It was built on the assumption that war was impossible. That became its weakness.

For the first time, a large space without war emerged — a space of cooperation, rising living standards, solidarity, mutual aid. Nothing like it had existed before. But Europe also became a victim of its own comfort.

Ibn Khaldun once wrote: if three generations grow up in comfort, society loses the ability to defend itself. Wealth and comfort weaken a society’s resilience. Europe lived for decades under the security guarantees of the United States — outsourcing its defense. And now, with America no longer willing to guarantee European security, especially after Donald Trump’s return to the White House, Europe suddenly feels exposed.

So the mental shift occurred due to his statements — not because of the full-scale war in Ukraine.

Ironically, yes. Europe did not feel threatened by Russia’s full-scale invasion — but by U.S. policy.

And when it comes to values — democracy, dignity, freedom — Ukraine is defending them today more than Europe itself. In that sense, Ukraine is more European than Europe.

Does this mean the European project is in crisis?

The European project is inherently crisis-driven. It constantly encounters new challenges — but unlike Russia, Europe has historically found innovative, positive responses: the Thirty Years’ War led to the Peace of Westphalia; the First World War to the League of Nations; the Second World War to the UN and European integration.

Who knows — perhaps the war in Ukraine is the crisis Europe desperately needed to regain its vitality. Because for some time, it had been losing it.

And what role has Russia played in Europe’s loss of vitality, and in its moral degradation?

Russia certainly played a role. Putin is a predator; a predator attacks when it senses weakness. His famous Munich speech came when he sensed such weakness. And he confirmed his intuition a year later in Georgia, when Europe punished the victim rather than the aggressor. That opened the path for him.

But he misjudged. Europe had been yielding for so long that Putin believed the EU would crumble under threat. He assumed he could negotiate with each state separately — but that did not happen. With a few exceptions — notably Fico and Orbán — EU states began speaking with one voice.

Although those politicians often use their liberum veto.

True. But overall, not every European capital speaks to Putin. It turned out the dictator is weaker than he thought. He believed the West was weak — and I agree — but the question is: who is weaker?

In over three years of war, Putin has inflicted immense damage, but achieved meager results compared to his initial aims. We often say: the stronger side wins. But what if we say: the weaker side loses? Meaning: the one that first loses the ability to sustain the pace of multidimensional warfare.

And here we must understand: in this geopolitical conflict, Ukraine is buying time for Europe. Whether Europe will use that time — that is another question.

Indeed. You mentioned Georgia earlier. It is also an example of reforms being reversed — but more importantly, an early warning that few took seriously. I remember the 2008 cover of the magazine Tyzhden: a Russian boot raised over a map of Ukraine with the caption “Ukraine is next.” Why did no one take it seriously?

Because it was the private opinion of very few people. In September 2009, Volodymyr Horbulin and Oleksandr Lytvynenko wrote in Dzerkalo Tyzhnia about the Russian threat to Ukraine — but their analysis went almost unnoticed; it seemed unbelievable. Yet we were dealing with leaks: similar information about Putin’s war plans appeared elsewhere.

I have a friend — I can finally mention his name — the politician and political scientist Ihor Hryniv. In September 2013, at a conference on European security in Warsaw, he presented this strategy. Most laughed at him. Only one experienced German diplomat approached him during the break to say he was right: Russia indeed had a military plan for Ukraine.

Another example is the delayed revelation from 2014 about Putin’s 2008 conversation with Donald Tusk, in which he allegedly proposed partitioning Ukraine and offering Lviv and four western regions to Poland. Radosław Sikorski disclosed this years later, causing an uproar. He later clarified that the conversation was informal and that Poland opposed any annexations.

More interesting, however, was journalist Edward Lucas’s article in Politico, in which he wrote this was no revelation at all — many European politicians knew Putin had floated the idea of partitioning Ukraine. Not only with Poland — also with Hungary and Romania. But no one wanted to believe such plans could become reality.

Wishful thinking.

Yes — absolutely.

Isn’t the problem that European elites fear telling their voters that the threat is real — and that victory in a potential war depends not only on the budget but on the psychological readiness of society?

Elites are now speaking about this more openly. Remember that after the Cold War a whole generation grew up treating peace as the norm — when it is the exception. Therefore, warnings about war are met with skepticism.

And one must distinguish two kinds of fear among Europeans. One is the real fear for continental security — the fear of Russia. This is genuine.

But the second fear, less acute yet more widespread, is the fear that any discussion of war — even preparations for it — will lower their standard of living and destroy their comfort. And now the key question is: which fear will prevail?

This dilemma is not exclusively European. People adapt their consciousness to circumstances. Ukraine faced the same challenge before 24 February 2022.

As people said then: “So what? Will Putin attack?”

Exactly. And this despite the fact that Ukraine had one paradoxical advantage: eight years of war. Since 2016 we had been preparing. I myself am surprised by our resilience now — because I criticized the shallow and slow pace of reforms. It turns out the war accelerated our development.

And history matters.

The difference between Europeans and Ukrainians is that Ukrainians remember — historically and collectively — what violence and war are. Europe does not. Even in times of “global peace,” say in the 1930s, Ukrainians suffered far more than Western Europeans — not to mention wartime.

Intergenerational memory of violence among Ukrainians has become a profound factor in their readiness to resist. Even during Europe’s decades of peace, Ukrainians suffered far more than Europeans, and thus carried an unconscious fear that the horrors of terror and repression could return — a fear that Bucha ultimately made visible to the world.

In my view, Ukraine and Europe now need one another more than ever. First, Europe cannot remain what it used to be. Second, if the EU wants to stay competitive, it must expand; otherwise its chances of succeeding in a world of large geopolitical blocs such as China and the United States will become increasingly dim. Third, the Old Continent must finally learn to address its own security.

Ukraine, too, must change — quickly and decisively. It must adopt essential legislative reforms, including updating the mobilization law or introducing rules that would require public-office candidates to have completed military service. Ukraine has no choice but to become effective; otherwise, victory will remain out of reach.

Finally, since you mentioned the notion of victory — interpreted in many different ways — what, in your view, is the key to it?

People usually say that the stronger side wins. But what if we shift the perspective and say that the loser is the side that first loses the ability to sustain military operations? From this point of view, I find the idea put forward by former defense minister Andriy Zagorodnyuk compelling: Ukraine’s victory may come not only through a compromise or a peace agreement, but simply in the course of the war itself — by exhausting the enemy’s resources and neutralizing its capabilities. This is precisely what has already happened to Russia’s Black Sea Fleet.

The task now is to determine which tools can scale this success and apply it to other sectors of the front, so that Russia’s instruments of pressure become ineffective.